The gardens before Mandos were heavenly white; all sight drowned in the raining whiteness. It was either of fruit-tree petals or snow, or maybe both.

Somewhere amid the gardens there was a statue. Four benches of stone and red wood and on one of them- a statue of a man. He was sitting, his face resting on his hands, as if he was in deep contemplation. On the surface of the statue one could recognize faint colors as if the sculptor had painted it long ago to make it look more lifelike.

Alas, it was not a statue, but a prisoner, a deceased, a prisoner of death. Death would not let him back in the life he had desecrated. It was me. I was serving a punishment- embraced in white, deprived of all color, silent, mute, motionless. And from time to time I heard the voices of the living.

A bright-eyed Vanyar approached me along with some children. He began telling them of me, of my life and the legends I'd inspired. An Elven lord, he said, a great craftsman, a linguist, a genius. He said I had given much to Valinor, but ruined myself. My ambitiousness had become my undoing. I had created three precious stones, in which I had poured all my strength and skill. All had lusted for them. But this great act of creation had drained me of all life and brought my perishment, my petrification.

But the stone I, for a very different reason, had become, trembled on hearing the loathsome lies. I was enraged! Hypocrisy! Perjury, to root out the seeds of discord, destroying all sprouts of truth! What kind of an oath had the cowardly betrayers sworn?

My rage bent the magic marble. I stood up. I flung myself at the Vanyar and in one quick move snapped his neck. I turned to face the children. They were quick to run away.

I followed them, not trying to reach them. I soon found out that all whiteness melted in my wake and turned into destruction. The stone had become flesh and the flesh obeyed me once more, iron obeyed me and fire recognized me. A sword in my hand, I passed by Valimar. I summoned Manwe to descend from his very throne, I summoned the Valar but none answered. I remember passing through Tol Eresea and slaying not a few of its inhibitors.

The shores of Middle Earth, I also , landscapes, the valley of Sirion and the swaying grass, the grand river, the wind. I reached the very domain of Morgoth and gazed at the blighted lands, the ashes, the mounds of corpses clad in armor. I heard… laughter, low, malicious, as if a legion of demons was mocking me. And there, amid the blasted lands of Morgoth, my vision ended.

The empty whiteness embraced me again, blinded me, and it dawned on me that I was a prisoner again. I was overcome by deep sorrow, a desperation so profound the stone might have wept. Only the memory of that feeling of freedom lit the despair. Then even the feeling departed, leaving me to my punishment.

The alarm rang; I switched it off. The dream had intrigued me so greatly that I wished to dream it once again. And I succeeded… partly.

Yes, partly, for once again I set foot on the land of Valinor. Yet I was only myself now. With a friend by my side I entered the gardens of Mandos, where the petal-flakes erased almost everything. We wandered mazes of pillars, walls, hedges and trees, not seeing more than three yards before us. I sat on a bench, trying to remember where exactly the statue was. I succeeded; We reached the place, the four benches arranged in a square.

But… all four of those benches were empty.