Disclaimer: Guess what I've been gone for a couple months and I still don't own LOTR, so no suing!
Author's Note:
Hey there, as part of celebrating being back on I'm posting something I found hidden in my files of stories. With a little bit of touch up it's not so bad…
For those LOTR buffs out there, this is an AU it could never happen in Tolkien's Middle Earth and never would if it could, but AU is a wonderful thing. So just enjoy the humor and the fluff and don't worry about any of those silly things like plot or cannon.
---xxx--- Speech in the Black Tongue (I know those are weird, but apparently that's all is going to allow today!
It was the darkest hour of the night in Minas Morgul. The dark slopes remained quiet, lit by the eerie green glow of the dead city. Suddenly that quiet was shattered by a wailing cry.
The Witch king, terror of all Middle Earth, and master of Minas Morgul, pulled a pillow over his insubstantial head. Maybe if he ignored it, it would stop, or someone else would deal with it. Throughout the streets the Orc army winced, trying to block the piercing sound. The Witch King waited another moment but it appeared that none of the other Nine, much less any of the members of the Orc hoard residing here were going to respond.
He shrugged into his robe, it wouldn't do to wander the halls as an almost invisible spirit, the Orcs were never terribly observant and it simply wouldn't do to have one of them walk through him, a most uncomfortable experience.
As he drew nearer the origin of the sound it became increasingly louder and more piercing. For once thankful that his face could not be seen by his minions the leader of the Nazgûl winced.
He came to a heavy wooden door, latched on the outside with a thick iron bar, which he threw aside, venting some of his mounting anger. The door swung open, revealing a darkened chamber.
As the door opened, bathing the room in the uncertain green glow of the city, the wailing ceased. The creature which had brought the terror of Middle Earth from his slumbers stared up at him from a wide bed, its thumb in its mouth smiling at the afore mentioned terror.
The tiny black robed figure, a miniature of the immense ghostly warrior standing at the foot of its bed reached small hands up toward the wraith.
---What do you want?--- His voice was harsh, thick with anger and warning.
The tiny figure withdrew slightly, its lower lip trembling. But it was not it who felt fear as it drew a deep breath in preparation of another cry.
---No!--- The elder Nazgûl picked it up from the bed. ---What is wrong?--- This time he was careful to maintain a gentle tone.
The infant looked up at him, hiccupped, but didn't begin to wail, ---Thirsty!---
The Witch King gritted his insubstantial teeth for a moment, but realized t here was quite simply nothing that he could do, he set the child Nazgûl down, and took its hand leading it out of the room and down the hall.
He had to keep a tight grip on the tiny wraith's hand as it nearly tripped on its oversized black robe. The elder Nazgûl sighed, but there was no alternative. He remembered just a few days ago when the little one had decided that the robe was not necessary for a game of hide and seek; a game which had horrified its nine elders by its disappearance and resulted in the entire Orc hoard and their nine leaders turning out Minas Morgul in an attempt to locate one robe-less invisible wraith child. Needless to say Sauron had been less then impressed by their antics.
The Witch King glared down at the little wraith toddling along beside him oblivious to his displeasure. Bearing the brunt of the anger of the All Seeing Eye was not an easy thing. Strangely it had never occurred to him to blame it on the wraith child. Odd that, he thought as he walked it through the corridors, he shrugged a minor lapse.
But that was not the only disaster caused by the two foot tall wraith. Just that evening the child had found his armor. A shudder of horror went through the Witch King remembering how he had followed the strange clanking sound that had reverberated about Minas Morgul up to one of the upper towers only to find the wraith child waving small arms it could barely lift as they were so weighed down by his own personal armor a single piece of which was practically the size of the child.
How the child had managed to attach so many of those pieces to itself much less wander about the city so attired was a mystery to him. Though the sight of the wraith child did explain why there had been so much Orc laughter as he had pursued the sound. But there were a significant number of those Orcs who were no longer among the living. That thought at least
Finally they reached the water. The elder Nazgûl handed the child a mug which it clutched between small spectral hands, slurping happily. The Witch King sighed watching it. There were times he wondered if he really should just give this small figure the title of Terror of Middle Earth. At the rate it was going it had certainly earned it. The small figure in the oversized robe, set down the mug having finished, and held out its hands to be picked up. With a sigh the former Terror of Middle Earth obeyed its all powerful master. A Nazgûl's work was never done….