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ghostchild31-6 · 1 year

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More Challenges

Part three of A Challenge for the Nine

Before the War of the Ring, the Nazgûl, recently reunited, were having some issues with each other. To solve the division, Sauron gave them a challenging responsibility to help them to learn to work as a team while providing himself with entertainment. One girl and nine Ring Wraiths, what could possibly happen? Find more of this story using the tag “AChallengeForTheNine” (I’m pretty sure no one else is using it)

The girl wakes with a start, sitting bolt upright on the bed. She immediately scans the room for signs of the strange, darkly garbed figures, but she finds that she is alone. Still watching for any signs of movement, she takes in her surroundings. The girl is currently situated in a large bed that occupies the majority of the room. There are no other furnishings, save for a nightstand and a chair situated in the corner.

A window to her right provides a view outside, and she gets up to look out of it. She peers into a courtyard swarming with orks and trolls. A few look up at her window, and she quickly moves away and out of sight. Although she had gotten used to the appearance of such creatures, she did not want to endure their prying gaze.

Locating a curtain next to the window, she pulls it across the glass, hiding her from the stares of the orks. Nervously, she twists a strand of hair and winds it around two of her fingers.

Remembering the costly jewelry she had been fitted with, the girl begins to work the jewels and gold out of her hair, carefully undoing each braid. She organizes the gems on the nightstand and neatly lays out the strands of gold. Next, the bracelets and anklets, along with the adjoining rings are removed. Lastly, she takes out her earrings and puts them beside her rings. She feels much lighter without the adornments; not that it bothered her. She is used to wearing a lot of jewelry.

She glances around for a brush to detangle her hair, but she does not see one. Much like extravagant jewelry, long hair is a part of her native culture. Her parents ensured she adhered to the proper traditions growing up, and trained her to upkeep them. Truthfully, she had left their guidance far sooner than they anticipated, but they felt she was still prepared.

The girl runs a hand through her raven hair and inspects her black dress. It doesn't appear to be torn, which is a relief to her. It is far heavier and more formal than she would usually wear, but the circumstances had called for it.

Her eyes catch on the door across from the bed. She has no idea what is beyond it, but her curiosity bests her caution and she walks over to it. It opens out into a rather large room, furnished with chairs, a desk, and a fireplace against the wall. The room is completely quiet, but her feet still move soundlessly across the floor as she slowly walks around. Down a short hall, there is another closed door, and to the right of that is an open one, leading to a library.

The girl enters it and looks around. A few chairs form a circle in the center of the room, and the walls are lined with shelves. Even with the small size of the room, the girl is very pleased with the amount of books there are. She approaches a shelf a takes one into her hands. It is of good quality, however disappointment bubbles in her as she realizes she can't read it. Replacing the book, she tries another and finds the same to be true about it as well.

A sharp knock startles her out of her thoughts and she freezes, listening intently. A few seconds pass before she hears another knock and bolts towards the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and frantically locking it. She stands with her back braced against the door, trying to quiet her breathing. Anything could be behind the knocking, and she does not want to find out what it is.

The sound of a lock clicking and footsteps sends a wave of panic crashing over her, but it slowly dissipates and the steps fade away and the door swings shut again. Even though she thinks the outer room is empty, she waits and listens before peering through the bedroom door. The room looks like it had before, except for a tray of food set on a side table by the fireplace.

The girl walks towards it slowly and watches it suspiciously. She has no idea what kind of food it is, and the smell is foreign to her. Lifting a bowl of steaming soup, she sniffs it and places it back on the tray. Her empty stomach protests as she backs away, but remnants of terror linger from her interaction with her hosts, and she does not eat. Not until she gets answers.

She knows she will have to gather enough courage to speak with someone, but she dreads any interaction with the creatures dwelling in this place. The Lord of Barad Dûr hadn't told her much; only that he was sending her to Minas Morgûl and that she would be taken care of there. Even so, she exercises caution and determines to wait, returning to her refuge in the bedroom.

