Author's Note: Here it is a third chapter. I'm nervous, and still plotless, but here we go. Let's see where it leads!

Disclaimer: Clearly I do not own the Witch King and I do not want to be sued by Sauron. No thank you! The Dark Lord may keep his wraiths! Even the tall one with the awesome helm.

The Road to Perdition

Slowly she awoke to a heavy pressure in her nether regions. Groggily she opened her eyes, only to frown as they were met with pitch darkness. Becoming aware of her surroundings also made the discomfort in her abdomen more pronounced, and she wondered if she'd been kicked, but the only person she'd seen had been the Captain of the Nine, and he hadn't touched anything other than her face.

She froze, as a smile coiled her mouth. She needed to pee! The joy washed over her, as it came to her. Never had the Houses of Lamentation heard a whoop of joy before, as she clawed at the wall in a feebly desperate attempt to stand.

Giving up she crawled over to the corner where she used to do her business. How long ago it seemed since she'd last taken a leak. Using the walls for support she did succeed in pushing herself into a precarious squat. Hastily she pulled down her leggings, and pulled up her tunic, almost sighing, as a feeling of bliss swept over her, even as the hot fluid pooled about her feet.

It was a wonderful feeling to pee. How she'd missed it, and how much more refreshed she felt!

After a treacherous hobble, with pants still down, tunic bunched in her other hand, and needing the wall as a crutch she finally dressed herself and collapsed in the corner she slept in for another nap.

"Conversation."

The answer had caught her off guard, but after asking what meant, and being told that conversation meant talking with another person she accepted.

Her acceptance had not made him linger any longer, and so the door of her cell closed, and flaming eyed wolves were born of the darkness around her, tearing at her, ripping her apart until her sore throat tore gushing blood as she screamed, and the Witch King did not return.

The dream was the same, repetitive, and she lay curled in the dark wide eyed and afraid of drifting off; escaping her loneliness and the smell of piss coiling about her nose. She'd shifted closer to the door, and even there she could not escape the smell.

The door was horrid in any case. On more than one occasion, she thought she heard whispers, felt the presence of creatures unseen moving passed. It was why she had never slept by the door in the first place. Eventually the sensation of her leg being touched by fingers she could not slap away sent her crawling back to her original corner.

It was a heavy clang that brought her back to wakefulness. And her ears perked, heart raced, as she made out the gruff voices of orcs. They were coming for her. The Witch King had lied! 'Of course he had,' her heart snarled at her stupidly feeble mind. What had she expected? First nazgul and now orcs.

Orcs meant one thing, and one thing only. Torture. She curled up into herself as phantom pains bit her skin, old wounds flared to life, tongues of flame licked her shins as scared blisters suddenly boiled and burst under scalding oil.

He'd said he'd come to speak with her one last time. He'd lied! He'd lied to a king of Gondor, why on earth wouldn't he lie to her too? Why hadn't he just killed her? Her door opens and she cowers from the sting of s torch ceremoniously shoved into her cell. She used to love the sun, and now it would probably kill her!

Shaking, gasping, and feeling faint, she flinched as the door opened, and covered her ears. The horrid light of a torch poured in, and she shut her eyes.

"Get up yous scum! You're wanted in the…." She pressed down her ears tighter.

There was probably a whip somewhere nearby, she risked cracking an eye, only to regret it as it stung. Adjusting her arm to shield her one smarting eye she linked away tears as she located their feet.

One heavy booted foot was in her vision, and there was whip, curled loosely at the orc's side. Her eye closed and she bit her lip until she tasted iron. She felt the other approach and bolted upright scrabbling for the corner.

"Stay away!" She wedged herself between the walls, knees protectively guarding her chest. In her peripheral she saw the whip fall open as the laughter of the orc rang in the confine of her cell. The one above her looked far less amused, and she was relieved that he was too close for the other to risk swinging the whip at her.

Even if she could have stood, could have walked, and had dared to follow them, her legs had atrophied beyond the ability to hold her weight.

"Grab 'er and let's get a move on. I'm not going ta risk makin' em wait."

Rough hands grabbed her arm, and claws bit into flesh, as she was hauled upward. Her legs trembled as she sagged against the orc holding her, who scowled in open disgust because she stunk of the fetid piss clinging to the cell, or because of her weakness- maybe it was both. Her eyes closed as he turned her toward the torch.

