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The Returned	By : Liliana Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 8590 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: All LOTR characters, settings and elvish used in this story belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien and whoever else holds the rightful copyrights. Only the characters marked as OC ( original character ) belong to me. NO profit is being made by this author, who only writes out of sheer love for the magical world created by the esteemed professor's genius.
Story: " The Returned"
Author: Thalionwen
Website: http://www.thalionwen.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Surprise...
Warnings: M/M; Angst ( thought this is not really a dark fic ); Graphic sexual scenes in later chapters; occassional bouts of dry wit.
Summary: One, long assumed lost, returns at last to the realm of Imladris...changed.
CHAPTER 1:
Fear...
It was a strange thumping within his chest, the feel of it recalling the pounding rythm of the drums that had so often caused a disquieting vibration against the walls of his cocoon. It made his eyes dart frantically around the hellish landscape now before him, as he instinctively sought a way out. It kept him running over the hard, jagged rocks cutting into the soles of his feet and against the howling wind lacerating his newborn skin.
Fear...
Because soon, they would see he had gone. Then, they would come. And though he did not really understand why, he knew that he must never let them find him...
~~~~~~~~~~
He had been dreaming of water, cool and clear, unlike the foul viscousness that surrounded him. He often dreamed of water. Although sometimes, he dreamed of songs. Songs that carried in their haunting melodies a scent of something he though he used to love.
But it was the soothing image of those sparkling drops that, at the time, were distracting him from the constant itch and sudden agonies of his changing body. And he had just reached the point in his dream where his tongue was about to taste of this liquid wonder, when the fight broke out.
He growled and shifted within the confines of his cocoon, as the noise awoke him rudely back to where he did not want to be. His eyes opened to see the murky image of two of the ' others' engaging in violent combat and though this was not a new sight, for the ' others' were always fighting among themselves, it was the first time they had brought their quarrels down into the pit that held him. He growled again, as their obvious fury sparked an answering response from the parts of him that were now close to the final change. Yet the larger portion of his being cringed, and he tried to make himself smaller inside the dubious safety of the membrane that encased him, in hopes that they would just go away and leave him be.
But they did not. Instead, the jerking movements of their fight brought them closer and closer, as they swung their ill-forged daggers at one another. Then, one of them tripped. The misshapen body landing hard beside the half-concealed cocoon, one shoulder impacting against it with force enough to jar the gelatinous liquid within.
With surprising speed, the fallen one rolled back to his feet, bringing his dagger up from beneath him in a wide arc that managed to fend the other one off.
A moment later, the combatants froze. Their faces became two mirrors of equal fear, as they heard the loud curses of the approaching overseer. The fight was instantly forgotten and both hurried to scramble out of the pit, for they knew that it would not go well for them if they were found in that forbidden area.
So intent were the two in avoiding punishment that neither noticed the small, ragged tear the fallen one's blade had cut on the membraned skin of the egg-shaped pod behind them...
~~~~~~~~~~
He had seen the indistinct form of the ' other' loom larger as it fell and he curled even further into himself, his eyes screwing shut as the viscousness inside his cocoon sloshed around, nauseatingly, from the impact. It took some time before the foul liquid resettled and when he finally opened his eyes once more, he found that all of the ' others' had gone.
It was then that he noticed a strange shift in the murky substance, as if a current was pulling at the fluid, from somewhere below his folded-up knees. He tensed, uneased by this new sensation. The pulling seemed to gain momentum and his unease, likewise, escalated to fear. Yet mingled with it, another feeling arose, a feeling he had all but forgotten.
Hope.
It began when he registered a slight cooling at the very top of his head, accompanied by a sense of relieved weightlessness. Slowly, the fluid drained, over the back of his skull and over his brow, until he found himself staring at the veined walls of his cocoon with eyes that for the very first time, had clear vision.
But as the viscous fluid fell past his nostrils, he knew a moment of terrible panic, when he found he could not breathe. He began to struggle, his movements inadvertently widening the tear in the membrane, which in turn accelerated the rate of drainage ten-fold until suddently, his hands were able to claw at the collapsing walls of the womb that had so long held him and his mouth, at last, gulped in those needed breaths from the fetid air.
He was born.
He was free...
His legs were only sligtly unsteady as he rose up from the ground, despite having spent such a long time folded up within the tight confines of the cocoon. Only an instant later, he stood tall upon his feet. The remnants of the membrane stuck to his powerful frame, like some grotesque spider-web, while the viscous liquid dripped from his muscled chest, running in rivulets over his corded stomach, before trailing down his hard-packed thighs.
Had his maker been there to witness the undeniable impessiveness of his sculpted physique, he would have immediately been killed. For that evil one would have felt only outrage at the obvious flaws still present in this prematurely-birthed creation.
The skin, that underneath the layer of filth, was smooth and colored a deep, golden-brown. The large hands and feet that did not end in sharp claws, but normal fingernails. The hair, that though plastered behind his sharply-pointed ears and down his back, was not coarse, but showed the promise of falling in a luxurious dark mantle. And the head itself...
No bulbous skull protruding behind, no hideous ridges in front...no. Instead, the skull was well-shaped and though the forehead was prominent, it was also noble in countenace, with dark eyebrows that ran in two straight lines of pleasing thickness, framed by cheekbones that stood high and sharp, before hollowing down to a strong jaw that tapered to a subtly-squared chin.
The central features of his face, while not delicate by any means, were also pleasing to behold. His mouth, full and generous, did not frame crooked and discolored fangs, for his teeth were white and straight. Likewise, his nose was not a misshapen thing of horror, though it did lay somewhat flattened, with nostrils that flared in a slight arc. If there was any part of his appearance that recalled the monstrous design originally intended, it was his eyes. They shone an eerie yellow beneath his dark lashes and were, indeed, the untamed eyes of a beast...feral.
As those eyes now surveyed the muddied waste that was his birthing-pit, they narrowed as a part of him surged with the instinctive fury and desire to...
{ Kill!. }
But in the next instant, the larger part of him once again overrode his first savage impulse and the next thought that came to his mind, was one fraught with terrified urgency.
{ Run!!. }
And he did.
His flight became one powered by a new instinct, the instinct to survive. He climbed out of the pit and flattened himself against the rocky walls of the cavern. He could hear the sounds of the ' others', who were all gathered in some important meeting at one far end, and so he moved silently in the opposite direction, until he came to the entrance of one of the adjacent tunnels. His nostrils detected some subtle change in the way the air smelled down it's dark path, a change that he somehow understood meant that this was the way out. And so, after casting one last look back at he foulness that had sprung him forth, he passed under the rough archway and into the unknown...
~~~~~~~~~~
The journey through the long tunnel had been harrowing. Three times, he had come upon small bands of the ' others' and each time, he had let his foremost instinct take over, killing them all with atonishing speed and ferocity. Until, at last, he had exited the caverns to take his first look at the vast, tortured wasteland that was his maker's realm. His new-born heart had almost failed him then, but the deeper force of his fear propelled him forward. His fear...and the powerful image from his dreams.
An image of a place, where the water...falls...
TBC...
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The Returned