Mist. Black. Darkness. Paleness. Night. This is what I see as I stand silently beside my companions. Our world is distorted, and has been ever since the completion of the fading of our bodies and spirits first begun by the Nine Rings of Power given to us all, the great Kings of legend, now more famous for the One whom we serve.

I know the Ring is there. We all know it. We can feel it is near, but we cannot know the exact location of its Bearer if we all go together. We, the Nazgul, would be noticed immediately. So I have sent Khamul to find them.

Khamul should consider himself fortunate that I allowed him this task, after his failure outside of the Shire. He told me of how he sensed the blood of the Halflings, how he thought he heard the Ring call out. But then the voice stopped, and he rode away on his black steed, completely passing the Bearer by. I have often wished that I could make an example of him to my other fellow Nazgul, but the Eye would see and kill me, and that fool would take my place, as he is my second-in-command.

"My Lord." I hear his voice inside my head, which is not surprising in the least. We have the ability of telepathy and use it often. "I have found them."

"Good. Where are they?"

I can hear the distaste and slight trace of fear in his thought. "Weathertop, my Lord."

Weathertop. That is a place I had hoped we would not come to again. We met a wizard there a few days ago that dueled us. He was old, but skilled in magic, and defeated us. I sent four of my company after him to make sure he did not escape completely, but kept the others with me. And now we are back on this hill, but maybe this time things will work to our advantage.

"Can you see them at all?" I ask. "Do you see the Ring?"

"The Halflings are there, four of them. The Ring is among them. I sense it. And there is a Man with them too. But they are around a fire, my Lord. We will be burnt to nothing if it touches us."

"Do not fear, Khamul. The fire is also our ally. It gives away their position." The Halflings are more foolish than I thought. If I could smile, I would. "Stay where you are. We will come to you."

"Yes, my Lord."

I nod to the other Nazgul, and we silently make our way towards Weathertop. The light of the fire is a pale whiteness amidst the black and swirling gray of my vision. I think we have been spotted, for as we draw closer I can see that they are more alert, waiting for something. Well, they need not wait much longer.

Finally we reach the slope of the hill. The Man is not there, just the Halflings. They now see us clearly, but they will be easy to defeat. I signal for Khamul and one other to come with me, and the rest to stay behind. Slowly we approach them, who hold long sticks of wood in their hands. As if that will protect them from the power bestowed on us by the Eye!

Two of them throw themselves on the ground, terrified. "Do not bother with them," I tell the Nazgul beside me. "They are not important. Slay them later." Now that we are here, the presence of the Ring is unmistakable. I feel its yearning to go back to Mordor strongly, and I know who holds it.

My ghostly eyes fall on the Halflings that are still standing, one pressing against the other in fear. It is other one though, the one who gazes up at us in terror; the one who knows his life will end. He is the Bearer. The Ring is in his pocket. I can see through the cloth to the Powerful Object, and I know instinctively what to do next.

Directing my power and thoughts towards him, I speak persuasively to his will in Black Speech. "Akashuga, khlaarizish. Ushd za nazg!"

It works almost flawlessly. The longing of the Ring becomes his own, to become one with It. He glances at the other Halfling, but cannot speak. He tries to resist, for he knows the consequences.

I command him once more, "Garn, ushd za nazg. Garn!"

He slips it on his left forefinger, and finally he is ours. His eyes go wide, for now he sees as we do, and he sees us for what we truly are – our bodies, clothing and crowns beneath the black cloaks. He is in our world. We come quickly forward. He draws his sword, which glows with a blue tinge, a clear mark of the Elves. That race is the only one we are wary of. I stop, sizing this foolish one up and staring at the Ring with anticipation. Drawing both my sword and my knife, I step closer.

His next action is the least expected. Flinging himself to the ground, he cries out in Elvish, "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!"

Star-Queen! Star-Kindler! That name is the most deadly to us. She was the dearest of the Valar, the creator of the heavenly lights, the lover of the stars, moon and sun, the lights that we despise so much. That name is a poison to us like no other. I freeze, feeling slightly afraid.

Suddenly I feel pain – the Halfling has stabbed my foot with his Elven sword! First the words, and now the weapon, of that accursed race have wounded me. I scream and immediately stab his left shoulder deep with the Morgul knife. That will cause him greater pain before he dies – and if he lives, he will be under my command as one of us.

As he falls, I hear Khumul shriek in alarm and fear, and I look up to see the Man he had mentioned earlier. We had forgotten all about him! He leaps out of nowhere, carrying two blazing sticks of wood which he swings towards us, his eyes full of battle-fury. He is just like that wizard – undefeatable and strong. "Retreat!" I call to the other Nazgul. We make it down safely, but not before Khamul's cloak catches on fire, nearly killing him. He flees, screaming, down the hill with us. Later, the danger is extinguished.

I look back up at Weathertop one more time, cursing the Man who drove us off, feeling the mournful whisper of the Ring that we had been so close to getting. We were weak, even with our numbers, but we will become stronger. Not all is lost, for the Halfling will know fear before he dies. He will know how it is to be a Nazgul.

"They will leave this place soon. Ready the horses, my brothers. We will follow them like the wind and be as silent as shadows. We will overtake and destroy the Bearer and the Man. The Ring will come home at last, and we will be victorious forever."

AN: This story was based on the book, not the movie. The name of the second-in-command really is Khamul, and that really is Black Speech the Witch-King uses. It translates as: "Hear me, Halfling. Use the Ring! Go on!" The title is also Black Speech, and it means "Ghostly Eyes, Cold Blade". So that was my first LOTR story. Anything I should work on? I hope you liked it!