This is the first fanfiction I had published, so I'm a bit nervous in how it would turn out. For those who had really checked what the Second Prophecy of Namo is really about, don't try to correct me here because I didn't follow every word it says. I just thought it would be ironic if Morgoth was defeated by the person he had least expected. After all, this is a fanfiction. Anything could happen. This story is based on some of my day dreams, so some parts may seem weird. (I hope not.)
"Empty darkness is stirring, ancient evil is arising,
The Doors of Night are broken, the Black Enemy escaping,
The Sun and Moon destroyed, everlasting night falling,
Upon Middle-earth, where the Free Peoples reside.
Taking up arms in imminent war, all four races unite,
Defending their land, to their deaths they will fight.
Despair shall fall upon multitudes, many battles fought amain,
Weeping shall be heard, countless tears shed over the slain,
Dagor Dagorath has commenced, hope is searched in vain.
Yet the lost shall be found, the fallen finally risen,
A crucial choice shall be made, enmity finally forgiven,
When the Light and Fire of the Final Day to the heavens ascend.
Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,
In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn.
Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,
On their dawning the battle will be won.
The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,
Shall herald the call of the Final Day."
The Second Prophecy of Námo
Dark storm clouds rolled across the crimson sky as thunder boomed in the distance. The smoke from Mount Doom added its color into the clouds while molten lava sprayed into the acrid air of Mordor. Standing resolute as ever, the dark tower of Barad-dûr rose above the bare, rocky landscape with the eye of Sauron burning ever bright on the highest pinnacle. Orcs assembled as an army around the tower, clanking of armor and ringing of swords sounding out.
The Witch King of Angmar sighed from his viewpoint on the roof of Minas Morgul. Here was another day in the desolate land of Mordor. He never liked this land since he first set step into it. The sky was ever dark with no sign of sunlight. He longed to see the sun coming up over the mountains at dawn. He still could faintly remember the old realm of Númenor, with its clear blue skies, crisp green plains and the deep blue sea that surrounded it.
Useless it is, to dwell upon such thoughts, he thought to himself angrily, Númenor is gone now, sunk beneath the waters just because Sauron had to entice Ar-Pharazôn to cross the Ban of the Valar!
Since Númenor had been destroyed, the Witch King rebelled against Sauron the best he could under the opposition of the other Nazgûl. But after Sauron had dealt with him, he lost the will to fight. Even though the Witch King still wanted to rebel against Sauron, he carried out his commands without question. It earned him Sauron's trust as he planned the army's movements accordingly and devised effective battle strategies that many a times worked with great success.
What good it is to fight a battle you cannot win, when you know you cannot change your destiny whatever you do?
He still remembered the time when he refused to obey any of Sauron's orders and shut himself in at Minas Morgul. Sauron had sent a legion of orcs led by the Mouth of Sauron and the other Seven. Excelling in sorcery, the Witch King made quick work of the orcs, knocked the Mouth of Sauron unconscious, and put the Eight under a binding spell. But all that spell-casting left him exhausted, and he was unprepared when Sauron himself came to face him in the form of a heavily armored man with a large mace and his One Ring on one finger. The Witch King tried to use sorcery again, but Sauron had disabled his ring with ease. With his powers severely weakened because he depended on the ring for sorcery, he still fought the losing battle. Flashes of lightening filled the Morgul Vale on that day. All the spells the Witch King threw at Sauron bounced useless off his armor. Finally he stopped, falling to the ground on his knees in exhaustion. Then Sauron had swung his mace, and that was the last thing the Witch King remembered.
He grimaced. Sauron had taken him unconscious to Barad-dûr, and "as a punishment for being so disobedient and rebellious", tortured him until he screamed in agony. The Witch King still hadn't completely recovered from it yet and now tired easily from leading battles and fighting in them himself. In fact, he had to leave most duties to Khamûl because of this reason.
None of this makes sense to me, He thought, confused. I am a wraith. I cannot feel, cannot slumber, cannot eat, cannot be harmed by ordinary weapons, and cannot feel fatigue. Why is it taking so long for me to recover from my ordeal?
