(Side note, his little friend, is JUST A FRIEND. NOTHING MORE. Ok, just wanted to clarify.)

It has been weeks since Legolas popped out of the misty mountain snow, seemingly unaffected.
It’s now that he suspects that his more… human side has caught up with him.
He isn’t quite sure exactly WHEN he started feeling miserable. Was it two, or maybe three days ago?
This matters not, because the truth of the matter is, he feels miserable NOW.
Aragorn had been the first to suspect that something was not quite right, though the elf had been far too stubborn to admit anything.
The second person to notice, was none other than Eristiel, the elven healer’s fourteen year old daughter. Eristiel is one of his younger companions, but a companion nonetheless.
He must admit, that even for a youth, she is fantastic.
With long copper ringlets, porcelain skin, and sea green eyes, she is a marvelous creature.
True, at times she can be awfully stubborn, hot-headed, and absolutely horrible with a bow and blade.
But she can also be kind, funny, and a skilled healer.
Today however, she has decided to be stubborn and hot headed, insisting viciously that human illnesses are nothing to be meddled with.
The only reasonable thing to do at the moment seems to be turning around, and walking away. He will blatantly REFUSE to be brought down by this… frail HUMAN illness. He will not be taken care of by a mere child! Him? In need of… cosseting? Ha! Certainly not!

“Legolas…” Eristiel starts, following after him like a starving dog.

Legolas grits his teeth, and continues to walk at a clipped pace.

“Legolas, wait–”

“Enough!” He cuts her off, whirling toward her angrily. His patience is withering, calm composure gone.

“I am fine!” He snaps. “I am not in need of your coddling! I am an elfin prince! And I refuse to be brought down by something as insignificant as a human-”
He pauses for a moment as his breath hitches, and his perfect features go slack.

“A human… Ha-ISH!” The sneeze is quiet, polite, and dry, but still bends the elf at the waist, both hands steepled over his nose and mouth.
“Illness.” He finishes with a small sniff, a deep blush staining his pale cheeks.

“Dumo dos lle” Eristiel offers, elven blessing rolling off her tongue.

A sudden idea pangs in her brain. She reaches into her pocket, grinning when she feels the lace. Out of her pocket, comes a dainty linen handkerchief. She pinches one corner between her thumb and forefinger holding it out to Legolas causally.

“I’d suggest you take it,” Eristiel smirks. “You need it more than I do.”

Legolas flushes again, as he accepts the cloth. “Thank you.”

Eristiel smiles at him. “You are welcome, mellon,” she says as she walks away, copper curls dancing in the breeze.
Legolas sighs and inspects his gift. The handkerchief is beautiful, really. It’s lacy, monogrammed in elfish, and a lovely pure white. ‘Oh well,’ he thinks as he softly blows his nose. He grimaces afterward, making a mental note to burn the contents of the cloth when he feels up to it. Disgusting. Human illnesses truly are nothing to be meddled with.

THE END!

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