His Corrupted Heart [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter XII : Old Wounds, New Hopes

"I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes." -Unknown

Third Age, 3019

Dawn made itself known to those residing in the cave, bringing light and warmth with its arrival.

This brought wakefulness to Inconnu Naeril, who cracked her eyes open a bit and when she stretched to loosen her muscles she again found herself restricted by a pair of warm arms. She smiled to herself and looked up, knowing that Er-Murazor was still deep in sleep, and made no move to leave his embrace lest she wake him. He deserved to rest, they both did.

Four days had passed since she woke from her fever, and four days since she had freed yet another part of the Witch-King's very being from Sauron's corruption. The freeing of his heart had brought interesting and wonderful changes to the Nazgûl's entire demeanor. Things that she had noticed before, once only fragments and fleeting moments, were now more than that and the greatest changes were towards herself.

Er-Murazor was more embracing of his new-found emotions certainly, though still unused to voicing them aloud. He preferred speaking with action rather than words in this case, and he conveyed much whenever he held her close. Another reason he remained close to her was to help her in moving around once she was well enough to stand and walk around. This time he aided her, but they knew there was not a debt being repaid for there were no debts between them anymore. No longer was it the reason they remained in each other's company.

Love, though still the greatest mystery for them both, was the binding force between them.

Inconnu closed her eyes and relaxed against him, more than content to remain in his arms for a while longer. She basked in the warmth of both the rising sun and the warmth of Er-Murazor's embrace, and after perhaps half an hour had passed Inconnu began to feel that the Witch-King was beginning to stir from his sleep.

He shifted slightly in place before his arms tightened around her a little more. Next, she felt a hand caress up her back before an ironclad finger began the gentle motions of brushing her cheek. Inconnu relaxed further into Er-Murazor, falling further into utter contentment, and she felt the deep rumblings of a low chuckle from his chest. It was strange, how he was able to do things such as talking but without breathing. His broad chest did not rise nor fall with the motions of lungs taking and releasing life-giving air. To all her other senses, exempting sight and sound, the Witch-King was dead though he was there with her as though he were living.

Inconnu supposed that this was but one facet of being a Ringwraith. Cursed as neither living or dead for they are, for all intents and purposes, dead but having never truly died.

She wondered about his own thoughts, of what they were to do now that everything has changed between them. What were they to do? War was on the horizon, nothing could stop that now. It was as inevitable as the setting sun and the rising of the moon, something that no living creature on Middle Earth could escape. The Men of the West would confront the strengthening darkness of Mordor and Sauron's wrath, and the conflict would reshape the future of everything.

Inconnu knew how she and the High Nazgûl had fit into the conflict before they had ever met. She was-is-the Huntress of the North, the greatest defender of Middle Earth against the raging and almost forgotten darkness of the Hithaeglir. He was, and still is, the Witch-King of Angmar, Sauron's Black Captain and the foremost of the Nine. There was no doubt in Inconnu's mind that they have both changed quite a bit from where they once stood, titles notwithstanding, but the reality of the world to the east where Gondor and Mordor lay would not ignore them for long.