His Corrupted Mind [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter VI : A Decision of Importance

"It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped." -Tony Robbins

Third Age, 3018

Fall had now fully settled in Middle Earth, the trees of the small forest turning vibrant shades of red, orange, and gold. It had been four months since Inconnu had left the fortress of Minas Tirith, left it in a whirlwind of Sverundr's speed and her own emotions. The months that had passed, time itself, had helped to calm those emotions, but they had yet to silence completely. Inconnu had been leisurely traveling the North-South Road, and not doing much else other than that. She was lost in her thoughts, ones that belonged solely to the Witch-King.

How can it be, that my fate could be so easily decided? What made the stars decide that I was fit to decide the fate of another, a man who fell to the corruption of the One Ring and is the Dark Lord's deadliest servant? Is it even possible that the Witch-King can be redeemed?

These were honest doubts, and they brought some security for Inconnu, but also insecurity as well. All she had ever known was the life of a wandering hunter. The northern parts of the Misty Mountains were familiar to her, as safe for her as it was dangerous for others. It was there she was headed. The day was calm and Inconnu took in a deep breath, the crisp and cool air helping to settle her nerves, to sooth her growing anxiety.

Soon, the sun was setting on the western horizon and Inconnu decided to stop and make camp. She was now only a day's ride from the Gwathló, more commonly known as the Greyflood. After crossing it at Tharbad she would then make her way to Bree to resupply before moving east to the Misty Mountains. Though the supplies from Minas Tirith were indeed plentiful and she still had much left, it was best to resupply anyway for no one could predict the events of long journeys.

The campfire was small, though more than warm enough to keep the nights chill away. Sverundr was fully resting on the ground and Inconnu had taken to her normal practice of resting her back against his side. She was gazing up at the stars, watching them and finding familiar constellations, and oftentimes she would create new ones to entertain an imagination that stayed with her throughout childhood and to this very day remained. It was also the best distraction she could come up with, no longer wishing to think upon fate and the Witch-King. Through this she was fairly successful until she fell asleep, and as she succumbed to it she hoped for no dreams of him.

She was in a frozen and desolate room, large pieces of masonry strewn everywhere. Inconnu looked about herself, and her gaze fell upon a throne carved of stone, covered in a thick layer of ice coated in frost. It was in the exact center of the room, a prominent display of power and dominance. Though empty, she could feel the ominous aura it exuded, and she was willing to bet there was not even a corner unaffected by its presesnce.

"This is the throne room within Carn Dûm, the capital of the Witch-Realm of Angmar."

Inconnu whirled around to see who had spoken, but saw nothing. The voice continued to speak.

"It was here that the Witch-King sat, directing his forces in the purpose of destroying Arnor, the northern kingdom of men. Tasked by his master to break its will and people."

Inconnu once again looked for the voice, and said, "I know of what you speak of, but I must ask you to show yourself. I'd rather we speak face to face, for I find it stranger to talk to a disembodied voice." A chuckle, this time more tangible, sounded behind her and she whirled around to see who made it. Now Inconnu saw someone, a man of great height and was dressed in the furs of a hunter as much as she was. Her subconscious nagged at her, telling her that she should know who this man was. That problem however was quite easily solved when he introduced himself.