Down in the yard, one of the cubs ran in circles barking, while the other one spun in the arms that held him. He tried to lick the master in the face, not that it met much resistance. The Nazgul watched the scene in astonishment. His position high from the tower rendered an outstanding observation point while allowing him to remain hidden from any inquisitive look.
These beasts would soon be willing and able to tear any mortal or elven body apart with their powerful, greedy maws. Not long ago the Witch-king happened to witness to their blood feast in all details, a sight not for the faint of heart. Humans who served in Dol Guldur did not tend to wargs for these very reasons. Not even to the cubs that still retained a good share of their pup clumsiness and some shreds of what resembled amity.
The cub eventually succeeded, and his tongue reached the Master's chin, even his lips. The Master smiled. On impulse the Witch-king turned away for an instant, his gauntleted fingers digging into the window's arch as if trying to crush the stony ledge into crumbs.
When he looked down again, the Master's hand was stroking the cub's fur and he licked the little beast's nose back, returning the favour. The wargling whimpered overjoyed, his tail wiggling wildly. The Nazgul gritted his teeth.
Little witless creature. You are not even capable of understanding, what it is, to receive His favour. Why are you worthy?
What if I..?
When he looked down again, the Master's hand was stroking the cub's fur, and he licked the little beast's nose back, returning the favour. The wargling whimpered overjoyed, his tail wiggling wildly.
The Master raised and turned his head, distracted from the wargling. Defying the distance and the height between the two of them, his eyes unmistakably found the Witch-king's, exposing him in his shelter and pinning his whole being like a mounted butterfly.
The moon rolled over the sky, reddish, menacing and unnatural. Wolven howling disturbed the night, borne from somewhere deep in the forest. In the fortress the wargs shifted restlessly in their cages and growled at anyone who dared to approach them.
The Master summoned him. What for, the Witch-king never tried to guess. The Master's will equaled inevitable; and he would learn soon enough. Most importantly, the Master required him, and he savoured the feeling of fulfilment brought by this fact alone. He was required. With a steady hand, he opened the heavy door and entered his Master's chambers.
The Master turned to him as he bowed and stood with his head low, awaiting orders.
"I will grant you that knowledge."
For a moment, he strived to decipher these words, but he was not given time. He began to change. Strange, unexpected things were happening to his eyesight, arms and legs. Everything dimmed as if he was losing his vision. The Master grew in stature; and for some reason now the Nazgul had to lift his head to glance at him. A storm of previously unknown smells entered his nose. In bewilderment, he almost choked on them. His ears twitched at the assault of sounds he had never heard before. Overwhelmed, he howled.
The Master gave him an order and the meaning of it he did not grasp.
Unintelligible as it was, the flow of sounds from his Master's lips played the necessary strings to calm his his new disquiet mind. And so he calmed down. The Master extended his arm and stroked the fur on his head and between his ears.
Another order. His hide tinged at these sounds, and his heart began to beat faster. His mouth opened, and let his tongue out.
The Master embraced him his neck. The wolf inhaled the sweet, delicious smell of the Master's body. The best smell. The best smell in the world. He licked the bare foot in appreciation. Everything became very simple. Good boy. A good boy he was.
The Master straddled him, his fingers dug deep into the fur on his neck and guided him to the open window. With one precise leap he bounded over the ledge to freedom, crossed the yard and headed into the heart of the forest.
They rode and he lost the sense of time. He let his intoxication overwhelm him, his new speed, sounds and smells, his Master atop him, no worries, no thoughts. He burnt with a wild excitement without constraints.
When the Master ordered him to stop, he did so with regret. He hoped their ride would never end. A secluded glade they reached, quiet and dark. The reddish moon was nowhere to be seen through the dense foliage. He panted, his paws diving into the soft soil and grass. The Master got off him, and the wolf looked at him with impatience. The Master's skin glistened, covered in sweat, and he licked his lips as if thirsty after their ride. He lay down on the grass before the wolf. The wolf halted for a moment as if in doubt, yet he approached the Master and licked the sweaty skin of his brow, laying his head in his Master's lap. The Master's gentle hand stroked his fur. They lay together listening to the sounds of the forest at night.
Owls' hooting.
Spiders' crawling.
Leaves' rustling in the wind.
When the dark surrendered before the dawn, they returned into the castle to the same chambers they had left. The Master dismounted and turned to the mirror. His fingers combed through his long hair to get rid of the grass that had tangled in it. Without saying anything or glancing at the wolf he left the room. As the door closed, the familiar dizziness overcame the wolf. He believed he had fainted for a moment. Struggling with nausea that surged inside him when the spell had been lifted, he did not at first register that he possessed his human body again. He tried to get up from the floor, but his limbs disobeyed him, and he lost his balance. His heart pounded, arms and legs trembled after his failed attempt to move upright. Succumbing to this state of misery he merely crawled on his fours into the corner to the pile of his clothes. There he curled, drowning in his sickness, weak and devastated, until some kind of dark slumber took him.