A/N Thanks so much to my faithful reviewer Shirebound for your review on the last chapter, your feedback never fails to make me smile! On with the next chapter, the last dealing with Legolas' news specifically; next week there's a messenger from Erebor…

Chapter Three: The Coming of Spring

Just as Sam was beginning to wonder whether he would be obliged to spend the rest of his time in Minas Tirith in the arms of an overwrought Elf, Legolas released him, thanked him, and then headed up to the balcony for some time alone to reflect on his news. When he returned later that evening, so had most of his customary composure, much to Gimli's relief. He did not go into as much detail about his friends' circumstances when he conveyed the tidings to the rest of the assembled Company, but he communicated well enough that there was sorrow for him in these tidings as well as joy. Now that the shock and incredulity had faded though, Legolas seemed to have opened himself up to the joyful implications of his news, and Gimli's heart swelled to hear his delighted laughter as Pippin launched into plans for a visit to Legolas' home just moments after hearing of its new name. Gimli slipped away after this, satisfied that the Elf would be thoroughly occupied by three curious hobbits for a time, and went to help Sam with the project he had been frantically working for most of the afternoon on since their conversation earlier. Gandalf had also been roped in, and both ancient Maia and hardy Dwarf were soon scurrying to obey Sam's orders. In the enigma that was Samwise Gamgee, at times painfully deferential and at others blunt and forthright, he seemed to have no qualms about this arrangement, and in his domain- the kitchen- he was perfectly happy to take command. They were just putting in place the finishing touches to Sam's plan when Gimli heard the wild hammering on the door. His heart leapt into his mouth. It sounds urgent. Erebor? Already? Legolas, however, already on high alert for everything to do with messengers today, was sprinting to get it and disappeared from the sitting room, leaving Pippin open-mouthed halfway through a question. He got to the door just ahead of Gimli and opened it to reveal a slightly windswept King of Gondor.

'Mellon nín, I'm so sorry,' said King exclaimed as he pulled the startled Elf into his arms.

'Whatever for? What's happened? More tidings?' Legolas pulled away and ushered him inside, his brow creased in anxiety.

'No, nothing like that. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I meant for not bringing you the tidings myself. I should have been there. I should not have left you to learn of this alone.'

'Oh, but Estel,' he said, with the slightest of gestures to the assembled Fellowship who had by that point followed him into the hallway. 'I wasn't alone.'

Aragorn blinked a few times, and then collected himself. 'Of course you weren't. That was a selfish remark and I'm sorry.' He grinned ruefully. 'I'm not doing very well today, am I?' Then, with more concern. 'Are you alright?'

'As expected,' he replied softly. 'My letter contained personal news, as you probably guessed. My people have triumphed, and friends have fallen. I rejoice and yet I grieve. But I will be fine.'

Aragorn, noting the future tense in that statement, simply hugged Legolas again and this time the Elf returned it. Eventually, Aragorn whispered, 'I'm sorry, I should have been here, mellon nín.'

'No, you should not,' Legolas replied firmly. 'You should have done exactly what you did, putting your commitments first like the king you are and trusting that me to handle this as I needed to. You're here now. And that is more than enough for me.'

They clasped forearms for a moment, Aragorn clearly struggling to find the words to respond to this and the softness in Legolas' eyes wordlessly reassuring him that none were required.

The other members of the Company who had been peering into the hall had dispersed by now, suddenly feeling like they were intruding on something private. Only Gimli remained, tactfully turned away from the pair, seemingly intent on studying one of the paintings in the hall.

Legolas frowned thoughtfully, stepping back. 'Although... it's not yet sundown. Aren't you still supposed to be in council?

'Faramir's dealing with the last session. That man is a gift from the Valar, I swear. He all but evicted me from my own council chamber- very politely, of course, this is Faramir we're talking about- and hinted strongly that my mind was elsewhere, and I might as well take my body to join it. Then told me to send you his regards.'

