A/N Hey folks! Thanks so much to everyone for your lovely feedback on 'Dear Cel', it is much appreciated and you have all encouraged me greatly in my writing. I'm back to writing about Legolas and Gimli for this one, just can't seem to keep away from these two! (There is another Elrond one-shot in the works though, and I've already made myself cry once so be prepared!) Back to the current fic, this one is about how our favourite Elf and Dwarf respond to the tidings from their respective homelands, and as such my one-shot 'News' could be considered a prequel, although both pieces absolutely stand alone. I will warn you now, as you may have gathered from the title, I have been rather mean in the things I am having them deal with. I explore the fact that so often in war, there is pain even for the victors; the Duke of Wellington supposedly said that 'next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won,' which I think I had in the back of my head whilst writing this. This will be 6 or 7 chapters long, and I'll be updating weekly as I'm still working on the final chapters and I want to stick to a consistent schedule. Hope you enjoy, and whether you do or not, please tell me what you think!

Huge thanks as always to my incredible beta Ink Stained Quill, I am very grateful for your ability to summarise beautifully in a few sentences what I've been awkwardly getting at for paragraphs. It's wonderful to have you with me on this fic and I'm very glad (and amazed, quite frankly!) that you haven't got bored of me yet! :-)

Disclaimer: This beautiful, complex world in which there are battles in our heroes' homelands that only get a brief mention in the Appendices? All Professor Tolkien's, not mine.

Chapter One: The Waterworks of Erebor

Gimli headed to the library in the Fellowship's house in Minas Tirith in search of some peace.

He did not find it.

The Elf was pacing, and that was an invariably ominous happening. And I thought I'd had enough contention with difficult and dangerous opponents for a lifetime, Gimli grumbled to himself. He entered warily, but Legolas left his presence unacknowledged. The Elf was scrutinising a scroll of parchment which he held in front of him as he paced, maintaining his repetitive path back and forth in front of the window, his feet apparently functioning without the intervention of his conscious mind. Gimli decided to give his friend a chance to approach him of his own volition before pointing out this clearly distracted behaviour, so he settled down in one of the armchairs to read for a while. He did his best to ignore the silently stalking figure and attempted to force himself to concentrate on the tome in front of him. However, when he realised that he had read the same page five times without taking any of it in, he decided to intervene.

'Laddie, you'll wear a hole in the floor at that rate.'

Without breaking his stride, Legolas retorted, 'I thought that even as a Dwarf you could not be so ignorant as to believe such a thing possible for an Elf.'

Gimli realised that he was being baited, and contented himself with responding quite mildly,

'Would you like to tell me why you're attempting it then?'

'Not particularly, no.'

'So it has nothing to do with that scroll you're staring at as though it were about to attack you?'

'It does not concern you.'

'Well, it is clearly causing you concern, and therefore it concerns me deeply.'

Legolas halted abruptly and muttered something under his breath in Sindarin, and though Gimli did not understand it, he was certain that it was not anything polite. Seeing Legolas' murderous expression, Gimli quickly changed tactics.

'Alright,' he said, attempting to sound conciliatory, 'you clearly need some time to think about whatever it is alone. I'll leave you to it. But you are not carrying whatever this is by yourself indefinitely, you hear me? I shall be walking the city at two hours after noon. I expect your company then.'

He closed the book with a thud and a plume of dust and left the room.

At precisely two hours after noon, Legolas joined Gimli in the hallway. He gave no sign of greeting apart from a nod, and they left the house in silence. Gimli was not surprised by this. The more rational side of Legolas had apparently acknowledged his need for Gimli's support, and so he had come at the specified time. That, however, did not mean that the rest of him had to like admitting to being vulnerable, and he was making this abundantly clear by his silence. Or perhaps that was uncharitable. Perhaps it was simply that he had no idea how to begin. Either way, Gimli did not wish to repeat his earlier mistake and press Legolas into talking about it until he felt ready, so he drew on the patience of his kind and contented himself with taking mental note of all the areas of the stonework that needed improving as they walked. A good team of Dwarves could have those houses habitable again in four days, maybe five, he noted absently. That wall over there, however, had only ever been a patchy job, probably a hastily constructed temporary defence from the last days of the war, and was crying out for demolition. This guard tower was salvageable by craftsmen of the right calibre. That meeting hall had been a fair building, once, but would need some serious work to strengthen it after the damage to its walls.