The ring shouldn't have been mine to accept. I thought it would benefit my country and expand my powers of sorcery. Effectively, it has done that for me. But for what price? I was turned into a wraith; I can no longer see the countenance of the living. Even my true name was lost to me. "The Witch King of Angmar" and "Lord of the Nazgûl" are hardly names I would call myself. I would have given everything I own in order to become a man again. But now it is too late.
A blast of hot wind blew from the direction of Mount Doom in another one of its frequent eruptions. The Witch King dropped down into a balcony and strode back into the tower to his study, his metal boots clanking and black cloak swirling in the eerie green hallways. No one else was in the fortress, for Sauron had ordered the Witch King to be isolated. But it suited him fine. The Nine sometimes proved too much for him to tolerate. He disliked talking and quarreling with his second in command, Khamûl. Although the lieutenant was thorough and diligent in his work, the Witch King knew that he disliked him. The twins Herumor and Fuinur were bothersome in their supposedly amusing antics. Eärnur never spoke or interacted with anyone since recruited. Gothmog enjoyed killing and challenging the others to a duel. Morgomir spent too much time trying to please Sauron. Akhorahil was mentally unstable and showed his insane side more often than the Witch King liked. Ji Indur was too lazy and left all his work to the others. The Witch King had once made up his mind to find out how did they ever become kings in the first place.
He reached his study and opened the double doors. Inside was a large room with a high ceiling. Bookshelves full of books lined the four walls and a heavy wooden desk was placed in the middle. A high stand made of dark metal stood in a corner with a glass ball swirling with mysterious colors on top.
The Witch King scowled. It was also beyond his comprehension that why he had to take over this tower, why he had to destroy the kingdoms of Arthedain, Cardolan, and Rhudaur, why he had to serve Sauron, why he had challenged Eärnur to a duel that ended his life as a man and most importantly, why that elf Glorfindel had made that prophecy about him.
"Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."
Not by the hand of man will he fall?, the Witch King thought, striding over to his desk and sitting down, There are many other races other than man, and that is hardly a comfort. I do not delight to think of this topic. Glorfindel's words have great power, for he is on equal status with the legendary Maiar. I have no doubt that what he said would come to be. Hmm… it has been a few hundred years since he spoke of that prophecy. That will be quite long according to the years of man. My time is near then. Perhaps this is my hour.
The glass ball on the metal stand suddenly glowed fiery red. Again the Witch King sighed and walked over to it.
Witch King, my Ring has been found. The deep, sinister voice of Sauron resounded in his head as he spoke in the Black Speech.
And how does that concern me? The Witch King forced himself to spit out the harsh syllables of the language in turn.
He was not particularly pleased in being interrupted from his thoughts. Nor he did not care much about Sauron's Ring. In his opinion Sauron was foolish to have placed most of his powers into a piece of jewelry. Every sorcerer and user of power knew that was the surest way to have their power misused.
Do not be insolent, wraith! You shall ride out with the others and search for it! Khamûl caught a creature by the name of Gollum and he has revealed the location. Search for the country named the Shire by the Gladden River, and find the man named Baggins. Sauron hissed angrily.
I am on my way. The Witch King said grimly and severed the connection. But he did not leave the study; instead he sat down at his desk and from one of the drawers drew out a very thick leather-bound book.
Unknown to others, he had been recording history since he became a wraith. The bookshelves of the study were lined completely with thick volumes containing this valuable information, along with a few about sorcery or war strategies. Most records were about the histories of Númenor, Arnor and Gondor, with only a select few about Rohan, Harad and Rhûn. It was a collection that most historians would be fighting to get their hands on. The Witch King knew this also, and placed many protection spells on his treasured library as a result.
With this pen I had recorded history for at least two Ages, The Witch King thought, taking out a quill pen and a bottle of ink. This is the only comfort I find being as a servant of Sauron. I am loath to think of what would happen to those volumes if I perish one day.
And on a page next to a carefully drawn map of Middle-earth, the Witch King wrote down these words,
"Third Age 2998, The One Ring of Sauron has been found. Rumors that it is in the land called the Shire, in the hands of one whose family name is Baggins. Sent by Sauron, the nine Nazgûl ride abroad from Minas Morgul."
Finishing the short paragraph, the Witch King put his writing tools and the book back again. Sauron must not see these books. The consequences would be severe if he discovers them.
