erthedir

[erthedir]

sketch of an asshole leafy deer

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“The most powerful.” She murmured. “Third only to my Master, and his master of old.”

How this human had managed to fall asleep in the same vicinity as her was a mystery to Angmírë. She supposed the terrain, altitude and weather had taken a toll on the mortal.

The Witch-King had long been known for her cruelty and ruthless bloodthirst, but she found no contradiction in being a good host, after inviting the traveler to be a guest in her home.

“If you wish to sleep in a bed, there is one. I will show you to it.” She stood and beckoned him. “It is comfortable. More comfortable than where you lay now, on the floor.”

The third most powerful being there was besides the Dark Lord and His own Master? Erthedir found himself shuddering slightly, not in fear but he couldn’t quite describe the feeling either. Not many had met the Witch-King and lived, he reckoned. And even less who so haplessly crossed their path by simply walking into a place they did not belong to. It was all very...unreal and very intense. Yes. Intense. Maybe that was the word the wanderer was looking for. 

“A bed...?” he blinked at the offer, more out of surprise than anything. Of course as a host it had to be expected that after shelter, warmth and a meal, she’d offer him a place to rest but..it had been so long. He couldn’t recall when he last had slept in one. 

Looking to Roth he petted her head and tried to pull away, just for the beast to lay a paw heavily on his legs as if to tell him that no bed was needed. She was comfortable here and so would be he. No discussion needed. Clearing his throat the wanderer gave Angmíre an apologetic look. “I...it seems Roth has decided this spot is too comfortable for us to leave. I...might need a moment.”

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“Yes,” the wraith said, suddenly, perhaps louder than she meant. “You may come with me. I am busy, and assistance is welcome; none will trouble your companion there, for her kind are respected by those who serve Mordor. Perhaps you will enlighten me as to some of your skills, and…”

She focused again on the living world and saw that he had begun to fall asleep.

“Oh. Yes, the need to sleep…” She had not been around a mortal for this long in many years. “…is there… anything…”

It took Erthedir a moment to snap fully awake again, looking confused and then apologetic. How rude of him to fall asleep on her. Then her words were finally processed and after blinking a few times and tilting his head forward as if he believed he had misheard her he took a sudden sharp breath. 

Had she just told him...? It was hard to believe. There was no reason for her to permit a lone wanderer and his beastly companion to travel by her side, back to the land she came from. But something like excitement flared up in his eyes, making his chest feel as if it was expanding with...happiness?

Was this really something to be happy about? “I will come with you, my Lord.” he said then hastily, inclining his head to show that he had accepted her offer. “And I am glad to hear this for Roth’s safety and happiness is what weights the most for me. She’s been mistreated by everybody I happen to run into. Mostly just verbally because she can protect herself and I was there to tell them off as well. But I do wish her to be someplace where she is not called names. And if I can assist you I’ll gladly do so, even though I am not sure how I as a mere mortal can help a powerful king and Nazgûl.”

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

The Witch-King was not surprised, for the man had seemed drawn to darkness, and she figured him to be, most likely, loyal and easily controlled. It could be useful, or at least entertaining, to have him around, for a while… He seemed quite fond of her, and that was an entire category of questions all its own. But still…

She lapsed into thought, and after a time was gazing at him as she contemplated, her silver-white eyes unnervingly looking through him, blankly, unseeing. When she did not speak or move, her body was entirely motionless, as she did not breathe. 

Time passed and she continued thinking about what she would do; she said nothing, and did not move, blink, or give any indication that she was even present, though she was - a habit of hers, when she thought.

It was exceedingly clear that she was not alive, at this point.

While it was unnerving to be stared at like this and not being privy to her thought process, Erthedir remained calm, half rested against Roth’s large body, feeling it move with the She-Warg’s breathing. What was he even doing here? Surely he couldn’t wish to go with the Witch-King? That would be madness. Mordor was a place filled with darkness that would only lead to corruption and suffering. 