'It was a missive from home,' came a voice from beside him.

Gimli was yanked abruptly from his musings on the stonework, and everything fell into place. Based on Legolas' behaviour so far, Gimli felt the icy hand of fear clench around his heart and surprised himself in realising that he was almost as anxious about the fate of Legolas' home as that of his own. He waited to see if any more information would be forthcoming, but when it was not he prompted gently,

'And?'

'Victory… with grievous losses.'

Gimli studied him for a moment as they walked. His face was, as always, a mask of chiselled impassivity but even though his eyes were resolutely staring forwards, away from Gimli, the Dwarf could see that within them, a maelstrom of emotion was being ruthlessly held in check.

'And you're not sure precisely how you feel about that, are you?'

Legolas suddenly turned those pools of warring emotions onto Gimli and he had to suppress a gasp at their intensity.

'You surmise correctly, Gimli. Since the news came I have been alternating between feeling everything at once and feeling nothing at all. One moment I am feeling elation, devastation, pride, guilt, grief, homesickness, anxiety, relief, all at the same time, which I was expecting to a certain extent. The next, that missive is just black marks on parchment which has no relevance to my life, though I have a nagging feeling that somehow, it should. And that, I was not expecting. It is… disconcerting.'

Used to his friend's ways by now, Gimli did not miss the inclusion of 'guilt' in Legolas' list of emotions but decided that sorting out whatever tangle of self-recrimination the Elf had invented this time would have to wait until the shock of this news was blunted a little.

'It sounds it, laddie. And this is a 'feeling all of it' moment, from the looks of it.'

'Aye.' Legolas turned away abruptly and walked swiftly to a parapet which afforded a view over the Pelennor. He rested his hands on it and gripped it hard, as if he were holding himself steady against the buffeting of a strong wind, even though the day was calm. Gimli joined him and together they looked out over the ruins of the Pelennor. The corpses had been cleared, but beyond that, it was a ravaged wasteland, scarred with large swathes of torn up and burned land. It would take a long time to heal. Gimli's stomach twisted as he realised what this sight might suggest to his friend's mind, but he could do little to change it now. Legolas had clearly noticed their view as well, for he spoke up softly, his knuckles whitened against the stone of the wall.

'The missive was vague about it, but reading between the lines, it sounds like…like there was fire.'

Gimli had teased his friend mercilessly about all things to do with his Wood-elven love of trees, his claims to sense their hearts, his songs to them and about them, his ability to be refreshed simply by their presence. Only now did he realise that this bond with the trees was far more than a quirk, and that perhaps Legolas' 'grievous losses' in this battle included friends other than elves. He was suddenly assailed by a nightmarish vision of Erebor, the natural cave structures they had shaped and honed since their return crumbling and collapsing before the Enemy's instruments of destruction, the stone itself crying out in distress at its ruin. He felt then that he understood all too well what Legolas must be feeling, and for a moment was nearly overwhelmed by his anxiety for his own home, still having heard nothing. He fought to contain this and bring himself back to the problem of Legolas' vision of Mirkwood burning, which for all Gimli's playful scorn of the place, was terrible enough.

