Disclaimer: The Riders and all Middle-Earth are Tolkien's and I haven't
gained profit from this story.
The Witch-King rode in haste to meet with the other Riders. He still retained much of his magical ability he had attained with his rule over the realm of Angmar. At times he could extend it to the other Riders, but he was concentrating most of his power on propelling the horse to the closest Rider. At the moment he was on the Old South Road that would take him through Tharbad where he could sense Dakian. To the untrained eye his robes flailed behind him like the waves of a turbulent ocean. If one could view him in slow motion his robes seemed to flow around him like a dark river.
Meanwhile, Khamûl was leading the others to South Downs. To their knowledge they still had to maintain an aura of stealth. In daylight they traveled in the shadows of the forest. They were less powerful at this time, for the daylight diminished their presence. Khamûl could sense the presence of the Ring almost as proficiently as the Witch-King. The only downfall was that he was the most disoriented in the sun's rays. As daylight waned they arrived at South Downs. Fuinur and Gothmog attended to the horses. Though they were shadowy visages, their horses still were mortal. Herumor, Melkan, and Seykin were bent on sharpening their swords to perfection, reinforcing the incantations. Adierel sat with Khamûl who was keeping watch.
"The sun sinks below the horizon," Khamûl stated. "The night's denizens will be out soon."
"We sank below the horizon long ago," Adierel said. "Yet we are out representing the darkness in light."
Elsewhere, the Witch-King rode up to a dark figure on horseback.
"You have contacted Sauron?" the Witch-King questioned.
"Yes he-"
They both turned to a shadow near the crossing. To those not of the darkness it was but a still shadow, to the wraiths the shadow trembled.
Dismounting, Dakian grabbed the shadow while the Witch-King drew his sword. The form twisted in the Nazgûl's vice grip.
The Witch-King's deep raspy voice said, "Why do you hide in the shadows?"
Dakian tilted his head as he went through the Dunlending's thoughts. "He is a spy," he said to the Witch-King.
"A spy," the Witch-King said thoughtfully
"A spy of Saruman," Dakian said.
"Tell me, do you know of the connection between the Istari Saruman and Istari Gandalf?" The Witch-King asked bringing his sword close to the Dunlending.
Grìma Wormtongue stared at the sword and trembled. He cowered in the presence of the Nazgûl. Though a counselor of King Thèoden he had become and agent of Saruman; the only thing on his mind now was his survival.
"'Yea, yea, verily I can tell you, Lord.'" The Witch-King took the sword away for the time being. "'I have overheard their speech together in Isengard. The land of halflings: it was thence that Gandalf came, and desires to return. He seeks now only a horse.'"
The Witch-King grabbed Wormtongue by the throat pushing him into a wall. "You speak of things which have already come to pass! Do you even know where the land of the halflings lies?"
Wormtongue yelped in terror and said, "'Spare me! I speak as swiftly as I may, West through the Gap of Rohan yonder, and then north and a little west, until the next great river bars the way; the Greyflood it is called.' The river which we are now near. 'Thence from the crossing at Tharbad the old road will lead you to the borders. 'The Shire,' they call it.'"
"Does Saruman know of this location?" the Witch-King said squeezing his throat.
"'Yea verily, Saruman knows of it.'" He struggled for a breath. "'Goods come to him from that land down the road.'" He then pleaded, "'Spare me, Lord! Indeed I will say naught of our meeting to any that live.'"
The Lord of the Nazgûl released Wormtongue from his grip and walked to his horse. Wormtongue still was on the ground sobbing to himself out of pure terror.
Dakian walked to the Witch-King, "You're sparing him?"
"Yes. Terror envelops him, he will tell no one of our encounter. Evil such as his should roam free. He could cause more harm to Saruman alive than dead. Besides he will be plagued with nightmares the rest of his days."
"What Sauron has seen is true," Dakian said. "The ringbearer is a halfling and is heading toward Rivendell. Saruman's intentions are no longer Sauron's own."
"Saruman's vengeance will have to wait," the Witch-King said. He sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. "Let us go meet with the others."
Dakian mounted his horse and followed the Witch-King leaving Wormtongue on the ground.
