Title: ELVEN MAGIC
Summary: When Aragorn is wounded in battle, Legolas is forced to show some of the power he has so far kept hidden
Disclaimer: Th eworld of Middle-Earth, including its characters, belongs to JRR Tolkien, not to me.
Chapter 1
As the battle raged Frodo found himself pushed to the perimeter of the clearing. From his position he could see where the other members of the fellowship were and how they were doing. Pippin, Merry and Sam had formed a triangle and were giving the orcs as good as they got. Gimli, swinging his axe in vicious arcs, decimated his foes. Boromir fought not far away and wielded his sword expertly. Legolas was fighting in the midst of the orcs, his bow abandoned in favour of his two wicked silver knives. Aragorn fought wildly not far from the elf's side. Frodo noticed that these two big people swapped glances regularly, he had realised long ago that they seemed to communicate silently through their looks. Suddenly, Frodo heard Legolas cry out, a sound he had rarely heard as the elf would never let people realise when he was in trouble or let them see his emotions. Distracted by his cry, Aragorn turned sharply when he heard his friend in danger. The elf clasped his hand to his side and Frodo could see the pain cross his face. In his attempt to get across to Legolas Aragorn didn't notice an orc pushing himself up from the ground and approach from behind. Before he could cry out Frodo saw Aragorn fall under the orc's scimitar.
Despite his pain, the look of pure anger and hatred that crossed Legolas' face as he saw his friend cut down made Frodo shiver. Time seemed to slow, the orcs all paused. A chill wind sprung up and began to swell around the clearing, gaining in intensity and at its centre stood the elven-prince. The rest of the fellowship ceased fighting and stared. The elf's eyes shone hard and cold and his face reflected his hatred for the orcs surrounding him. The little light filtering through the trees changed in colour and began to grow brighter and lend an unearthly blue shade to the area. The wind lifted Legolas' hair and whipped it round his face. Frodo shivered again as he remembered Galadriel's reaction to the Ring; he recognised this as potent elvish magic. Legolas slowly raised his arms, his fingers outstretched. The orcs found themselves frozen, unable to move and suddenly filled with an unnameable dread. The wind screamed around the clearing and the fellowship were forced to cover their eyes with their arms. As they did so a burst of cold blue light exploded from the elf's figure, momentarily blinding them.
When they recovered, the company slowly took in the situation. Legolas still stood in the centre of the clearing. Now, however, the wind had died away to nothing and the dim light of the setting sun barely made its way through the trees. Legolas' arms hung limply by his sides, his head dropped forward onto his chest and they could see his shoulders heaving as he drew deep breaths. All around him lay the dead bodies of the orcs, all of them killed in an instant. Boromir rushed forward as he spied Aragorn lying unmoving at the foot of a tree. The hobbits followed, leaving only Gimli to cautiously approach the elf.
Gimli carefully walked up to the elf, coming round to his side so he stayed in full view. He tentatively reached out a hand towards Legolas' arm and touched his elbow. Legolas reacted with a jerk, whipping round to face Gimli faster than the dwarf's eyes could follow. Gimli jumped back in surprise and fear, dreading what he might see. Gimli was indeed shocked. As he looked up into his friend's eyes he saw another part of Legolas previously hidden. The elf's face betrayed his own fear and shock and he seemed afraid of what he had just done. Suddenly Legolas' legs gave out underneath him and he sunk to the ground. Gimli followed him and crouched before him.
'Are you all right, my friend,' he asked gruffly, unused to dealing with this kind of situation.
Legolas' voice sounded weak and the dwarf could hear it tremble.
'Gimli? Is that you?'
Alarmed, Gimli did something he would never do in normal circumstances. He reached out and lifted the elf's chin with his finger. He was horrified by what he saw. Tears streamed down his normally emotionless friend's face, and he could see the fear in his eyes. Legolas stretched out his arm and clasped Gimli's arm.
'My friend.' He smiled briefly. 'I'm sorry, it takes me by surprise sometimes. It feels like I can't really control myself. It doesn't feel comfortable, not knowing what will happen.'
He pulled his arm back as if suddenly ashamed at his outburst. Gimli understood, knowing that the elf rarely allowed the fellowship to see his emotions. Telling Gimli all of that would have mortified his elven pride. Legolas took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He lifted his head and Gimli could see the new determination in his eyes and the controlled mask slipped back over his face. He smiled at the dwarf again and stood up slowly.
Boromir reached their fallen leader first. He knelt beside Aragorn and gently inspected his wounds. The orc's scimitar had done a lot of damage to his right shoulder and the man was loosing a lot of blood fast. Boromir jumped when he saw Aragorn's eyes flicker, the ranger was still conscious! He leant forward to check on his breathing when Boromir felt Aragorn attempt to speak.
'Hush,' he replied, 'don't try to talk. It's okay.'
