Author: Mirrordance

Title: Estel

Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn

Warnings: death & drama

PART 1: Legolas

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CHAPTER 3: Costs

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      Legolas's jaw could have hit the ground.  She glared at him, embarrassed and angry.

      "Forget it," she snapped, "You make fun of me.  Your friend will die, and he will remain dead.  And the Lunaris will die with me.  And we can all just be in peace."

      "No, I…" Legolas said tentatively, "I was merely surprised."

      Shocked, actually.

      Jacinda shifted her weight, profoundly uncomfortable.  "Well?"

      Legolas blinked at her.  "By… conventional means?"

      "Do I look like an animal to you?" she snapped, "Of course by the conventional way.  Unless you elves do it differently…"

      "Quite the same, actually," he said at once, now truly sharing her embarrassment, "That is, as far as I know."

      Oh, Aragorn, the trouble I go through for you…

      "Well?" she pressed.

      Legolas swallowed.  "You mean now?"

      "No, fool," she said, shaking her head, "Do your business first, with your friend, then return to me.  You need to stay here with me until the child is born.  What if he turns out to be a male? Then I will just be saddled with this crazy half-elf-child.  I need a daughter.  You will stay with me until I have a daughter.  Only by the women does the Lunaris survive."

      He looked at her dubiously.  "That sounds like a long time."

      "I told you the cost is high," she said irritably. 

      --

      "I have a dilemma," said Legolas, after a moment, "I may not be able to return to you.  I told you I intend to give my own life as the sacrifice."

      She waved this away.  "Elves are resilient.  The life-sacrifice would kill a human, but not an elf.  You will, however, find yourself… less gifted."

      "Less gifted?" Legolas repeated.

      "Mortal, in effect," Jacinda replied, "you will lose the hearing, seeing and sensing attributes of an elf.  You will lose your immunity to human diseases.  You will age.  You will die.  Think of it as… losing half of your life, whereas the ritual takes the whole of a human's."

      Legolas considered this.  When he had volunteered to give his life to save Aragorn's, he expected the death to be quick and dignified.  This new consequence he did not foresee at all.

      "I could hardly offer you anyone else's life but my own," said Legolas slowly, "We have a deal."

      She nodded, very pleased.  "I shall begin the preparations."  As she rose, he took her elbow gently, and found himself compelled to ask,

      "What makes you so sure I would return to redeem my word to you?" said the elf, "What makes you so certain that after I took what I wanted, I would flee from our bargain?"

      --

      "I find it hard to question the honor," she replied cautiously, "of a man who would go through such great lengths to save the life of his friend."

* * *

      Hours later, she found him inside the barn, petting his horse as it rested against one of the aging stalls.

      "Is it ready?" Legolas asked, turning towards her as his hands absently caressed the mane of his horse.

      She offered him a sheathed dagger.  It was still warm to the touch, newly crafted.  "There will be a full moon in four days," she said, "I am not a master of this magic, I've not had a chance to practice it, but a full moon would ensure that it succeeds.  You resurrect him on a full moon, and there will be no doubt.  He is resurrected as if he was never ill.  He will be strong and at his best form."

      Legolas removed the dagger from the sheath.  The gleaming blade was tinged with red, making the silver an impure marble.  He glanced at her curiously.

      "My blood," she said, "The ritual requires the blood of the Lunaris.  The blade is made in part of my blood."

      Legolas looked down the length of her body, searching for where her wound could possibly be.  She shifted uncomfortably under his prying, intent eyes.

      "Stop it," she muttered.

      "Do you require assistance in treating your injury?" Legolas asked.

      "Don't bother," she said easily, "Do you understand what you have to do?"

      "You say I must resurrect him on the full moon," Legolas murmured, as he studied the blade, "What if he is still alive in four days?"

      "A stupid question," Jacinda said impatiently, "You kill him.  Slit his throat, wait for him to be dead, that is quick and best.  Then you use the dagger to draw blood from your arm.  Spill it onto his mouth.  Then stab the dagger into his heart.  He will return, I promise you."

      Jacinda measured him by her eyes, reading the new hesitations on his face, "A part you weren't counting on playing, I see.  Make someone else do it, or gather your nerve in four days.  Either way, do it on the full moon."

      She stepped forward, and grasped his hands and closed them upon the hilt of the dagger.  She leaned over it and murmured some chants and prayers.  After a moment, she pulled away from him.

      "It will do what it was made to do," she said airily, "As long as you do what you have to do."

* * *

      Gather my nerve in four days.

      Jacinda of the Lunaris had seemed perfectly ruthless enough to be able to do what it was she had suggested, but Legolas, for all of his skills and years of wisdom, still found his heart beating frantically.

