Source: Lord of the Rings (Appendix A.I.4)
Warnings: A bit of general creepiness.
Disclaimer: The great work is all Tolkien’s; only this insignificant drabble is mine.
Author’s Note: For the Mordor challenge.
In the everlasting twilight, the king was robbed of his throne, the warrior stripped of his weapons, the man deprived of dignity: of will, mind, memories of home, even of a name.
He strove to recall tender leaves amidst stone or the scent of herbs, but the Morgul flowers seemed to reach for him with rotten blossoms, like corpse-fingers. Their stench made him sick.
And in his dreams, he sometimes glimpsed sunlight on marble, but out of the wasteland outside his window sprung a sickly pallor, trickling into his sleep, drowning it all: The nameless prisoner had fallen into shadow.