Sweetish Bloom

By Windy McDohl

Disclaimer: All these cute little people belong to the Great Sir Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien. I'd like them dearly, but, well, sigh… I can't have them. I only can write weird stories on them. Please sit back and relax!

Warning: SLAAAAASH. Please be careful. And, oh, yes, if I've made any mistake in the storyline, I'm sorry. I've not very well-versed with this… (^^;)

Note: I've noticed (and enjoyed) plenty of Isildur/Elrond fictions. Most of them are wonderfully full of angst, but I've never come across any sweet stuff featuring the two. I like sweet stuff. But I'm also adding angst. Well, heh, heh. XD I'm evil. Know that… (^^;)

__________________________

"… The rose hangs not fresher and lovelier on its stem than she; the apple blossom that the wind threatens every moment to tear from its branch is not more fragile and trembling. Listen to the rustling of her rich, silken robe! Listen to her half-whispered words, 'He comes not!'"

 - The convolvulus, as in 'The Snow Queen', by Hans Christian Anderson

__________________________

The blossoms of early summer had already begun to unfold in the hour of glorious sunshine. The fresh hips of roses, all flourishing in the sun; they scented the air with their exquisite fragrance and made most of the elfish hearts leap with joy at their budding. The army marched on joyfully, glad that there was still beauty in the war-torn land.

They were nearing the elvish fort of Imladris, constructed deep in the dell of two mountains, with a murmuring stream of water and gushing falls to surround it. It was a beautiful valley indeed – one of the newfound strongholds of the Moriquendi, a refuge from the storm that was brewing all over Middle-Earth… War.

Isildur, the son of Elendil the Tall, was more than charmed to see such beauty in the midst of warfare. He had really admired the skills of the elves, though he had often but laughed it off with his fellow companions. In fact, he had fallen in love with the valley the moment he had caught sight and scent of it.

It was here where the men were nursed back to health, and restored to their lost vigor, for the herald of Gil-Galad, who was also the ruler if Imladris, was reputed to be the finest healer in the realm. He was rumored to be tireless and very powerful, as well as being very much a ravishing beauty.

It was the latter part that Isildur was curious about. He had heard that the healer was a male, and yet, could he still be a 'beauty'? His men must have had flowers stuck to their eyes or were blinded by orc-poison in their battle. He grinned and shook his head. He would have to see it for himself.

Carefully, Isildur picked up a sharp hunting knife and wiped the blade clean with a silk cloth. He did not want to risk any infection when he hurt himself. Then, without hesitating, he cut his left arm wide open and squeezed some blood out. Isildur gritted his teeth at the painful sensation, but he steeled himself and got up to fetch a bandage. They were just across the river, and soon they would reach the fort. His wounds would not have fully recovered then.

It was evening in the valley. The sun had begun to set, and many elvish fires were started beneath the trees. Isildur and the high-ranking generals of the armies were requested to enter the House. There they would enjoy food and lodging, and they could discuss the battle plans. Below, the men gathered to chat and crack jokes beside the fires.

Isildur was prepared. Like he had expected, his cut had not fully healed yet. He beckoned to a flaxen haired elf, and grinned at him sheepishly.

"I would like to see the Lord of Imladris,' he said. The elf blinked.

"Lord Elrond? Why?"

Isildur sighed and lifted his injured arm for the elf to see. "I was careless," he hung his head dejectedly; "And I do not want to engage in any battle one-arm weak. Please allow me to meet Lord Elrond. I'm sure that he could help me."

"I'm a healer," the elf broke into a smile. "I might be able to help."

"No, no…" Isildur flapped his arms. "I want to see your Lord. I MUST see him! It's URGENT! I'm growing insane with orc poison in my body! BLAAAAARGH!"

The elf squealed and dashed to seek his lord. "Stay here," he called before disappearing. "Make yourself comfortable, and don't think of anything mad! He will be attending to you very shortly!"