Fuinur was on watch at South Downs. Turning to the others he said, "dark figures approach."
Khamûl said, "It must be Dakian and our captain."
Darkness came over the camp confirming their suspicions. Dakian and the Witch-King rode into the camp.
"What news do you bring?" Adierel questioned.
"Our supposed ally is conspiring against Sauron," the Witch-King said.
"Who is the one of which you speak?" Khamûl demanded.
"An Istari named Saruman," Dakian said. "Sauron himself has seen his deceit, as have we with a spy."
Seykin spoke up, "will our stealth be required any longer?"
"No," the Witch-King said. "We are to kill the one who bears the ring at whatever costs we deem necessary."
Melkan was staring oddly in the distance. "I sense a light in the darkness," he said.
"Fire," Gothmog said. "Fifty miles off."
"The weather hill of Amon Sûl," Khamûl said.
"The Ring," the Witch-King said.
"Khamûl, Fuinur, Herumor, and Melkan come with me. Dakian, Adierel, Seykin, and Gothmog follow in our stead and patrol the outlying region," the Witch- King said.
With their swords in hand they mounted their horses and rode into the direction of the Weather Hills. With the darkness as their ally they passed quickly over the fields and Great East Road.
The light was abruptly extinguished and they dismounted simultaneously. The five surrounded Amon Sûl. The Witch-King was familiar with the crumbling watchtower. Mighty it had stood, but crumbled it now remained. Under his reign of Angmar he had personally seen to its destruction. Each of the Riders smelled the desire of life of those on the hill, but quelled that desire with hatred. The night had revealed to them footprints and discarded firewood. They sniffed the air and saw the shadowed shape of figures in their minds.
The fire was lit once again only fueling the anger of the Riders. Fire was apart of the light and could do them damage. Someone among the enemy must have a substantial knowledge of the darkness of Mordor.
The Riders navigated the labyrinth of shadows the moonlight cast. The five Riders stood atop the hill. Their statuesque forms held their swords tightly. Fuinur and Herumor stood rigidly at the edge of the dell while the Witch-King, Khamûl, and Melkan advanced.
The Witch-King was a tall, imposing figure between Khamûl and Melkan. He stared intensely at the halfling who bore the Ring.
"Bow to the whims of the Ring halfling. Give us what we desire!" The Witch- King's voice came out like a hiss from a venomous snake. He concentrated his dark powers on the halfling who stared in fear, but was overcome by the Ring.
As the Ring was put on the finger of the halfling Khamûl and Melkan stopped abruptly. The Witch-King could see that the halfling saw the shadowed figures of their previous kingly forms. The pale face of the Witch-King merely smiled in amusement as the halfling drew his sword. The eye of Sauron radiated its fiery fury. The Witch-King drew a knife, which glowed eerily with an aura of pure darkness. He leapt at the halfling aiming the knife at the heart of the halfling. The halfling struck at the feet of the Witch-King. The Nazgûl's path was strayed from the heart but still bore into flesh. The Witch-King's eyes darkened in excitement at the halfling's scream.
The halfling slipped off the ring as a figure jumped at the Witch- King with a fire in hand. Khamûl fought the Ranger with sword in hand. Khamûl fought the Ranger with sword but his robe caught fire. The others fought but started being consumed with fire. The Witch-King looked at his torn robe in anger fighting the resistant Ranger.
"Come my captain!" Khamûl called. The Witch-King still fought in a frenzy, "Dùrien!"
The Witch-King froze at the mention of his true name and stormed off as the fire started consuming his robe. When he ran off the dell he discarded his fiery robe like the others who had caught on fire. He was unclad and invisible in the night, but could sense the shadowy specters of the other four.
Dakian led the other Riders to the invisible forms of their kin. He could sense their presence in the darkness.
Adierel handed them robes saying, "Daylight draws near."
"Daylight will not help the halfling," the Witch-King said. "The blade of Daegirth will see to that. Give the effects of darkness time and he will become one of us. When he does, the Ring will be ours. We must get him in our clutches before someone who has the resources heals him. It appears we've encountered more resistance than we initially anticipated."