'He certainly has mine, and it seems he knows you well already. Won't your lords be upset, though?'

Aragorn gave a most unkingly snort. 'First thing I learnt about kingship: lords are always upset. It's in their nature. Faramir can handle them. I'll be able to look through and sign off anything that comes out of it later, anyway, which was why I managed to escape. I couldn't do anything about the others, though, I really did need to be at those. I'm sorry, mellon nín, I would have been here if I could.'

'I know, and I appreciate that. Sorry I didn't come to see you earlier.'

'No matter, as long as you're alright. I was worried.'

'Sorry I worried you. I didn't mean to, I just-'

'Are you two going to come in and get some food or are you going to stand there apologising to each other all night?' Gimli's amused voice cut in to their discussion, and both looking slightly sheepish, they followed him through to the dining room.

When they got there, both stopped short, as Sam looked up from laying the final dish on the table. The entire spread was covered with green. The wooden table, usually unadorned, had been covered with a vibrant green tablecloth, and assorted scraps of green cloth had been fashioned into makeshift hangings around the room. Scattered along the table were plates of bright salads with young leaves, tossed through with sliced cucumber and sprinkled with toppings of nuts. These were interspersed with bowls of a light vegetable broth, full of asparagus and green beans with mint leaves sprinkled generously on the top. Two freshly baked loaves of bread were filling the room with a heavenly scent, and both were crowned with intricate oak leaf designs worked in dough. And as a centrepiece, there was a casserole full of beautiful, rich stew, liberally strewn with bright green sorrel leaves which gleamed like jewels. Sam's ears turned slightly pink as he stood beside what was, of course, his masterpiece.

'In honour of the Wood of Green Leaves. I thought it was only right and proper that we celebrate.'

Legolas looked on, speechless, trying to work out how on earth the hobbit had orchestrated all of this in the few short hours since they had parted and incredibly moved that he had.

'Don't you like it, sir?'

Legolas was momentarily tempted to fight the 'sir' battle but decided that reassurance would do just as well.

'Sam. This is wonderful. Hannon le.' He fisted his hand above his heart and bowed low, causing Sam to turn scarlet and the rest of the gathered Company to beam delightedly. Then the whole table erupted into laughter as Aragorn and Legolas both tried to sit in the same seat, leaving the head of the table for the other. Eventually Legolas was persuaded to take the head, and once they were settled, Gandalf cleared his throat and raised his glass.

'To Eryn Lasgalen. Proof that even after a long dark night of centuries...' He turned to bestow a brilliant smile on Legolas, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 'You can always count on Elves to find the sun.'

Legolas laughed brightly at this, though when his eyes met Gandalf's they were filled with a profound gratitude, and myriad emotions far deeper than mirth.

'Eryn Lasgalen!' eight voices chorused as they raised their glasses high. And when Legolas seemed a little too interested in examining his wineglass after this, blinking a little faster than is usual for an Elf, his friends pretended not to notice. Gimli soon had the others distracted, by picking up a lettuce leaf as if it were some severed appendage of an orc, and declaring loudly,

'Now, it's a lovely idea to celebrate Legolas' wood being named for Green Leaves, but I don't see why that makes it necessary for us to consume the things!'

The evening passed in merriment. Legolas talked of his very early childhood memories of the Greenwood at the end of the Watchful Peace, and of course his tales of elflinghood earned him some ribbing from Gimli about not having done much growing up in the intervening centuries. Pippin immediately came to Legolas' defence, claiming that if one could be named Trollbane and a Knight of Gondor before even coming of age, then there was nothing whatsoever wrong with youth, and it was perfectly reasonable that one should want to extend it for centuries if that were possible. He and Merry had their hearts set on a visit to Eryn Lasgalen, and their planned route, as they discussed it, evolved into something of a Grand Tour involving most of Middle Earth. They also extracted a promise from Legolas to visit the Shire, and soon all four hobbits were planning an inordinately detailed itinerary for him. This of course led to a heated debate over the superiority of Tuckborough or Buckland, which Frodo attempted to mediate with much careful diplomacy but, it must be said, little success.