What would her parents say if they saw her like this? They had raised her better; raised her to be stronger, even if she had always been rather timid. She thought she would have faired better, but the whole of Minas Morgûl permeates fear and ensnares the mind in despair. A grown man could not help but succumb to it, much less a small child. Yet now, she must to be braver than a man, and she does not feel ready for it.

Upon hearing a knock at the door to his chambers, Er-Murazor closes the book he had been reading and bids the ork to enter. It bows lowly when it comes in and speaks.

"A report, My Lord."

"Yes, proceed."

"The girl's food has remained untouched, and she has locked herself away in the bedroom."

The wraith sighs. It has been three days and the girl has not eaten. He was hoping that she would grown too hungry to stave off the desire to eat, but she remains stubborn. Perhaps she simply needs a push in the right direction.

"Go to her chambers and lock the door to the bedroom to confine her from it."

"Yes, My Lord."

The ork bows again and leaves. The close proximity to food will help her find her appetite. Er-Murazor doesn't want to resort to more extreme measures yet, but this small change should be enough to get her to eat.

The girl jolts out of her thoughts as she hears an all too familiar knock on the bedroom door. The orks have been trying for quite some time to get her to come out, but she was too wary to open the door. Now, another one is knocking, but unlike the others times, it does not go away. She backs away from the door suspiciously, and remains frozen as silence suddenly falls over the room. Then, the quiet click of a lock sounds and the doorknob turns. The girl backs up to the wall as if by doing so she could melt into it. No such luck. When the door swings open and an ork barges in, she is still very much visible, staring at it with silent terror as it marches up to her. She resists as it drags her from the bedroom and throws her onto a couch in the foyer. She lies still for a moment in shock, and the ork returns to the bedroom door and locks it before leaving her alone.

The larger room is much more open and is colder than the bedroom. There are no blankets to conserve warmth, and the thick material of her dress alone cannot dispel the chill of the empty room. The fireplace is empty of warmth and wood, and so it provides no comfort. The girl feels very cold, very hungry, and very tired. She has avoided sleep as to not be vulnerable, but it was taxing and she feels weaker than ever. She never felt this way at home.

A stray tear slips down her cheek as she lays curled up on the couch, too cold to fall asleep and too tired to try to stay warm. She doesn't move from that spot, even when her next meal is brought, and the one following it. She barely notices when the next figure to walk through the door is clad in black robes and dark armor. She only knows that the room grows colder than it already was. Slowly, she looks up to see The Witch King of Angmar standing a few feet from her. Terror seizes her and she quickly jumps up and backs away. Her sore limbs protest the sudden movement, but the adrenaline that floods her veins drowns them out.

The Nazgûl draws closer to her and speaks, yet she does not understand what he says. She just watches him apprehensively as he awaits the answer he will not receive. Again, he says something to her, and she silently watches him.

Being frustrated with a seemingly stubborn refusal to listen to reason, Er-Murazor moves forward to exemplify that he means her no harm, as he had just stated. In response, the girl jumps forward and kicks his shins. Unfortunately for her, she is hurt more by this action than he. In a foolish attempt to escape, she tries to run past him, but he catches her wrist. She struggles to escape his grasp, but it is not her efforts that make him release her. A number of foreign words are shouted at him in desperation, bringing him to the realization that she does not speak Westron.

When he lets go of her, she stumbles backwards before regaining her feet. Her flight to the open door is short as Er-Murazor again casts a spell of slumber over her and she falls unconscious to the floor.

How curious for their lord to send them not only a child but a foreigner, one who does not even speak in the same tongue as them. Er-Murazor strides over to her limp body and places her back onto the couch. The newly discovered predicament would complicate matters, but he will not back down from this challenge.

A few hours later, the Witch King is quietly meditating when he is interrupted by the presence of three of his brethren. He can sense them just beyond the door to his chamber as they silently call out for him to speak with them. Knowing ignoring them would be pointless, he gets up to meet them.

