Well. This took a frigging long time. There was some writer's block, and some crazy scenes, and then some real life…and there was nothing I could do. :( But it's here now! It's here and you should totally enjoy the crap out of it while you can! Lol!

Chapter 37 – The Fading of a Shadow

Hathalmyrn was perched along one of the walls, a dark sentinel in the bloody evening. Orcs tried to break the gate of the city, and steadily their corpses were piling up along the gate. If anything they were reinforcing it. He had wanted to go fight, but after his debacle with his master's son and the other Nazgûl he had been told to stay within the walls of the city. He heaved a great sigh, allowing his airless breath to freeze in the warm Gondorian air in front of him like a heavy cloud.

A bit of movement caught his keen eyes, and he turned his shrouded head towards it. At first he saw nothing but shadows, until a pale gleam caught a bit of stray torchlight and dying sunlight. As he leaned toward it the shadow undulated, and he saw a flash of a dark, horned helm.

Murazor! Only one creature in Arda had such a gaudy bit of armorment. But what did he hold? He carefully slipped into the shadows himself, following his old compatriot. As they were nearing the great walls of the city, where Hathalmyrn could not pass, h saw the Lord of the Nazgûl slither out of the shadows.

"I trust thou wilt tell the dragon-born that his little elf-wizardess is in my grasp?" Murazor spoke aloud, looking towards Hathalmyrn. In surprise the smaller wraith stepped into the light, the potter crest glittering on his breast. It was a resplendent lion on a blue background, edged in gold and white.

"What dost thou want with the little wizardess? Her power dost not match the dragon's in strength. Her prowess lay in healing," Hathalmyrn said.

"Tell the beastling I will trade her life for his compliance. The Master wants the boy. If he complies I let her free. If he does not…" Murazor trailed off, shifting his bundle so that Draca's throat was covered by his spiked gauntlet. "I have found that the necks of the little half-elves, sturdy as they may be, break just as easily as their mortal counterparts."

"You underestimate the boy's power, and the power of his ire when he finds out you have taken her. But I will deliver your message. The Lord of Mordor will not triumph over the lad's spirit," Hathalmyrn warned. Murazor hissed angrily, taking two steps towards the smaller wraith.

"Thou wouldst watch thy mouth about the Master! It was He who gave thee eternal life, and dominion over the spawn of Men," The witch-king growled.

"Aye, brother. But at what cost did he snare us? I cannot remember the rays of Anor on my face. I no longer remember what it was like to feel the pleasure of a woman's body beneath me. I do not remember what it was to have friends-,"

"Friends!" Murazor barked. "Friends betray you and stab you in the back! Friends will take what they can from you and give nothing in return! You speak of friends. You have no friends! You were a lonely little worm who inherited a crumbling crown. You begged the Master to allow you to serve him. Do not speak to me of friends," the large wraith laughed derisively.

"I found a friend in my new Master. He does not care only for my usefulness to him. We are useful to each other. I would give my existence for him! If you were not blinded by the Will of the Dark Lord, you would never do anything for him willingly. He holds your soul and so orders you to do his Will. Your kingdom may have been greater than mine, Murazor….but for once in my existence…I am the richest," Hathalmyrn said, and turned his back on the Witch-King.

Murazor watched the other wraith disappear into the shadows, before looking down at the still form in his grasp. He grasped her by the collar of her cloak and held her out in front of him for inspection. He stared at her for several long moments, before finally tucking her back under a large arm.

"My recollection is that the pleasure of a woman was never worth the trouble of them."

James was not alone when he marched towards the Great Gate of Gondor. He could hear the pounding of the orcs trying to break the mighty entrance down, and could see the vague shadowy outline of the Wtch-King as he stood in the shadows. The soldiers that were still trying to guard the gate seemed to know something was wrong with the shadows, because no one would go near the shifting darkness.

Denethor, dressed in his battle armor, accompanied James down through the city. Boromir was with them, having spotted his father and James walking towards the lower city. Harry had been retrieved by Hathalmyrn after delivering the message to James, and had met his son on the sixth level. Lucius had been speaking with Harry, and was accompanying them as well.