'I'm sorry, lad,' was all he could think to say, but he meant it, and Legolas knew that. Legolas' hands slowly lost their clenched rigour against the wall and they began to tremble very slightly. Gimli followed his gaze to a large streak of scorched ground and concluded that Legolas had been contemplating it for quite long enough. He spied a nearby bench outside an old guardhouse in reasonably good shape and suggested that they sit, as a way of stopping him staring at that burned land. Legolas, however, misinterpreted this and snapped back a little too quickly,

'Receiving significant news does not make me an invalid. I am perfectly able to stand.'

Gimli had not doubted this before, but the renewed trembling of his hands and the defensive response only served to increase his worry. Wisely though, he did not inform Legolas of this and said instead,

'Of course you are. Just thought it might make it easier to talk, that's all.'

Legolas eyed him suspiciously but eventually followed Gimli over to the bench, tearing his eyes away from the battle-scarred land before him. Once they were seated, the trembling ceased, but in its place a stillness which seemed unnatural even for an Elf flowed in. Legolas seemed to retreat into himself, his eyes which had burned with emotion just minutes ago now shuttered and closed off, and he was silent again for a long time. Waiting once more, Gimli amused himself by mentally assigning the craftsmen he knew in Erebor to the places in the city which needed repair. He stopped himself sharply when it hit him. He had no idea how many of those craftsmen were still alive. He had no idea if Erebor itself had fallen before the Ring was destroyed. His pride protested vigorously at that thought, telling him that he knew that the strength of his kin and their mountain home would not fail. But the fact remained. It could have happened. And still he did not know.

'Three close friends died.'

Once again, Gimli was pulled from his own reflections by a sudden revelation from his previously silent shadow. The voice, as it continued, had a dead quality to it, neutral, a soldier making his report.

'Captains, all of them. We'd known each other I was an elfling. Both my brothers took minor injuries but will recover. My closest friend at home survives but lost his right hand in the battle. I had sensed something amiss in our bond so that was not a complete surprise. Another friend was rescued from Dol Guldur, where he'd been since Gollum's escape. He will either fade or sail due to what he's been through but they don't yet know which. They're the only names I have received thus far. The forces of Dol Guldur made significant advances but our king gathered the entirety of our force and pushed them back, and that meant grievous losses for us, but it was successful in the end. Then the Lórien elves came up from the South and destroyed Dol Guldur completely. There are still pockets of evil creatures in the woods, but they are gradually being rooted out by the remainder of our army, a mission which may yet take many months-'

'Legolas.' Gimli reached for his friend's arm, unable to take any more of that dead, eerily detached voice reeling all of this off as if it were no more than a routine intelligence report. 'Stop this, please. Just stop. Breathe.'

Legolas took a deep, shuddering breath.

And then he crumbled.

That was the only word which Gimli felt could appropriately describe what happened next. The impassivity which had descended over Legolas like a protective shield shattered at Gimli's gentle touch and voice, leaving his friend defenceless against the onslaught of emotion. He had been sitting tall and straight, hands folded in his lap, chin jutting out proudly, every inch the impartial messenger doing his duty of passing on the news. But in a slow, terrible kind of collapse, everything holding him upright seemed to suddenly give way, his statuesque bearing drained away from him, he pitched forwards, caught his head in his hands and began to weep.

Even after everything they had been through- the horrors of Moria, Helm's Deep and the Black Gate, the searing grief of Gandalf's fall and then Boromir's, the awful, crushing despair at seeing Frodo's mithril shirt brandished by the Mouth of Sauron- Gimli had never once seen Legolas cry. It felt wrong, somehow, an impossible occurrence, as if Aragorn had suddenly announced he didn't want his kingdom anyway and was giving it up to learn pottery. Legolas' grief for Gandalf had been a quiet thing, easily mistaken for indifference until you saw that terrible look in his eyes. But it was not simply grief Legolas was experiencing now. It was the news that the fight which his life had revolved around for centuries was finally over and that three of those friends who had fought it with him had not lived to see it done. And perhaps it was this, this hurricane of not knowing what to feel, which finally overwhelmed him.

'Oh Legolas,' Gimli breathed.