On the other side of the door, Uvatha stands stiffly in the hall, flanked by Dwar and Ji Indur.

"Uvatha."

"Er-Murazor."

The Witch King acknowledges the other two wraiths with a nod and turns his attention back to the Easterling.

"Why have you come here?"

Er-Murazor adopts a tone of annoyance, making it clear that he is not pleased by the interruption.

"We are concerned," replies Uvatha in a cautious tone, "that you have hoarded this new responsibility. You have given us no news regarding it, and you do not allow us to become involved."

Dwar steps forward, brushing past Uvatha and glaring at his superior.

"We have come to bring you to a council concerning this task. I am better than taking care of children, but our lord had stated that it is to be shared ."

Next, Ji Indur moves forward, but before he could speak, Er-Murazor silences him.

"Peace, Indur; you are only here to to advocate for this because it may benefit your ridiculous studies. Don't pretend you have some greater motive."

"Presently, my motives are greater than yours, Murazor-"

"Er-Murazor." The Witch King quickly corrects the lesser wraith. "And if you had not come here with suck a lack of respect, I might hear you."

"It is only the respect I believe you deserve, My Lord."

"Stand down, Indur." Dwar intervenes and steps in front of him, now addressing the Witch King. "We did not come here to antagonize you so greatly that you would attend, but to request your presence so you may listen."

"And why would I listen to you, Dwar?"

"Because you know as well as I do that we must please our lord by doing his bidding, which includes sharing this responsibility, regardless of how annoying it may prove to be."

"Are the others all of this mind as well."

"Yes, but not happily do they share the same opinion."

"Very well, I will forth."

#er-murazor #khamûl #Dwar #Adunaphel #Uvatha #Hoarmurath #Ren #Ji Indur #AChallengeForTheNine #original female character #lord of the rings #language barrier

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ghostchild31-6 · 2 years

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The Decree of Sauron

Part two of A Challenge for the Nine

Find more of this story using the tag “AChallengeForTheNine”

The sound of heavy armored footsteps echo in the halls of Barad Dûr as Er-Murazor answers the summons of his master. His mind wanders over the possibilities of his presence being required. The armies of orks are multiplying and, as rowdy as they are, training is going well. Not only that, but supplies and weapons of war such as swords, armor, and catapults are being constructed on schedule and as planned. One of his brethren, Adunaphel, had even improved the design of the artillery to increase the accuracy of it.

Yet, when Sauron summoned him, the tone was not one of praise, but of displeasure. Whatever the reason is, he will soon find out.

As the Witch King strides through the open hallways, the orks stationed around the fortress, previously drinking or immersed in conversation, snap to attention, startled by the appearance of one of the nine. Er-Murazor, of course, pays them no heed. The need to reprimand a few, slacking guards is not enough to waylay him from his purpose.

He is close to the reason of his visit, and at last, the nazgûl enters the throne room and kneels before the Dark Lord.

"You summoned me, my master."

The Lord of Mordor sits tall and menacing on his dark, twisted throne. He rises and slowly walks down the steps of the dais towards his black captain.

"Yes, there are some... concerns I would like to address with you."

"My Lord, I have done everything as you said. The preparations for war could not be going better, and-"

"It is not about these matters that I have called you here. It is about you and the rest of the nine."

The Witch King did not expect to hear that his master's displeasure lay with he and his brethren. He raises his head in a unspoken question, seeking out the core of the Dark Lord's disapproval.

"Perhaps you can explain why my most loyal and infamous servants are bickering like petulant school-children."

Under his master's cool demeanor, Er-Murazor can sense his mounting anger. He will have to answer very carefully and assure him that these shortcomings will not go unattended.

"Since our time separated, some of the nine have forgotten their places in our order. I will amend this immediately."

"There is no need."

The Dark Lord waves his hand dismissively.

"I have already decided how to handle this situation."

"My Lord?"