The Riders used the cover of darkness to heal from the efforts of the fire. As sunrise approached they patrolled the area. They could sense the ringbearer who was being ensnared by the shadow, but something clouded their vision.
Eight days passed of tracking the ringbearer. The Witch-King concentrated his energy on hastening the incantation's effects on the wound, as the ringbearer grew weaker. Melkan, Seykin, and Dakian worked on nightmares, which would haunt the halfling in its fevered dreams. Dakian seemed to enjoy haunting the dreams with winged shadows.
On the ninth day Gothmog addressed the Witch-King. "There is an elf about, my captain. I have sensed him while on watch."
"That is a presence I've felt growing in my mind," Adierel said.
When the sun set the Riders concentrated their respective energies. They sent images of darkness, but then they felt. . .hope.
"The elf has reached the halfling," Dakian said.
They slowly tracked the trail of the enemy. Under shield of night they could ride silently. When the enemy reached the darkest part of the road they each urged their horses to gallop down the road. The echo of the horse's hooves was utilized to draw terror. The Witch-King rode yelling, "The Ring! Give it to us!" To others it sounded like a shrill cry.
Herumor, Fuinur, Seykin, and Gothmog appeared behind the Witch-King. Khamûl and Dakian rode to the horse with the halfling and the elf. Melkan and Adierel galloped madly to cut off their escape route to the ford ahead. They each rode with the force of a dark wind preparing for a storm. They rode past the enemy; the only though in their mind was the Ring for Sauron.
The Riders yelled in anger when the elf used its magic to propel its horse. Even the great steeds of the Riders could not overtake the white Elvish- horse, but they could match it.
Khamûl called in a fell voice, "You'll never succeed! You will fall into darkness!"
"Let the shadow consume you! Embrace it!" Dakian called.
"It is the only way," the Witch-King yelled. "You'll never escape the darkness!"
The hoods of the Riders flew back. Their pale forms had revealed robes of white and grey.
"The shadow is cast by the light!" Adierel called. "Only in the darkness can you truly become apart of the light!"
The Elvish horse entered water, but the Riders paused. The Witch- King entered the water testing its power. He reared his horse in frustration.
The halfling yelled, "'Go back to the Land of Mordor and follow me no more!'"
The Witch-King halted and looked to the Riders. They each laughed cruelly at the halfling's feeble resistance.
"'Come back!'" Khamûl yelled. "Come to us!"
"'To Mordor we shall take you!'" the Witch-King called.
The halfling whispered desperately, but the Riders chanted, "'The Ring! The Ring!'"
The halfling yelled at the Riders in vain, but was silenced by the Witch- King who rode to the middle of the river. The rest of the Riders followed. The halfling dropped his sword in terror when the Witch-King reached the shore.
"'Give us the halfling!'" the Witch-King demanded.
The fair-haired elf cried, "If you want him you'll have to go through me!" He started chanting Elvish.
"He conspires with his people!" Dakian said alarmed.
The water began to rise and the Riders noticed a wave coming towards them. Their horses started rearing in terror. The Riders on shore hesitated until white figures bathed in fire forced them to a watery fate. The horses of all the Riders were filled with madness as they were thrust into the flood.
Before the Riders were swept away the Witch-King yelled, "You've not seen the last of us!"
A wave with white riders and their foamy steeds crashed over their robed forms and when it passed it left only the shadow of what the sun cast.
Author's Note: Yay! I finally updated, let me tell you a lot of research went into this. A special thanks goes out to tikimoof who told me the names Herumor and Fuinur, that are mentioned in the Silmarillion (pg.351), which I coincidently received as a birthday present. Anyway the phrases with "'. . .'" these indicate that I borrowed them from the Unfinished Tales in the case of Wormtongue (pg.355) and the Fellowship of the Ring at Amon Sûl (pg.209). Anyway, the story is far from over, once more research is attained (which may take a bit because of this lovely college work I received) I'm going to write about what happened to the Riders after the flood. The Witch-King's true name I made up, but it includes elements of Elvish and the name of the knife is the same thing. I've made corrections with names in the story and clarified some things, so feel free to go back and read things over. Anyway, please review. Riders urge all to review with their swords 'casually' in their hands
The Witch-King rode in haste to meet with the other Riders. He still retained much of his magical ability he had attained with his rule over the realm of Angmar. At times he could extend it to the other Riders, but he was concentrating most of his power on propelling the horse to the closest Rider. At the moment he was on the Old South Road that would take him through Tharbad where he could sense Dakian. To the untrained eye his robes flailed behind him like the waves of a turbulent ocean. If one could view him in slow motion his robes seemed to flow around him like a dark river.
