Morgoth's Rebirth
Heyla, this is a fic co-written (co-authored?) by Elven king and The Mouth of Sauron. Well, between Elven king and I since I'm the one typing, even if he came up with idea for this story, and he's the one with a lot of the plot ideas. For the most part, I'm just re-phrasing (Re-wording?) his ideas. ^_^ Elven king believes this Author's Note is weird, methinks. He also believes I am weird. I am (so is he).
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The many cries of agony blended into one continuous scream, echoing through the caverns and halls that made up Melkor's fortress. The stench of blood, hot metal, and seared flesh filled the dank air. And Melkor smiled in satisfaction, for now was the time to set his new creatures on Middle-earth to do his bidding. The spells that he had cast on the Elves had started to take effect, as well as the physical torture. It would take years, hundreds of years, but in time they would be turned into his hideous creations – orcs.
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Earadan collapsed, his body convulsing in spasms, his own blood half-choking him, his eyes rolling back into his head. It's—it's gone, he thought. Valinor—at last…I'm—free… Then he knew only darkness.
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Trying not to retch, Nimdae stared in horror at the sight before him lying on the path, the mangled body of an Elf—at least, Nimdae thought it was an Elf. Acid marks, whip-lashes, burn scars… The list went ever on and on, and though Nimdae had never seen a torture-victim before, he was somehow sure he was looking at one. How anyone could have survived all that the Elf had clearly been through was beyond him, much less how someone could actually manage to escape from wherever this had happened.
Elbereth—he is still breathing, he is still alive! Nimdae suddenly realized, seeing the Elf's chest rise and fall ever so slightly. I have to get him back to Alqaulondë!
Nimdae dismounted and carefully picked up the body, swallowing the bile in the back of his throat. Then he mounted awkwardly with the near-death Elf in his embrace, and rode as fast as he could towards the Elven settlement.
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Many weeks later, Lothlomë, one of the greater healers in Alqualondë, proclaimed Earadan, the Elf the Nimdae had found, healed, though he would carry the scars—both mental and physical, but especially the former—of his ordeal forever.
"Nimdae, could you come to my quarters in a couple minutes? I want to question Earadan, and I think you should be there," Lothlomë said to the younger Elf, who quickly agreed.
And so they asked him what had happened to him, and he thus replied: "We—I was with a group—thought that the rider on horseback was Oromë," Earadan began with a voice as mutilated as his body had once been, bearing no trace of its Elven origin. "But Oromë wouldn't have captured us, or lead us in chains to fortress where he shackled us to walls. Then the pain began. You have no idea what it was like, being tortured both physically and with dark magic," he continued trying to choke back sobs. "It felt like it went on forever, but then—oh gods, gods!" He started sobbing and whimpering at the painful memories. "I swear, I could feel something, it suffocating me, my mind, it wanted to kill, it wanted to kill Elves. But even worse than that, I knew. I knew his mind; I could feel what he was thinking, the most awful joy. And then I saw my friends as they were changed into grotesque beings. He called them something that has run through my mind ever since… Orcs."
Then Earadan went on to explain how he had despaired of ever escaping, for the caverns that he and the other prisoners were in were well guarded. However, after a while he had lost so much weight that he had managed, though painfully, to squeeze his wrists and ankles through the shackles. After that, he had somehow made it to within a couple of miles of Alqualondë.
"But who is 'he'? Who did this all to you, mellon?" Lothomë questioned.
Earadan's sudden smile as he looked over at the healer was definitely not sane. "M—Mor—me!"
"What do you mean, you?" Lothlome was more concerned than ever for Earadan's state of mind.
The troubled Elf shook his head as if to clear it. "Morgoth."