His Corrupted Heart [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter II : An Impossible Desire

"...And hoping that wherever they are, they're missing us back too." -Unknown

High Fells of Rhudaur

One month.

For this long has the Witch-King of Angmar suffered his wounds. Unlike his brethren in shadow, he did not greatly fear the elements of water and fire. However this did not mean that he was completely exempt from fearing them, and it also did not mean that he was invulnerable to them. His metaphysical being ached and any movement only worsened the pain he felt. The fires that had trapped him were great and it was everywhere. The Witch-King could only see fire as it consumed everything and tried to consume him.

Fire was not man after all, but nature.

The Lord of the Nazgûl was, for the first time in thousands of years, well and truly afraid. To him this would have been an anti-climatic end to his existence. His thousands of years under the command of his master, all his deeds in destroying the men of the north, none of it would matter anymore once his pathetic state was destroyed. The Witch-King knew very well that no one would miss him, and that many a celebration would be held in gratefulness that his darkness was cleansed in fire.

And yet, that wasn't entirely true. Someone would miss him should he have been destroyed. She would have mourned him, the strange woman he had come across more than any other in this half-life he lived. The Witch-King could not remember a time before his master, but the emotions that must have stemmed from those days were only growing stronger and they flourished whenever he was in her presence.

She had been there as he burned in the forest, and so there those emotions rose and he could not remain impassive as she had looked at him with both shock and pity. No, not pity. Grief. He did not need to breathe but still released a shaky breath through mortal habits now returning as he remembered. He knew now that Inconnu Naeril had not truly been there, and yet her hands as they held onto his had felt so very real. Those hands had made him forget the pain of burning and she grounded him.

For the first time in thousands of years, he had known in that singular moment that he was not alone. This feeling was not the same he felt of the other Ringwraiths. They were brothers yes, but this intuition spoke of something far greater. The Witch-King knew she promised his true redemption. He knew that she was not lying either, but his hesitance remained. Dare he believe in that promise of light? Could he believe in a future after all the things he had done?

This stopped him cold and the Witch-King searched within himself for the cause of such thoughts. He had never felt guilt for his actions, only the satisfaction of having brought ruin and furthering his master's cause. However, his master seemed to no longer be the dominating presence anymore. The Witch-King could not seek guidance from his master for he was silent. He could not find it with Inconnu for she was not here.

Er-Murazor only had himself, and in this realization he found himself so very lost.

Time had become irrelevant to him for some time now, barely noticing its passage. Everything was internal, the outside world having lost much meaning to him. He was a wounded creature and he knew it. His sword lost in the ashes of the Fangorn Forest, and his black horse killed by one of the many predators that thrive in the Misty Mountains.

The Witch-King now sat in the darkness, surrounded once again by the hatred of men. The first time this had occurred it did not affect him in the slightest, their magics weaker than his own. This was not the case now in this present time, as though the men who created this place were long since dead, their hatred having only grown stronger with time.

And their hatred of him and his kind burned him far worse than any physical flame.

The Witch-King did not understand why his fleeing from the fires had led him to this place, this tomb that had entrapped him and his brethren after the Fall of Arnor. The imprisonment had not lasted very long however, his master's call far stronger than any mortal magic. A call he could no longer hear, and the Witch-King discovered more absolutely the longer he lingered here that his purpose was missing. Lost, just as his true name had been before she had given it back, and he did not know how hollow he actually was until he knew it had been gone.