Magic And Banishment

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"Thranduil." You say. It had been a good hundred years since you had last seen him, and there he was, in front of an army.
"Y/N." He breathes, turning to you, the word catching in his throat. "It's been so long. I thought... I thought you would have died."
"It looks like this curse is kinder than it had seemed."
"You still have it?"
"Of course."
"So you're still dangerous." He sighs.
"Oh yes. Very. Wasn't I always?"
Before you'd been banished, you had been on the receiving end of a rather unusual curse. It meant that you had uncontrollable powers that were more than likely to be the cause of the deaths of everyone around you. The curse meant that you would have to live with that guilt, which often proved more effective than other more common curses.
As a safety measure, you'd been banished.
"What is this?!" Shouts the dragon-sick dwarf who stands upon the battlements of Erebor. "A bad romance novel? Just start the attack already!"
You laugh and the flag above the dwarf's head bursts into flame.
"Very dangerous, I can see."
"Did you miss me?" You ask, edging closer to Thranduil.
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
"No." Another step closer.
He smiles, and you relax a little more. That was the more positive of his two possible reactions- the other, of course, being a blade through the throat.
"Am I still in danger?"
"Oh yes. Very much so."
"Good."
And then the attack from the orcs begins at the worst of times.
"So, what? You're just going to stand here? You're not going to do anything?"
"No. I'm risking the lives of my soldiers enough by just talking to you."
"Fine by me, then. Let me know when you regret it." And with that, you run to join the battle.
With an army of Elves at your heels, it would seem.
You lock eyes with Thranduil and smirk.

Not so long as it might have seemed later, you spy the obvious leader of the Orc army, a pale guy with a club for an arm, and decide it's time you taught him what it was to fear.
And, as may have been predicted, an old boyfriend of yours decides to join you.
But it seems you should have arrived sooner. As you rush out onto the ice with Thranduil at your heels, you see the blond dwarven prince fall from the tower, dead.
One down, two to go.
And of course you accidentally set the wooden structure alight. Accidentally, of course.
Okay, maybe it wasn't truly accidental, but even so, the Orcs knew they were screwed.
"Kill the She-Elf!" Orders the pale Orc in the black toungue. It wasn't hard to tell it was you who set the tower alight, given the embers still cooling on your fingertips.
There was panic in his tone, and you smile.
If it was a fight he wanted, a fight he would get.
Strong as a valkyrie warrior and twice as fast, orcs soon lie dead around you.
Then you hear the strangled breathing of Fili, the blond prince.
So maybe he wasn't dead. Yet.
And so you run to his side.
"Y/N!" Thranduil runs to join you. "He's alive?"
"Yes."
"But dying. There's nothing you can do."
"But I think- I think there might be."
"What?"
"I think this curse- it might have given me- other powers. I know it's not much, but I've managed to heal some minor wounds on myself previously."
"Will it be safe?"
"No. It almost hurts more to use the magic than to stand the wound." You stand. "But it's the only chance of the line of Durin enduring. It's worth a try."
He cups your face in his hands. "Are you sure about this?"
"No."
He leans in and kisses you gently.
"Good luck." He says.
You kneel down, and begin.
As you do so, a searing pain erupts from your fingertips, travelling up your arms and through your chest. Whilst you're healing Fili you have to keep reminding yourself to keep going.
But, somehow, you manage it.
Of course, you didn't know that at the time.

You awoke in a healer's room a day later with Thranduil at your side.
After he describes the rest of the events to you, you ask if you were successful. And you were.
Over time you discover that your curse was over. You no longer had any magical ability, but you were fine with that. You had just saved the line of Durin. And you had the love of your life, Thranduil.

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