When the last Grey Ship sailed into the harbour of Valinor, upon the caressing blue waves, there was no great cheer to go up upon the still-distant port. Water so pure that one could see the bottom, several miles down, it crashed against the boat with white sprays of foam and droplets of water careening through the air, but the ship stayed unaffected, straight, level.
When the last Grey Ship came close enough to see the dock, there was only one person there. One figure, out of the tens of thousands in Valinor, only one figure stood upon the dock.
Legolas, with his far-reached Elven sight, saw first. His lips parted in an involuntary surprise, and, unbidden, silvery tears snaked down the pale face. Twin sapphire eyes gazed out over the waters, wide, full of joy, yet impossible sadness at the same time. His shorter, stouter companion, saw next, and his reaction was much the same. But he did not cry, no tears fell from his eyes.
Upon the dock, far ahead of the staggering crowd, there was one figure, standing silent and unmoving. Behind him, another of the same size swayed gently side to side, and behind him, what seemed to be all of Valinor waited in silence. Gimli's eyes picked out faces he once knew among the Elves. Legolas' eyes stayed upon the foremost character. Somehow, this greeting, as opposed to all other possible people to meet them, this seemed the most symbolic of their lives.
When the last Grey Ship knocked gently upon the wood of the dock, neither Elf nor Dwarf moved for a moment. Eyes of aquamarine met first warm brown, then tearful blue. Then, they were gone. Both Legolas and Gimli were off the deck, racing down to the dock, laughter echoing through the ship. Legolas, with his Elven reflexes and long legs, he came first, spinning around in a torrent of golden hair and tears. His face was set in a familiar smile, arms crossed in what Gimli termed arrogance.
When the last Grey Ship sailed into Valinor, Legolas and Gimli were met first and foremost by the most unlikely of heroes. The figure, half Legolas' height, walked slowly over to them, his footsteps loud on the wet dock. No tears marked his smooth skin, although the silver trails remained.
"Ah, my friends," he said "it is good to see you again."
Everything here belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, I just dabble in his world occasionally. This is most likely corny, but whatever. It's an older fiction.