James' black sword was in his hand, the length of it bathed in blue flames that licked at the black and silver metal. He was wearing the armor he'd worn at the Battle of the Hornburg, and had put his helmet on. It had been transfigured to look draconic, with two large, curved horns and metal wings spread backwards. There was fire in his eyes and on his lips, and magic swirled angrily around every step he took. The others were quiet as they walked behind him. There was nothing anyone could say to James at this point that he would hear. His eyes were all but black lines against the golden iris, such was his fury. When they got close enough to the suspiciously thick shadow, James finally spoke.

"Well, Murazor, you cum guzzling gutter fuck! I'm here! You better come out here and give her back to me, or I will blow you up like a toad being struck by lightning!" James snarled. Magic arced between the horns of his helmet like electricity, and many of the soldiers on the wall were amazed.

The shadow shifted and melted into the tall form of Murazor, his spiked helm gleaming dully in the light.

"Thou thinkest much of thyself," Murazor purred.

"Not really," James said. "I just don't think very much of you."

Murazor hissed and shifted his thick black cloak, revealing Draca grasped firmly under his arm. She was awake now, her silver-grey eyes wide with fright. She blinked several times as light finally hit her eyes, but could not cry out because of a gag across her mouth. James heard her cry into the fabric. James vaguely heard Lucius growl menacingly. The older wizard's wand arced with emotional magic, and he shook it angrily to knock the magical residue from the tip.

"Now, now, little beast. Calm thyself," Murazor said, resting a large hand over Draca's throat. She went very still, eyes wide, as the crook of his hand lay at the base of her throat. James' mouth was open, teeth dripping with acid. He hissed menacingly at Murazor, and a ring of magic swirled about his blade. Murazor's fist closed slightly and he lifted his arm. Draca's feet dangled above the ground and she choked as he let her hang from his fist.

"What do you want?" James snarled.

"I want the destruction of Mankind and the absolute dominion of my Master over the Middle Earth," Murazor said. Draca's face was turning red as she struggled in the grip of the Witch-King.

"What do you want for her?" James asked, gnashing his teeth together angrily.

"James, no," Harry warned.

"I want you, little hatchling. I want your utter cooperation," Murazor said. He could hear Draca's choking growing weaker behind her gag.

"James!" Harry hissed.

There was suddenly a roar as Denethor drew his sword and rushed forward. Boromir was not able to grab his father and watched as he rushed the Nazgûl. While his ill-considered rush did have the effect of making the Witch-King shift Draca back under his arm, it also had the effect of making the wraith draw his sword. Denethor's sword came down in an arc, but met the wraith's sword with no obvious detriment. Murazor shoved his sword back, knocking the Steward off balance. Denethor stumbled and was immediately put on guard when the Witch-King's sword fell again. Several times the pale, glittering blade fell, pushing the Man back towards his group.

In an effort to move back to the offensive, Denethor tried to parry the blade of the wraith. But the Nazgûl countered his parry and knocked his blade aside. With no moment to spare for gloating Murazor pulled back his sword and drove it into Denethor's gut, cutting through the armor and forcing the blade all the way through him. Boromir shouted as the wraith drew his sword back and kicked out, sending Denethor sprawling.

Suddenly James was upon the Wraith, meeting him with the force of a speeding train. Murazor, in surprise, actually dropped Draca as he was driven back. Lucius moved forward as quickly as possible, scooping her up and Disapparating with her. Murazor shrieked in fury and brought up his clawed gauntlet, catching James in the gut and tossing him away. James' anger had been kindled against the wraith, and he would not be soothed.

"I will send your remains to your master in a fucking tinderbox!" James howled.

Boromir had fallen at his father's side, drawing him into his arms and holding him as he died slowly. Harry was watching as James fought with the huge wraith. James was an animal in his anger, and this was both a great strength and a great weakness. James had no concern for anyone around, and was fighting as if it were his last chance at a battle. But he had lost himself to the dragon half, and it clouded his judgment sometimes.

"He will not avail against Murazor like this," Hathalmyrn said, bobbing nervously and looking for a good entrance into the fight. If he could distract Murazor he could possibly get the dragon lad out of sight. Harry had his wand aimed, trying to get a bead on the Witch King. But he and James were flailing violently as they grappled, and Harry didn't want to shoot James by mistake. Suddenly James drew in an angry breath and exhaled, trying to catch Murazor with his flaming breath. Murazor shifted like black lightning, barely avoiding the flames. He brought his knee up sharply, catching James in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. Then he grabbed one of James' arms and swung him hard into the tall wall that guarded the city. Dazed, James fell back and then rolled, coughing up blood into the dust.

