His Corrupted Mind [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter X : The Forms of Healing

"Healing doesn't mean that the damage never existed. It means that the damage no longer controls your life." -Akshay Dubey

The East Road

The Witch-King rode alone this night, and unlike those in Rivendell, peace eluded him. His hooded visage leaned forward as if nearly consumed by fatigue. This was partially true, though its cause was not the chase nor the encounter with the strange woman.

No, he was currently fighting an internal war, the only enemy being himself, and the strange woman was certainly the cause of this.

He didn't know what to think, or rather, there was simply too much to think about. Had she cast a spell on him? No. Despite its possibility, she had not spoken in any tongue of magic, only Westron. No magic was ever cast in the common tongue. What had she done to him? That was a question he could not answer, much less begin to speculate the why. This bothered the Witch-King quite a bit, and he thought on this until a very strange thought came into being.

What is her name?

Her name? Why did this matter to him? He, the Witch-King of Angmar, the Dreaded Captain of Sauron, should not- did not care to know the name of a woman. She didn't matter, she was insignificant to him entirely.

Truly? Then why are you still thinking about her if she matters so little to you?

The Witch-King's head jerked up, surprised at his own thoughts. Why indeed? The woman was, admittedly, interesting in many aspects and the first of her gender to face him in combat.

And leave such meetings alive.

Yes, she still lived. A fact that made the Witch-King more than a little disgruntled. His thinking was soon cut short when he glanced up the road and saw the ruins of Amon Sûl. Memories then flooded his mind.

He had finally broken the walls of the great watchtower, the last true defense of Arthedain from the Angmar Host. Orcs, Trolls, and corrupted Men flooded inside and he himself was not too far behind. His purpose was now to retrieve the palantír and deliver it to his master. Give him the advantage he needed to prepare for the war that leave him the conqueror of Middle Earth. Achieve what his former master, Morgoth, could not and reign as the Dark Lord.

And the Witch-King would be there at Sauron's side, basking in his own great and terrible power.

He scoured the battlements of the tower, killing all who stood in his way, and when he glanced outside from a massive hole in the walls he saw a cloaked rider racing across the plains to the north. In the rider's clutch was a bundle, and inside it the Witch-King sensed the power he sought.

The Witch-King screeched in rage, the palantír was out of his grasp!

The scenes of battle then abruptly faded, and the memory of a more recent duel took its place.

The Hobbit before him was pitiful, unable to confront the death that was upon him much less hold onto his own blade. The Witch-King drew his dagger, cursed with the powers of Mordor, and prepared to strike at the small creature cowering before his might. However, something caught his attention at the very edges of his sight.

The Witch-King could clearly see a woman of wild white hair, the same woman he had encountered in Osgiliath. Her reappearance in his existence was astounding but not as shocking as the fact they he could see her clearly. Nothing was that way outside of those who were also trapped with him in this Shadow World.

However, he could not ponder on this revelation as he then thrust his dagger into the Hobbit, breaking the faint sense of the spell that had begun to weave around them.