The sky darkened in Mordor, the fell beast called out to the ear that they had returned, and Khamul steered towards the tower with a sure hand. Murazor was quiet now… the rip behind his knee had torn wider as time had passed. His breaths had lost their frost. They swooped above the black gates, the fell beast's cries causing the great trolls of Mordor to pause in respect, or fear.

In the distance the Eye's flame seared across thousands of Orcs encamped within its lands. The beam dashed suddenly to the beast in the sky, narrowing in anger that only the Nine could see, and feel. Khamul hissed as the vapor that composed most of his being was burned, peeling and curling back on itself till his arms were no more than translucent bone, dripping with evaporating lines of burning dark blood.
His cry was wordless, not of hate but of sorrow that he had caused his lord rage, what meant his pain if it appeased his master? But he could not stop the shriek that forced itself inot being as the burns continued to spread.

My Lord! My Captain is wounded! We did not retreat, Forgive me! My master…

The heat had faded, Sauron's fire now warm instead of scalding swept over them both in the ghost of a caress. He turned its full attention to the one that now lay gasping in Khamul's arms. The Witch King had not been spared the heat, and his form beneath the robe gave of the smell of old, burning death.

The fell beast landed on the dais before the Eye, lowering itself so that those mounted could step down. Shakily, Khamul released its reigns and stepped on trembling knees to the ground. My lord… the battle goes well, the king of Rohan is slain, and perhaps his daughter as well, for I felt the black breath upon her… He was rewarded with a faint glimmer of approval from the Maia, but it faded quickly as the Eye felt the wound on its Dark Captain.
The sound of a door opening forced Khamul to raise his head. There stood The Mouth of Sauron, wordless before him. He moved forward quickly and knelt beside the fallen wraith, an angry sigh hissed from between his lips.

"The wound is deeper than it appears, it has breached his core… However it is, repairable."

Khamul hissed angrily, …If that be so… than repair it… he is needed for the field saw him fall, we must restore the troops confidence soon in their captain.

The Mouth toned duly, "Perhaps you need your moral boosted as well? You aren't yourself this day Easterling."

A hiss from the Witch King's form drew their attention, Murazor winced, his eyes were dim within the iron helm. The hiss grew louder as the fallen wraith pushed himself into a crouch. Khamul reached out to assist, but stopped when the other regained his feet. (It would be a blow to his pride… to receive help when it was unneeded…) With weak, joint locked steps, the Lord of the Nazgul walked until he reached the platforms end. He sank to his knees, head bowed in shame.

Khamul felt their lord reach out to his Captain, speaking to him softly in a voice only used for those that were honored with his words. ( I am not one of these… I could be, I have done more for our cause than most, if it was not for I, Murazor would probably have never encountered…) The Eye was upon him, once more the heat threatened to burn,

He is mine! The Eye flashed brighter than the sun. Without you, he would still be mine! I hold him!
The booming hiss ripped like steel through his core, Khamul collapsed with a shriek, form twitching helplessly in the palm of his Lord's power.

Forgive me! Hyyaaassssss! My lord! Forgive!

The convulsions eased and the shrieks died in his throat as the Eye's power withdrew, and the part of him that always knew his lords wishes seemed to whisper to him…

… Have I ever not?