"I have sensed division among you. Even as you grow stronger in your own ways, the bonds that hold you together as brethren are weakening. You are forgetting how to work with each other and that is something I will not have. That is why I am going to give you something; a shared responsibility. I chose this because it will be a challenge to all of you. The object of this conversation will arrive in Minas Morgûl in two days. Be prepared."

"Yes, My Lord."

Er-Murazor needs no verbal sign from his master to know he is dismissed. Not a moment passes before he straightens and sets out to return to his fortress and relay the biddings of Sauron to the rest of his brethren.

"And he made no mention of what this challenge may be?"

The Nazgûl are gathered in a council room in Minas Morgûl. The Witch King has told them of their lord's trouble with them and his solution to amend it. Adunaphel, the one who had just spoken, continues to wonder aloud.

"It must be something at least manageable if he has given so little time to prepare."

Another of the wraiths speaks up.

"I simply do not understand why he may believe that giving us more work would help."

"Of course you don't, Akhorahil. If you did know, the answer would be obvious."

"You're one to talk, Dwar."

"Shut up, Adunaphel."

Er-Murazor internally sighs; it is his brothers, not him, who need to stop bickering. Yet, if their lord decides that giving all of them this new responsibility will help, he will embrace it wholeheartedly.

"If you would stop acting like children, perhaps we could begin this with a little more certainty."

The other Nazgûl quiet at the words of their leader.

"It has been over a day since I received this news from the Dark Lord. I think it may be best for us to return to our usual duties whilst we wait. This new duty will not be bestowed on is without some semblance of guidance, we will know when this mysterious responsibility has arrived."

Without so much as a whispered word of dissent, the Nazgûl disperse to their respective positions. While some of them simply return to their quarters to dwell on and speculate the information they had been given, a few have other things to attend. Ji Indur and Hoarmurath take a path to the ork barracks. It is their turn to train the next group of soldiers enough so that they would be well suited for battle. It isn't a particularly fun job, but it must be done. In their minds, the sooner they train this group of orks, the sooner they can hand that task over to Ren and Akhorahil.

Adunaphel is tempted to retreat to his secluded study in Cirith Ungol, yet the journey itself would require too much time to get anything productive done before he would have to depart. He has a few inventions with which to work in Minas Morgûl, but still he yearns for his more complicated projects that currently lay beyond his reach.

Meanwhile, Er-Murazor calls Khamûl to his private study and speaks with him concerning the newly arrived Easterling soldiers. The latter will need to journey East in the upcoming weeks to solidify the recent allegiance.

Dwar, naturally, retreats to the Nazgûl's training grounds to practice his knife-throwing skills. In his opinion, it's not possible to get any more accurate, but it still happens to be one of his favorite pastimes. One of these days, he would convince Hoarmurath to join him for a little friendly competition.

Uvatha's feet guide him down a path well known to him leading to the stables. He is no stranger to this portion of the citadel and often spends hours bonding with his horse and winging steed.

It is not long after that meeting that the nine feel the summons of their master. Not to his tower of Barad Dûr, but to a place deep inside Minas Morgûl. The location is secluded, in fact that entire part of the fortress is often left vacant. Yet, as they travel there, they know that it is where they will receive their challenge.

Er-Murazor leads them through the empty halls and past unused chambers until they reach the final door at the end of a corridor. Dwar's gauntleted hand rests lightly upon the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it and strike when necessary. The door swings open with a creak and the nine step inside.

The chamber is cold, surprisingly more so than the rest of the fortress. Shadows seep from the corners of the room, but yield to a single shaft of light that falls on a long slab of stone in the center. On it is a figure, indistinguishable at first, but taking shape as they proceed forward. Dwar's hand releases its grip on his sword with a swift and agitated movement. The thing Sauron challenged them with is not a beast or cryptid, but a girl. A human child! How insulting. (Of course, he would never tell his master, but it didn't stop the act from ruffling his pride)

The girl lays across the block of stone, slightly inwardly curled with her face partially obstructed and tucked into the crook of her right arm. Her left eye can just been seen over the thin, black fabric that forms the sleeve of her dress. A section of her hair is braided and lays prominent among the river of dark locks that flow over her back and spill onto the floor.

