Authors note: as always I own nothing, Yay?
The stars hold no wonders for me anymore, the
Heart has gone out of their light.
Enough I have had of this place and its endless night.
My thoughts turn within too often of late,
Enough to wake in me a doubt,
A question of whether or not it was fate,
I hunt with the others, our lord will not wait…
All my will is now bent to the task.
It is not my place, to question, or ask.
But ah… what I would give to feel once more,
To push aside the blinding veils of grey…
And with a hand of flesh and bone take another's hand in mine own,
And there I'd stay.
Somewhere where the land is green, and the sun rises in the sky…
Somewhere untainted by my brethren or I, where I could rest,
Where I could kiss the waters clean, and on the grass like emerald lye…
Do I dream, when I think I can remember the color of the sun…
Do I dream, when I remember as if asleep I was once more than one…
One of nine… forever bound… running without breath till the Ring is found…
Never a rest… never an end… on and on forever…
But I am not that clever,
..And I cannot remember, the color of the sun.
Morgoth turned his head,
Outside the opening gate Anantaboga thrashed and roared.
The light that surrounded Frodo faded, turned dark… it stretched out as a web, the black becoming murky in its wake. His eyes rolled back to white, his hands fell limply to his sides… a clang split the silence as a blade slits a vein, a helm of dark forged iron rolled to a stop at the foot of the tree.
And there He stood, mist creeping from him, whole and restored by the power of the ring, his tattered robes of spirit mesh drifting about him, his face hidden beneath his cowl. A low, deathly sound… a hiss…
Gandalf clutched his staff, placing it defensively before him; Aragorn shivered, grew pale and wane. Legolas grabbed his shoulder ant steadied him. Murazor bent, gauntlets creaking he took the helm from the floor and slid it down over his face. Then he stood tall again, and faced the Halfling that had escaped his blade once before. Frodo seemed to tremble, a hand crept to his shoulder for a moment before returning limply to his side. And the ring spoke through him, shaping his lips and twisting his tounge into the black speech of the days before Minas Morgul and the black tower.
My Witch king… my temperamental fool…
Murazor did not answer; his breath came as mist from the cruel crown of his helm. Instead he turned his head, looking at Khamul and Indur as they gazed upon him, one with horror, and the other with awe. His hand spread, curved as claws the gauntlets beckoned them forward. They came, stood at his side, Indur reached out and touched the hand, seeing it real he knelt before it, eyes returning to their Valar givin shade. Khamul stood before him, asking without asking, 'What did you see? What is there for men at the end? Are we truly damned? Was it worse than this?' but his mouth was silent.
Frodo watched this with a small, almost bitter smile. He spoke again,
Will you not greet me? I have returned you to those you treasure, if treasure anything you still can, I have returned to you your form, will you give no thanks?
"This is darkness I know not how to describe Mithrandir," Legolas whispered, "Where has Frodo gone?"
"He is trapped in the thrall of the ring," Aragorn closed his eyes and gave a deep shudder, "He is trapped in its thrall as surely as I was ensnared in my own body by the Witch King."
Gandalf said nothing, his eyes were on the form of the Wraith lord, gazing as if through a veil, slowly his eyes widened in amazement.
And Murazor turned, Looked at the White Wizard a moment, …Yes… he hissed softly,
I remember old fool… I remember…
In an instant he was hurled to the ground, Frodo loomed above him, glowing gold as a fire, So you admit it then! He roared, Traitor to your oath! Breaker of your Vows and harbinger of Doom to those you serve! Accursed creature! Without my power you are dust! And still you dare to look away? Face me my Nazgul! My Wraith! I will not tolerate your weakness! You will not question my power, nor will you defy me further--Another voice broke in suddenly, panicked and light,
"Sam! It's dark Sam! Gandalf! Aragorn! I cannot see! I cannot--"It was silenced with an almost audible clang, Murazor leapt to his feet and slammed the hobbit to the ground. A crack followed, and a wail distinctly Frodo's, a hand fought desperately to cover a shoulder. But the Power was gathering again, and Murazor was pulled away by Khamul and Indur before it could focus.
Temporarily abandoned Frodo curled up upon the ground and whimpered, blood dripped from his arm where the gauntlet had caught him. "I am sorry… oh Valar I am sorry! I didn't mean for this! To tear you away! But I wanted to tell you, I wanted to know… I wanted… and it is all darkness now! I wish I had not left the undying lands! I wish Gandalf had not chosen me for the ring! I am as trapped as you! As cursed as you!
And I feel the door, and it opens ever wider! Go! You must go, for you are a slave again and the fault is mine! Seek the sun, the light, the door! you cannot wait, it will not close until you and yours are flown! Take my Sam, the fellowship, and go! Murazor I beg now! You know this darkness well, take them and leave me! Leave me now!"
He wept, the blood stained his hand, rolled across the missing finger. Bilbo gave a cry and started forward but Akorahil grabbed him, sensing Murazor's will. The Wraith Lord loomed over the hobbit, as he had before, as he had done with a dagger of eternal wandering in his hand. He stood and looked down. His frost, wafting like liquid ice, chilling the Halfling below him.
Frodo moaned, turned away, almost gasping for breath. Paler still he grew, wan and dark eyed, the power eating him away without effort. Sam reached out vainly, "Mr. Frodo!" He cried.
Murazor bent and took off a gauntlet, then grasped the hobbits chin in his hand; the mist about his finger gave a piercing glow,
I am no ones slave now.
Frodo gasped, clinging to the wraiths chilled hand, eyes wild with fear. Murazor inclined his head a little further, and let the hobbit cling.
What, had you wanted to tell me…
Frodo was still a moment; his breath came a little deeper. "I just wanted you to know, if you didn't, what it knew, the ring, what you had done. I wanted to tell you, that it couldn't have been easy…did any cry for you? Did any morn?
Murazor seemed to smile, bitter, but real nevertheless. …Would it have been any easier… if they had? He said no more, nor did the ring bearer, and the Nazgul, the rest of the black nine drew close about them, for just a moment they were together again, real and un-pained, sane and free, it was enough.
The fellowship came down from the branches, Aragorn and Gandalf before them. Aragorn shook his head, somewhere between relief and confusion. "I, I do not understand…" Gandalf lay a hand on his shoulder.
"It is not for you to understand my friend, nor is it for I, or he…" Murazor did not respond; he was consumed in his thoughts. At length he looked upon them; the eyes glowed like the stormy surf within the dark, deep… old beyond breath, and hope. Fire and ice... Aragorn shielded away, closed his eyes and turned his back with a shudder, but he did not leave.
So stood the Fellowship, and the Black riders of Mordor, and together in the darkness for the first time, there was hope.