All heartily sated on Sam's incredible fare, they found themselves a few hours later sitting round the hearth fire, for once with not a pipe in sight and no complaint about that fact. When Legolas expressed his astonishment about this, Gimli told him rather gruffly not to get used to it, but he knew that his friends were foregoing their after-dinner smoke for his sake, and his smile of gratitude said it all. The days' events had turned the thoughts of all homeward, and the hobbits began to speak of friends and family keenly missed, what their plans were upon their return, the comforts of home they most longed to return to. Legolas and Gimli made their contributions but found this subject of discussion a little difficult to negotiate: Legolas because he knew the names of those who would not greet him on his return; Gimli precisely because he did not know this information but expected to hear it soon. Aragorn, sensing their discomfort, talked of his first home, Rivendell, the home he would not be returning to for long since now he ruled in Gondor. Though his fosterage in Rivendell had been the subject of many fireside discussions on their travels, it was endlessly fascinating to the hobbits, particularly Sam, who enjoyed musing on the wonders of growing up among the elves. This gave the Elf and Dwarf a respite from the concerns of their own homes for a while, for which they were grateful.

Nevertheless, after the earlier rush of elation and merrymaking as he accepted the victory of his people over darkness, an aching, throbbing melancholy settled in Legolas' heart as he also began to accept the loss of three very close companions and the harms which befell two more. So whilst the company were being regaled by Aragorn's tale of 'accidentally' informing the Dúnedain of an embarrassing story about Elrohir, Legolas unobtrusively slipped away to the balcony. There, he breathed in the intoxicating call of the Elvenhome carried from the sea on the night breeze. The laments for his friends slipped easily from lips, his singing almost an instinctive response to his grief, not needing to be summoned by conscious thought. As he sang, he imagined the laments weaving themselves into that sound of waves on the wind, and somehow flowing back the way it had come, reaching those fallen companions, assuring them of his continued love for them though the Sundering Sea and Mandos' Halls separated them now.

It was some time after midnight when he finally stopped singing and realised that he was not alone. Gandalf was leaning over the opposite side of the balcony, chewing on the end of his unlit pipe as he gazed contemplatively at the stars. Sensing the Elf's scrutiny, Gandalf made his way across to him and smiled kindly and a little sadly.

'I see that this day brings you mourning as well as celebration, then.'

Legolas explained the more distressing details of his news which he had not shared earlier, and Gandalf nodded grimly in response.

'I suspected something of the sort was inevitable given the nature of the fight; although knowing that does not lessen the pain, I imagine.'

'Aye, you speak truly. I grieve for them and it is feels strange to do so in this shattered city of stone without the trees echoing the lament.'

'It is a hard thing to be far from home and hear these tidings, of course it is. And you have every right to your sorrow. Grieve because you miss them, because they did not see their efforts come to fruition, because they are gone from your community. But do not grieve for them. They are safely in Mandos' keeping now, until they may be rehoused, and Mandos is a fair host, if a little austere at times.'

Legolas nodded silently but did not look convinced. Gandalf huffed and said,

'Believe me, I ought to know.'

Legolas' eyes widened in surprise at this revelation, since the company knew well not to probe Gandalf on the mysterious interlude between his fight with the Balrog and his return as the White Wizard; he usually remained silent on this subject.

'You know from your own experience? I thought that you were decided against speaking of it.'

'I tell you nothing that you could not learn in your lore. Learn to trust the tales of the Valar you were taught, Thranduilion, for their words are true. You should not need a resurrected Istar to tell you that.'

At Legolas' bewildered expression, Gandalf softened. 'But this resurrected Istar confirms it for you all the same. Eru Ilúvatar is kind to all his returning children, whether they come by way of Mandos or the Straight Road. Have faith and know that your comrades are in safe hands.'