And yet...he had already experienced both. Had been manipulated, had been left to suffer. Where would be the difference? At least with her he potentially /knew/ that she might betray him. Use him as she saw fit. Go back on a word given. Not that he expected a king to do so but he knew others had done it, people in powerful positions. He would not whimper and beg should this happen again. By now his life motto was acceptance of the fact that nobody could be trusted and nobody truly cared. 

The only thing he would need to ensure was Roth’s safety. He did not wish her to suffer the consequences of HIS actions. After all she trusted him and he would not go back on that trust. He’d rather die before she would be pushed into a situation where she could not get back out without sustaining injury, be it physically or mentally. Closing his eyes for a moment he felt exhausted grab at his mind, telling him to rest. To fall asleep. 

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“Indeed you were lucky.” Angmírë laughed quietly. “Had I been in a foul mood you have been dead before you knew I was in the throne room.”

“But you have proved surprisingly good company, so far, and said flattering enough things that I wonder of your intentions.” She did not seem upset by this notion, but if it were possible for a wraith to come across as flirtatious… “If causes me no inconvenience to entertain you here.”

“Lucky indeed,” Erthedir agreed, without looking too worried. “But sometimes luck is all one has.” Roth lifted her head as they talked then finally got up and walked over to her companion. Shoving him with her head she demanded for him to sit with her near the fire so she could place her massive head on his lap. While that was hardly very comfortable for the man, he did follow her demand, scratching her behind the ears once he was seated again. 

“As for my intentions- I do not have any in particular. My life is like a stream, it moves forward, mostly silently and slowly. It is not very interesting and has no real goal. Maybe I do need one after all. But what sort of goal should it be? I will not go back to what I did before. I have no interest in risking life and limb for Gondor again. But I wish to learn. To see and explore things and places I’ve never been to. If you wish for me to remain your companion for now, I do not see anything that would speak against it. No matter where your path would lead you.”

Did this mean he was asking her to take him along- to Mordor? That wouldn’t be a wise choice for any mortal man but he seemed very serious about his words, despite the smile still etched onto his face. 

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“He slumbered below. I did not conjure him, simply woke him and asked that he return with meat. He deigns to carry me on his back, and I thank him for doing so.” She explained, realizing it had appeared as though she’d summoned a dragon from thin air. “I do wonder at his ability as a guard, however.”

Angmírë sat closer, and considered his awe at nearly everything he had seen, though she had not tried to impress or confound him. And how has he come to be here, she wondered.

“You wander far afield, to come across the ruin of my fortress, Shadow. What compelled you to travel so deep into Angmar?”

At her words Erthedir became acutely aware that this creature could have mauled and devoured him if it had noticed his approach. That Roth had not smelled it must have had to do with not just the snow covering but but the darkness that surrounded it and which must have felt familiar to her. It was still not a very good feeling. And even if he did not care much about death, this was not an end he would have wished to meet. 

“I did because little keeps me in Gondor or Rohan. The people do not like to converse with me, trading has been slow in winter and I just felt I needed to explore. Just to follow a path untraveled before. Maybe not the wisest of ideas but maybe I had hoped to meet friendlier souls up here. And...”

Erthedir paused and smiled to her. “...it seems I was right. Not only was I invited to stay at your private chambers but you just sent out your flying beast to hunt for my companion and me. And you shared your stories with me. It seems I was lucky this time.”

[erthedir]

by Nathan Dumlao

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

It was a story she had heard many times, for this desolate land had always drawn those who had been abandoned, or those who had rejected their loyalties. She would ask him to elaborate, later.

“Your compassion for her is admirable.” She watched him share what he had. “But you have little food to share with her if you wish to eat. There is little to hunt here, but my pet will, I am sure, enjoy the sport of it.”

Without allowing him to refuse her help or to ask what she meant, Angmírë stepped onto the balcony, a chill blast of air rushing through the door. She made an unearthly sound and called out a few words in the Black Speech, in and of itself shocking to most who heard it.

A soul-chilling shriek answered, and on leathery black wings, a huge, fell drake rose before her. More words in that cursed tongue, and it howled again and fled into the frigid night.

The Witch-King entered her drawing room again, as though she had done nothing more than ask a manservant to fetch a tray of cheese.