Meanwhile, Khamûl was leading the others to South Downs. To their knowledge they still had to maintain an aura of stealth. In daylight they traveled in the shadows of the forest. They were less powerful at this time, for the daylight diminished their presence. Khamûl could sense the presence of the Ring almost as proficiently as the Witch-King. The only downfall was that he was the most disoriented in the sun's rays. As daylight waned they arrived at South Downs. Fuinur and Gothmog attended to the horses. Though they were shadowy visages, their horses still were mortal. Herumor, Melkan, and Seykin were bent on sharpening their swords to perfection, reinforcing the incantations. Adierel sat with Khamûl who was keeping watch.
"The sun sinks below the horizon," Khamûl stated. "The night's denizens will be out soon."
"We sank below the horizon long ago," Adierel said. "Yet we are out representing the darkness in light."
Elsewhere, the Witch-King rode up to a dark figure on horseback.
"You have contacted Sauron?" the Witch-King questioned.
"Yes he-"
They both turned to a shadow near the crossing. To those not of the darkness it was but a still shadow, to the wraiths the shadow trembled.
Dismounting, Dakian grabbed the shadow while the Witch-King drew his sword. The form twisted in the Nazgûl's vice grip.
The Witch-King's deep raspy voice said, "Why do you hide in the shadows?"
Dakian tilted his head as he went through the Dunlending's thoughts. "He is a spy," he said to the Witch-King.
"A spy," the Witch-King said thoughtfully
"A spy of Saruman," Dakian said.
"Tell me, do you know of the connection between the Istari Saruman and Istari Gandalf?" The Witch-King asked bringing his sword close to the Dunlending.
Grìma Wormtongue stared at the sword and trembled. He cowered in the presence of the Nazgûl. Though a counselor of King Thèoden he had become and agent of Saruman; the only thing on his mind now was his survival.
"'Yea, yea, verily I can tell you, Lord.'" The Witch-King took the sword away for the time being. "'I have overheard their speech together in Isengard. The land of halflings: it was thence that Gandalf came, and desires to return. He seeks now only a horse.'"
The Witch-King grabbed Wormtongue by the throat pushing him into a wall. "You speak of things which have already come to pass! Do you even know where the land of the halflings lies?"
Wormtongue yelped in terror and said, "'Spare me! I speak as swiftly as I may, West through the Gap of Rohan yonder, and then north and a little west, until the next great river bars the way; the Greyflood it is called.' The river which we are now near. 'Thence from the crossing at Tharbad the old road will lead you to the borders. 'The Shire,' they call it.'"
"Does Saruman know of this location?" the Witch-King said squeezing his throat.
"'Yea verily, Saruman knows of it.'" He struggled for a breath. "'Goods come to him from that land down the road.'" He then pleaded, "'Spare me, Lord! Indeed I will say naught of our meeting to any that live.'"
The Lord of the Nazgûl released Wormtongue from his grip and walked to his horse. Wormtongue still was on the ground sobbing to himself out of pure terror.
Dakian walked to the Witch-King, "You're sparing him?"
"Yes. Terror envelops him, he will tell no one of our encounter. Evil such as his should roam free. He could cause more harm to Saruman alive than dead. Besides he will be plagued with nightmares the rest of his days."
"What Sauron has seen is true," Dakian said. "The ringbearer is a halfling and is heading toward Rivendell. Saruman's intentions are no longer Sauron's own."
"Saruman's vengeance will have to wait," the Witch-King said. He sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. "Let us go meet with the others."
Dakian mounted his horse and followed the Witch-King leaving Wormtongue on the ground.