Legolas looked out to the stars for a long moment, drinking in their comforting light, and listening to the song of the sea, which tonight seemed even more melancholy than usual. Eventually he turned to Gandalf and said,

'May I ask you a question, Mithrandir?'

Gandalf's eyes sparkled. 'You just did, penneth. But since I am in a generous mood, you may ask another.'

'Did it hurt?'

Gandalf knew immediately what 'it' was and placed his hand on top of Legolas' where it rested on the balcony railing as he answered.

'Once I let go? Not a bit.'

'What was it like?'

'Another question? My goodness. Well, I suppose I might allow you one more. It is not given to me to know if all of Ilúvatar's children journey in the same way. But for me, it was like the melody that was my life within the great song of the Ainur reached its resolution. I could finally hear the music clearly once my own part had faded away, and it was beautiful in a way no words could begin to describe. Then, cradled in the arms of that complex music I was carried home.'

'That…does not sound too bad.'

Gandalf met Legolas' gaze steadily and kept his hand atop the Elf's, giving him a physical anchor in this talk of grief.

'Nay, Legolas. It was not.'

Legolas sighed deeply and gave Gandalf a grateful smile. 'It is a great comfort to hear that, Mithrandir. Thank you for sharing it with me.' Gandalf acknowledged this with a nod and again they lapsed until silence, until Legolas said,

'Turning my thoughts to home has made me reconsider Galadriel's message.'

Gandalf's sharp gaze came to rest on Legolas again.

'Oh?'

'I misinterpreted it at first, thinking it meant my death. But then I heard the gull and thought that that explained everything. But perhaps I still did not truly understand. Perhaps it's actually about more than the sea-longing. Maybe she meant that my heart would rest in the forest no more because the forest I used to rest in, my forest, would be changed beyond recognition.'

'And you have reason to believe that?'

'My father reports that 'significant portions of the forest were damaged by the tools of the enemy.' If he thinks to allay my worry by giving me no specific information about where and how badly, that was an extremely counterproductive strategy.'

'If only because his son has an unparalleled ability to fret over things he cannot change. I understand it is difficult not knowing, and of course it will distress you that your home was damaged. But whether Galadriel predicted that or not is beside the point. The darkness did not win, Legolas. Hold on to that thought. Your home is renamed Eryn Lasgalen now, and your people will come back from the destruction and renew their home. They do seem to have a knack for that, after all.'

Legolas' eyes flashed dangerously at that last comment.

'Oh, yes of course, we're the Sindar and Silvans. No need to worry about us. We'll survive. That's what we do, after all, isn't it? We give so much of ourselves as we are drawn into the catastrophes of Arda, so much that we lose even when we win. Then, we come back, rebuild, and wait for the next crisis. Because there always is a next crisis. It never ends, for us. Is it so very wrong of me to yearn for our people to have something that will last, for once? Or to wish that we could have a peace that hasn't been paid for ten times over in our people's blood?'

Gandalf simply raised his eyebrows at him and waited for a few moments as Legolas steadied himself against the balcony.

'Feel better now that's out of your system?'

Legolas' tense posture relaxed back into his usual graceful stance. 'Aye. My apologies, Mithrandir. It was wrong of me to rail at you like that.'

'Well, the history of your people is not exactly within my control, as I'm sure you're aware. Although I will concede, you have a point. Your people's sacrifices in the various tragedies that have befallen Arda over the Ages have been great and often overlooked. It is not wrong to yearn for true rest and renewal after the harsh fighting you have all been involved in. Know, however, that you will have that restoration now.'

'Forgive me, Mithrandir,' Legolas countered softly, without the bitterness that might be expected in such a comment, only melancholy, 'if I find that a little hard to believe.'