      He had returned to Gondor in good time, told Gandalf nothing of this plan, for it felt less real as the moments neared the full moon.  He had avoided the prying eyes of the wizard and pleaded exhaustion from his long journey.  But Gandalf had looked at him as if he saw through, though the wizard held his ground and let him have the time he needed. 

      Legolas quietly shut the door to Aragorn's room behind him.  Arwen was there, seated on the bedside of her dying husband.  His ragged breathing broke the silence of the room, shattered the tranquility of the night.

      Arwen looked up at Legolas, watched carefully as he approached them.

      "Gandalf says," said Arwen, "You may have found a way to save him.  And yet you speak of nothing.  What is this hope? Dare I cling to it?"

      Legolas nodded at Aragorn, "He always seemed to hold fast even to the most desperate pieces of it.  Perhaps you too, could."

      Arwen averted her eyes from him, looked upon her husband and touched his brow.  "He trusts you explicitly."

      "And you?" Legolas asked, searching her face, "I could not do this if I did not have your trust, Evenstar."

      She stared at him for a moment, before she gathered her skirts and rose to leave the room.

      "Arwen?" he called softly.

      She stopped beside him, laid a hand upon his shoulder.  "You shouldn't have wondered."
      Legolas watched her leave, not only the room, but he knew she has left him to his own devices.  She closed the door behind her.  And the soft click of it signaled the beginning of his task.

      He looked out the window, and the full moon shone through it in all of its mighty splendor.

      Legolas drew the dagger from his tunic, and let the moonlight kiss the blade. 

      Lend me strength, he begged.

      Before he thought twice, he clamped his left hand over Aragorn's mouth, and the ailing King's eyes shot open, suddenly awake.

      "Forgive me," Legolas whispered, looking at those eyes, who even now, trusted him with such depth that they looked relieved upon the sight of him.

      Legolas used his other hand to run the dagger across Aragorn's neck, and watched as the blood welled out of the gaping wound, and pooled around the two of them.

      Legolas's eyes watered in fear and grief, though he struggled to keep hold of himself, as he watched the blood leave Aragorn's frail body, and the life slowly vanish from his eyes.

      He removed his left hand from Aragorn's mouth, now open from his struggle to live.  Legolas laid his hand over the King's heart, waiting for it to still.

      When the beating had at last quieted, Legolas took the dagger and ran it across his forearm, immediately drawing blood.  He let it drip down onto the King's mouth, and curiously his tears joined the red drops.

      I give you my life, he thought to his friend, for what is life itself but this blood and these tears.  Live, Aragorn.  I beg of you.

      Legolas drew his arm away, and cradled it next to his chest.  It throbbed with the pain of the cut, beat in time with his furious heart.  He took the dagger with his good arm, and held it high over his head.

      "NO!"

      He had heard Gandalf as the wizard rushed into the room, but his hand sailed down to the King's heart, and the dagger embedded itself upon it.

      For a moment, there was a brute, unforgiving silence, and he suddenly feared that he may have murdered the King, instead of saved him.

      Gandalf grabbed him by the shoulders forcefully, "What have you done, you foolish elf?" he demanded.

      But Legolas's eyes would not leave Aragorn, even to face the wrath of the wizard. 

      Live, he urged Aragorn, Live

      He watched in awe as suddenly, the blood that had pooled around Aragorn turned black, and darker as it was kissed by the light of the moon.  Blacker and blacker did it turn, and it moved of its own, swirling and drying as it vanished into dust, stirred by the wind.

      Gandalf watched Legolas's stunned face, and hurriedly turned to see the black magic at its work.

      Legolas suddenly felt glowingly warm, and he raised his hands to his face, watching as they, and his entire body, started to emit strands of sparkling light, his life force leaving his body.

      His eyes followed the glowing strands, his glowing strands, as they flowed from him and surged towards the hilt of the dagger, his life force pouring into Aragorn's broken body.

      Legolas felt as if he was burning, and he felt more of his strength leave his body.  Releasing a low groan that seemed to have come from the very core of his soul, he watched as more of the glowing strands left his mouth, streamed towards the dagger.

      His knees fell beneath him, and he barely felt a rightfully-stunned Gandalf catch him, and cradle him as his life left his body.

      Didn't she say I wouldn't die?, he wondered inanely.

      His vision blurred, and he struggled to stay conscious.  Legolas could not close his eyes, no, not until he was certain that Aragorn was alive and well.

      At last, he watched as his life force shattered the dagger into brilliant, sparkling dust, and Aragorn's wounds close, and heal.  The color started to return to his skin, and he inhaled deeply.

      Thank you, Legolas thought, as his eyes slid close.