Hathalmyrn shot forward as Murazor was about to go for James again. The smaller wraith drew his sword and brought it down in a singing arc. Murazor thrust up his gauntlet and caught Hathalmyrn's sword, sending sparks flying. As Murazor bandied Hathalmyrn back Harry sent a spell like a flaming arrow at the Witch-King. Murazor ducked it at the last possible moment, before whirling and going for Harry.

Harry drew the Sword of Gryffindor from his sheath and had it at the ready as Murazor attacked. Metal clanked against metal as they fought, and within three strokes Hathalmyrn had recovered sufficiently to add himself to the fray. He roared angrily and caught Murazor across his arm with a glancing blow. Murazor bellowed in fury and swung wildly, catching Harry with a powerful blow that sent him sprawling backwards. Murazor gave no quarter as he went for Harry again, drawing his sword back to deliver a killing blow.

But his sword did not meet the flesh of the Wizard. There was a sound of metal on metal as Hathalmyrn stood in front of Harry with his arms outstretched and his sword cast aside. There was silence for a few moments, before Murazor looked down. His blade entered Hathalmyrn's chest just below where his heart once beat, and had exited the back of his armor. Black ichor mixed with the crimson blood from the Steward. Murazor pulled back his sword and watched as Hathalmyrn swayed.

"Thou art a fool," Murazor hissed. Hathalmyrn stood for only a few moments before he fell heavily to his knees.

"I wouldst…willingly lay down my life….for my master…" he wheezed, before keeling over, his heavy body falling across Harry.

James had just gotten to his hands and knees when a booted foot caught him in the face, shattering his nose and sending him flying. He struck the wall hard again and landed face first in the dirt. He did not move from that position.

"No!" Harry hissed, trying to move Hathalmyrn. His wand had fallen just out of his reach. Murazor reached down and picked James up by his cloak.

"The Master wishes thy company, boy," he growled, before tucking James under his arm as he had Draca and then melting into the shadows like smoke. He traveled up the wall and shrieked a signal. Another wraith appeared at the call, mounted on a fell flying steed, and Murazor tossed James bodily. He was caught by the other wraith, who immediately turned his steed to fly. Murazor stood at the edge of the wall, watching as Men scrambled away from him.

"You have failed, little defenders of Gondor. You have failed and the world of Men will fall," he breathed, before letting out a shriek that shook the stones beneath the feet of the guard.

Boromir held his father as he breathed his final, shuddering breaths.

"Tell your brother…that I'm sorry," Denethor gasped, blood staining his lips. Boromir nodded silently, his eyes wet.

"I will tell him," he said.

"You will…make a good Steward….and will be…a good husband," Denethor continued. Boromir inhaled sharply, but Denethor gave a weak smile.

"Go be at rest, father," Boromir said shakily. Denethor sighed softly and turned his head slightly. His eyes widened slightly. Boromir looked up, but could see nothing. "What is it, father?"

"Finduilas?" Denethor asked. Then his body failed and the light faded from his eyes. Boromir gently lay him against the grass and pressed his eyes closed.

"Be ever at rest with mother," Boromir murmured, before standing. He called to a couple guards to bear away the Steward's body, and turned to where Harry was struggling with the heavy body of Hathalmyrn. He approached cautiously, but reached down and grabbed the Wraith's cloak, pulling mightily and managing to shift the creature enough for Harry to wriggle out from under him.

Hathalmyrn's armor bore a hole in the front, stained with thick, inky blood. Harry turned to the sky for a moment, but then focused his attention on the dying Nazgûl.

"You took the blow meant for me, Hathalmyrn," Harry said. The wraith shivered. "If ever anyone had doubt that you cared for me, then their doubt was assuaged."

"There was no…greater love that I….could give you…than to offer my life….in willing exchange for yours," Hathalmyrn's voice was weak and sounded garbled. Harry could feel the steady drain of energy that represented their bond sputtering.

