A/N: Chapter 3 is now up! This one is a little bit longer, i fit more about the Nazgul in this one. Read and review please!

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien, and i do not own his work.

Fire and Water

As the sun rose, the small town on the banks of the Anduin came to life. Early morning traders bustled around, the guard left their night patrol for a good sleep, and people started filtering into the streets. The small civilisation slowly began to wake up get on with another day.

Morgomir and Coros watched from a hill overlooking the village. Even if anyone had bothered to glance there, the two Nazgul were invisible to mortal eyes in their pure wraith form. Coros let out a soft hiss of displeasure. This land had once been part of his realm when he was a mortal king of Men. The sight of such a primitive town in his once powerful kingdom disgusted him.

"You wouldn't know the Numenorians were once great, the way these peasants act," he muttered. Morgomir shifted uncomfortably. He had once been a Numenorian himself before he had become a Nazgul, a strong commander of the armies of Tar-Minastir, the 11th high king of Numenor. He had been captured during a battle in Eriador and brought as a prisoner to Sauron, who had, rather than torture him for information, offered him a ring of power and promised him riches and power. Morgomir had at first refused, the noble blood of Numenor running strong in his veins, but soon Sauron's smooth words combined with the overpowering seduction of the ring bent his will. Morgomir then became one of the most powerful of the Nazgul, being both a cunning military genius and a powerful magician. Ironically, he was now one of the most evil an cruel of the Nazgul. However even he still remembered the splendour and glory of Numenor of old, and agreed with Coros that this was a poor excuse for a once mighty people.

"These are the descendants of the accursed elf-friends," he replied. "They have little of the valour and power of the Kings of old."

They both watched a beggar shuffled along the streets, looking up hopefully as a merchant passed. The merchant spat at him.

The two Nazgul looked at each other and silently agreed that this town was well deserving of the fate it was about to receive.

Seemingly from nowhere, Coros produced a long blackthorn staff with a sort of knot at the end. Raising his arms, he let out a high pitched scream and thrust the staff forward. A pure ball of flame burst from its tip, flying towards a nearby stable. Suddenly the air was alive with screams of fear as the fire spread unnaturally fast, burning all it touched. Horses ran wildly between houses, neighing in fear. Guards looked around wildly for attackers, then fled in terror as the blaze chased them. A small child sat crying in the street, bawling for its mother. Morgomir watched coldly as the fire consumed the area. The roof of a barn fell through; more screams could be heard as people were crushed…..

All was black. What was left of the town lay smoking in ruins. A lone figure staggered through the wreck, coughing and sobbing for his lost family. He was not unobserved. Morgomir and Coros watched as the man took in the scope of the ruin. He sank to his knees, as a man who has been through years of sorrows. Coros raised his staff again and pointed it at the shaking form. A black dart shot from the tip, sped through the air and buried it in the man's chest. The figure clutched his heart, and dropped to the floor, stone dead.

Coros and Morgomir turned their backs on the devastating scene, their eyes fixed on the Mountains of Shadow.

**********

Isilmo Er-Murazor, Black Captain of the Nazgul and Heir to Sauron the Great, watched the rapid flow of the river Greyflood. He stared grimly at the running water. The Greyflood had not always been like this. When Isilmo had first landed on the shores of Middle Earth, the river had been a calm stream, flowing gently between the lands Minhiriath and Enedwaith. He had established a realm in the land that was now called Arnor that stretched over nearly all of the most western lands of Middle Earth. Of all the kings of men that later became Nazgul, his realm had been the largest. However he had already become corrupt before Sauron approached him. Isilmo was the second child and only son of Tar-Surion. As was the tradition in Numenor, the oldest child, his elder sister, took up the sceptre of Numenor. But Tar-Telperien died childless, and Isilmo's son, Minastir took the sceptre instead of his father. Isilmo had been jealous of his sister from birth, and now that she was dead, he swiftly became passionately envious of his son. After a failed attempt on his life, Isilmo bitterly abandoned Numenor and sailed to middle earth and established a witch realm in the western lands. When Sauron became aware of him, he sent a messenger to him to offer him a ring of power. Isilmo accepted it quickly, eager for a further share of power. The next six months had been…. distasteful. He still remembered himself waste away as the ring took hold. He had gone to his new ally and friend Khamul for help, only to discover that he was in the same condition. He had fought it. He had fought the taint of the ring that was threatening to overpower him. He had been foolish. Too foolish to realise that the only way to survive was to let go. Too foolish to see that the only way was to remain on the winning side. The side of Sauron the Great.

