An Eldar's Influenza
Summary Legolas is ill, and spends his recuperation reminiscing – wait, that's not right! The Firstborn don't get sick. Aragorn is confused.
"Legolas?"
My friend turned his head towards me and glared, pulling his cloak closer to his body. "Yeth?" He asked, a trace of haughtiness in his voice.
"What ails you?" I asked incredulously, rubbing my neck and trying to hide my astonishment. Legolas held his head up regally and sniffed, though this was a bad plan as all he did was inhale phlegm which caused him to cough and splutter for a few moments.
"I 'ave a cold." He told me indignantly, trying valiantly to ignore his runny nose.
"A cold?" I asked, stunned and unable to keep my confusion from my voice. Legolas glared at me, his watering eyes narrowed.
"Yeth, a cold. I would think that ath a mortal you would recognise the symptoms!" Legolas readjusted the cloak around him, and I noticed that my friend shivered beneath it.
"I have suffered many a cold, Legolas, as well you know. Often you have laughed at my weakness whilst I shivered and coughed." I pointed out to him coolly, wincing in disgust as Legolas blew his nose.
"Well, it theems now it is your turn to mock me." Legolas told me, discouraged.
"But you cannot have a cold. You are Eldar." I pointed out, and was rewarded with a roll of the eyes.
"It ith good to know that the King of Men can recognise an Elf when he thees one."
I ignored Legolas and continued on. "The Eldar do not suffer from illnesses or infections."
"To the point, 'ragorn."
"Therefor, you cannot be suffering from a cold." I told my friend, exasperated at his bedridden manner.
"Tho what do you propose ith wrong with me?" Legolas snapped, blowing his nose once more. I frowned and bent down next to Legolas' chair, spending a few moments determining his symptoms. High fever, running nose, sore throat, headache, chills and weakness of limbs, along with a terrible cough and watery eyes. My prognosis was clear.
"You have influenza." I proclaimed, and Legolas arched a brow.
"Is that not jutht an advanced form of a cold?" He asked, somewhat irritable.
I paused for a few moments, then sighed. "In it's simplest form, yes."
"I told you tho." He huffed.
I frowned, this wasn't right. Never before had the Firstborn suffered from illness, a fact that Legolas himself constantly reminded me. True, they did succumb to poisons, and this lead me to believe that me friend had been poisoned. But by whom?
I began to pace. Who would poison the son of Thranduil? Before the defeat of Sauron I could place the blame on our enemies doorstep, but our foes had been vanquished three-score years ago. Perhaps it was accidental, off meat placed on his plate last night. But then why weren't more sick, we had all partaken of the same game. Perhaps my brother's had played some mischief against my friend-
"I have not been poisoned Aragorn." Legolas' slightly muffled voice come to me, and I turned to see him wrapped up in many blankets like a child. "I have a cold."
"Btu you can't have a cold-"
"I know that, and you know that." Legolas said calmly. "However, The Author doesn't know that." He said simply, throwing a glare towards the sky.
I blinked. "Pardon?"
"The Author failed to do her research before writing this particular tale, and she decided it would be terribly dramatic if I were to ponder my friendship with you whilst I was blanket-ridden. So she gave me a cold."
"Oh."
A pause that lasted far too long for my liking took over the room. Soon I became curious.
"No, Aragorn, I am not pondering our close friendship."
I huffed, annoying Elves and their ability to know everything. "Then what are you thinking?" I asked, taking a deep breath and making sure Legolas could hear me do so.
"When my body is getting all this phlegm from." He replied curiously, quickly grabbing another piece of cloth to blow into. I winced at the charming sound, remembering all the times my friend had pulled the same face when I was ill. With a small chuckle I set about making my friend more comfortable, insisting he lie down while I boiled some water.
"Legolas, do you remember when-" I began, but a muffled cry stopped me.
"Please Aragorn, for my sake do not let me reminisce. It's hard enough having this illness without giving The Author the satisfaction of having me reflect as well." Legolas begged, and feeling a small amount of sympathy for my friend I nodded, trying to think of ways to distract him. A wicked smile lit up my face, and I immediately walked over to the closet.
"Aragorn, what are you doing?" Legolas asked, his voice clear and warning.
I paused. "You are speaking clearly again." I pointed out to Legolas, who merely shrugged.
"Do you know how few mortals actually speak with a speech impediment when they have a cold? The Author must have decided it was too hard to understand me."
"True." I replied and continued to search the closet.
"You didn't answer my question, Aragorn." Legolas warned, trying to sit up under the massive pile of blankets.
