Maedhros (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holdshisown) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2024-04-23 09:35 pm
holdshisown) wrote in dreamcrystals2024-04-23 09:35 pm
Entry tags:
1st dream | The Iron Hells
Sender: Maedhros
To: Everyone
Which: Passive dream recording
Warnings: Torture, violence and PTSD
You were certain you would be killed as soon as you were draged behind the gates of Angband. How unbearably naive that had been of you. To think it's master would let yet another high king of the Noldor slip away into the Halls of Waiting where his cruelty could not reach. No. He had had a different end in mind for you. Likely he'd had the same in mind for your father, but his mad charge against the balrogs had thwarted that plan and now you alone would have to bear the brunt of Morgoths hatred. Death would have been a kindness, and kindness had no place here.
Being thrown to the cold stone floor in front of the nauseating prescence of Morgoth had been bad enough. Having to look up at his terrible grin and burned and blackened hands, to see the brilliant gems of your father shining upon his crown as he sneered at you had been almost too much to bear. Fear and anger roiling in your gut, the Oath screaming within you to rip the gems away from him, but there was naught you could do. Pinned to the ground by a hulking brute of an orc, it's rotten stench making your eyes water. Nothing could be worse than this you'd thought... and you'd been wrong, so wrong.
With one word from their terrible master the orcs had descended on him in a frenzy. Ripping at his clothes until he was bare and taking their knifes to his hair, when they weren't just ripping it out of his scalp with their bare hands. Until he was curled up on the floor before that great and terrible throne, naked and sheared like a lamb. And you were ashamed to find yourself crying for it. But how could you not? No one had ever touched you with an intent to hurt you before. Such a thing had been an alien concept to you for so long that the shock of it almost hurt as much as the act itself.
Then you had been given over to the tender mercies of the lieutenant. Gorthaur the cruel, Sauron, that most foul servant of Morgoth. With his decievingly beautiful seeming and that cold cruel smile that only ever spoke of pain.
"Oh, Maitimo! What fun we shall have, little king!" He'd said. Eyes burning and that too wide smile of his as he'd brought out a white hot branding iron. Pressing it into the flesh of his chest.
After that there was only screaming and the stench of your own scorched flesh.
To: Everyone
Which: Passive dream recording
Warnings: Torture, violence and PTSD
You were certain you would be killed as soon as you were draged behind the gates of Angband. How unbearably naive that had been of you. To think it's master would let yet another high king of the Noldor slip away into the Halls of Waiting where his cruelty could not reach. No. He had had a different end in mind for you. Likely he'd had the same in mind for your father, but his mad charge against the balrogs had thwarted that plan and now you alone would have to bear the brunt of Morgoths hatred. Death would have been a kindness, and kindness had no place here.
Being thrown to the cold stone floor in front of the nauseating prescence of Morgoth had been bad enough. Having to look up at his terrible grin and burned and blackened hands, to see the brilliant gems of your father shining upon his crown as he sneered at you had been almost too much to bear. Fear and anger roiling in your gut, the Oath screaming within you to rip the gems away from him, but there was naught you could do. Pinned to the ground by a hulking brute of an orc, it's rotten stench making your eyes water. Nothing could be worse than this you'd thought... and you'd been wrong, so wrong.
With one word from their terrible master the orcs had descended on him in a frenzy. Ripping at his clothes until he was bare and taking their knifes to his hair, when they weren't just ripping it out of his scalp with their bare hands. Until he was curled up on the floor before that great and terrible throne, naked and sheared like a lamb. And you were ashamed to find yourself crying for it. But how could you not? No one had ever touched you with an intent to hurt you before. Such a thing had been an alien concept to you for so long that the shock of it almost hurt as much as the act itself.
Then you had been given over to the tender mercies of the lieutenant. Gorthaur the cruel, Sauron, that most foul servant of Morgoth. With his decievingly beautiful seeming and that cold cruel smile that only ever spoke of pain.
"Oh, Maitimo! What fun we shall have, little king!" He'd said. Eyes burning and that too wide smile of his as he'd brought out a white hot branding iron. Pressing it into the flesh of his chest.
After that there was only screaming and the stench of your own scorched flesh.
no subject
And I am sure you do so well with the tools that you have. It's just... it would ease my heart to know you'd have more than one recourse available to you. As I said, I'd rather you be overprepared than underprepared for trouble.
I'd be lying if I said they weren't. [He didn't think he'd be able to after this kind of dream, but Helga's actually managed to make him laugh with that comment.]
1/2
Oh, except for Arnold. But even that is still very hard to believe.]
Well[No, that's not right.]I[Nuh uh.]Tha[Don't acknowledge it, you fool.]no subject
Oh, and uh, thanks. [She means the offer, of course. Not the unwarranted compliments and jab at her parents, nosireebob.]
no subject
Very true. This is a kinder place then where I was before but there are still very real dangers here. Better have a defense you wont need than lack one you sorely do, I think.
You are most welcome, child. [For both the future lessons and the compliments.]