Hi there and thanks for clicking on this thing! So I'm still kinda obsessed with the idea of pairing up the Witch-king and Eowyn so I decided to entertain that concept/pairing a little more. Not only that, people seem to like it too so I didn't really have a reason to not expand on it more. This is gonna be a collection of oneshots which are little snippets and prequels of a sort to the oneshot I wrote concerning Eowyn and the Witch-king; "The Living and the Dead". The oneshots will be short for the most part, I know that this one particularly was but I hope that doesn't equate to it being inadequate. For the most part, these oneshots will not really deviate from events in the movies/books. The only major difference is that well, Witch-king falls for Eowyn and he hovers around her as a ghost. Anywho, I will be updating the collection as more ideas come to mind. I will try to focus on both characters equally but I will probably be writing about Witch-king more since I plan on doing a oneshot about his origins and with him dealing with his rediscovered humanity. So, I hope you like this one and I hope you'll stick around for more that I'll post up sooner or later! As always, please leave a review if you wish and I always welcome constructive criticism. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Lord of the Rings".

Vigil

This was what regret had felt like to the Witch-king of Angmar...

Like so many other sensations and feelings, he had failed to remember them due to the omnipotent and corrupting taint of the Ring. Along with the love he felt bloom like a tulip and then flutter like a sparrow within his incorporeal body, remorse was another emotion that was making its return to him. He did not welcome it as longingly and warmly as love but he was somewhat pleased in a way since he was granted a free mind once again. Yet he had wished that guilt was something that he would not feel. It was especially painful for him since it was the object of his affections and his redeemer who was suffering.

To watch her cry on the still and cold armor that covered her uncle's chest was enough to make him wish he could weep alongside her. Already, he was so sorry that he had done this to her and the former Nazgûl lord yearned that he could undo what had been done. He had wished he had seen the light and been saved from Sauron's influence a little bit earlier so that he could prevent himself from targeting the Rohirrim ruler.

Regret continued to relentlessly and mercilessly hound him though when the shieldmaiden had collapsed shortly after she had watched Théoden perish. Ếwoyn had fallen victim to the Black Breath. When she had struck him, he had not even realized he had infected her with the insidious ailment since he had been so entranced by his newfound freedom and the revived love he felt forming within him. The Witch-king had wished he could properly control that demonic ability during that moment when she had stabbed him that had released all the dark energy that comprised and surrounded his being. It was an unintentional effect and he could not restrain it.

Though the battle went on around her, she fell into unconsciousness. When he had finally died, the Witch-king had surprised himself by turning his back on the light that had beckoned him to the spiritual plane to meet his makers and ultimate fate. He had seen that although he had longed for freedom from his evil master far longer than he had truly realized, he was not ready to cross over just yet. Alongside the affections he suddenly and strongly developed for her, he felt compelled to somehow safeguard her in her state of helplessness. Where Ếowyn lied on the bloodied earth, he invisibly knelt down beside her.

"Although I barely know you, young maiden, I have learned one thing about you. You are far stronger than some men and I can personally attest to that… I know you can survive this. No, I need you to survive this. Though I cannot do much for you nor reverse the effects of the Black Breath, what I can do is remain by your side. That is the very least I can do for you."

He said those words to her as he remained close to her unmoving form. Steadily, he felt her life whittling away as the sickness began to waste her away. Her color faded and her golden hair seemed to grow duller as long as it persisted. He had hoped that even when she was unresponsive, she could sense and feel someone comforting her. Preferably, he hoped that she would not know who gave her invisible company and comfort while she remained vulnerable and seemingly dead.

His fingers ran through her hair, almost as if he was trying to console and calm her. The dark soul had treasured this moment for he knew that if she was awake, she certainly wouldn't be letting him touch her. Calmly yet with swelling concern and worry, he looked upon her worsening face, admiring her still beautiful and strong features. For as long as he gazed upon her visage, he began to fall deeper into love with her. Silently, he begged and entreated her to remain sturdy and stubborn. Wordlessly, he encouraged her that she was much too young and good to die like this and that her time had not yet arrived. One hand remained enclosed around her own, refusing to let her go, fearing that her soul would depart her body if he released her.

Luckily, help soon enough arrived when her brother, Ếomer, had come across her. The prince had immediately assumed the worst when he saw his beloved sister lying so motionlessly on the ground and he had fallen down to his knees in extreme woe and grief. At last, her unseen guardian had released her from his hold and allowed him to rush her back to the safe confines of Minas Tirith for recovery.

He followed them to the Halls of Healing and there he watched them treat her. Never once did he stray too far from her side and without the mortal men knowing, he hovered closely behind them and observing every movement and action they did. Even as she slept while the medicines Aragorn gave to her combated the effects of the Black Breath, he remained unwavering and steadfast. His fingers would sift gingerly through her locks as he stared down upon her face. Far too quickly, he had grown partial to the woman who understandably would've and should've been his hated nemesis.

When his stare was not fixated on her, he would look eastward, to Mordor. Even if there was no window available, the Witch-king would continue to face that direction. Alongside love, regret and sorrow, he was also starting to remember what anger felt like. He had hoped that Sauron could feel the hatred and furious aura radiating from his spectral shape being directed to him from afar and behind the city walls…

(…)

Sleepily, Ếowyn's eyelids parted. Earlier, she had awoken to find Aragorn tending to her condition but now she found herself under the devoted and friendly watch of her sole surviving family member. Weakly, she smiled at Ếomer.

"How long have you been watching me?" she cleared her throat upon discovering it sounded scratchy and groggy.

Her sibling said nothing in reply. All he could do was stare back at her from his seat by her bedside. More than anything else, Ếomer was just happy that his sister was pulling through. A part of him had felt that he was going to be further in debt to Aragorn for he had known exactly what to do with treating an ailment bestowed upon one by a Ringwraith. He had also felt humbled and thankful that Gondor's heir would personally dress Ếowyn's wounds and treat her while she remained incapacitated. Just to see her eyes open and to hear her using her voice again made hope flourish and fill every chasm of his being.

"What matters is that you are recovering, sister," Ếomer smirked softly. "You broke my heart when I found you."

Ếowyn returned the grin. She stirred slightly beneath her covers, nestling herself into them a little deeper to remain warm.

"Were you touching my head just before I woke up?" she asked almost casually.

Ếomer's brows furrowed and his smirk faded. He felt a chill course up his spine and then spread throughout his body. The air had briefly become unnaturally chilly to him and he could not explain where the phantasmal air came from.

"Why?" he pressed, wanting her to answer his question before he could reply to hers.

Now it was her turn to express a tiny amount of concern. She wore a confused look for a moment, wondering as to why her brother seemed worried by her curious and harmless inquiry. His reaction was making her a little unnerved.

"It was just a question, Ếomer," she said. "Perhaps I was just having a vivid dream… I felt someone stroking my head as I was waking up. I laid there for a moment or two, enjoying it before I finally opened up my eyes. It was very soothing. I just wondered if it was you doing it or not."

"It was a dream then," the man finalized. "I was sitting here for a little while to make sure that you were alright. There was no one stroking your head, Ếowyn."

When he gave her an answer, she felt closure. Ếowyn no longer felt insecure or paranoia creeping in. In reality, it soothed her. It almost made her feel better and at ease. The unexplained hands had also made her think less of the nefarious illness that almost destroyed her. Since the touch was so tender, sweet and warm, she had no qualms with it. She even looked forward to feeling the sensation again whenever she was waking up from slumber again.

"It's my mind still fighting off what remains of the sickness," the shieldmaiden rationalized. "Nothing more and nothing less…"