She looks as if she lay in the lair of a Barrow Wight; still, quiet, and adorned with precious jewelry.

An array of gold and jewel encrusted rings gleam on her delicate fingers. A few of them are linked to bracelets by thin gold and silver chains. Similar strands connect the two piercings on each of her ears, accented by onyx stones and diamonds. Glints of gold can be seen in her hair, as well as small gems, carefully braided and woven in place. Her ankles are also embellished with thin rings of gold and silver that stand out from the heavy material of the skirt of her dress that rests above them.

The responsibility sent by their lord appears more like a trophy than a challenge, her attire befitting of the company of kings that she would learn to keep.

Curiously, they peer at her, neither alarmed nor disturbed (except maybe Dwar).

She seems to be resting, under a spell of sleep waiting to be broken. With a wave of his hand, Er-Murazor disperses the remnants of the enchantment. When her eyes open, there is not even a flash of trepidation. She does not move, but looks back at them from where she lays. Her eyes are a warm and calming brown, as soft as the morning light, yet her gaze unnerves them, so accustomed they had become to the cruel, unblinking, lidless watch of their master.

One of the wraiths, Ji Indur, moves towards her with curiosity, but the motion is like the breaking of an enchantment. As the illusion of security that had clouded her vision falls away, unbridled fear floods her mind. The gold bands around her wrists and ankles jingle furiously as she scrambles back, her gaze shifting frantically between the shadowy forms of the wraiths towering before her.

Immediately, Er-Murazor calls for Ji Indur to halt, but the room remains stiff, and they can not only sense, but smell the fear radiating from the girl. Decided upon a course of action, the Black Captain strides forward and raises his hand, sending the girl into an enchanted sleep once more.

When the Nazgûl emerge into the main portion of Minas Morgûl, Er-Murazor is carrying her draped over his arms. If their Lord had sent them a guest, he would accommodate her. He orders a small set of rooms to be immediately readied for her use and carries her to his private chambers until they are finished. The other Nazgûl follow but do not cross into his private dwelling until he requests for them to come forward. They know better than to trespass on his privacy.

Er-Murazor's chambers consist of several rooms that all stem from a large foyer connected directly to the entrance. An array of padded chairs are arranged around a fireplace to mimic a social setting, however none of those who willingly or unwillingly come before the Witch King are actually ushered into his private chambers for a more relaxed conversation. True, the room itself has no purpose, but Er-Murazor has more important things to do than squander his time over furniture.

The girl is set in one of the chairs, her sleeping form sagging slightly against the back. Ji Indur steps forward and examines a few of the rings upon her fingers, carefully lifting her hand and turning it side to side for a better look.

"Although she has the appearance of a foreigner, these rings are of our Master's make."

"Is there anything written on them," inquires Er-Murazor, "any sort of ancient script or symbols?"

"No, nothing of that sort. The designs across the rings are intricate, but I doubt they are meant to convey any message."

Er-Murazor is not very reassured by that report. Moving in front of the girl, he brushes his subordinate to the side to see the rings for himself. Ji Indur scowls at his back for the interruption of his inspection, but is wise enough to hold his tongue. He most of all, being the least of them, is not in a position to challenge the Witch King.

Having no success with the rings, Er-Murazor shifts his attention to the golden beads dangling from her hair. Upon them are engraved images of the moon and stars intertwined in constellations, but he has not seen such formations over any western sky.

The bracelets and anklets do not reveal anything, and Ji Indur is thoroughly impatient to continue his investigation by the time his leader moves.

"Indeed," says Er-Murazor, turning to face the others, "there is nothing on her jewelry to indicate her purpose."

"What would you have us do now?" Adunaphel steps forward, his arms cross and his tone sour. "If there's nothing to do but wait, I have some projects that must be attended to."

