Ah, Alice, we can't go home again. No surprise, really. Only a very few find the way; and most of them don't recognize it when they do. Delusions, too, die hard.

Alice: Madness returns

At last the Blue Mountains retreated behind; and it was midday when he entered a dense, ancient forest. His warg required some rest after their long ride.

The heat in the air was palpable and he found shelter in the shadow of an old willow near a creek.

He lay straight onto the ground and adjusted his mount's fur as a pillow, curling at its side. The beast fell asleep, exhausted. He did not though, lying with his eyes closed. While he was on the move, his head had not bothered him and he took it for a good sign. He took it as a sign of recovery, of a new hope.

Yet, during this stop the disparity of his restless mind declared itself again. A voice dared to appear yet once more. It was born from the clot of the thick dark that had taken roots deep inside his head - the remnant of the one, who had been sealed in the Void. It reminded him of his grievous past. It haunted him. It turned his thoughts intrusive. At first, he tried to silence it with the images of the new violent ocean he had witnessed beyond the mountain ridge. That magnificent manifestation of the power of the West drove it away; and the voice kept silent for quite a while. But then the voice resonated even through the depths. His mind began to talk to itself.

i am you

I'm free. Leave me be.

you belong to me

Seeking for any kind of distraction he recalled his memories of the recent events, briefly passing through them again.

His betrayal of his dark Master.

The ruins of Angband. He would not deny himself the dark pleasure of walking among the debris, bidding farewell to the stones that had witnessed his suffer.

And the army of the Valar terrible in its glory, which he both feared and anticipated.

He opened his eyes.

I will not forgive myself if I do not try.

The camp of the West was quiet. Calm. They did not feast, did not celebrate their victory. The atmosphere around was focused, wary, even grim. His lips curved slightly in a bitter smile. No one roamed across the field, no one approached him, no one stared at him. This bleak mass of creatures seemed apathetic, not threatening. It lifted his spirits, even if slightly. As he walked through the encampment, his gaze fleeted casually from one tent to another. Avoiding the faces.

turn back

He ignored the voice.

A needle of a dark matter invaded his head, then another one, and another one, and another until they became a hundred. Like a swarm they murmured something unintelligible. He forbade himself to listen.

Resist.

Thank Eru, soon enough he found the tent he sought. As he approached it, the needles amplified their assault. His mind itched. He entered and Eonwe turned around to face him, and his was alone.

Alone.

Yet for some reason his gaze dropped to meet the ground; the Herald's expression escaped him. Looking at his former friend suddenly appeared as an impossible task. His eyes refused to look up.

"I am... surprised." Eonwe's voice pounded against his ears. A calm voice, unbearably calm, that hid a wall with an emotion behind. The wall he could see. Not the emotion. The wall remained impenetrable to him. Inaccessible. This mocking uncertainty invoked rage. The needles welcomed it with throbbing.

Suppress. Talk. As planned.

"Eonwe, I plead for your forgiveness." He choked as he heard himself uttering these miserable words with a miserable voice. That was not what he had intended to say, not like this, not like begging.

not like

"I want to come back. Home." After his mouth managed to spit out the last word, his lips, his tongue, his vocal chords went numb paralysed by the thing in his head. A part of him rejoiced. A part of him despaired.

"If I had the authority to decide upon your fate, I might have considered the possibility of forgiving you your crimes. Sauron." said the Herald after a short pause.

Too complicated. Cannot concentrate.

Did his voice soften at the last word?

Does he hate me?

Did he miss me?

"But I do not have the right for such decisions. You are to appear before the Valar...

Eonwe was still talking something. He could not tell if he could even hear anything. His thoughts turned into a maelstrom.

Eonwe is my friend hates me

Valar will forgive cast me into the void

This is the chance to save doom myself

A blazing prod poked through his head replacing the needles. In response his head pulsed in anguish. His own thoughts mingled with the voices creating chimeras, demanding, craving for his attention.

He could not distinguish between them. His hands pressed around his head trying to smash his skull. He bent double. The pain settled behind his left eye.

Eonwe approached him. His hand touched the other's hair to let it slide through his fingers. For some moments both Maiar did not breathe, listening to the poignant silence. Until Eonwe's sigh broke the magic of time standing still.

"Oh, my dear friend, what have you done?"

Eonwe's gentle hand began to stroke his cheekbone and it seared him to the core. It was unbearable.

"Shut up!"

Eonwe froze, startled.

"I hate you, Eonwe," he spoke with all the love he felt to the Herald. His voice fell bizarre and did not belong to him, as if someone else was talking. As these words were uttered, the torment ceased. The clot calmed down. The relief was so unexpected and violent, that it brought a surge of nausea with it.

Despite feeling sick he straightened. The cacophony ceased and he was grateful and afraid. Afraid that it would return and the dark would gnaw at him anew.

Perhaps I should leave. Perhaps I should have never come. As if from the outside he watched himself leaving the tent; he could not tell whether it was his decision or not as if the control over his body was taken by someone else.

Yet as he walked, some part of him expected, prayed for Eonwe to order him to halt. But everything was only a dream and it did not happen.

"Yes, It had only been in a dream, perhaps a nightmare. Perhaps." he muttered to himself in reassurance. "Or maybe not."

Perhaps I was distracted.

The sun had gone down, the heat was gone too. The light gusts of wind drove off the stagnant air. At dusk he would resume his journey East. There, in the West they would forget about him. And he would amend what he had done, to earn his redemption, to be welcomed back. To see Lord Aule and Lady Yavanna again. And Eonwe. And to repair this... this cracked

shattered

mirror.

mind

He blinked. The gust might have brought a stray pollen into his eye. When he got rid of it, the thought was gone. And what was it about? He could not recall. But he knew it was time to move on.

I will prove to them all, that I am not like.. not like...

him

Perhaps the elves may be of use. Perhaps they will serve my goal. Perhaps.