“Ergoth will return by dawn.”

“She is the only creature I know I can truly trust. She would not abandon me, no matter the circumstances and neither would I abandon her. If it meant that I have to suffer to protect her so be it. I never found this much loyalty in others of my kind. And she is smarter than most of my kind too. Roth just has to look at me and knows what I feel, what I think. And she keeps my mind from wandering too far.” 

Erthedir smiled, having obviously no problem with elevating the Warg and condemning all of mankind in one fell swoop. His words were harsh but honest and it made one wonder what he had had endured to feel such bitterness towards other men. That he had abandoned a live among them showed that there was much in his past that he still carried to this day, despite his easy smile and polite manners. 

As she reminded him that Roth and he needed to eat, he was about to reply to her that he’d try to hunt with the warg even so but he remained silent as Angmírë stood up and stepped onto the balcony, the sudden gust of cold air making both man and animal shudder. Then words were spoken in a language he did not know and while Roth was not affected by him, she saw Erthedir tense up, eyes growing wide before his hands quickly reached up to cover his ears. 

He couldn’t tell what these words spoken were doing to him but he suddenly felt a strange sort of pain, his very fiber on fire, breathing a much harder task than before. Was this...the language of Mordor? Ah...how powerful it was. And what a terrible creature it called forth. Sitting there in shock and awe, the wanderer did not speak as she returned, hands slowly dropping as he tried to understand what he just had witnessed. 

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“We will see.”

The Nazgûl realized she had not removed the fell-looking robes she wore, and divested herself of them, placed the garment neatly upon a hook, and sat in a comfortable-looking chair.

“I wish to know of your affinity with this Warg. Few take to the company of those who are not trained extensively to interact with them, and we lose many of those individuals even still.”

She looked fondly at the animal.

“You have been puzzled, I imagine, at her reactions. She has known my identity since first she sensed my presence here. Warg-kind are servants of my Master, and all who serve my Master serve me. Tell me, how did you come by such a companion?”

How indeed. Erthedir looked to Roth who was still chewing on a strip of jerky, mostly because she enjoyed the flavor and knew this was all he had to offer to her right now. They would have to go out and hunt the next morning. Unlike the Witch-King had also food stored away somewhere but the wanderer truly doubted that. 

“I knew that you were with the Darkness when she acted like she did. Or at least I suspected it. Usually she’s very suspicious of strangers since we both know they mean trouble. I am not a guest people are happy to see in the villages and Inns so I have to leave her behind in the forest when I go and trade with others. They think of her as a murderous evil beast. Maybe to some the Wargs are if they have attacked and killed family or friends. But she’s still young. Barely more than a pup.”

There was affection shining through his voice as he watched the She-Warg who in return gave a short, bark like sound as she returned the gaze. “I found her injured in the forest. It was winter and her pack thought her already dying. And she was. Hunters had fought with the pack earlier and she, as the youngest and less experienced one, had carried away most injuries. So here she was, the snow around her bloodied, her chest barely moving... Should I have killed her? No, how could I have? She was helpless. She had been abandoned.”

‘Just like I had been myself.’

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“I built this place. Or, rather, I designed it so - in wartime I would evacuate the entire population of the outer fortress into the mountain in less than an hour, and the enemy would find Carn Dûm abandoned.”

“It is safe to enter, now.” She did not explain from what he was safe, but she led him into the central public chamber of the fortress, an airy space with grey marble walls, rich tapestry and carpets on the floor, and fine furniture. It could have been a great hall in Dol Amroth, or Minas Tirith.

She led him through several such rooms and finally came to a great drawing room, with dark wood shelves piled with books and scrolls, a great fireplace that was alright already, soft couches, and a stunning feature: a wall of windows and a balcony. She gestured to the window, which looked down over the entirety of the fortress, with snow falling softly on it.

“The extraordinary act of trust is upon your part, in following the single most powerful servant of the Dark Lord into her lair. You are a very interesting person, and I am pleased by your appreciation of trust.” Angmírë turned to him. “I will gladly diagram exactly how to enter. And tell you the controls. You cannot enter. It would be impossible, for you cannot do what I do; Pass through solid rock to a room with no doors, for example. You cannot breathe under water - I do not breathe at all.”

