Sorry it took so long to write the third chapter. Writer's block was somewhat of a hard obstacle to overcome. I know this part is written in the book, but I had written it from a different point of view.
One thing I had noticed is that many people had read this story, but no one had given even one review! Is there something wrong with my story? Is it too boring? I'm not the kind of person to stop writing because I didn't get any reviews. But it is really nice to hear from the readers. So please take some time to review, thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or anything related to it. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien who should had continued on with his The Lord of the Rings sequel: The New Shadow.
The Witch King and the others rode fast along Rohan and were about to enter Isengard. They hadn't stopped for days, but had to pause for a few times to allow their horses to rest. Enough time had already been wasted as the Nine fruitlessly searched for the Shire among the vales of Anduin. All the Witch King wanted was to finish this quest as fast as possible. Although he did not want Sauron to dominate Middle-earth, which was done by regaining the One Ring, he did not wish to incur his wrath.
Perhaps I would not survive the tortures Sauron has in store for me. But does that matter? He cares nothing for his servants. I served him willingly for thousands of years only because he had bound my mind under his power. If Sauron brings Middle-earth under his rule, the whole land would fall into despair just like Mordor. I saw what Sauron did to Númenor. Am I going to aid him in the destruction of Middle-earth…?
Such thoughts occupied the Witch King's mind as he rode. It helped to drown out the bickering of the others and the heavy sense of guilt. Somehow he knew that Sauron would never regain his Ring no matter how hard he tried. Surely it didn't hurt to pretend to look for it? The Witch King decided to put such thoughts aside and concentrate on searching the Ring. Khamûl had suggested them to visit Saruman to ask about the whereabouts of the Shire. The Witch King strongly disagreed with this. In his opinion, Saruman was not to be trusted. But he had no choice but to comply with Khamûl, for he did not want to spend much time in searching for the Shire. So here the Nazgûl were, heading for the tower of Orthanc in Isengard. They rode up to the entrance and dismounted, heading for the door. The Witch King was not looking forward to this visit, but suddenly a thought occurred to him.
I better go to Saruman alone. He is less likely to yield information in the presence of all nine of us. Besides, I do not want Khamûl to cause trouble again. He has been provoking arguments since we had left Minas Morgul.
"It will be best if I go alone." He said, turning around.
"That would not be wise." Khamûl was always ready to object.
Not now! The Witch King thought, frustrated.
"I have a good reason for this, and I would appreciate that you would comply for now." He decided to ignore him from now on.
"The Captain is right, Khamûl. Who would want all nine Nazgûl gathered in their sitting room?" Herumor said lightly.
"We will stay here and look around. Maybe we will find out what is old man Saruman up to." Fuinur said.
"Do what you want to do, as long as we could find…"Morgomir started.
"And I don't care at all!" Akhorahil added.
Morgomir scowled.
"As long as you succeed, Captain." Gothmog said.
"As long as somebody else is doing all the work, I don't mind." Ji Indur said lazily.
Eärnur remained silent, just like always.
Satisfied, the Witch King walked up the long flight of stairs. As long as the others agreed with him, he shouldn't worry about Khamûl. For some reason Herumor and Fuinur were always supporting him sometime after Númenor was destroyed. Probably it had to do with the fact that the twins were also Númenóreans and were fiercely proud of their country, just like the Witch King.
When did we, the Nazgûl, ever become so complicated and split up? The Witch King thought, Things were so much simpler when Khamûl was first recruited. Being Lord of the Nazgûl was never easy, with Khamûl, Gothmog, Morgomir and the others going against me because they thought I was unfit to lead.
He reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the front door made of black-colored steel with his gauntleted hand. The knock rang in a metallic hollow sound that echoed around inside the foreboding tower of Orthanc. The Witch King waited patiently. One minute passed, then two. There was no sign of Saruman. Perhaps he was not in the tower, or was he refusing to answer the door? The Witch King was getting strangely frustrated.
Did we come this far just to be refused directions to the Shire by a feeble old man?
"If you refuse to open this door right now, Saruman, I shall blast it off its hinges!" The Witch King roared, preparing himself to cast a spell.
