Disclaimer I don't own these characters, Sauron and the nameless Nazgul, who's point of view this work is written in, are property of J.R.R. Tolkein via the Lord of the Rings novels.
It is cold, oh so very cold. Here in the darkness, lost in the realm of the unseeing, the unfeeling.
I do not wish to go on. I cannot continue like this. Yet, I have no other choice. Wherever I am, I can hear it. The whispers, the calls. I know that, should I find it, I might be released from this torture. I might, at last, be free.
But then he will have it. He who sees all. I can feel his gaze, ever searching, just as I am. But he knows that he will find it eventually, thus receiving the same freedom I long for with the very depths of my soul. As long as it lives, I will be trapped, imprisoned within my own desires to own it, to rise above that which I have become. To gain the power to free myself.
I remember a time when I was a great king, respected and feared by all. I was one of the nine kings of men. One of the 19 Sauron had deemed worthy to receive the Great Rings. I had been proud to have been selected. I had been eager to prove his faith in me was not misplaced.
I had been a fool.
Now, as I travel across the lands, searching for the one that bears the One Ring, I wonder if I could turn against the eye, as he once turned against me.
But the ring still calls to me, and I cannot ignore it's cries. I can no longer fight against the yearning it has. The yearning to be taken in it's master's hands once more, to be used for the purpose of which it was created. To be able to use it's full power. To destroy all that now exists in the world.
A part of me wants to help it accomplish this task, but I know that this is the part that is controlled by my own ring, still clinging to the cold, bone-like flesh of my finger. The rest of me wonders what the right path is. I am caught in a second trap, one created by my own mind.
The path before me is hard to turn from, but I could. I could delay my search as much as possible, give those that fight the Deceiver a chance to win. I could... and yet, did I wish to do so? To be cast once more into endless darkness, without purpose without reason? At least now, with Sauron's rise, I know what is expected of me. At least now, I know where my road will lead. I know where it is I am going.
I have a purpose, unwilling as I am to follow it. Perhaps I cannot turn away from this. Perhaps I have followed this path for too long. I stepped onto it blindly, not knowing where it would lead, and now I follow it blindly, unwilling to see what it will bring.
( )
For years this world has struggled
Against the flow of time
Against the inevitable
Of the dreams and hopes of nine.
Ringwraiths they call them
Ever-searching, ever-riding
Nazgul! They cry,
As their hopes fall to hiding.
Once they were men
Proud kings of the race.
Once they were strong
Now they live in disgrace.
The one ring rules them
As long as it survives
They will go on hunting
For it holds their lives.
The great days of man
Have faded in time
Now all that remains
Are the ever-seeking nine.
Ringwraiths they call them
Ever-searching, ever-riding
Nazgul! They cry,
As their hopes fall to hiding.
Clothed in black robes
Down to their roots
Mounted on horses
Of a black, black hue.
Or wings! Riding the winds!
Oh-so-high they are flying!
Circling, searching,
Through silver winds, sighing.
Ringwraiths they call them
Ever-searching, ever-riding
Nazgul! They cry,
As their hopes fall to hiding.
Shadows of fear
Flow 'round their path
And screams of despair
Or is that their laugh?
Their cries echo
Through memories of time
The shrieking, the screaming
Of the ever-dreaded nine.