She stood by the window, gazing out over her former kingdom.

“You need not repay me, Shadow. You have proven that you trust me, . But know this: If I trust you, and you break my trust, I will kill you.”

Erthedir listened to her, taking mental notes of everything he was told. He didn’t doubt for a second that there were not hidden traps everywhere and should he stray from the path they would end him immediately. And while not afraid of death he did not seek it out so he stepped where she stepped until they entered a part of the fortress that looked like it was still in use, still inhabited. 

Richly decorated and breathing the air of a once great kingdom, there were too many things for the wanderer to take in. His eyes gazed upon the tapestries with wonder as he tried to imagine how this place must have looked and felt like when still filled with life. 

The fireplace was more than welcomed, Roth already heading for it to curl up on the carpet in front of it, giving soft noises of utter comfort. Erthedir too stepped towards it, rubbing his cold hands, feeling his skin prickle as heat seeped into it, revitalizing his cooled body. It felt...comforting. And comfortable. A place one would love to stay and rest, while the snow fell outside, covering everything under a silent blanket. 

Setting down his backpack he went through it until he found some jerkied meat which he ripped into strips, offering them to the She-Warg, certain that she must be hungry by now. The beast devoured the meager meal with eagerness, another rumble coming from deep with her throat. 

He himself did not eat just yet, for a moment wondering if he should offer some to the Witch-King but then remember that the unliving did not need any food anymore. “This is fair enough, my Lord. Should I break your trust, my life is yours to take.” he acknowledged her words with a slight bow of his head. “And maybe it’s foolish to let my curiosity guide me here with somebody so powerful but if fear was something I allowed to rule me I would have stayed in my piece of forest, to never see anything of the world. And who knows... Maybe there is something I can do for you eventually. After all I have nowhere to go and have not sworn allegiance to anybody. So..if you’d wish to command my actions for now, do so.”

@of-angmar​

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

Angmírë realized after a moment why he had suddenly stepped back; now, her physical appearance far easier to perceive as “a wraith” than before.

“I apologize for startling you,” she said, but did not remove her cloak, simply led Erthedir through a series of halls in the ruined fortress that ended at a dead end, the solid rock of the mountain against which the fortress forming an impenetrable wall.

“The outer fortress, and the throne room there, were lost to war and time. There are parts of this fortress that I alone have the ability to open. I will not acquiesce to entertain a guest in my home and tell him to sleep in the courtyard, as it snows.”

The wraith shook her head disdainfully.

“I am about to do something which may alarm you, I will return.”

The Nazgûl vanished, as though the curtain between those worlds was drawn sharply closed, immediately.

A few minutes passed, and a portion of the wall shuddered, then a steep, narrow stairway going up was revealed and Angmírë appeared briefly, then led him further into the mountain. The one-person access hall opened suddenly, into an antechamber of sorts. Rather than bedrock, this was a real, stonework room.

“We will wait here a few moments, and then I will bring you into Carn Dûm.” Angmírë stood next to a heavy wood door. “You must have questions. If there are any with answers I am willing to give, I will answer them.”

Erthedir just shook his head, for now unable to find words to explain how he felt. He had not seen many strange and wondrous things so he was taken by surprise by the sudden change that had come forth simply through her merely donning her robes. But he felt that even greater surprises awaited him as he followed her, Roth by his heels, her large body at times bumping against his side as if to remind him that he was not alone. 

To the She-Warg what happened was nothing that would alarm her. She could tell though that her companion was in a state of stress that made her worry a bit for his well being although she could also feel that he would not run away. Curiosity had always been a driving force and he wanted to see more. Learn more about this place, about its king and about everything she was willing to share with him. 

“I thank you for your hospitality. I know I am still an intruder here so to be allowed deeper into these forgotten halls is quite the honor.” Erthedir was about to add more to his words when she warned him about what would happen next and then...disappeared. The wanderer ended up grasping at Roth’s fur, clutching it firmly until the warg nudged him with her head. ‘I’m here’ her action said. ‘Do not worry.’ 