'Indeed, there is nothing to forgive,' Gandalf replied, 'but I ask that you try to believe it. Barad Dur and Dol Guldur have fallen, as has their erstwhile master. The One Ring is melted and will never exert its corruptive influence again. I will repeat those facts to you as often as you need in order to accept that your fight is over.'

'Over for how long, Mithrandir? It does feel momentous, cataclysmic, but so did the downfall of Morgoth, I imagine. Doriath, Sirion, Eregion, Lindon, Greenwood; all those safe refuges that turned out to be anything but. I do not see why this time is guaranteed to be different.'

'It is not,' Gandalf said simply, surprising Legolas by not offering an argument. 'Nothing is guaranteed about the future. But you sense, as I do, that the time of Men approaches and that the old world of which we are a part begins to fade. Realise, then, that you have this present moment of peace in which you may bring blessing to Arda before you sail, if you wish. Perhaps it is a permanent restoration, perhaps it is but a reprieve from evil; learn to seize it, and flourish in it without anxiety for how long you will have. That is how your people have survived all that they have, by rejoicing in each time of peace as they found it. Do not scorn that gift for survival, for it is a precious one.'

'You are wise, Mithrandir, and your counsels are sound. Yet I have lived most of my yéni so far under the Shadow, and I find I am unused to living in a world of light.'

Gandalf reached over and clasped Legolas' forearm in a warrior's embrace.

'You have grown under the grasp of a long hard winter, my little Greenleaf, and that has strengthened you and made you what you are. But now you must unfurl, penneth, and know that your Spring has come at last, and learn to soak up the sunlight you have waited so long to find.'

Legolas returned Gandalf's clasp of his forearm and turned eyes filled with gratitude and hope toward him. They stayed there a moment, one an ancient Maiar and the other a young Silvan Elf who had seen too much for his tally of years. They each marvelled in the unique fëa and wisdom of the other, though Legolas would have been surprised to know that the wonder and curiosity he felt towards Gandalf were reciprocated. Then Legolas laughed softly, and the moment passed, and he shook his head ruefully and said,

'Ai, Mithrandir! Eight centuries now you have known me, and still you have not exhausted your reserve of puns on my name.'

The corners of the wizard's eyes crinkled in response to this as he chuckled merrily,

'But of course, penneth! When your Adar gifted you with such a marvellous opportunity, it would be a crime to waste it, would it not?'

'Believe me, Mithrandir,' Legolas rejoindered, still laughing, 'With you around, there is clearly no danger of that!'

They continued in this teasing vein for a while, before drifting into companionable silence as they gazed up at the stars side by side. Eventually Gandalf nudged Legolas slightly with an elbow and raised an eyebrow.

'Are you not tempted to take your reverie, my friend? This day has brought you pain and joy in equal measure, along with a lot to think about besides. Some rest may help to settle your spirit.'

'Aye, Mithrandir, I am tempted. I tried earlier, in fact, but found that the paths of reverie were closed to me. My mind would not relax into pleasant dreams but insisted on turning over images of a burning forest, of dying trees and elves, of a desperate last stand as my father and his people were surrounded by darkness.'

Gandalf took a moment to consider this but did not seem surprised by it. 'You intend to remain out here in the company of the stars tonight then rather than taking your bed?'

'Aye. Their fire brings warmth and comfort to my soul and drives away the inferno that haunts me.'

'Fighting fire with fire, I see your point.' Gandalf nodded his head in concession then abruptly turned on his heel and strode back into the house. 'I will return shortly.'

Knowing from long experience that the general rule with Gandalf is 'don't ask,' Legolas did not question this. He fixed his eyes instead upon Gil-Estel, and thought of the hope that had conquered evil, of his people's spirit which remained light in spite of approaching darkness, and thus drove away an insistent vision of the burning willows of the Queen's Garden.

When Gandalf returned with a bedroll, blankets and pillows, Legolas did not comment, simply watching with a sceptical expression as Gandalf prepared a nest in the corner of the balcony, at an angle from which the stars could still be seen. Once satisfied, he turned to his onlooker, and gave the explanation which was being silently requested by the Elf's raised eyebrow.