"Hathalmyrn…you are a true friend," Harry said, reaching out and laying his hand against the specter's shrouded face. "May God have mercy on your soul," he added, making the sign of the cross over the wraith's body.

"I deserve none," Hathalmyrn burbled. "Master…I…Master?" Hathalmyrn asked. "I…I cannot feel you, Master!" he sounded frightened, his gloved hand flailing.

"I am here, Hath! I am here!" Harry said, reaching out and grasping the large, metal encased hand. The wraith was squirming now, making a terrible keening noise.

"Do not leave me! Do not abandon me to the darkness! I cannot see!" Hathalmyrn cried. "Mercy! Mercy! I was deceived! I fear the dark!" Hathalmyrn gave a shriek of terror and jerked mightily, and then he lay still. The hand that had gripped Harry's lost its strength, and the sputtering connection between them fell completely.

"Hathalmyrn?" Harry asked gently. There was no answer from the wraith. "My poor friend…" Harry replied, resting the limp hand over Hathalmyrn's chest.

Boromir made a signal to another guard.

"Bear away the body of the Nazgûl. It cannot stay here," he said. The death of the Nazgûl had been disturbing on many levels. It made him incredibly sad for some reason.

Harry knelt by Hathalmyrn as he was dragged onto a litter to bear him away. First his son. Then his friend. Harry stood to his feet, emerald eyes blazing with magic and fury. James wasn't the only one with magical gifts. Harry's wand flew into his hand, dripping with magical residue, and Harry turned to where the Witch King stood on the wall.

"I hope Mordor has good health insurance, Witch-King, because I'm about to put you out of commission!" he bellowed.

"Your son could do nothing, and you needed the assistance of one of the Nine to even face me. There is none in this land who can stand before me!" he hissed.

"I will stand before you," Harry said, calling the Sword of Gryffindor to him again.

"Indeed? You and what army?" the wraith laughed.

And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last. Harry sneered, magic sparkling at his wand tip.

"That army."

He opened his eyes, bringing up a hand to cover them as the brightness hurt his eyes. He started as soft flesh brushed his face. He pulled his hand back and looked at it. The hand of a man stared back at him, made of bone and covered with flesh.

"I am whole," he said, pressing his hands to his face. He could feel the old familiarity of the features beneath his fingers, marveling as his hands passed over a neck and chest, and to a complete body. He was swathed only in white linen pants, shirtless and barefoot, and he finally managed to roll to his hands and knees. It was difficult to remember how to work muscles that had been dead for centuries. Standing was difficult, and he wobbled like a newborn calf.

"Hathalmyrn,"

He turned around and nearly fell in his haste. A man stood behind him, staring at him. The man's hair was white like snow, but his face was smooth and ageless. His eyes were green, the color of new spring grass. A simple gold crown rested on his white hair and sparkled as though it were adorned with stars. In his right hand he held a staff of smooth white wood, straight and narrow with a star-like jewel floating languidly near the tip.

"Who art thou?" Hathalmyrn asked. The man's face was serious.

"I am the Judge of all that was. I am the hand of the law, the deliverer of justice. You have long escaped my wrath," he said, his voice deep and powerful. Hathalmyrn whimpered slightly and began to tremble.

"What must I do?" he asked shakily. The man pointed to the ground in front of him.

"Come and face your judgment," he said. Hathalmyrn felt the unfamiliar wetness of tears on his face as he walked towards the being. When he was close enough, he dropped slowly to his knees, awaiting the judgment of the man.

"Tell me now why I should not throw you into the pit of Udûn to serve a lifetime of punishment," he said. Hathalmyrn gulped.

"I cannot say if you should or should not. But please hear what I would say…" he begged. The man stared at him with hard eyes, but nodded sharply.

"You may speak your case," he said.

"It began many thousands of years ago, when I was but a young king. I met a Man by the name of Murazor…"

Oh my GOD. That chapter was a frigging beast to write. Ugh. But now it's out, and I can move on to other things.

Poor Hathalmyrn. :( But I kinda always had this ending for him. James' greatest strength and weakness was always his dragon mind. Once he lost himself to it he gained incredible magical power and physical strength, but he lost his human ability to reason and problem-solve. That is what screwed him over.

You've read the chapter, now if you haven't already, you should favorite or follow. Or even better, I would love it if you reviewed! It would be fantastic!