Hey there! I am Cloudy, or at least thats what I'm called in the Warriors fandom. Here, I am Ashryn. I forgot what it means, but its in Sindarin. Anyways, you clicked on this link for a reason. You want to read this story, which I hope will be good, although it might be regrettably out of context and totally and absolutely a mess. I hope not, however. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing this. So a quick back story: I was originally thinking of writing a ThranduilxOC fanfic, then I decided on this instead. I'm not sure if I will regret this decision. I hope not.
This story is basically the story of Arathalion, aka The Witch-King of Angmar. Just so you know, before you start flaming in the reviews, I made up the name myself because I had to. I have zero idea what Tolkien wanted to name him, but the Witch-King was never named. And I wasn't just going to call him Angmar, a nickname of his by fans. This story is about before he got the ring/his transformation. His name is totally up to the writers imagination, so in this case, its Arathalion. I think there will be 4-6 chapters in this story, and it will probably be the first and only LoTR/The Hobbit fanfiction I will ever do, unless I come up with an absolutely ingenious idea I have to put on paper. So yeah. Hope you enjoy this story. Yeah. Bye.
Oh yes. I'm sorry if I get some information errors. I'm not really familiar with minuscule information, so sorry! Anyways, onwards to the story, I guess. Bye again!
Chapter One
Arathalion (Dauntless Champion)
I glared at my servants as they scurried back and forth, their eyes darting left and right, a frightened expression on their faces. The weariness etched on their faces did not make me feel pity. They were bound to me, and it was me they will serve, until they die. Some already have died; killed as they lived- working for me, their master. Whether it was trampled by a rogue horse, or the lack of sleep and food, their bodies were thrown into crudely dug holes, and forgotten forever. A few stones or sticks would mar their resting place, but other than that, there was no memory. I glided down the huge halls, and towards my horse. My heart beat against my chest, and I placed my hand upon my chest, the ice-coldness of my ring pressed against my clothing. I fingered the ring, a sudden greed overcoming me.
It's mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.
I stood by my horse, and motioned for the stable-boy to get it ready. I did not know its name, nor did I know the stable-boys, but what did it matter. The boy slipped the saddle on the horse's back, and as he fitted the reins and bridle, I heard him murmur to the horse, his hand stroking the horse's muzzle.
"Arroch, be calm," he whispered.
Arroch? I thought. Noble horse? I quickly looked over my horse. It was strong and lean, smoke-grey and speckled, with a pure white muzzle. Its mane hung in a pure white sheet, its tail a long and sweeping. A silver ribbon hung from its reins. I had had nobler horses. This horse was barely even skimming the surface. I mounted the horse, without even acknowledging the stable-boy, who scurried away. The horse set off in a quick trot, hardly even making a noise. I turned and looked back at my house. The House of Arathalion, Lord of the Green Hill, also known as Pennath Gelin.
I smacked Arroch's neck, and the horse moved from a trot to a canter. My horse cantered down the roads of the small town of Pennath Gelin, and I noticed that the townsfolk quickly moved away from me and my horse, scared faces peeking out from behind the doors of their houses. I wondered why they were so scared for me. My horse slowed to a trot; the relatively market was busy enough to have to slow down. I urged my horse forward, and in an instant, a clear path appeared. My horse headed that way, and just before I was to hasten and leave this pathetic town, there was a shout from amongst the crowd.
"The Dark Lord calls for you Arathalion!" Someone cackled. The crowd quickly parted to reveal a wizened old lady. "Your ring will bind you and turn you," she muttered loudly. "Destroy you and make you," she whispered, "A servant of Sauron. You are going to Mordor, are you not? Going to betray us all!"
"You witch!" I shouted. I dismounted my horse and unsheathed my sword from its sheathe. "Are you asking for death? For I can give it to you."
The lady's eyes bugged out as she eyed the sword. "I may, but death will come to us anyways."
I sheathed the sword, and bent down to meet the lady's height. "You know nothing."
The lady laughed. "I know more than you, Arathalion, Lord of the Green Hills. You are the one who knows nothing. Your ring will corrupt you. You were bait from the first time you slipped that ring on your finger. You are no human, Arathalion."
My fingers inched towards my sword, and they wrapped around the hilt, but I did not unsheathe it again. "You're crazy."
"Ha! If I'm crazy, than the whole world is. I know what's going to happen, and I'm going to try to stop it," the lady grinned, and lunged for my sword.
I pushed her away, and swiftly unsheathed it and pressed it against her cheek. "Say that again?"
"I said," the lady, not a bit of fright etched on her face. "It's time to put an end to your line."
She darted forwards and grabbed by neck, and throttled me with strangely strong hands. My sword clattered to ground. Her bulging eyes stared into mine as she sucked the breath out of me. I fumbled around my waist, and my hand found its mark. I grabbed my dagger, and plunged it into the lady's torso. Her grip slackened, and I shook myself free. I pressed the dagger against her chest, where her heart was. "Be careful what you wish for."
In a heartbeat, the lady's anger-filled eyes dulled, and her body fell limp. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, who edged away from me immediately. I wiped my blade on my cloak, and mounted the horse once again.
"May this serve as a warning to all of you who wish to speak out to me," I shouted across the market, which was incredibly, and quite honestly, satisfyingly quiet. I kicked my horse, and it started off in a gallop. As I drew away from the town, there was a loud wail of grief.
I didn't care. They were unimportant souls. I had a greater purpose. I turned my horse towards Mordor, my ring tightening around my finger. I fingered it, tracing it with my fingers. I shivered as a rush of happiness washed over me. I tightened the reins, and the horse galloped faster. I pulled my sleeve over the hand with the ring. No one should see it.
The ring was bound to me. The ring was my own, and mine to use. My family beg me to cast it into the raging waters of the rivers, or bury it, or just be gone with it. I will never listen to them. The ring is my precious.
Hope you enjoyed that! And I totally made up the commands for the horse to move. I don't take horse-riding, so I really don't know. Oops! Anyways, hope you liked it! Don't forget to leave a review! Bye c:
-Ashryn