Then the wall shuddered and opened before them and Roth was first to leap down the stairway, joining Angmíre with an excited soft growl, turning her head to see if Erthedir was following before she made her way further down. He had no idea where this path would lead them to but as they entered the room built into the stone by busy hands hundreds and hundreds of years back, the young man could not hide his amazement. 

“When was this place built and by whom? You are offering me insight into secrets I doubt you shared with many. How can I repay you for your trust? I am aware you could easily end me should you feel I could no longer be trusted but...if so...I am glad I was allowed a glimpse into this place.”

@of-angmar​

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“Died, you say? A necromancer finds no such descriptions or experiences to be metaphor. Perhaps Shadow is a good name for you. I would have you tell me more of this experience.”

The Witch-King looked intently at him for a time and then through the missing skylight at the black sky beyond. It was bitterly cold and growing colder.

“Speaking of death… It will grow cold in the ruins soon - it affects me not but you will freeze to death in my throne room if you do not build a fire. And if you build a fire in my throne room, you will not live long enough to freeze to death. I will bring you inside.”

She took her long, black robe from the chair beside her throne, and with one fluid motion, threw it around herself. It was almost an unconscious motion, and she thought nothing of it. She turned back to her guest.

The Lord of the Nazgûl now stood recognizable before Erthedir.

The wanderer nodded. Maybe he would indeed indulge her with his short life story. He knew it sounded like hyperbole when he claimed to be dead but Erthedir would claim that he had indeed died twice. Once on the battle field where his former self had been left behind, battered, broken and abandoned by everybody. And once at home where the betrayal had been finished and the final blow had been administered. 

As the Witch-King spoke of the night to come and the cold that would follow it, he nodded, looking to Roth who lifted an ear to indicate she was listening to them talking. She too could feel the chill creep into her bones now, slowly raising to her feet, shaking herself before bouncing around the throne to warm herself back up. 

“I understand. Then guide me to a place where I can build a fire for my warg and myself.” Erthedir said, just to fall silent as she threw her black robe around herself, face suddenly cast in shadows. He couldn’t even say what exactly had changed but simply the fact he could only see the light of her eyes made him step back instinctively. It was maybe not fear, not to the amount that it would leave him cowering, but it was as if she had stepped behind a veil now that separated the living and the non living. 

@of-angmar​

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

The wraith’s arm was, indeed, solid to the touch, and the fabric heavy, soft to feel and finely woven. She was certainly not a ghost or of the dead.

Up close, there was nothing immediately off putting about the Witch-King, who reacted impassively to the touch.

“I am a wraith,” she repeated. “The dead must die, and I cannot.“

“I feel as any who are not dead do, and come here for mundane reasons.” The Nazgûl did not move to unhand herself, and simply left his hand where it lay, seeming not to mind, and I disturbed by speaking candidly of her reasons for being there. “My work tries my patience and I grow weary of the demands upon my attention, and the clamor of men and orcs and weapons, and conflicts of personality. It is quiet here, which is a rare commodity.”

She tilted her head slightly to look at the man. He seemed unafraid, which was unusual, and also did not reek of hatred.

“You do not fear me?” She seemed impressed, pleased. “Nor do you hate me. You are strange, and I find you interesting, Shadow. I do not mind your presence, nor will I forbid you to leave. Do you wish to stay?”

Erthedir did not expect to actually feel something under his fingers but fabric and cloth. There seemed to be substance to the King albeit dead. No, not dead...undead. She was not a ghost, not one of those lingering spirits he had once encountered in the dead marshes. There was also no longer that sensation of dread he had felt earlier but he believed she was maybe suppressing it now. 

Then at her question he finally pulled his hand away, deciding he would be impolite to grab her for much longer, even taking a respectful step backwards. “I do not fear you as I fear not death. I died many years ago. Of course to you it sounds just like a figure of speech but what is a shadow but something shaped like a man but not truly alive. Should my end come by your hands, my lord, so be it.” 