* * *

      "Foolish, foolish elf…"

      He came to, with Gandalf's mutterings playing about his ears.  He gasped awake, and felt the wizard's assuring arms circle around him.

      "Legolas…" Gandalf said, as if he were on the verge of a scold.  But he bit his tongue, and let the elf gather his wits about him.

      "Aragorn," Legolas murmured, fighting to sit up.

      "Calm down," snapped Gandalf, "he is well.  He just sleeps.  He will awaken by the morn, thanks to your foolishness.  Regain your strength.  Catch a breath."

      I live, Legolas thought, feeling the air in his chest.  The air had never tasted as sweet as this.

      "Do you know what this means?" Gandalf asked him quietly, all anger leaving his gruff voice, "Do you know what you have done to yourself?"

      "Yes," said Legolas, his eyes drifting towards Aragorn's sleeping, restfully breathing body, Arwen was sitting beside him, looking at her husband lovingly, "And I do not regret at all."

      "You are no longer an elf," said Gandalf, "you will find the ground harder, the nights colder, the winds harsher.  You will not see, or hear as you used to—"

      "I know, Mithrandir," said Legolas slowly, rising cautiously to his feet under the watchful eye of Gandalf, "I know."

      He blinked, for it was as if a sudden haze has been put over his eyes.  He felt half-blind, half-deaf. 

      So this is how a mortal man lives

      "You will die," Gandalf said gravely, "You will not enter the Undying Lands, for not only are you no longer an elf, you are not even an elf-friend, you are practically an exile, after this black art."

      "I know," said Legolas softly, looking at Aragorn, "I've known the costs.  They rest well with me, Gandalf."

      Arwen looked up at Legolas gratefully, tears welling in her eyes.  She took his hands and kissed them, her throat too constricted for words.

      "I must leave," Legolas said quietly, pulling away from her.

      "Would you not see him rise?" Arwen asked.

      "He is well, I am certain of it," Legolas said, "Now I must redeem my word to the Lunaris, who made this all possible.  Do not speak to Aragorn of this.  I would rather he not know."

      "But—" Arwen argued.

      "Please," Legolas insisted, "this is all I ask.  I do not wish for him to regret for me."

      Arwen hesitated, then nodded.  Gandalf grudgingly promised the same.  Legolas accepted this and strode towards the door, feeling their eyes boring into his retreating back.  He knew at that moment that he could no longer return to them.  Aragorn would not be able to live with himself, and Legolas wanted the King to make the best use of the life he had been given.  For Gondor.  For Middle-Earth. 

      "Wait," Arwen said softly, walking towards him.  With her deft hands, she undid the braids that held his streaming, golden hair away from his face, letting them frame it instead.

      "Shorter ears," she said softly, by way of explanation, using his hair to cover his no-longer pointed ears.

     

      Shorter years, he thought, but just smiled at her and nodded his thanks.

      "Goodbye," he said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

To be continued…

PREVIEW:

            Chapter 4 ends Part 1 of "Estel," which is the story following Legolas's quest.  Part 2 of "Estel" will have several chapters as well, and will be following Aragorn's discovery of what his life had cost one of his dearest friends.

            Chapter 1 of Part 2 is called "Strangers," and the story continues six years after "Costs", and Aragorn sees Legolas again for the first time.  This is one of the scenes from "Strangers."

      Aragorn suddenly found himself staring down the length of a bow and arrow.  He heard his three men unsheathe their swords to protect their King by instinct.

      "Desist!" Aragorn commanded his men, and though the threat still existed, the three men did as their King bid.  They cautiously sheathed their swords, and looked warily upon this young boy with his bow and arrow.

      It wasn't the threat to his life that sent Aragorn's heart racing.  It was this young boy, who could not be more than six or seven years of age, with his streaming golden hair, his intensely focused eyes, his sure, un-shaking hands wielding what looked to be an intricate Elvish bow…

      "Legolas," Aragorn whispered, even as he thought that it could not be possible.  This boy, this… Mattheas, was the splitting image of his dear friend, the elf whom he had not seen in years.

      The boy flinched, as if he recognized the name.  But he held his ground, and refused to lower his defenses.  "State your business and leave us in peace," he said, regal and arrogant.  He had the composure and looks of an elf, but his ears were short, like a man's.  And he was so young…

      "I am Elessar," said Aragorn, "My men and I have come from a mission, and we seek your permission to use your stables, as shelter until the storm passes."

      "You are the King," Mattheas said in awe, lowering his weapon, "I apologize, sire.  But 'tis not my permission to give.  We are awaiting the return of our father."

      "Of course," Aragorn nodded, "I should like to meet him as well."

      Would it be you, Legolas?, he wondered.