But Aragorn persisted. Finally Frodo understood what he murmured.
'He's calling for Legolas,' he said, glancing cautiously over his shoulder at the elf kneeling on the ground. The others looked just as wary as Frodo. Legolas' display of power had shaken them up more than they would admit. Although they had always known their elf-friend was a skilled warrior and carried such an air of wisdom and nobility that they trusted him with their lives, they could never have guessed how powerful he actually was. The company felt rather scared of him now, as the stories of elven-magic they had been told of as children seemed to be coming true.
Aragorn gave a pained cough that seemed to settle their inner arguments. Boromir called over to the elf.
On hearing his name called, Legolas stiffened his resolve further. He realised with a shock that he had forgotten the reason for his outburst; Aragorn, his friend, had been injured. He pushed himself upright, alarmed at how weak he now felt, and made his way over to the rest of the fellowship. He could easily interpret the looks of fear on their faces and was glad of the loyal friendship of the dwarf beside him. When he had looked up at Gimli he had expected to see the old mask of suspicion back on his face. He had relaxed and recovered much more quickly when he knew at least one of them remained loyal to him.
Legolas slowly lowered himself to the ground beside his fallen friend, painfully aware of the screaming pain in his own limbs. The wound in his side he had gained earlier in the battle was just beginning to make itself known once more. He was beginning to feel quite light-headed and found it difficult to keep his mind focused. Legolas took a deep breath and began to examine Aragorn's wounds for himself. In his quiet, lilting voice, the elf ordered the other members of the company to gather herbs and bring some from his and Aragorn's packs. With swift, skilful hands, and a little help from other willing hands, Legolas treated and bound the wounds. His head was swimming disconcertingly. Legolas sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He knew that the ranger was in grave danger and no amount of potions and bandages he could offer him would help. There was only one thing he could try; the healing magic of the elves. It was a form of magic Legolas had used only rarely and it could be dangerous for both patient and healer. He had seen many experienced healers in his father's lands suffer for using it and Legolas himself was wounded and weak. He knew he might not have enough energy to perform it. Legolas opened his eyes again. One look at Aragorn's pained face answered all his turmoil. He would try the magic. Summoning all his remaining strength and will, the elf reached out and placed one cold, slim hand on either side of Aragorn's face. He murmured the incantations under his breath and slowly he felt all his energy drain out of his body through his hands. He gave as much as he could to the man, perhaps more than he should have done or than Aragorn would have wanted him to. Just before the blackness completely covered his sight, Legolas broke the contact with a great heaving breath.
When he reached Strider, Pippin had felt panic wash over him; he couldn't help but believe that the fellowship would fail without his leadership. When Aragorn called out for Legolas Pippin shivered with fear. He had grown up with his parents warning him about the ways of the elves, telling him they were wild and dangerous despite their extreme fairness, and would lead good hobbits astray. Pippin had enjoyed his time in Rivendell, once he was sure that these were indeed only old wives tales, and he had grown to feel great respect and friendship for the elf-prince that travelled with them. Now however, the tales of the hobbit elders came back to him in force. Legolas was truly one of the beautiful yet dangerous elves he had been warned of. His suspicions were confirmed when, after binding all his wounds, the elf began to use some of his magic on their friend. He was about to call out and reach Legolas to stop him when his hand was stayed. He looked up to find Gimli gripping his arm. The dwarf shook his head and frowned at the young hobbit. Pippin came to his senses. This was still Legolas, their friend. He would not hurt Aragorn. Pippin could see little evidence of the forces at work while Legolas tried to heal Aragorn, but he realised he could see one thing. The elf, whom he had never seen suffering from fatigue or from a wound, seemed to be rapidly loosing a battle with consciousness. The colour was draining from his face and his posture was drooping further and further. Meanwhile, Aragorn seemed to take a deep breath in, then resume his normal, comfortable
breathing. Legolas had healed him.
Gimli stayed at his elf-friend's side as they left the clearing. No matter how much he tried, Legolas was not fooling anyone. The elf was wounded and close to collapse. Gimli kept his on Legolas and noted the lack of colour in his friend's cheeks. Every-so-often Legolas' eyelids would droop, threatening to abandon the elf to unconsciousness, but with a jerk of his head the elf would pull himself back into the present. Before they had walked much farther, Legolas allowed himself to show weakness by resting a hand on Gimli's shoulder. The dwarf could feel his arm shaking as it tried to support some of his weight and soon the pressure on his shoulder increased as Legolas needed his support more and more.
The dwarf called a halt; there was no way he would let his friend travel any further in the state he was in. When the party halted, Legolas slid gratefully to the floor. He rested his back against a tree trunk and allowed his eyes to close. In no time, the elf was asleep and walking the paths of elven dreams, allowing his own inherent magic to begin healing his wounds and easing his exhaustion.