The door swung open so fast that he was nearly hit. Saruman himself stood at the threshold, looking very irritated. He was a tall regal figure, wearing white robes and carrying a staff made of craved black wood. At one glance he seemed to be an ordinary old man, apart from his clothing and staff. But Sauron had told the Witch King that he too was a Maia of great power.
"There was no need to shout like that." Saruman said testily, making no sign of inviting the Witch King into the tower.
"And it is not good courtesy to keep your guests waiting before your door." The Witch King said just as testily.
"Guests! I think not. You are one of the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar, I presume? When did the Nazgûl ever come knocking at a door invited as guests?" Saruman's tone was mocking.
The Witch King sighed. This Saruman character was going to be hard to deal with. He wondered why Sauron invited Saruman to join him in the first place.
"Spare me your theatrics, Saruman. I came to ask directions to the Shire."
Sauron had told the Nazgûl before to not under all circumstances to reveal their quest if ever the Ring got lost. Anybody who got in their way had to be eliminated. Nobody was to be trusted in this quest, especially Saruman. Saruman started when he heard the words "The Shire" and started to finger his staff nervously.
"I'm afraid you had come to the wrong place to ask, Witch King. I never heard of such a place called the Shire." He said, becoming suddenly apologetic.
The Witch King narrowed his unseen eyes. He is lying!
He suddenly had the desire to grab Saruman by the neck and strangle him until he choked out the location of the Shire.
Where did that notion come from? Surely I would not force information out of another, even Saruman, with such a method! And where did that anger come from?
"Do not lie to me, Saruman. You know what Sauron will do to his servants when he finds out they had betrayed him. I trust you do not wish for it to happen to you." The Witch King was still angry despite having restrained himself.
"No, no. I would never do that! I have never heard of a place called the Shire. You can try searching the North, or you can ask another one of the Order, Gandalf." Saruman then seemed to panic.
"I do not have time to search for it. Since you had chosen foolishly to keep your lips sealed, I shall find another resource to obtain this information. But if I find out that you are lying, you will suffer the consequences severely. Good day to you, Saruman." The Witch King said coldly, turned around and walked down the stairs.
Even though he was boiling with anger, the Witch King was confused. For a moment while he was speaking to Saruman, he thought he would run his sword through the wizard now and then, all because he wanted to find the Ring. The Witch King shook his head. This was beyond his understanding. Was he not unwilling to carry out the search and was planning to not put his effort into it? Then why was he suddenly feeling that he would do anything to find it, even if it meant striking down all those who stood in his way?
When the Witch King accepted one of the nine rings for nine mortal men doomed to die, his life became closely connected to both his ring and the One Ring. It meant that if it were destroyed, the Witch King and the Eight would lose all their powers and probably even their lives, not to say what would happen to Sauron.
I better put more effort into finding the Ring then, and search for this Gandalf character Saruman mentioned. I see I do not have a choice here...Perhaps that was the unconscious part of me that desires to find it, knowing that doom will befall the Nine if the quest is failed. The Witch King decided as he strode quickly down the stairs. The sound of Saruman slamming the door was heard clearly behind him.
Saruman must have known of the Shire, but for some strange reason was withholding the information from us. He probably is plotting something...
The Witch King reached the bottom and saw the Eight involved in some kind of a commotion. Gothmog was holding a man in the air by the collar of his clothing and was arguing with Fuinur and Herumor while Morgomir and Eärnur watched calmly. Akhorahil and Ji Indur were arguing with each other about something. He sighed again and hoped Khamûl wasn't at the center of it.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Witch King shouted. They quieted down instantly.
"We have caught someone, a spy of Saruman's." Gothmog answered gruffly, indicating the man he was holding. The man was of short stature and wore a plain tunic, complete with a traveling cloak and a pair of lightweight boots. He was squirming and kept trying to escape Gothmog's grasp.
"I cannot comprehend that why Saruman needs a spy." Morgomir wondered aloud.
"We shall know soon if Gothmog hadn't terrified him into silence," Fuinur answered, "Saruman probably is up to no good."
"Up to no good, just like I am!" Akhorahil echoed.
"I hope you don't mean that, Akhorahil." Ji Indur gave the slightly insane Nazgûl a long look.
