|| Closed starter for elderking ||
it was the very dream - the nightmare - which had haunted him since his childhood days, yet never before had it felt so real, so alive. It has been always like this; Nelyo saw himself lying in the corner of a utterly dark dungeon, shivering from the cold, cringing in pain and horror. A single candle burnt at the end of the tiny room, but all light was swallowed by the cold and glistering stone walls, which were so different from the white walls of Tirion, so very different from the cosy wooden dwelllings they had built in Mithrim - so very different from anything he knew.
It almost seemed as if he was caught for days in his nightmare, lying on cold black stone in a dark cave where no daylight seemed to exist, no starlight nor a gentle breeze of fresh air found its way into this godforsaken hole - everything was dark and damp, the air heavy with a disgusting smell the Feanorian didn't know - a foul stench of putrefection, everything was dark and rotten - even the voices.
Sometimes whispers in a language he couldn't understand rushed through his mind, made him tremble in horror, tremble with fear, and with his mind he called out to his brothers - his dead father - weeping against the harsh stone floor.
Silently, Maitimo tried to shoo the nightmares away, to force himself to wake up from his dread, from his horror - but he failed. Once, twice - he scratched himself to feel pain, but there was none, swallowed by the pain which rushed through his body. Every muscle, every fibre of his exhausted body did hurt, his arms and legs were covered in bruises and dried blood - and Maitimo realized there was no escape out of his dreadful vision as his nightmare was shocking reality.