Warning!! this is the darkest of all my chapters, and I must personaly rate it R because of the invoking and blood offering. you have been warned!
Chapter Eight. Farewell to the Valiant Warrior
Among the flames they stood, a chant, ancient as middle earth itself, spinning in the rising fumes. Their hoods thrown back, eyes on the pit of fire, drawn to it... The Witch King fell silent, eyes reflecting the dancing flames, deep in the pit of fire a dark light had begun to spread. Silently, the morgul blade emerged from a sheath. "And we invoke the name of Morgoth... we invoke the followers of darkness..."
On swift wings the eagles carried the fellowship to the mountain of fire, their flight silent.
"...We give our own names, an offering to the darkness..."
Frodo winced as his old wound burned anew, a cry tore from his throat.
"... Khamul... Ji-Indur...Dwar...Akhorahil...Hoarmurath..."
The white tree shuddered, another branch falling, the blossom turning black.
"...Adunaphel... Ren... Uvatha..."
Deep within the dark mind, a golden lion blazed threw tattered memories.
"...Murazor..."
A crack of thunder shattered the sky, the mountain rumbled. In silence, the Witch King took the blade to his wrist. "Our essence we offer... to replenish what has been lost..." black dripped into a stone basin, there was silence for a moment. Then the blade was passed to Khamul, and Indur, one by one the wrists were cut, the blood dripped, black as the night sky...
The eagles circled the mountain of fire, loath to land on such a place. From the ground bellow the fellbeasts cried a warning. Gandalf shuddered, the black energy grew stronger... "Drop us here! But wait for us in the air, for if all goes well we shall be out soon!" the eagles nodded, plopping the fellowship down near the summit. Frodo shivered, holding the scar tightly. "Mr. Frodo?" He turned and smiled as reassuringly as he could at Sam, they hurried after the others to the mountain top.
"So it was said! So it is done! We call for the eye of fire, we call through the void for he who we serve! We call!" "...we call... we call... we call... we call... we call..." each took the ring from their finger, placing them in the basin, the blood hissed, closing over the bands as they sank into its depths. "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!!" the wraiths echoed in their fell voices, "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!!" the volcano roared, a eye of fire flashed for a moment in the depths of the bowl.
"We cannot wait any longer Gandalf!! We must stop them now!!" Legolas drew back the string and the arrow flew sure into the garb of a wraith. The creature shrieked, drawing the other nines attention. Almost as one the riders looked up the crater to where the fellowship crouched. They screamed, and the cry was so dark that Gandalf covered his ears, and without pause drew blades and climbed toward the group. "All draw back to the outside!! Now!! go!!" the fellowship sprinted outside, followed closely by the wraiths. The Witch King glared in hate, now! the rings must enter the fire now or the rite was wasted! He whirled and for a moment could only gaze in wonder.
"Lookin for these eh?" Merry stood near the exit, wincing, in one open palm he bore the rings of the nine, black dripping between his fingers. In the other he held aloft a blade, and even as the Nazgul gazed upon it a pain shot behind his knee. With a shriek that froze the very air in death he lunged after the Halfling. Merry turned and stepped outside, instantly an eagle swooped down and bore him away. Higher up on the mountain a similar scene was taking place. The last of the fellowship lifted of the ground as the Nazgul emerged from the crater. The mountain rumbled again as the Ringwraiths shrieks shook all of Mordor. "Slay them!! Slay them all!!"
The fellbeasts rose and then swift as the wind vanished after the fleeing figures, their riders crying their rage into the winds.
"Gandalf!! Now what do we do?!" The screams of the wraiths grew closer, the fellowship stood at ready on the field before the black gate. "Now we meet them in combat, for now is perhaps our only chance to slay them." Carefully the wizard held Merry's hand, judging the damage. "It is a bad burn… malignant… I will do what I can for it now, but it will have to be treated latter." Merry nodded, holding in tears of pain, the other hobbits stood close by, offering support. Faramir watched the sky with Legolas, eyes narrowed, knuckles white. Gimli hefted his ax, glaring daringly at the sky.
Like a nightmare they drew closer, eyes burning bright as fire, their cries drawing the strength from all their limbs. Gandalf raised his staff, and the light blazed forth. The wraiths spurred harder, all consumed by the rage that welled up from within them. The fellbeasts spread their claws wide to skewer and pierce. And like a black mist they swept down upon them.
…. …. …. ….
Legolas dodjed a falling fellbeast, keeping one step ahead of his partner, not far from them Faramir rolled away from a slice that could have split a man in two. On top of one of the beast's carcasses, Gimli parried a morgul blade with his ax, but fell when the Nazgul knocked his feat out from bellow him. Merry and Pippin stood back to back, trapped between two of the wraiths, Gandalf was struggling to reach them as he attempted to fend off Khamul's assault. In the sky above them Ji Indur was quickly slaying the eagles who had attempted to help the fellowship, even as the Windlord drew blood on the fellbeast's throat.
Frodo slashed at the fellbeast before him, and Sting sang as it sank into the creatures eye, no far away Sam lay still, knocked unconscious by the beasts wing. But the fight seemed one sided, for the Nazgul showed no sign of tiring. A strange cry sounded from the Gate, and for a moment all were still to regard it. A great creature reared back its head and whinnied a cry. The hooves were forked and stained with blood; tattered black fur covered its sinewy form. Perhaps it would have passed for a horse in some other life, but now its eye sockets were empty, and where a main might have graced its neck a line of flame burned, it cried out again as the bit tore into its mouth.
Upon its back the Witch King sat, and his blade was surrounded by fire. The fellowship stared, was that once Aragorn? The eyes were sunken and the hair was silver. The once proud face was gaunt and ashen; hard lines surrounded the mouth that was set in a permanent snarl. Upon his head he bore a crown of iron, on his hands sat steel gauntlets, and it seemed he was cloaked in darkness. With a fierce kick the beast reared and sprang into the group, right for Faramir. And the steward only wondered for a moment as the blade descended, how had he known I now hold the rings?