After an initial moment frozen in stunned horror, he instinctively threw his arms around Legolas, thinking only a moment later that perhaps he should have had been more cautious of the Elf's pride. Legolas made no protest, though, and seemed barely aware of anything apart from his spectacularly convulsive sobs. It seemed that once he had let himself go, there was no holding back the flood, so all Gimli could do was weather it with him. He tentatively reached to prise away Legolas' hands away from where they clutched his head, and when he met with no resistance he turned his friend around to face him, and then brought him closer so he could bury his face in Gimli's shoulder. With his pride thoroughly forgotten amidst the tempest he was experiencing, Legolas instinctively returned Gimli's embrace, clinging to him desperately as if he were an anchor.

Gimli gently rubbed Legolas' back in an effort to calm him, beginning to be genuinely worried by the strength behind those fierce sobs and wondering if the Elf could injure himself with the force of them. He felt that at this point he should probably be murmuring soothing words to his stricken friend but found himself at a loss for what to say. He caught the instinctive 'it's alright,' on the tip of his tongue and stopped himself saying it, because 'alright' was a patently inadequate adjective for this situation. So mostly he was silent, apart from the occasional 'easy, lad' after a particularly violent cry, or a 'just let it all out, that's it,' or an 'I'm right here, laddie.' When he started to say, 'I know, I know' the words stuck in his throat, as his treacherous mind whispered to him that, no, he didn't know, but perhaps he would soon. Perhaps he would when they heard from Erebor. He firmly reminded himself that he could do nothing by fretting over his own news now, but he could help his friend through his.

It seemed to go on for an age. They were in a quiet corner of the city, but there were still a few startled passers-by who stopped and stared when they saw two of their war heroes thus. Mercifully, Legolas was too distracted to notice them, but Gimli glowered at them over his friend's shoulder, silently daring them to pass judgement, and they shut their open mouths and went on their way. At last Legolas' sobs became less tempestuous, and it was only when he loosened his hold and began to pull away that Gimli realised how crushing it had been. He would probably be sporting bruises tomorrow from where the Elf had clung to him. He tried not to wince as they pulled away from each other, which proved a slightly complicated business as Legolas' hair had become tangled in Gimli's beard. Both gave a slightly shaky laugh as they realised this and extricated themselves. Gimli wordlessly offered Legolas a handkerchief- there had been little point in trying to stem the intense weeping earlier- and waited for him to cry himself out, one hand still resting on his upper arm in mute support. Legolas gratefully accepted Gimli's waterskin once he had finished. For a moment there was calm, just Legolas' breathing returning to its usual elvish imperceptibly and Gimli watching his friend with love and concern writ large in his eyes.

Gimli tried not think about Legolas' age too much in general, since being aware that his friend was centuries his senior only gave him a headache when he thought about it for too long. But he was aware that Legolas was considered young among his people, although usually the Elf's confident and assured demeanour made this easy to forget. This piece of information came back to Gimli with a sudden jolt, however, as Legolas' uncharacteristic vulnerability reminded him that his friend was not simply a wise Elda with centuries of battle experience. He was also, and especially right now, a young person who had seen and lost far too much. Gimli wondered whether he had found any release for his grief and anger during the time when he was growing up and the world was growing darker. He suspected he knew the answer.

He spoke up quietly at last. 'You've been sitting on all that for several centuries, haven't you?'

'Quite possibly,' Legolas smiled back weakly.

An affectionate shake of the head from the Dwarf. 'Stubborn Elf.'

'You don't understand, Gimli. I could not have stopped to think about my reactions to everything, all that time we were defending our home. It would have been fatal. So many fallen comrades and never enough time to grieve before the next crisis happened. I just turned it all into resolve and fury for the fight. And now…'

'The fight is over, and all that emotion has nowhere else to go.'

Legolas nodded shakily. 'Something like that.'

A moment, again, and then Legolas whispered hoarsely.

