Gandalf winced, but did not break eye contact. "…You do not mean that, I sense it old one, I sense it. I would ease your pain… but you would never allow it. Nay, were you to struggle a thousand years more you would never bear my touch, nor seek my words. …you alone make yourself dead to me, not I." A hand reached out, the wraith lord recoiled with a snarl, eyes blazing, yet dead at the same time. "…let it pass Murazor… let go of this hate, it will not protect you, nor serve you in your final breaths. Let it go."

A hush, Gandalf raised his head, to gaze toward the eye, his own grew wide. "…fly you fool… fly!"

The Eye sat frozen, its gaze on them. Gandalf cried out as he was thrown back, hitting the steed behind him, Shadowfax screamed and pawed the sky.

Murazor stood still, his ring calling out to the fire; he fell, his cry echoing on the unforgiving stones. Fire, all the world was fire… Annatar stood before him. Hair blowing gently, hand on the fallen cheek. It burned, all burned… A cold burn. The palm turned rough, the fingers became talons of black steel, the face faded into a helm of death. The fingers brushed him again, the talon's tips ripped his cheek. Murazor shut his eyes, Kill me, if you will… I will not bow again… you, were never my better, instead were my lesser from the moment Morgoth touched you… such a fool my lord…we have been such fools…

Laughter, the claw withdrew, and all was fire again. The Eye shone balefully down upon him, the Ring rang a note in his soul. They were there, his brethren reaching out for him… Never again! They died for you! I will not let that have been wasted! They were mine! As I am mine! Hushed laughter, gulls screaming as ships burned in the night, Númenór in flames, dancing red in the sky…

…You can not undo what was done…you think to redeem yourself? Fool…weak fool…you were not worthy for the greatest of the iron rings! Murazor hissed, icy, almost painful.

…That may be true, I was not. But you would have found none better; it is both my pride and my shame. His eyes opened, looking into Annatars own, …I would serve you… I would follow for all of time if I no longer felt, if I no longer thought, if my own heart failed me again…His hand reached out and took the Miar's hand between his. Watching as it swam between his fingers, warping from blazing tendril to armor of onyx, to flesh again. … You were wild, and unfettered by rules of mortal and man. You drew me, your freedom seemed to mock me, and so for a time…
The hand grabbed his throat, Murazor winced, choked. I set you free as well. The wraith struck out, ripping threw the nonexistent hand, the fire melting the transparent semblance of flesh from his bones.

But you chained me then! Locked me so far from all else that I never felt anything but your pride, and hate… the mistake, was yours, and I will never again bend to you! Slay me! I am dead to you now! As are all my brethren!

He felt the hand fall, watching as it lost form entirely, as it faded. Sauron's enraged form leapt at him.
Pain as the talons ripped his throat, his chest, his heart, trying to reach his ring, to bind him through it. With a roar Murazor ripped it free from his flesh. They watched it fall… Murazor shrieked in both triumph and pain as it vanished into the dust, fought to keep from reaching out at its loss.

A scream lingered, high and deafening, Then fall! Fool! You will never see the sun or your precious seas again! It matters not if you wear your ring! It is part of you! And You Die Mine! All fell still. The fire was gone, blackness swept in to take its place. Pain, dull pain, his eyes closed. It felt… strange… Vertigo set in, the world was spinning…

A crunch as he landed on his side, shuddering, shivering. He had been cold, as long as he could recall his form had been cold… but it felt now as if he had been taken from a pool of ice, and all the blood was starting to rush back to his limbs. Stinging pain, and a sense of drifting…
His gauntlets began to sink through his hands to the rock below.

(No… not like this… I will not die like this!)

The world slammed back around him, the ground was scraping his side. Dazed, he pulled up, staggered to his feet, stood. He screamed out his farewell, screamed out his challenge to fate itself if it dared to stand against him. The portal ripped the mountain in half and he leapt…

Pelannor Fields, The worlds End

As the blade drew near the helm, and the entire of the field watched and held its breath, the small hobbit trembled as he felt his grip on the dagger slipping…

It pulled free. With a shriek of pain and rage the dark captain whirled, but at the last moment turned to face his foe, Reaching to swing his mace. A crack like thunder as Eowyn's blade slid cleanly into the helm.

The Witch king fell to his knees, and then forward. An empty robe lay at the shield maiden's feet.

The pendulum of time shook, and began to swing forwards again…

The wraiths cried out, the armies trembled and began to run.
Aragorn appeared, lead the armies of Rohan and Minas Tirith ride to the land of Mordor.
The creature Gollum fell into the fires of Mt. Doom.
The ring was destroyed.
The eagles flew the hobbits home.
Aragorn and Arwen were married upon the summit of the seven rings of Minas Tirith.
...Night falls… … … …

Epilogue

…The Nazgul stood at ready, their charger's hot breath rising in the evening mists. They were armed to do battle, with an enemy that was no longer there. The Eye of Sauron had fallen; the ruins of the tower where it had stood were all that remained as a testament to the horror that had been Mordor.
In the silence, one moved forward, pushing aside rocks and ancient walls to reach the cracked doorway. He faced the others, his breath frosting the stone.

"...There is, nothing left worth saving..."

One by one the others dismounted and came to his side,"... we have no choice... we must move on." The eyes of the eight lowered."We cannot ... it is pointless... we must fade..." Without the Dark Lord to guide their thoughts, a terrible emptiness had penetrated their tattered minds, no longer capable of emotion, but able to sense its absence." We are no longer complete... ... we are... only eight now..."
With Burning eyes the riders turned away from the ruins, moving back to their mounts and not once looking back. "We must find the Witch King... And become nine once more, then... ..." Their shrieks rang out as they rode forth to Gondor, echoing in the night and filling the skies with their hoof beats thunder.

Indur whirled his horses head, and stopped as he saw something glitter in the dirt. He dismounted, bent down and pulled the thing from the stones and dust. The ring shone dull silver in the light, its stone glowed softly.

(…Murazor…) He leapt upon the steed, spurred it to catch the others. His shriek echoing on the walls of stone… into the silence…