His Corrupted Heart [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter XIII : A Painful Parting

"Beware of parting! The true sadness is not in the pain of the parting; it is in the when and the how you are to meet again with the face about to vanish from your view." -Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Two Days Later...

Er-Murazor knew he had fallen asleep again. However, whenever he had fallen asleep it was dreamless and so this was certainly a new experience.

Very, very new.

He didn't quite know how to take it though, as dreaming seemed a little too like the feeling he gets when he makes himself more aware of the Shadow World he has been a part of for thousands of years. The Witch-King of Angmar found himself unnerved, but pushed it aside in favor of focusing on his surroundings, guard surely up.

Trees of many different kinds reached high into the sky above him, of which it was of many colors of light blue shades. The trees themselves were of every color of green one could imagine. Birds were singing their songs and a multitude of forest critters ran around every which way. Very different than the silence and instinctive fear he had become so accustomed to.

Er-Murazor found himself then in a state of awe, for he had never before seen such vibrancy of life. In the face of so much vitality he was humbled, but it also stung how odds were against him in ever rejoining life and truly living. When the Lord of Carrion had accepting the ring that would ultimately curse him he did not care, even when he discovered his new state of existence.

Anything to escape death and to make sure that he would never be forgotten.

And he had succeeded to that degree, but standing here in this great forest he began to remember more.

It terrified him with each piece of memory revealed from the shadowed parts of his mind.

In the corner of his eye he then spied a particular tree of white bark and golden-orange leaves as though it believed that the season was fall in contrast to the summer mood of the rest of the forest. He felt compelled to inspect it closer and he did so, only to find that the white bark of the tree was marred. A thin black cut stretched across the white surface, and Er-Murazor traced the deep cut with metal-encased fingers.

"I appreciate that you took your anger out on the tree in the end rather than my Chosen." A calm, deep voice broke into the air, making the Witch-King react by whirling round to see who had spoken.

It was a tall man, mildly lean in figure and towered even over his own stature, and was dressed in the cloth and furs of a hunter. Shining green eyes, so easily comparable to the richness of emeralds, looked back at him as the stranger continued to speak with a small smile.

"Surely, the effort put into your redemption would have been for naught."

"Effort?" The Nazgûl asked the stranger, and he nodded as he replied, "Yes, this is the culmination of quite a few things. It was hard enough to convince Mandos of the greater potential of you, Er-Murazor, and Inconnu Naeril."

Eyes cloaked in the darkest shadows widened. "Mandos?! Then you are...!"

"Oromë the Hunter, friend of the Sindar and guide to the Huntress of the North." The strange hunter introduced himself, and Er-Murazor backed away a few steps in awe and fear. One of the Valar stood before him, and thoughts of punishment ran through his mind. Though Sauron had never spoken to him of the war he fought and lost when Morgoth was still around, the High Nazgûl had the feeling that what had happened to the former dark lord had not been pleasant.