Her feet stepped and hopped where she could plant them as she hauled from her cell down darkened corridors flickering with demonic shadows. She clenched her eyes shut to avoid seeing them, and the ever approaching terror that awaited her at the end.

On more than one occasion she shuddered as if passing through a draft, and the orc towing her would add a bit of speed to his step as though he felt it too. They were quiet, as they moved. Something about the place always harboured a necessity for silence.

Eventually her weak leg muscles gave out, and she collapsed with only his iron grip on her arm to keep her from hitting the floor entirely. The other reached out taking her arm, and she was dragged, bare feet scraping the stone floor long after they had bled.

Eyes still closed, breathing turning ragged, she became dimly aware that their walk was taking longer than she remembered, and it only served to make her fear worse.

Eventually she risked opening her eyes too fearful to be relieved by how little the torch pained them. She blinked profusely if she looked directly at it.

On the walls were carved woodland creatures once fair to eyes that beheld them, now turned demon and beast in the flickering torch.

They came at last to the doors. And her panicked mind went to her feet. She tried to drag them purposefully to slow her carriers, but they were pained and slick and slipped to easily against the stone. Her hands gripped the arms of her captures. If she didn't let go, they would have a hard time.

"Please, please, please, don't."

She sobbed as her grip on their arms were shoved off. "Please don't do this!"

He hands scrabbled for their arms only to be swatted away. Ahead the doors loomed ever closer. "Please no. No. No.N-"

"Keep yourself quiet and quit your strugglin' you don't want to make em wait." The whip carrying orc snarled at.

"Oh yes I want them to wait." She kicked and dug her nails into his arm. "The Witch King made a promise! He thinks he's great king, go and ask him if it's proper for a great king to keep his word!"

"Get the blasted door!"

"No!"

"I suggest," the orc with the whip snarled grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him, "that you quit your whinin' or I'll make you squeal."

"Please don't throw me in there." The words were a defeated whisper. There was no hope that she could deter them from their purpose. She shuddered as she felt the cool draft wash over her from the creaking door. "Please."

She was lifted. "Please! Don't! No!" She screamed as she thrust beyond the threshold, only for it to die into laboured gasping and panicked sobs at the site that awaited her.

Stairs.

The door shut heavily behind her, and she felt steady iron hands on her arms once more as the orcs hauled her upwards.

She cried and trembled between them at both the terror of some new torture waiting at the top of a staircase she'd never seen before, and the constant burning from her feet.

The landing was a narrow hall like the one far below, black as shade but the air was slightly fresher. Around her the faint hum and clanking of what she assumed was machinery bounced along the walls, and her mind's guess as to what they would be used for left her trembling, and sobbing harder.

Her pleads were twisted by fear and sobs, as she begged for reprieve, release, a moment's delay, something, anything, to keep the promise of those hated words rattling in her head at bay, if only for a short while longer.

Maybe if she could delay them she could escape, or wait for that accursed nazgul to come keep his promise. Just a little bit more time.

She cried out falling abruptly, her eyes wide as she stared at the ground and arm's length away. They stood over her, shadowy silhouettes large and menacing as the torch made warped them on the wall. She pulled her legs close and looked up at them.

"Remove your stinking clothes."

Bleary eyed with tears she wrapped an arm about her chest, trembling hand rising to cover her mouth.

"Thy flesh shall be devoured and thy shrivelled mind lay naked for the lidless eye."

No. No. No. She shook her head, crying out as an orc's clawed hand reached for her.

"No! I'll do it myself!" She fell against the wall quivering. "I just…"

She shook her head again, begging the voice to leave her head. Slowly her trembling fingers fumbled with the ties of her tunic. Her eyes were too blurry to see properly.

With a growl one of the orcs bore down on her, impatient with her lack of urgency. The sound of fabric tearing was punctuated by a hitch in breathing, and her arms fold protectively over her chest were roughly shoved aside, as frustrated voice angrily hissed for her to stop quibbling.

All her clothes were taken and she curled to shield herself from their leering gazes. But they turned, departed, and she heard a door slam. Before the torch's illumination passed from view it occurred to her that she was in a cell much like the one she'd left.

"Thy flesh shall be devoured-"

"I know! I know! Just hurry it up already!" She begged the dark. She couldn't do it anymore. She didn't care anymore. The nighmare was too long toa take and waking up wasn't an option.

Curling on her side she cried until she was utterly spent, and somewhere, through the darkness covering her exhausted mind she fancied she heard the distant sound of approaching footsteps.