"Your patience on this subject is short, Adunaphel. You should not be so hasty to leave this new charge."

"So you are saying it would be a better use of my time to stand idly and watch you play a jeweler?"

The remark is met with a hostile silence. The other wraiths know that Adunaphel often irks their leader, walking the dangerous line of going too far, too often. To themselves, they wonder how much of Adunaphel's insolence Er-Murazor will tolerate before definitively punishing him.

The atmosphere of the room remains at a dangerous level as the two Nazgûl glare at each other. Adunaphel knows that the Witch King would not start a fight here while the girl could be caught in the crossfire, yet he doesn't want to push his luck much further. Er-Murazor could punish him in other ways than by physical force. Indeed, he is much more advanced in his practice of dark magic than any of them, and none are keen to be the test subject of any new spells. After another moment of unwavering defiance, Adunaphel concedes.

"Very well. I will remain, but you must at least provide me with some way to make myself useful."

"Go to the place where a room is being prepared for her. Supervise the work, then report the progress back to me before an hour has passed. Take Uvatha with you."

"Actually, I believe that Akhorahil would be better suited to accompany me."

"I care not, only that you see to it that this is done."

The two Nazgûl bow slightly to their leader before exiting his chambers.

"There is little else to do at the present. The remainder of you may go for a time until the preparation of her chambers is complete."

Er-Murazor does take a small amount of satisfaction in wasting some of Adunaphel's time when another of his brethren might have gone more willingly. It was the perfect opportunity to teach his subordinate a lesson of patience in that, had he simply waited, he would have been able to return to his precious inventions. Now, he watches the other wraiths exit silently and return to their previous engagements. Only one remains.

"My Lord," Ji Indur bows to the Witch King as he speaks, "may I remain here for that time?"

Er-Murazor considers him carefully, watching as his eyes flickered between his leader and the unconscious body of the girl.

"For what purpose would you stay?"

"Only to continue to examine the jewelry and the girl. She is quite unlike any of the western prisoners I have studied."

Whether they are healthy, diseased, or deceased, Ji Indur has an odd fascination with studying the prisoners that are brought to Minas Morgûl. He spends hour observing and interacting with them. Er-Murazor would have dismissed it as a waste of time, yet the information he gathered regarding human nature had come in useful many times while strategizing and predicting the next moves of their enemies.

"Very well, you may remain."

"Thank you, My Lord."

The wraith walks back to the girl and kneels before her, continuing his examination of her jewelry. Next, he takes a strand of her hair and rolls it between his invisible fingers, then reaches up to feel the skin of her face. After a few minutes of silence, he speaks.

"She's in very good health. Her hair and skin are of remarkable quality, indicating that she is at least not a commoner. Part of the quality could be contributed by the fact that she has been very well taken care of; our Lord is more than likely responsable for that."

"Have you any idea of where she is from?"

"Not yet. Her skin is almost too pale for her to be of Eastern decent, yet her hair is too thick and dark for her to come far from the West. Still there may be other factors playing into this."

"Is there anything else you can decipher?"

"No. Now that my investigation is completed for the time being, I will leave and grant you solitude. I trust you will not disagree with me on that."

"I have no issues with it."

"Then I will take my leave."

Ji Indur exits the chambers, leaving Er-Murazor alone with the girl. He longs for the answers she might provide, yet he knows that he must also retain his patience. After a few minutes of restless pacing, he decided to meditate to calm him mind.

Assuming a lotus position on his bed, he banishes all traces of his previous agitation. This is simply a task of a different nature and he will overcome it as he does all things with which his master trusts him. Already, he is on his way to success. The preparations are under his control as are his brethren. In the current circumstances, what could possibly go awry?

#lord of the rings #original female character #nazgûl #AChallengeForTheNine #Er-Murazor #Khamûl #Dwar #Akhorahil #Adunaphel #Uvatha #Hoarmurath #Ren #Ji Indur

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