Hidderknerkness

A/N: Am bored. Will write another chapter.
A/N2: I believe that Legolas is much younger than what Orlando says (2,931) so I made him just over 500. He is an adult in my fic, but a young adult.
A/N3: I had a strong sense of deja-vu while writing this. Don’t know why.
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Legolas watched tiredly as Gimli installed yet another dead-bolt lock on the door. “Tell me again why I need four locks on my door,” he said, snuggling into his pillow. He didn’t really care at this point; he felt tired, sick, and cold and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. But Gimli was making so much noise.

Gimli glanced towards Legolas, momentarily halting his work. “Like I said; you can never have too many locks,” he said, testing the newest lock before putting away his tools and walking over to the bed. He felt slightly guilty when he saw exactly how tired his friend was; Legolas could barely keep his eyes open.

He frowned, staring down at the exhausted elf. ‘I really shouldn’t have dragged him halfway across the palace,’ he thought, smoothing Legolas’ hair away from his face.

Legolas sighed; Gimli seemed to have a calming effect on him recently. He reached up and weakly grabbed Gimli’s wrist, tugging gently. “Tired.”

Gimli stared at him, confused. ‘Of course he’s tired. What- Oh.’ Gimli smiled, remembering last night, and settled in the bed next to Legolas, hugging him close.

Legolas smiled, snuggling against the dwarf. He new he really shouldn’t be doing this, inviting his best friend to his bed. It wasn’t like they were doing anything. No matter how much he wanted to.

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A few days later

“Come in,” Aragorn said, looking up from his papers as he waited for whoever had knocked to enter. He had neglected his paperwork during the last few days, being worried about Legolas’ safety, and now had to rush to complete some documents. Some times, he really hated being king.

“My lord,” a guard said as he entered the king’s study. “You’re needed in Prince Legolas’ room.”

Aragorn frowned, concerned. “Is something wrong?” he asked, standing from his chair and walking towards the door.

The Guard nodded. “Lord Gimli said that Prince Legolas was ill.”

Aragorn paused just as he reached the still open door. Ill? Elves only got ill if they were wounded or… or if they were poisoned.

Aragorn cursed and raced down the hall.

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Gimli looked up from tending to Legolas as someone pounded on the door. “Aragorn? Is that you?” he asked, setting down the damp washcloth he had been using on Legolas’ face.

“Gimli, let me in,” Aragorn said, his voice muffled.

Gimli quickly walked across the room and unlocked the door. “Legolas has a fever, Aragorn. I thought elves didn’t get sick!” he exclaimed, returning to the bed where Legolas was sleeping.

“They don’t usually,” Aragorn said, placing his hand on Legolas’ forehead, frowning when he felt the heat radiating from his friend. “Besides the fever, did you notice any other symptoms?” he asked.

Gimli nodded. “He kept shivering earlier and he looked a bit nauseas.”

Aragorn frowned, running his hands down Legolas’ body, looking for anything that would explain his illness. “Is he asleep or unconscious?”

“Asleep,” Gimli answered. “He was extremely restless last night. Didn’t sleep at all.”

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow when he heard that Gimli had stayed with Legolas last night, but didn’t comment on it. He frowned, noticing something extremely odd when he ran his hands over Legolas’ belly. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting up the elf’s shirt.

He paled at what he saw, suddenly remembering something else that could make an elf sick. “By the Valar,” he breathed, staring at Legolas’ slightly swollen belly.