"Aha!" I yelled in triumph as I pulled my ukulele from the closet, holding it aloft for Legolas to see. My friend's eyes widened to the size of saucers.
"You wouldn't!" He gasped, shrinking away from me. A malicious grin split across my face.
"I merely want to play you a tune, mellon nin." I smirked as watery eyes narrowed.
"Aragorn, it is childish to take out revenge on me." He warned, and I walked closer and sat on his bed.
"Indeed no, for it is not revenge I seek! I simply want to soothe your troubled soul. Pray, how did the song go that you performed when I was ill? Oh yes, I remember. Let me tweak it a bit…
There once was an Elf who was sick,
He wished that he could give his cold the flick.
He had a runny nose,
And he couldn't feel his toes
There once was an Elf who was sick!
Oooh oooooooooooh!
It's bad luck to be you,
You have a raging fever
It's the flu!
You look like death warmed up,
And your nose is filled with muck,
Oh it's bad luck to be you!"
I finished my song on a disgustingly low note, making sure it was at least three tones down from my ukulele. As I finished, I heard a feeble groan from the pile of blankets and my smirk widened.
"That, Aragorn, was terrible."
"That was the intent. Do you not feel better?"
"Honestly? No."
"Remember that in the future!" I admonished him, tuning my ukulele fondly when a figure poked his head through the door.
"Atar?"
I turned my gaze to my son, Eldarion, and beckoned him in.
"Atar, I have been… Lord Legolas, I beg your pardon. What ails thee?"
"Influenza." Legolas told my son, rubbing his temples. Eldarion raised a brow.
"Eldar cannot-"
"A lapse in research." I informed my son, who frowned and nodded. "Why did you come here, my son?" I asked, and Eldarion snapped to attention.
"Amil is hungry, and she asks that you send to Rivendell for some pistachio -flavoured lembas."
I groaned and hung my head. Last time I sent out for her special lembas, it had arrived after my child was born. My head perked up.
"What about the lembas we ordered before your sister was born?"
Eldarion shook his head. "We have searched the kitchens and it is not to be found." He told me sympathetically. As I swore in frustration, I noticed that Legolas hid his face and tried to curl himself up tighter. My son had only lived in the world for score and eight years and he did not know the Prince of Mirkwood as well as I, so he did not notice Legolas' behaviour. I did.
"Legolas, you wouldn't know what became of my wife's store of pistachio-flavoured lembas, would you?" I asked, giving my voice a steely ring to it. He shrunk further away from me.
"IwashungryandcuriousandIdidn'tknowitwaseherlembasIswearonmybowsgrave!"
I took a deep breath. A very deep breath. "You ate Arwen's lembas?" I asked, my voice cold. A squeak from beneath the cover's confirmed my fear. I lowered my head so that my mouth was close to the blanket.
"Be very thankful you are ill, Prince, or I would make you tell Arwen what happened to her lembas." I stormed out of the room, pausing only to throw a container of Vick's Vapour Rub at Legolas' head.
"Um, Atar…"
"Plot hole."
Later...
"I hear you are still ill."
I groaned and gazed blearily at the figure that stood at the end of my bed. "No thanks to you." I muttered, trying to maintain some dignity.
"Do not dismay, my friend, for I have come to bring you cheer."
I gazed in horror at he produced a ukulele from behind his back. "You wouldn't! Surely, Legolas, you learned your lesson!" I gasped.
Legolas gave me a malicious smirk and his clear grey eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, but I am merely doing this for your benefit. Ready, Aragorn?"
I hid my head under my pillow to try and block out the noise, but to no avail. I could still hear Legolas belting out his merry, and off-key, tune
"There once was an King who was sick,
He screamed to get the doctors double-quick.
He had a throbbing head,
And he couldn't leave his bed
There once was an King who was sick!
Oooh oooooooooooh!
It's bad luck to be you,
You have a dripping nose
Yes it's true!
You look like death warmed up,
And your chest is filled with muck,
Oh it's bad luck to be you!"
The Moral to this Tale:
Always do your research before writing a fanfiction
OR
Never eat a pregnant Elf's pistachio-flavoured lembas
Atar: Father (In Quenya. Though it isn't commonly used, I thought that as King, Aragorn would use Quenya due to it's royal connotations.)
Amil: Mother (Also Quenya)
A/N: Hey guys! Back from my holiday, so updates will be coming soon. This particular tale is dedicated to Earelwen, who has been a wonderful reviewer! Thanks hon! It is also dedicated to the dozen Author's who have written a serious'Elf get's sick' story. Thank you!
Please review, thank you!