"And let the questioning start!" Herumor announced, "Sorry, Captain. It will be best to let Khamûl do the honors. He is the best with this kind of business, although I really do feel sorry for the victim."
Khamûl turned to face the Witch King. He had a malicious smile under his hood.
"I do not mind, as long he has a looser tongue than Saruman's." The Witch King was trying to avoid another conflict.
"So Saruman does not know about the Shire, does he? Or is he unwilling to give his information to you?" Khamûl said mockingly, signaling to Gothmog. Gothmog drew his sword and pointed it at the man's throat. The man trembled even harder.
The Witch King shuddered inwardly. He would never try to force information from a victim by force. The man was about to find out how Khamûl did it successfully.
"So, you seem to be a spy of Saruman's. Tell me your name first, what is Saruman up to, and everything you know. Speak swiftly, and I will allow you to die swiftly." Khamûl took his time in saying each word while Gothmog pushed the sword harder against the man's throat.
"Gríma...Wormtongue is my name, son of Gálmód," The man soon realized he had to give up resisting and could hardly speak because of the sword pressing against his windpipe, "My lord...ordered me to travel to the Shire...to find something there."
The Witch King suddenly had a horrible feeling of apprehension.
"And where is this place called the Shire?"
"It… is in the further West, just in the place of the ruined realm of…Arnor in the south of the old realm of…Angmar." The man known as Gríma stuttered.
"What is Saruman searching for?" The Witch King broke in before Khamûl could. Khamûl threw him a look of disgust.
"I…don't know exactly. Saruman said it was…some kind of a ring of power that belonged to the Dark Lord himself." The man finally gasped out and almost collapsed. Gothmog removed the sword from his throat.
"So Saruman is a traitor. He wants the One Ring for himself." Morgomir stated.
"And so he is," Khamûl said, and turned to the spy, "Now as a sincere thanks for playing your part so willingly, you should be repaid accordingly…"
He raised his sword to decapitate the man, at the same moment when the Witch King saw in a brief vision of Gríma with a dagger striking at Saruman.
"Spare him," He cut in just about Khamûl's sword was about to descend, "This man has a future role to play in the destruction of Saruman."
Khamûl did pause his weapon and turned slowly to face the Witch King.
"I verily hope that your so called 'prophecy' will come to be fulfilled." He said in unhidden contempt.
Gríma fell on his knees before the Witch King, almost weeping and stuttering his thanks.
"Get up," He said sharply, drawing the hem of his robe away as the man tried to kiss them, "I did not do this for your sake. Go back to Saruman and report your findings."
Gríma managed to get up and with a last stammering sentence, fled back to the Orthanc. The Nine watched him go with an air of disdain.
"Now that is one cowardly spy. I bet if we all only looked him in the eye, he would spill everything without hesitation in a second." Herumor commented.
So this was how the Nazgûl learned of the Shire. At the moment they were riding to their destination as fast as they could. Along the road they had caught more of Saruman's spies. Charts and maps of the Shire were found and taken from them, and Khamûl stationed them at Bree under the threat of death if they dared to flee. They had already passed Enedwaith and Minhiriath and were now crossing the Baranduin River at Sarn Ford. Khamûl spoke up about contacting Sauron that they had found the Shire. The Witch King knew this was a bad idea and turned it down. Sauron did not like to be contacted unexpectedly, especially when they haven't found the Ring yet. Once Morgomir had done so, and Sauron's anger exploded all throughout the mental link. The Nazgûl had headaches for days and were unable to do anything.
The Nine met unexpected resistance from Dúnedain Rangers when they arrived at Sarn Ford. The Witch King gave up on negotiations when he knew that a battle was unavoidable and reluctantly ordered Khamûl to take care of everything. The lieutenant did so effectively, and most of the Rangers were slaughtered while the rest fled. The Nazgûl continued on without further obstacles.
