Author's note: I own nothing, I make nothing.

Chapter Four. Spiraling Descent

(Where am I… what… I was falling, and then…)

Aragorn looked across an empty plain, shadows moved in lazy arches, but they seemed his only companions. His breath misted in the air, it was so cold…
Something came into view in the distance, something darker then the surrounding shades. Aragorn drew his blade, eyes narrowed, fingers clenched. It did not advance, or retreat, but remained standing in its place lifelessly.

…Until the helm crowned head lifted, and he heard it hiss…

With a cry, Aragorn leapt at the Witch King, his sword flashing. For a moment it seemed he split the wraith in two, black weave fell thickly in twin piles at his feet. As the last shreds drifted to the ground he turned, barely ducking the black mace that swept over him like a dark tide. (But I had just..! What sorcery is this?)
The two held eyes, the Wraith and the Man, neither blinking, nor moving. The only sound was Aragorn's breath in the stillness... The Witch King cast aside his mace, drawing forth his sword. The eyes below the helm were dark, fire flickered inside them, but there was no warmth to be found. Not in those eyes, never in those eyes...

Aragorn took the lead again, dashing forward and trying to cleave from the side. Steel met steel and sparks flew. Both moved in the deadly dance of strike and block, blade met blade and the steel glowed with the friction built heat. They ground the edges against each others until in one strike, both blades shattered, and Aragorn was thrown back covered in shards.
Wincing from numerous cuts, Aragorn leapt back to his feet. Once again, it seemed the Nazgul had vanished...
A soft fog crept across the ground as the King picked up the hilt, (And again the sword is broken.) Twice had this sword been shattered... perhaps it could still be reforged? (I am not sure the smiths at Minas Tirith can repair this…)

A deep, icy snarl drew his attention. It's source came into view, moving across the misty ground on paws deceitfully quiet... the great cat's jowls dripped black against its blazing white fur. It reared back its head, roaring out a challenge. An eastern beast… a Lion.

Aragorn drew back carefully. Now unarmed, fighting a lion did not appeal to him. An odd beast though... white lions never survive in the... (Wait… white, white like the spirit of an uncloaked ringwraith! What sorcery is this!) The beast crouched down and sprang, fags bared to sink deep. Aragorn leapt out of the way, looking around for a weapon. There was none to be found, save a horn that lay beside the mace. He dove for it, putting it to his lips and sounding a low blast.

If he could only startle the beast into flight...

Silence reigned for a moment.

Then a great pounding filled the air, heavy with snorting and shrill whistles. The lion reared to face the sound, eyes burning. But as the pounding drew closer it retreated, vanishing into the mists before the rumble of hoofs.

Three horses stood before the king, two he did not recognize, one, he knew well. "What sorcery is this... a horn, even one of Rohan should not summon these! A wraith should not become a lion!"

Shadowfax watched him with silent eyes, the elegant head tossed gently, and warm air blew across the kings face.

"Aragorn." The king whirled, then looked upon the steeds again.
Gandalf looked down at him from the back of the horse lord, his white hair blowing in the same unseen breeze that fed the fog.

"What is this Gandalf! Where is this? Tell me, I feel that you know!"

The wizard dismounted and moved beside the king, his eyes dark. "Yes... I know the answers, but you may dislike them. Heed me! I will not be able to intervene this strongly again." He brushed the kings attempt at further questions aside and moved forward. One hand motioned to the empty land around them. "Aragorn, your spirit now dwells beside the spirit of the Nazgul. I know this is hard to understand, but the pain, the loss... it pulled you in. You are, well, your mind is, inside the memory and mind of the Witch King."

Aragorn looked about,"Surely you jest Gandalf..."

The wizard smiled. "Oh? I think not, have you not been here before? That confrontation with Khamul? The warning of Ji Indur?"

Aragorn paled, but did not let it show in his expression. "Yes, I saw those, but I was not in them."

Gandalf sighed, "There, Aragorn, are you mistaken. You were indeed in them, unseen and unheard, but present."
Across from them the Great Cat had reappeared, though it seemed to be loosing interest in its prey. It sat silent and watched them. "Strange I know it seems, but the prophesy foretold this would happen. He will try to kill you this way Aragorn. If he can destroy your mind, he can claim your body... The fellowship now trails the Black Riders. They ride to Mordor."

Aragorn clenched his fists, "And can I destroy his mind?! Can I break him from the inside and claim myself!? I will not sit idle Gandalf while others risk themselves to save me! Tell me how to fight, tell me how to win!"
Aragorn fell silent at the expression on the Wizards face, worry lay deep in the lines, and the eyes were distant.

"You ask... for an answer that I cannot give... I know not the mind of the Nazgul Aragorn. I only know that he will pull at you, and try to shred your sanity in doing so. You wish to defeat him? Stay yourself! Do not forget--"

The Lion leapt suddenly, exploding into motion. The horses screamed and fled as the cat passed through the wizard, and Aragorn watched in stunned silence as Gandalf's form shattered like his sword.
The pieces fell with a soft chiming sound. "Gandalf! You didn't tell me!" The lion leapt again, its murderous eyes fastened on Aragorn…

…Even as the world around them shifted.

Heat and a sulfurous reek filled the air, the heart of Mordor, the Eye glowed and burned his body with its malevolent fire.
From the very height of the black tower they plummeted, the ground, and orc armies below racing up to meet them.

He could yet hear the Nazgul's laughter…

On the Road to Mordor

Khamul looked up as Ji Indur returned to the group, in his arms the king lay still. "...It is begun...?" No answer came from the other wraith. Silently Indur laid the king upon the ground, "...We resume our course... when darkness falls..." Still no sound came forth.
Khamul returned the map to its place; motions sharp with his irritation. The other wraiths hissed, feeling his agitation. "Answer me... when I speak to thou.." He leveled a gauntlet clawed finger at Ji Indur, "or I will teach respect where there is none."

Sharp as a whip came Indur's laugh, enraging Khamul. "I submit... to none but the Eye... and the Witch King himself... you... have no power over me..."

For a moment the two watched each other. One with eyes burning, the other's icily calm.

With a shriek Khamul leapt onto his steed, the beast whinnied in terror and pain as its harsh rider spurred it. The challenge was clear, Khamul had decided to leave before dark. Would his brethren defy him? No. The other riders mounted their chargers, save one.
"Come... or be left behind..." Khamul charged forward, one armored hand pulling the fallen king beside him as rider and beast galloped toward Cair Andros. The rest of the wraiths gave case, vanishing after him, disappearing over the rise in the path.

Alone, a low hiss... Ji Indur mounted his steed. It shivered, feeling it's riders rage. It needed no spurring, blind panic drove it on as it sprang after the others at a pace few creatures on middle earth could match.