'It's so hard to believe that it's finally over.'

Gimli pondered this for a moment. He did not know exactly how old Legolas was, only that he had lived for centuries but was still a considered youthful by his people. He wondered how long this fight had been for his friend. He knew his history. If, as was entirely plausible for even a young Elf, he had been involved since the end of the Watchful Peace, then he had been fighting Dol Guldur for nearly six hundred years, at least; potentially the majority of his life so far. Thus, for Legolas, the destruction of the Ring could not have marked the final destruction of Sauron, not really. He must have been waiting, on edge, all these weeks to hear that Dol Guldur had fallen, needing this information to allow himself to accept that it really was over.

Now he had that information, and he didn't know what to do with it. And not just that, but the whole thing, the knowledge of what it had taken to do it, what his friends and family and people had sacrificed to make this new age a reality. Gimli wondered how he had kept his composure, even such as it was, those first hours after receiving the news.

'It's over, Legolas,' he said gently. 'Your people won. It might take some time to sink in, though. Let yourself have that time. Mahal knows, you've earned it.'

Legolas seemed to come back to himself a little after that, straightening and looking around as he handed Gimli back his handkerchief and waterskin. His face fell as he registered where he was and exactly what he had just done.

'Sweet Elbereth!' he groaned and scrunched his eyes closed. 'We're in a public place!'

'Sorry, lad,' Gimli looked abashed. 'Perhaps suggesting a walk this afternoon wasn't my best idea. I should have known somewhere private would be better.'

'It's not your fault. I didn't tell you my news and…I was not expecting to do that.'

'I wasn't expecting you to do that either,' Gimli answered honestly. 'But I think you needed it.'

Legolas exhaled sharply. 'Perhaps I did. But it's still embarrassing. Did anyone see?'

'Don't worry, it's quite secluded here,' Gimli evaded, trying not to admit that there had in fact been one or two gawking passers-by. He was relieved when Legolas did not press the issue, perhaps genuinely wishing to remain ignorant of whether the past few minutes had been witnessed or not.

'Thank Elbereth for that.'

'I understand you're embarrassed, lad, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. What would your Mithrandir say, eh?'

Legolas paused for a moment, looking down at his feet, and then gathered himself and declared, 'not all tears are evil,' imitating the wizard's avuncular air when imparting wisdom so well that he made Gimli chuckle.

'There you go, see! Now try to believe that.'

'And therein lies the hard part.'

'And since when did you run from a challenge?'

Exactly as Gimli predicted, this roused Legolas' defiance once more.

'I said it was hard. I never said I wouldn't do it.'

Gimli reached up to grasp his shoulder. 'Now that's more like it.'

Legolas smiled and returned the gesture, then drew his hand back and stared at Gimli's shoulder in horror.

'Your tunic is drenched. I'm so sorry!'

Legolas wasn't exaggerating. Gimli plucked at the soaked fabric and shrugged.

'Don't trouble yourself over it. I will say that's quite an impressive volume you produced there though, lad. You could power half of Erebor with those waterworks!'

For a moment, Legolas hovered between feeling outraged and feeling mortified, but then he caught Gimli's eye and saw that the teasing was meant in the very best and kindest of spirits, and he laughed.

'Gimli, I'm disappointed in myself. Why not the whole of Erebor?'

'Erebor,' Gimli pronounced solemnly, 'Is a very big mountain.'

'Well, I shall have to try harder next time then.'

And Legolas laughed again at the sheer horror and panic written on Gimli's face at these words.

'I jest, Gimli, do not fear! I won't be doing that again.'

Gimli, now in control of his instinctive reactions, pinioned him with a firm gaze. 'On the contrary, you will if you need to. And you will not be ashamed of it. And you will find me and I will be there. No matter how much of Erebor you need to power.'

Legolas took a deep breath and grasped Gimli's forearm. 'Thank you, elvellon.'