He nodded as she asked him if he wished to stay, smile returning to his face despite his bitter sounding words from a moment ago. “I have hated for a long time but now I’ve grown tired and weary of it. Why should I hate you? For your allegiance? For who you fight for? I have no side so neither side is good or bad to me, to be loved or to be hated. I do wish to stay however. To hear more. To learn more.”

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“I am. I wrought ruin in Arnor, Arthedain and conquered Rhudaur, as well. I now rule from Minas Morgul, which was Minas Ithil long ago.”

She chuckled.

““I come here to find solitude at times, for Angmar is my home of old and now deserted - few come into Angmar who wish to leave, or who have business here. It is extraordinarily rare that anyone would come across me here.” Anmírë tilted her head slightly, with what may have been a slight smirk. “ I am no ghost. I am, as I said, a wraith. You may touch me if you wish. I am physically here, at the moment.”

It was not an offer she would have made at most times, but she had been quite theatrical and the young man had been respectful.

Furthermore, praise got one far with the Witch-King, and she liked his warg, now sleeping next to her feet.

Touch her? That offer surprised the wanderer again and as he stood there it was hard to tell whether he’d go and do so or decide it was safer to remain where he was right now. But with Roth resting so peacefully at the wraith’s feet... He knew his Warg would protect him should the need arise. 

Or so he still hoped although her acting so friendly towards one of Mordor’s servants left him wondering what sort of spell the King of Angmar had wrought upon his companion. But so far she had not harm him, nor did she seem to intend to. One who could light torches with the flick of one’s wrist surely could set a man on fire if they felt they needed to. 

So he did finally step closer, up to her throne where he bowed his head again. His earlier words were obviously true- he was ally to no one. Was on no one’s side. So Erthedir had neither contempt nor love for those who were connected to Mordor. They had been part of his suffering in the past but they had not been the main reason he had been made an outcast by those he had trusted the most. 

“Solitude... I know that feeling. It’s all I have. And it keeps me safe from betrayal.” he said then as he reached out to lightly put his hand on her arm. 

@of-angmar​

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“I am a wraith, to answer the question you wished to ask. The First of the Nine, Lord of the Nazgûl. My name is Tár-Angmírë Mûrazôr.”

She did not seem angered or hostile, if anything, surprisingly gracious and a bit amused, despite the fact that the words she next said seemed to burn in the air, somehow.

“I am no servant of the Witch-King. I am she.”

Her words had the desired effect- if utter silence and shock had been the effect she had been looking for. But after that moment passed another expression appeared on the man’s face. It was not fear, nor was it anger. He didn’t draw his sword to charge forward with words like ‘Begone foul demon!’ nor did he try to hastily retreat in hopes she would spare his life. 

Instead Erthedir stepped even closer and now among the surprise and shocked silence there was something Angmíre could read as...awe. He seemed entranced almost. Even more curious than before. Stopping just far enough away from the throne to not been seen as a threat or invading her personal space he suddenly smiled calmly, eyes aglow. 

“You are the king who ruled over this fortress? You are...one of the Nine that brought terror and devastation to the land of Gondor and Rohân?” It sounded more like he was praising her than cursing her out. “What brings you here? Memories of the past? Is it worth it to cling to them though? Your kingdom fell...and yet...you did not. How...is that possible? I heard about rings. Rings of power. Power that only the Dark Lord wields. What are you, My Lady? It isn’t just a ghost my eyes are falling upon, is it?”

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

The figure was not a man, but a tall woman clad in heavy black robes that called to mind those which adorned statues of of the kings of Gondor and Númenor, carved in stone and with which her visitor was likely well familiar. She appeared to be thirty years of age, perhaps, neither old nor young, bearing the proud features typically associated with those who had Númenorean ancestry, but far more so. Her hair was a silvery color, pulled back in a knot.

Upon her head, she wore the Iron Crown of Angmar. Clearly, this person was meant to be here, and while for all intents and purposes she looked like any human, there was something unnatural about her. She met Erthedir’s gaze with eyes that were an unsettling, sorcerous color of milky silver.

She patted the warg fondly.

“You are right, I have not introduced myself, and that is rude of me.”

