Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate and New Line Cinema.

Out of the Ashes

Legolas straightened to his full height and tilted his head back to feel the warm sunlight, his back protesting after being hunched over for so long. If only the sun could reach down and melt the cold knot of panic in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he has stumbled over the battlefield for ages, searching among the bodies, with the groans of the wounded and dying roaring in his ears, the smell of fire and death choking him as he yelled Gimli's name over and over. Always to be met with no reply...so different from times past when the dwarf was just an arm's length from reach, swinging his weapon at the elf's side, clinging tightly to his back as they rode over the plains...

...Somewhere in the heat of the fight he had lost track of Gimli's grunts and satisfied cries as he met foe after foe with his axe.

Sometime he had lost track of Gimli's numbering off his kills in a continuation of their competition from Helm's Deep.

Somehow during the chaos he lost sight of Gimli. In the middle of the blurriness he was there, and then when Legolas' vision grew sharp and focused, the dwarf was nowhere to be seen.

That was hours ago, and the elf has not found his friend yet.

What if— Legolas shook his head violently, still refusing to consider the possibility. No. Not after Gandalf...Boromir...Aragorn...Haldir. All the death and destruction and despair I've seen during the quest. Please, not him...

He squeezed his eyes shut, blaming the blinding rays of the sun for making his eyes water. Swallowing hard, he willed himself to keep calm. Calm, calm.

Sighing deeply, he eventually opened his eyes and stared at the White City, rising like a beacon of light above the fields of Pelennor. For a long moment he looked before slowly his gaze drifted down to the carnage surrounding him, and his heart grew heavy. Wearily he started to walk towards the city, never ceasing to sweep his sharp gaze over the bodies he passed, unable to give up his search yet.

Suddenly the elf stumbled to a halt. Brows drawing together in a frown, he squinted, trying to see better. Far in the distance a figure was walking towards the city. Unconsciously Legolas' feet moved, slow at first, then with increasing speed as he attempted to make out positively the fighter, a fool's hope growing in him.

He could not call out – his sprinting, the pounding in his ears, the thoughts whirling in his mind, all made it hard to breath. Keep going...it was the only thing he could do.

So he gave no warning before he – finally – was upon the red-haired dwarf and swept him up into his arms, spinning Gimli in a circle or two, overwhelming relief crashing over the elf.

"Hey— Blasted elf, what...?!" the disgruntled dwarf sputtered. His exclamations died when Legolas lowered him to the ground and pulled back, keeping a death grip on his sleeve as though terrified Gimli would vanish if he let go. "Legolas?" his voice grew quiet, observing the lingering, almost wild fear in the light eyes that darted over him from head to toe.

The elf shook his head, unembarrassed by the rare tears on his cheeks. He inspected the dwarf for any signs of injuries yet he appeared unharmed. Almost shyly Legolas rubbed his fingers over Gimli's sleeve, and the knot in his stomach uncoiled. Shakily he smiled and knelt before his companion. "I thought I had lost you, my friend," he admitted.

Gimli sighed. "Did I not tell you it would take more than an army to bring down a dwarf like me?" he asked. Yet his eyes were serious, and he did not object as he was pulled into a tight hug. "Silly elf," he grunted fondly, hugging back hard.

Legolas just smiled.

THE END