Author's note: I own nothing. Welcome to The Lord of the Rings.

The Nazgul stood mounted at the ready, their chargers hot breath rising in the evening mists. Mist had no place in these lands, chill had never threatened these stones and dusts. It was quiet now… quiet and still. The eight were armed to do battle with an enemy no longer there. The Eye of Sauron had fallen, the ruins of the tower where it had stood were all that remained as a testament to the horror that had been Mordor. In the silence one dismounted, boots making a terrible clank as they hit the ground, he moved forward from the rest. Rusty gauntlets pushed aside rock and ancient wall to reach the cracked doorway. He turned to faced the rest, his breath frosting the stone.

"...There is… nothing left worth saving." One by one his fellows dismounted and came to his side. "... We have no choice... we must move on."

The hoods of the eight lowered in a parody of grief. Lost was that feeling, lost was all feeling. "We cannot ... it is pointless... we must fade..." Without the Dark Lord to guide their thoughts, a terrible emptiness had penetrated their tattered minds. Thought they were no longer capable of emotion, something at the core was able to sense its absence. "We are no longer complete... ... we are... only eight now..."It seized them in turn, heads rose, eyes burned, gauntlets clenched… the riders turned away from the ruins, moving back to their mounts, not once looking back. "We must find the Witch King... And become nine once more, then... ..."

Shrieks rang out as they rode forth onto Gondor. Hooves echoed thunder into the night, filling the air with dust. Midnight crawled in their wake, laying its shroud over the stones…

A lone Fell beast croaked after them before leaping into the sky and swallowing the moon in its wings.