She sheathed her sword.

“I am Angmírë, the ruler of this place.” She felt brilliant for making an implication without any untruths through omitting the rest of her names and title.

She waited a few moments for a response, after which she planned to end her charade, for which her guest had been such a good sport.

As Erthedir’s eyes finally fell upon the woman standing at the throne, carrying herself with the air only a true king would, the young man felt the strange tightness in his chest grow. While she looked young in years there was something in her eyes that belied the youth he could see upon first glance. No, instead it felt as if he was gazing upon somebody who had seen centuries pass by. 

And it was not just that, which gave Erthedir a strange sensation of wrongness but also the way she spoke, her voice filling his mind, making him feel as if he should bow his knee to the crown she wore on top of her brow. Not just a human, no. Something more. Words failed him to describe the feelings that rushed through him as she patted Roth who in return looked up at her with something Erthedir could have sworn was fondness. 

Ruler of this place? The last Queen...King of Angmar? But there was nothing here. Just ruins and ice and decay and death. Erthedir shook his head as if it’d help to clear it before he folded his hands on his back and bowed his head again as her status would request him to be polite. “My Lady... it is far from me to wish to be rude but...this can not be. There hasn’t been a ruler to this place for centuries. Who are you really?”

It was obvious that he wished to ask ‘what are you?’ but had decided against it, his face not showing fear but tension and a spark of deep seated curiosity. 

@of-angmar​

[erthedir]

of-angmar:

“Yes… I am the last. The first, and last.”

Anmírë her hand low and palm outward as though greeting a friendly hound. The Warg knew her, she saw, perhaps instinctively. The Nazgûl did not find this traveler a threat, nor his Warg, and hid her mirth at being given the opportunity presented by ‘Are you a follower of the Witch-King?’ and remained formally cordial.

“Welcome, Erthedir, and your beautiful warg as well. No, I am no follower of the Witch-King.”

This indulgence in theatricality was a conceit the Witch-King had little time or use for in Minas Morgul, but was amused by. She could make it day-bright if she wished, and realized her visitor would not know what the Witch-King looked like, and she flicked her wrist imperceptibly to the floor, sorcerously causing the torches in their iron sconces along the walls to light slowly in pairs, seemingly of their own accord.

“You are far from Gondor, Shadow. You need not linger in the doorway.”

The room grew slowly more visible, and the figure as well. She wondered what he was expecting to see.

The She-Warg gave another greeting sound at the sight of that outstretched hand. Although Roth had not yet encountered any of the Nine, she could feel the strong ties to the Darkness that dwelled in Mordor and while it had never touched her, it brought a strange familiarity that was maybe imprinted into her very being. So she bounced past the man who remained in the doorway for now and dared to step closer, until she reached the steps that led up to the throne. There she sat down, much like a dog would at the feet of its master, large head on her front paws. 

Erthedir watched her with growing confusion before he took the invitation to step in himself, not after tensing up as the torches were light magically with no hands to touch them, no lights brought by invisible servants. He had never encountered sorcery- another thing he only knew from stories and books and tales. But he knew there were powerful sorcerers out there. Wizards. Beings who could not just set torches on fires but entire forests. It seemed appropriate to keep his distance even if he doubted it would make things any more safe for him. 

“I thank you for your hospitality, oh yet-to-be-named one.” he replied with a polite stab at the one on the throne who had yet to give him a name in return. What had he expected to see? A man, most likely. Maybe a knight. Or a Steward. Somebody wearing old fashioned armor and maybe a sigil of their master. But what if they had no true ties to the kings of old? They had just claimed to not be a follower of the Witch-King so...who were they? And why were they here? To guard this decaying structure? What an...awful fate. 

“Excuse Roth, she’s a playful one and her youth often dictates her actions.” he said then as he looked up to the figure, taking a deep breath, his chest suddenly feeling tight, “but she’s a loyal, strong creature and has been my traveling companion for years. She means no harm unless I was in danger.” Seeing how they had called the warg ‘beautiful’ Erthedir doubted they were afraid of it or were interested in harming it.