Fuinur was on watch at South Downs. Turning to the others he said, "dark figures approach."
Khamûl said, "It must be Dakian and our captain."
Darkness came over the camp confirming their suspicions. Dakian and the Witch-King rode into the camp.
"What news do you bring?" Adierel questioned.
"Our supposed ally is conspiring against Sauron," the Witch-King said.
"Who is the one of which you speak?" Khamûl demanded.
"An Istari named Saruman," Dakian said. "Sauron himself has seen his deceit, as have we with a spy."
Seykin spoke up, "will our stealth be required any longer?"
"No," the Witch-King said. "We are to kill the one who bears the ring at whatever costs we deem necessary."
Melkan was staring oddly in the distance. "I sense a light in the darkness," he said.
"Fire," Gothmog said. "Fifty miles off."
"The weather hill of Amon Sûl," Khamûl said.
"The Ring," the Witch-King said.
"Khamûl, Fuinur, Herumor, and Melkan come with me. Dakian, Adierel, Seykin, and Gothmog follow in our stead and patrol the outlying region," the Witch- King said.
With their swords in hand they mounted their horses and rode into the direction of the Weather Hills. With the darkness as their ally they passed quickly over the fields and Great East Road.
The light was abruptly extinguished and they dismounted simultaneously. The five surrounded Amon Sûl. The Witch-King was familiar with the crumbling watchtower. Mighty it had stood, but crumbled it now remained. Under his reign of Angmar he had personally seen to its destruction. Each of the Riders smelled the desire of life of those on the hill, but quelled that desire with hatred. The night had revealed to them footprints and discarded firewood. They sniffed the air and saw the shadowed shape of figures in their minds.
The fire was lit once again only fueling the anger of the Riders. Fire was apart of the light and could do them damage. Someone among the enemy must have a substantial knowledge of the darkness of Mordor.
The Riders navigated the labyrinth of shadows the moonlight cast. The five Riders stood atop the hill. Their statuesque forms held their swords tightly. Fuinur and Herumor stood rigidly at the edge of the dell while the Witch-King, Khamûl, and Melkan advanced.
The Witch-King was a tall, imposing figure between Khamûl and Melkan. He stared intensely at the halfling who bore the Ring.
"Bow to the whims of the Ring halfling. Give us what we desire!" The Witch- King's voice came out like a hiss from a venomous snake. He concentrated his dark powers on the halfling who stared in fear, but was overcome by the Ring.
As the Ring was put on the finger of the halfling Khamûl and Melkan stopped abruptly. The Witch-King could see that the halfling saw the shadowed figures of their previous kingly forms. The pale face of the Witch-King merely smiled in amusement as the halfling drew his sword. The eye of Sauron radiated its fiery fury. The Witch-King drew a knife, which glowed eerily with an aura of pure darkness. He leapt at the halfling aiming the knife at the heart of the halfling. The halfling struck at the feet of the Witch-King. The Nazgûl's path was strayed from the heart but still bore into flesh. The Witch-King's eyes darkened in excitement at the halfling's scream.
The halfling slipped off the ring as a figure jumped at the Witch- King with a fire in hand. Khamûl fought the Ranger with sword in hand. Khamûl fought the Ranger with sword but his robe caught fire. The others fought but started being consumed with fire. The Witch-King looked at his torn robe in anger fighting the resistant Ranger.
"Come my captain!" Khamûl called. The Witch-King still fought in a frenzy, "Dùrien!"
The Witch-King froze at the mention of his true name and stormed off as the fire started consuming his robe. When he ran off the dell he discarded his fiery robe like the others who had caught on fire. He was unclad and invisible in the night, but could sense the shadowy specters of the other four.
Dakian led the other Riders to the invisible forms of their kin. He could sense their presence in the darkness.
Adierel handed them robes saying, "Daylight draws near."
"Daylight will not help the halfling," the Witch-King said. "The blade of Daegirth will see to that. Give the effects of darkness time and he will become one of us. When he does, the Ring will be ours. We must get him in our clutches before someone who has the resources heals him. It appears we've encountered more resistance than we initially anticipated."
