Despite the pain, he lingered in Middle Earth, unable to stop watching the great spectacle that unfolded through no will of his own.
The battle raged on, and then to his horror, his dark master deteriorated, the Wind blowing him to the lands of beyond, where no lesser spirits could follow suit.
He was done with it all, the blade wielded by Eowyn putting an end to his will.
Only, drifting towards Mandos, he found his access barred by the glowing sword of Anor. And was turned back to Island of the Flaming Eye.
It was not the first time he found himself torn between existence and non being, between life and death. But this time was different, for the Island had a way of securing its prisoners.
The tall Orc, the Tree Ent, even the elf that must have committed crimes beyond reason, were all trying to avoid the Wrath of the Flaming eye, floating in the sky.
The dwarf who unwisely drew the attention of the eye, was seared to a bloody pulp, his agonizing screams reverberating through the air.
The Witch King of Angmar was not used to being held captive. To not being the strongest in most mixed company. Sauron, Elrond, Gandalf the White, might have been his betters, but not many others, as he well knew.
He gathered his power and was going to launch it at the flaming eye, when a dark cloud gathered over him, seemingly out of nowhere, and a somber voice issued forth from it.
"That would be a mistake. We are not ready for you to die just yet..." the voice announced and the Witch King, taken aback, had to wonder.
"Who is 'we' and why do you care? What have I got to lose now, at any rate?" he angrily demanded.
"Only..everything," the voice retorted with some evident amusement, answering the last question first.
"We are the powers that existed before the Valar, before the Eru, and his random songs. We were the ones who accosted the Outsider, the Dark Enemy of the World, the corruptor you may know as Morgoth.
I am known as Udun, the father of Balrog nation, the ruler of Fire and Shadow. Sauron may have perished, but his services were not reliable at any rate. You are the one we need to stop the travesties unleashed by the Outsider. We shall free you from this place, the Valar have erected to hold restless souls. In our name, you will gather an army.
To fight against the proud Men, the cunning dwarves, and other lesser races besides. We shall send our prophet to let our will be known to you and guide you when need be. Do you accept our wish, king of Men?"
The Witch King agreed and the dark cloud began burning, the fire expanding throughout the isle, until he found himself back in Middle Earth, in a massive camp of refugees, created during Sauron's wars.