Finally he walked out of the study, locking the doors behind him and sealing them with a spell. Then he went to the armory to prepare for the long journey. After a few minutes, the Witch King was ready and led his horse out of Minas Morgul. The black hooded figures of the Eight were waiting with their horses in distance from the front gate, with Khamûl at the very front.
"It is an honor for you to join us, Captain. We missed you back at Barad-dûr." Khamûl drawled, his Westron laced heavily with the accent of the Easterlings.
The Witch King fingered the handle of his hand-and-a-half sword in annoyance. Khamûl had always tried to humiliate and argue with him in front of the others. Even a fool would have known that he was trying to take over his position as Lord of the Nazgûl.
"Ugh...Enough of your dry sarcasm, Khamûl." Herumor said in disgust.
"We must make hast to search for the Ring!" Morgomir reminded.
"As if," Khamûl laughed, "Maybe the Captain will show mercy on his adversaries again. He is certainly not fit for the title of 'Terror of Middle-earth'"
"If you continue to mock me like this," The Witch King said icily, "Then I would relieve you of your position as lieutenant."
In a flash, his black blade was out of its sheath and pointing at the Easterling. Morgomir and Gothmog too drew their weapons and stood at Khamûl's side.
"So you have finally decided to demote me," Khamûl said slowly, drawing his sword, "Then we will settle this with a duel. How fitting, to have one before setting out for a hunt for the Ring. If I win, I will replace you as the Lord of the Nazgûl. If I lose, then I will cooperate with you on this journey."
He has finally challenged me for this position, The Witch King thought, He could have done it anytime, but why now? If we set out any later, Sauron would be displeased to hear of this delay. I have to break this up right now. Perhaps I should not have drawn so rashly.
"I will fight you myself if you refuse to be silent, Khamûl!" Fuinur shouted, "Come on, Herumor. We can take him down!"
"A fight? I love fights!" Akhorahil laughed insanely and also drew his sword.
"Confound it..." Ji Indur muttered, readying his weapon, "Akhorahil, we do not need you to make this worse."
The Witch King hesitated. The quarrel used to be between him and Khamûl, and now most of the others got dragged in. The whole situation could evolve into a big fight in any moment. Sauron would be furious to hear of it.
Khamûl suddenly struck without warning at the Witch King. Herumor and Fuinur cried out in dismay as the Witch King defended. He slashed back without mercy and drove the other back. They exchanged quick blows and slashes, the ringing of metal on metal loud in the valley. Khamûl was an able swordsman, but he relied on speed more than strength. He also had less training than the Witch King, which made him wonder why the lieutenant had challenged him in the first place.
The Witch King then intercepted a stab meant to pierce his currently undefended left side. He gave his sword a sharp twist, which sent Khamûl's flying out of reach easily. The Witch King swung at his opponent, aiming to incapacitate him from shoulder to hip as a punishment for his nerve to challenge him. But his sword struck with a loud clang against something. Everything and everyone became unexpectedly silent. The Witch King shook his head clear his vision and saw who blocked the strike.
Eärnur, the former king of Gondor whom the Witch King had turned into a wraith, was holding back his sword with his own.
"What…" The Witch King began.
"This duel is meaningless," Eärnur said quietly, "Let it cease, for we have a long journey to travel."
This was one of the few times the Witch King had actually heard Eärnur speak, and the words he spoke surprised him greatly. Nobody, except Khamûl, dared to speak in such a manner to him. It unnerved the Witch King. Had he become so weak that any of the Eight could challenge his authority? He placed his sword back into its sheath as Khamûl retrieved his sullenly.
"Enough of this madness. It is time to set out." The Witch King said shortly and mounted on his horse. The others followed and rode fast in the direction of the West.
Why does Khamûl have to cause trouble every time? The Witch King thought as he rode, I wish Sauron never created the Ring. He lost it; he should find it, not us. But why did Eärnur block Khamûl's strike? I was fortunate that he did not plan to avenge himself for what I had done to him. There are so many things I don't understand. Why do I also have a feeling that this quest would be a failure?
Please review if you can. I must know how you think of my story so I can make improvements on it. You may correct my grammar, spelling, and the order and accuracy of events.