They reached the Shire by nightfall and the Witch King allowed Khamûl to start the search. They had all sensed the Ring been used some days ago, and had traced its source to a small town called Hobbiton. It seemed to be a peaceful place. The people lived in small cottages or in hollowed out hills and quietly attended to their business. Not for the first time, the Witch King wished he could see things in the way he used to when he was still a man. Everything appeared gray and blurry before his eyes and the people were just floating articles of clothing. The Nine's presence at that place seemed to cause all the residents to be at unease. Although the Witch King was unable to see their physical bodies, he could tell that they were extremely short.
"In my memory, this race, in which all the people are extremely short, are called halflings." Fuinur had informed them.
So this Baggins character may be a halfling, The Witch King thought, I wonder does this make our quest easier.
The Nine had to split up to search for this exclusive "Baggins". The Witch King rode around Hobbiton, not really searching. He saw three halflings with a great deal of packs and boxes and were conversing merrily as they packed, but he didn't pay attention to them much. Herumor was at a distance speaking with a halfling. Within five seconds the halfling ran back to his house and Herumor threw up his hands in defeat. Eärnur wasn't even searching and was just sitting on his horse, staring at the town as if he were trying to see the halflings. But most of them had gone indoors. Akhorahil was poking around in the halflings' gardens and peeking into their houses. The Witch King could faintly sense the presence of the Ring, although not strong enough to discern its position.
The power of the Ring is difficult to detect for some reason. Perhaps it has lost some of its power? The Witch King had thought, confused.
When day finally came, the Nazgûl gathered together again. They left Hobbiton since the Ring seemed to have left and was heading East. Again they split up to search for the one carrying the Ring. The Witch King had been riding his horse along the East Road when he felt the Ring calling faintly again. He was almost sure that someone was hiding in the bushes along the road. He sniffed, for his sense of smell was only secondary to his hearing. He had even dismounted and was going toward the bushes to check. At the last moment the Witch King turned away, scolding himself for being paranoid, and rode off. The others didn't find the one carrying the Ring either. Khamûl had asked a halfling farmer about Baggins and was chased off by his dogs. But later he went off to place spies in Bree. Morgomir had been riding along the East Road too and also sensed someone hiding in the bushes, but was forced to leave when some elves appeared. The Witch King was somewhat disturbed at this. The elves never left their realms of Mirkwood, Rivendell, and Lothlórien. Probably the influence of Sauron's spreading power was truly growing stronger and the elves were leaving for the Grey Havens. Maybe soon all Middle-earth would be deserted because of this.
When evening came, they still had no luck in finding the Ring or the halfling Baggins. The Witch King was getting worried. He did not want to suffer Sauron's wrath again and was glad he forbade Khamûl from contacting him. He sent four of the others to Weathertop, the place where the halfling Baggins might be heading and some others to Bree. The Nazgûl split up again and the Witch King himself went along the Greenway. But he had heard and smelled somebody following him, and slipped behind the trees to see who it was. The Witch King was more than surprised to see Gandalf the Wizard hurrying along, apparently searching for something. The sight of the wizard stirred memories within him, memories of when he was still a king of Númenor.
Strange, The Witch King thought, I lost most of my memories as a human when time went by. I am almost certain that I had met the Wizard before I became a wraith. He must be the one Saruman mentioned. But now I have no need to obtain information of the Shire. Hmm...what should I do now?
Nevertheless, the Witch King knew that Gandalf must have knowledge of the Ring. There were few things he didn't know. He decided to go and question Gandalf. Before he could actually step out from the trees and chase after him, the desire that he had experienced while speaking to Saruman came again. He had to obtain the information from the Wizard, and had to do it by force. Fighting the desire and losing spectacularly, he caught up with Gandalf at Weathertop and attacked him at night. It was a fierce battle and brilliant light lit up the night sky like day. The Witch King had to draw upon all his knowledge of sorcery to battle the powerful Wizard, who seemed to use mainly light and fire for his spells. Both elements were a wraith's greatest weaknesses. When day came, the Witch King finally prevailed over the desire, allowed the Wizard to leave and collapsed on the ground, exhausted from the use of sorcery.
