Prologue
The tension in the air is palpable. She cannot see her father's eyes through his armor and crown of steel, but she can only imagine the disappointment and anger he must feel.
Even Marad, who always has something to say, is silent. Her warg snarls, backing up a little bit, the half balrog/half human's wip of fire forgotten in her hand.
Mihidh, the Witch-king's daughter's Fell-beast, rumbles underneath her, tail swishing in anticipation, not really sure what is about to happen.
The staredown is broken by Miwlir first, her eyes going down and falling on the woman and Halfling between them. The other Nazgul circle over the battlefield, ever watching but not interfering.
When his voice finally speaks, Miwlir's eyes go up and widen at the words that are rolling off her father's tongue.
The Witch-king of Angmar all but sneers in Black Speech, and that is the first time in long her father shows how torn and angry and furious he really is.
'You foolish child!'
Marad's eyes begin to blaze in warning, her armor starting to sizzle around her arms and legs, her black horns, another reminder of her balrog blood, starting to melt the tiara of steel that has been curled around her hair and horns.
Miwlir father's Fell-beast screeches, causing Mihidh to take another step back, trembling as if wanting to go up in the air but awaiting his rider's orders.
'Miwlir!' Marad hisses, her armor seeming to melt away as smoke and fire rise from her body.
'Miwlir!'
But Miwlir is lost in her memories, going down a rabbithole of her past, remembering all the years she has stayed by her father's side. She does not want to kill him.
He is still her father.
'You made your choice, child.' The hiss that comes from her father makes her go ramrod straight as if she has been struck by him. Her hands tighten for a split second on the reins, which is cue enough for Mihidh to jump up into the air, screeching all the way.
A sob escapes her, her head turning as her father follows her, weapon ready in his hand. They go up and up, the battle beneath them long forgotten, as Mihidh screeches again.
The other Nazgul follow as well, but they are quickly stopped by a wip of fire that grabs their fell-beasts by their tails and drag them back.
Marad nods at her, before she is finally completely engulfed by fire, a sound akin to a screech and a hiss leaving her as the other Ringwraiths surround the half balrog/human.
Miwlir's sword appears, made from shadows in her hand, her gaze still fixed on her father, the Witch-king of Angmar, who is still in pursuit.
'You made your bed, child.'
Miwlir swallows, closing her eyes and steeling herself for her worst nightmare that has come true despite all her efforts. She knew that when she switched sides, to the good side nonetheless, the possibility was very real she would have to face him.
It was a fool's dream to hope that would not happen.
'Now you must lie in it.'