Isildur wanted to laugh out loud at his accomplishment. He had tricked someone nearly two times his age with such a lame excuse! What a joke! How his friends would laugh at the folly of the elves when they hear of it! And moreover, he would finally chance to meet this legendary healer whom the elves called "Lord Elrond".

About a half hour later, he heard a small tap on his room door. Hurriedly Isildur jumped into the bed and wrapped the cool linen sheets round himself, like a cocoon. He managed weakening his voice to a squeak and called for the person outside to come in.

A dark haired elf peeped in and smilingly stepped into the room. His hair was the color of midnight and his eyes were of dawn and silver. The Prince's breath caught in his throat as he regarded the strange elf with fascination. So this was the famed Lord Elrond!

"Well, and how are we this evening?" he asked kindly, in his smooth voice, patting the man's shoulder gently. "I received news from Ithilas that you were wounded by orkish poison. How do you feel? How long has it been since you were wounded?"

Isildur stared at the starry-eyed creature and took a deep breath, relishing the smell of dew and mint emanating from the raven-haired elf. He managed a half-grin and shrugged guiltily. "I was not wounded, my Lord. I… had told untruth to get to meet you."

"Meet me?" he lifted his dark brows. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I have heard stories of you and your… exquisiteness," Isildur chose his words well. "And those stories were all ruled true. You are a wonderful elf indeed." He picked the healer's hand up and brushed his lips lightly against the slender fingers. Elvish fingers had always dominated his thoughts, and he often wondered what the elves could do with it…

The sound of Elvish laughter penetrated his musings and Isildur looked up to gaze into the elf's gray eyes. Somehow Elrond seemed almost human, and more reachable, compared to the other elves. The healer smiled at him and pulled his hand away.

"I am no elf," the Elf-Lord laughed. "I am Half-Elven, nothing more, nothing less. And to say that I am exquisite would make you a liar."

"You are far more than that," Isildur grinned, his many charms coming to play. He was absolutely good in courting and gaining trust, no matter where he was or whom he was dealing with. Elrond would make no difference. "You are beyond exquisite; you are dazzling; why, the moment I saw you I thought you to be an angel from heaven, or one of the Valar, not just a Maiar!"

"Your flattery will get you anywhere," the half-elf pulled the man's arm up. "Now, let us take a look at this. This is a cut, you say? It is minor, but such things must not be taken lightly. Here, it might sting a little but – "

"OW!" Isildur yanked his arm back, in the process drawing the half-elf down on top of him. Elrond sat down, stunned, while inwardly Isildur was both savoring the moment and secretly pleased with his actions. Isildur wrapped his muscular arms round the half-elf, pressing the slender body against his mighty frame.

Elrond responded well enough. He leaned against the man's chest, breathing in the musky scent of a warrior. However, the feeling of warm lips pressing against his own reawakened him.

"No, no, this must not happen!" he pulled himself up, struggling to free himself of the Prince's arms. Hurriedly he stood up and arranging his garments, fled the scene. Isildur stared after him, and lifted a hand to stroke his lips where he had stolen a kiss from the Elf-Lord.

__________________________

The busy Elrond soon forgot the event, but it still lived on in the Prince's youthful memory. He had a wife, indeed, but the fancy of lying with a fine and elegant Elf-Lord played often in his mind. His friends encouraged him to pursue the exquisite half-elf, while his father turned a death ear and a blind eye to his son's intentions. So long as Isildur did not destroy the peace between man and elf, he was free to do as he wished.

Sadly, the half-elf heeded his pursuits not, and soon it became the Prince's obsession to claim his love.

The war was soon fought, and the consequences of enraging the wicked Sorcerer were disastrous. Elendil and Gil-Galad were slain in the process, and nearly all hope was lost. But, bravely, with the shining sword of Elendil, the ring was cut off from the Sorcerer's hand.

Isildur picked the ring up and looked at it. In this flaming ring, beyond the words wrought in flame, he saw his obsessions turn into a reality. He held the ring his palm and curled his fingers around it, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply.

"Isildur?"

Isildur looked up and smiled at Elrond Half-Elven.