The Black Captain felt a disturbance in the air. Immediately alert, he used his mind to search for the source. He followed its mental trail at it approached him. The Black Captain opened his eyes… to see a Nazgul standing before him.

"Captain," murmured Gothmog, kneeling before his superior.

"Rise Gothmog, The Dark Marshal," his master said. Gothmog stood gratefully.

"What is this?" Gothmog questioned, motioning to the wild rapids.

"An obstacle," replied his Captain grimly.

Gothmog glanced at the water and turned away. He hated the water. Of course, all the Nazgul disliked this particular weakness, but Gothmog's distaste of water went further….

The waves crashed upon the deck. The wind howled, whipping Ren's hair all over his face. He tugged the rigging and let loose another sail. His muscles ached, and his legs screamed for a rest. But he could not rest.

Another wave hit the side of the boat and Ren nearly lost his balance.

"Steady there lad!" called his father.

"I'm okay!" he yelled back, but he wasn't sure his father heard him over this racket.

They were returning from a voyage to the coasts of Middle Earth, the wild great land to the east. They were retuning with a Man who called himself the ambassador of Middle Earth, who wished to meet with the Numenorian King, Tar-Minastir, to negotiate peaceful trade between their two nations. Unfortunately, the lesser man had been a nuisance from the start. He had no experience in sailing or navigation, but was as arrogant as you could get. They had had to force him below deck so he wouldn't get in the way and cause more trouble.

"Land ahead!" called the man in the crow's nest. They had reached Numenor. However, the wind and waves were to strong for them to dock at the closest point. They would have to sail half way around the island. As Ren began to turn, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, someone appearing from the hatch. That bloody fool! Ren wanted to force the man back down, but could not leave his post. The man stepped onto the deck and moved towards Ren's father. Over the howling wind Ren heard him say something like "Let me help you."

The world seemed to move in slow-motion as Ren watched the man pull on a rope and release. The boom went flying halfway across the boat towards the two men. The first ducked. Ren's father was not so quick. The boom hit him square in the face and Ren watched him fly overboard and into the water. He did not surface.

"FATHER!"

They had returned to Numenor a few hours later. Ren had ordered the imprisonment of the man, and had told the king that he had assassinated his father. The king, after hearing several accounts of the event, concluded that though the man was obviously and idiot, he had not intended to kill Ren's father. Ren flew into a rage and killed the man. Soon after he attempted to kill the king. He escaped imprisonment and fled to Middle Earth, filled with evil thoughts and plots for revenge. As he arrived, Sauron saw his chance and welcomed the Numenorian with open arms. Ren quickly fell into his service, and was soon given a ring of power. Ren was now so blinded by darkness; he had little strength or will to fight the power of the ring, and soon joined the shadows. It was then that Sauron renamed him Gothmog, after the Great Balrog who had once been a fellow Maiar.

Gothmog now looked distastefully at the running water.

"We could go north," he muttered.

The Black Captain smiled. "Oh I don't think that will be necessary," he said, and his eyes gleamed red as he looked across the river. Raising his hand, he chanted a morgul spell of his own invention. There was and ear-splitting crack and the river began to freeze over. Gothmog could see, in the water, the diverse life freezing and dying. The running came to a standstill, and now a bridge of ice stood before them. Gothmog turned to his Captain.

"Very nice," he hissed.

The Black Captain nodded and began to cross. Gothmog followed. They were getting closer….

A/N: Well there it is. I just wanted to incorperate a bit of background about the Nazgul in this chapter. Those of you who think the leadup is dragging on a bit, dont worry, next chapter we get somewhere. All reviews are appreciated. Thanks!