'You intend to remain in the company of the stars but I am sure they will allow you a moment of abstraction. I simply thought to make that moment of reverie a little more comfortable for my friend. Come.'

He beckoned Legolas over to the prepared blankets but the Elf shook his head. 'I thank you, Mithrandir, but I thought I made myself clear. My mind- it will not let go of its fears- it will not cease-'

Gandalf placed a guiding hand on Legolas' upper arm and began to steer him towards the blankets and cut him off.

'Your mind is insistent. Aye, you made that clear. And we speak of the mind of a Thranduilion, so it is too stubborn for anyone's good. But you forget one thing, tithen las. I-' and here he gave a dramatic pause and pulled himself up to his impressive full height, in a manner which had awed many elflings across the ages- 'am a wizard.'

Legolas laughed even as he found himself being firmly and inexorably settled into the blankets. 'Mithrandir, I see what you suggest and truly I am grateful, but- well, I could not…'

Gandalf jumped in as Legolas trailed off and positioned a pillow behind the Elf's head as he spoke. 'But what? You could not what? You could not possibly allow yourself to be as open and trusting as you once were, when an elfling clung to 'Mitadir's' leg like some strange giggling species of ivy and would not let go until he used his 'wizardy magic' to fill his reverie with wondrous visions. Is that it? Then truly I am saddened, Legolas. I would not lose that elfling for all the world.'

Gandalf brought his imposing eyebrows into effective use and fixed Legolas with a keen stare. The latter looked for a moment as if he were about to protest, but then sighed and nestled himself more comfortably into the blankets, tipping his head back to gaze on the stars.

'Nay, 'Mitadir.' You need not mourn that elfling. He is still here, and he thanks you.'

Gandalf beamed a smile of truly radiant joy as he knelt at the Elf's side. 'Then tonight, mellon nîn, you shall witness not the last moments of Mirkwood but the early days of Greenwood the Great, and the paths of your dreams will meander through the trees you love as they were in their youthful vigour. How does that sound?'

Gandalf's answer was a pair of widened eyes and an enthusiastic nod, proving effectively that the elfling who had adored Gandalf all those centuries ago was very much still there within the present fearsome warrior. The wizard chuckled and gently laid a roughened palm across the Elf's brow.

'Look to the stars under which your forefathers awoke, son of Ilúvatar. See the Creator's gift to you and let lady Elbereth's light drive out the darkness in your heart. Now turn your mind to a great forest, springing up many centuries ago under the light of these very same stars…'

The wizard's murmuring voice slipped smoothly into a slow chant in the old Silvan dialect, describing the vast expanse of the forest, mysterious and beautiful under the starlight. Almost imperceptibly the chant became a song, a song of a wondrous forest in the making, the trees competing like eager young warriors, not stealing the space from each other but rather pushing all to greater heights and shared glory. The song worked like a spell, conjuring images of butterflies as big as your head making their way lazily across through the floral undergrowth, and herds of deer darting through the trees with quicksilver swiftness. Its music seemed to reflect the music of the forest, the hammering of the woodpeckers and the chattering the squirrels, the gentle rustling of leaves trembling in the light breeze. And Gandalf's song found an elven fëa and guided it away from tendrils of shadow, to walk the broad canopied paths of the forest in those far-off days. Once the song had ended, he viewed with satisfaction the glazed eyes and even, almost imperceptible, breathing of an Elf in peaceful reverie, happily ensconced in dreams of his home as it once was.

He stood and retreated to the other side of the balcony and resumed the chewing of his pipe, contemplating the darkness that had been lifted in recent times- the darkness upon an entire forest as well as the darkness upon one soul. Before he left his charge, however, he had let his hand linger upon the crown of the golden head for a moment and whispered,

'Unfurl, little leaf, and be at peace. Your spring has come.'