The Riders used the cover of darkness to heal from the efforts of the fire. As sunrise approached they patrolled the area. They could sense the ringbearer who was being ensnared by the shadow, but something clouded their vision.
Eight days passed of tracking the ringbearer. The Witch-King concentrated his energy on hastening the incantation's effects on the wound, as the ringbearer grew weaker. Melkan, Seykin, and Dakian worked on nightmares, which would haunt the halfling in its fevered dreams. Dakian seemed to enjoy haunting the dreams with winged shadows.
On the ninth day Gothmog addressed the Witch-King. "There is an elf about, my captain. I have sensed him while on watch."
"That is a presence I've felt growing in my mind," Adierel said.
When the sun set the Riders concentrated their respective energies. They sent images of darkness, but then they felt. . .hope.
"The elf has reached the halfling," Dakian said.
They slowly tracked the trail of the enemy. Under shield of night they could ride silently. When the enemy reached the darkest part of the road they each urged their horses to gallop down the road. The echo of the horse's hooves was utilized to draw terror. The Witch-King rode yelling, "The Ring! Give it to us!" To others it sounded like a shrill cry.
Herumor, Fuinur, Seykin, and Gothmog appeared behind the Witch-King. Khamûl and Dakian rode to the horse with the halfling and the elf. Melkan and Adierel galloped madly to cut off their escape route to the ford ahead. They each rode with the force of a dark wind preparing for a storm. They rode past the enemy; the only though in their mind was the Ring for Sauron.
The Riders yelled in anger when the elf used its magic to propel its horse. Even the great steeds of the Riders could not overtake the white Elvish- horse, but they could match it.
Khamûl called in a fell voice, "You'll never succeed! You will fall into darkness!"
"Let the shadow consume you! Embrace it!" Dakian called.
"It is the only way," the Witch-King yelled. "You'll never escape the darkness!"
The hoods of the Riders flew back. Their pale forms had revealed robes of white and grey.
"The shadow is cast by the light!" Adierel called. "Only in the darkness can you truly become apart of the light!"
The Elvish horse entered water, but the Riders paused. The Witch- King entered the water testing its power. He reared his horse in frustration.
The halfling yelled, "'Go back to the Land of Mordor and follow me no more!'"
The Witch-King halted and looked to the Riders. They each laughed cruelly at the halfling's feeble resistance.
"'Come back!'" Khamûl yelled. "Come to us!"
"'To Mordor we shall take you!'" the Witch-King called.
The halfling whispered desperately, but the Riders chanted, "'The Ring! The Ring!'"
The halfling yelled at the Riders in vain, but was silenced by the Witch- King who rode to the middle of the river. The rest of the Riders followed. The halfling dropped his sword in terror when the Witch-King reached the shore.
"'Give us the halfling!'" the Witch-King demanded.
The fair-haired elf cried, "If you want him you'll have to go through me!" He started chanting Elvish.
"He conspires with his people!" Dakian said alarmed.
The water began to rise and the Riders noticed a wave coming towards them. Their horses started rearing in terror. The Riders on shore hesitated until white figures bathed in fire forced them to a watery fate. The horses of all the Riders were filled with madness as they were thrust into the flood.
Before the Riders were swept away the Witch-King yelled, "You've not seen the last of us!"
A wave with white riders and their foamy steeds crashed over their robed forms and when it passed it left only the shadow of what the sun cast.
Author's Note: Yay! I finally updated, let me tell you a lot of research went into this. A special thanks goes out to tikimoof who told me the names Herumor and Fuinur, that are mentioned in the Silmarillion (pg.351), which I coincidently received as a birthday present. Anyway the phrases with "'. . .'" these indicate that I borrowed them from the Unfinished Tales in the case of Wormtongue (pg.355) and the Fellowship of the Ring at Amon Sûl (pg.209). Anyway, the story is far from over, once more research is attained (which may take a bit because of this lovely college work I received) I'm going to write about what happened to the Riders after the flood. The Witch-King's true name I made up, but it includes elements of Elvish and the name of the knife is the same thing. I've made corrections with names in the story and clarified some things, so feel free to go back and read things over. Anyway, please review. Riders urge all to review with their swords 'casually' in their hands