Valinor
Caranthir dreamed about Valinor every single night.
He never talked about it, tried to never think about it, but at night he always dreamed about it.
The beautiful, rolling green hills where he would chase his brothers and cousins, and be chased by them in turn for hours on end, laughing.
Laughing.
Sometimes it was hard to remember that he used to really laugh, and now he could not quite recall the feeling of such childish bliss.
Not quite.
His dreams remembered enough, however. They remembered more than he.
He also dreamed of the inviting trees he had loved so much in Valinor, wherein he would hide when he did not want to be found.
Now there was nowhere to hide.
And his father's deliciously forbidden forge, wherein they would all peep for a look inside, praying not to be spotted.
But father was dead, and he had no forge here, there was only Curufin's forge, a gross imitation, as Caranthir saw it.
And then there was his family's sitting room in Valinor, it plagued his dreams with peaceful familial scenes of his beautiful mother, Nerdanel, reading to them, the twins in her lap, Curufin hanging off her neck, Celegorm perched above on the back of the couch, Maglor and Maedhros sitting on the floor by her legs, and himself, Caranthir, sitting by her side, leaning his head on her shoulder, scenes that would make him want to cry and scream like a child.
But these all took their turns teasing him, only one subject remained there, dominating his dreams, every night.
His young bride was always there, aglow with love and joy with her gentle smile and bright eyes, the only one who could really understand him.
Sometimes she would be in their kitchen, kneading bread, face and clothes dusted with flour.
Other times she would be dancing with Maglor's wife to his music, laughing and twirling before them.
And other times she would just be lying beside him, breathing softly in a blissful sleep, but she would always be there one way or another.
Maybe the Valar really were evil, Caranthir though darkly as he awoke from yet another set of those accursed dreams that he would not let go of for the world, if they were so determined to keep on tormenting him with images and memories of a life that would never be his again.