Curse my ailment. Again it has left me incapacitated. He had thought, Again it had happened, that mad desire to find the Ring. But I was unable to resist it this time. Where did it come from? Maybe it was the influence of my ring that still lingered on me even after Sauron took them away. I remembered that I gained more power in sorcery when I put it on. But there was also that feeling of being attached to the One Ring mentally. It was always like a burden, a thorn in my mind. When the Ring was lost, it must have been my ring's power to unite with it, prompting its wearer to find it. No...I must not let it control my mind, not after I had sacrificed so much to be free of Sauron's mind control. I regret the day I ever accepted that accursed ring!
Upon this grim revelation, the Witch King grew angry at himself mostly. But he knew he must continue on, because he again did not have a choice. It took several hours for him to recover and regroup the Nazgûl again.
At nightfall, the call of the Ring rang out the loudest. The Witch King presumed that the bearer must have put it on for some reason. This time all of the Nazgûl heard it. It came from the direction of Bree, and they wasted no time in tracking the source to a room in an inn called the Prancing Pony. Blinded by the insane urge to find the Ring as he once again lost the battle against the desire, the Witch King led the others to the room and hacked at the sleeping forms in the four beds with their swords, only to scream with frustration when they were fooled with stuffed pillows. One of Khamûl's spies had reported a halfling suddenly vanishing when in the inn and the next day was heading east. The Witch King sent four Nazgûl led by Khamûl again after the Wizard Gandalf, hoping they would succeed what he failed to do and led the rest to Weathertop. They found four halflings and a man there. One of the halflings clutched something in one hand and a short blade in the other. The next second he revealed the object in his hand. It was the One Ring! Again the Witch King lost control of himself by the extreme closeness of the Ring and sprang upon the halfling with his sword drawn. The halfling then put it on, and everything changed in the perspective of the Witch King.
He could suddenly see the halfling. He was extremely short, had curly brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. His expression was one of utter fear and horror. The Ring was glowing like a fire brand, and his sword blazed with a brilliant light.
Suddenly the halfling struck at his foot, crying out the name of Elbereth. Somewhat shocked at hearing the name of Varda, one of the queens of the legendary Valar, the Witch King's stroke went wide as he struck at the halfling. The halfling's sword sliced off a section of his cloak. Feeling the bitter coldness radiating from the blade, the Witch King immediately knew this was no ordinary weapon. It was a blade from Númenor, or more accurately, from Arnor. It was made especially to destroy the Witch King himself. He both hated it and feared it. It was a weapon made by the people of his homeland! Enraged now by the halfling's nerve to attack him, the Witch King drew his Morgul blade. It would be best to finish this quickly, turn the halfling into a wraith and snatch the Ring from him. He felt someone grab his arm as he advanced upon the halfling. He swiped at the being with his sword and the grip disappeared. The halfling tried to strike at him again, but the Witch King knocked the sword from his hands and plunged the Morgul blade into the halfling's shoulder.
The halfling screamed. It was a horrible sound. The Witch King was triumphant. He had the Ring! He was about to snatch it when a flaming torch knocked him off balance. The Witch King's cloak caught on fire and he panicked. All wraiths were afraid of fire, although it didn't really harm them. He barely managed to extinguish it with a spell and finally regained his senses.
The others were not faring well either. The man the Witch King had seen earlier was wielding a torch and a sword, facing off several Nazgûl at once. Many were already on fire and were running away.
This could not last any longer! We must retreat for now. Confound that desire! Once again it has thrown everything into chaos.
"Retreat!" The Witch King shouted.
Like one unit the Nazgûl all left and regrouped in a distance from Weathertop where their horses were gathered. Most of the fires were extinguished, and Khamûl was extremely mad.
"The Ring was right in front of you! Why couldn't you just grab it and go?" He shouted.
"I would like to see you doing that when caught on fire." The Witch King retorted.
"What were you trying to do, Captain? You never stab anyone with one of your Morgul blades and you just did that to a halfling!" Herumor cried out.
"I saw that you went crazy every time when you saw the Ring. I had to stop you from rushing in head-on! And you attacked me!" Fuinur exclaimed.
The Witch King fell silent as he was about to argue with Khamûl. Had he actually attacked Fuinur in the middle of the chaos at Weathertop? Did he really stab a halfling with one of his deadly Morgul blades that he rarely used when he could have just taken the Ring? Why didn't the others lose control of their minds, not counting Khamûl and his followers who genuinely wanted to regain the Ring?
My ring was the most powerful of the Nine. He remembered, Its influence was the strongest on me. It would be useless if I try to fight it. It is controlling my mind no matter what I do. This must not continue!
"It doesn't matter whether the Captain got the Ring or not. The halfling was stabbed by a Morgul blade. It will not be long before he succumbs to its effects. Then we can take the Ring." Morgomir pointed out.
"More work! Why can't we just kill him and be done with it earlier?" Ji Indur complained.
"Let's go and chase him! Then we can have a new companion!" Akhorahil giggled disturbingly.
"Let us retrieve the Ring once and for all!" Gothmog exclaimed, getting on his horse.
Again the Nazgûl rode urgently towards the East. Again the Witch King was buried in his own thoughts.
Why did I have to stab the halfling? That wasn't necessary! I allowed that mad desire for the Ring to control me again. But that halfling must had some kind of power. He dared to strike at me! Why do people fight and resist against me nowadays?
The Witch King had sent three Nazgûl again led by Khamûl to the Last Bridge in an attempt to block the halfling and his companion's way. However, the three fled back along with a report of the elf Glorfindel guarding the bridge.
The same elf he was, who made that memorable prophecy and defeated me in the Battle of Fornost. Glorfindel had vanished from history since then. What is the cause of his appearance today?
"They are in sight!" Khamûl suddenly shouted, pointing ahead as they were passing through an area in the woods.
In front of the Nazgûl was the halfling riding a white horse slowly. Some others were standing around him. There was the man who had defeated them on Weathertop and the other three halflings. But another was the elf who the Witch King recognized as Glorfindel, his old enemy. They had already noticed the presence of the Nazgûl and Glorfindel shouted at the horse in elvish. The horse ran and mercilessly they gave chase, riding all the way to the Ford of Rivendell. Again the Witch King was unable to fight the desire, although it still did not stop him from trying. He could already see the halfling very clearly. Now was the opportune time to regain the Ring. The halfling crossed the shallow river quickly, turned his horse to the Nazgûl and drew his sword. At the same moment, the Witch King felt Sauron contact his mind.
Why can't he just wait? The Witch King thought, frustrated.
What is going on, Witch King?
Now is an inconvenient moment to be asking, Sauron. The Witch King vented his frustration on Sauron, not really considering the consequences; The Ring is within our reach. It is in the possession of the halfling riding the white horse.
Oddly enough, Sauron did not seem upset, And what is a halfling?
Why do you ask? Aren't you more concerned about your Ring? If the halfling crosses River Bruinen, we cannot give chase. The elves might do something to ward us off.
Just go and get the Ring. Aren't you and the others impervious to almost everything?
"Go back!" The halfling cried, brandishing the deadly blade of Númenor, "Go back to the land of Mordor and follow me no more!"
The Witch King forcefully severed the connection and turned his attention to the halfling. How dare he defy him again!
"Come back!" He shouted back, and the others took up the shout, "To Mordor we will take you!"
The halfling faltered for a minute and lowered his sword.
"The Ring. Give us the Ring!" Khamûl laughed, "Why hesitate when you are on the edge of death?"
"By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!" The halfling cried out again.
Does this halfling only know how to fight with words? We shall see about that!
The Witch King raised his hand and casted a minor spell of destruction. The sword broke into pieces in the halfling's hand. The Nazgûl advanced towards him across the river.
"No, Captain!" Fuinur exclaimed, "What are you doing?"
"We're on the borders of Rivendell. We cannot go further." Herumor pointed out.
"Silence! The Ring is within our grasp. It is our priority to retrieve it." The Witch King snapped.
But then a rumbling was heard. Stopping his horse, the Witch King looked towards the right and the others did the same. The sound grew louder, and suddenly a great wave swept towards them, vaguely shaped like galloping horses.
"Get out! Get out!" The Witch King shouted as he regained control of his mind. He tried to ride back to shore as fast as possible. But the wave was too swift. The next second he was swept away along with his horse, with the alarmed cries of the others echoing in his ears.
How could I be so foolish? He thought dimly before everything went black.
Thanks for reading! Review please! I'll be really thankful.