The Tenth Ringwraith: a Sauron x Bilbo

The Price of a Life

A few hours later, the guards around the small encampment found what they believed to be a spy, bringing them to Aragon.

The captured woman's black hair was tied in a bun, her olive skin was covered with dirt and ash, her dress was practically rags and she wore no shoes so her feet were bleeding slightly from various cuts.

The guards escorting her to their leader pushed her along, making her fall to her knees when they suddenly stopped.

"Who are you?" Aragon inquired, helping the woman back to her feet, "Where do you come from?"

"I am called Zimra, my lord." The black haired woman panted, standing up again, "I saw this militia from Minas Morgul where I am enslaved, I hope to seek asylum among you."

Aragon believed her, knowing anyone would try to gain freedom and even in that desperate attempt.

Zimra had been incredibly brave, running across an open field between the camp and city, she could have easily been shot dead.

Boromir, though, still thought her to be a spy and insisted that they send her away.

They compromised by sending her to help the rest of the few women in camp make food for the soldiers.

***

After killing the pervert, Bilbo returned to the inn he and Cedric were spending the night in and went to sleep.

That did not last unfortunately as he woke up not in his bed, but rather in a grand bedroom where a woman sat at a vanity running a comb through her curly black hair.

"Hello?" He greeted, knowing it would be pointless as this was not his dream -or rather, his memory

Just as predicted, the woman did not react, instead she put her brush down and folded a off white silk handkerchief and put it between her teeth, beginning to cry out softly.

She only cried for a few moments, dabbing her teal eyes with her handkerchief before setting it back down on her vanity.

Opening a small drawer, she pulled out a handheld portrait of an old man in a golden crown, whispering, "Forgive me, father, for what I must do. The Gods are not listening, the Dark God the Zigûr has convinced Númenor to serve is an empty lie, so I must go to my final option."

She put the small painting back in its hiding place and stood, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her silk gown before leaving her rooms, the palace and walking towards a grand temple with a silver roof.

Walking inside, the Queen soon came across the Zigûr.

"Tar-Míriel." The beautiful blond greeted

"The ring you once offered me." The Queen began, "I am ready to receive it."

"What changed your mind?" The Zigûr inquired

"You did." Tar-Míriel replied, making the handsome man's eyebrow raise slightly, "Or rather, I realized that whatever price I must pay to you is significantly better than the life my husband has planned for me."

He seemed very curious now, "You would turn your back on your kingdom?"

"I have loved Númenor every day of my life." She sighed wistfully, her tone then becoming serious, "But I will no longer waste my energy with something that has so clearly, so utterly never loved me back."

The handsome male's offered palm closed and then opened, revealing a golden ring bearing an amber stone, "Very well, I gift you Ûri, the Heart-Stopper."

There was no hesitation as the woman slipped the ring on, her teal eyes glowing orange simultaneously as her ring and the Zigûr's eyes did the same.

Tar-Míriel gave a shuddered breath, the energy of her ring living up to its name as her heart stopped for what felt like an eternity before restarting.

But in that brief pause, that interim between life and death, she had become more.

She could feel an invisible chain around her neck, binding her to the male standing by her, but yet that chain felt infinitely lighter than the one she gained metaphorically through her wedding band.

Tar-Míriel would have laughed if she had been anywhere else, laughed and laughed about how she had gained what her husband craved most: immortality.

"A Queen reborn." The Zigûr commented, breaking the silence that had fallen between them

The woman shook her head, "Not Queen, being a Queen never suited me. I will be a King."

"A King reborn then." The blond corrected, "The Witch King."

She mouthed the words of her new title, the feeling draping over her like clothing tailored to her exact measurements, as if it was always supposed to have been there.

Míriel kneeled before him, not feeling any shame in the action, not when he had been the first to ever validate her.

"There is still some time until the end -a year at the most-, we shall continue our roles as we have been until the waves come crashing down." The Zigûr said, "We have to indulge the pests for a while longer."

The Queen turned King looked up but did not rise from her place kneeling, "I would like to make a request then, my lord. I would like to become barren to ensure my husband never receives the heir he desires."

His golden eyes glimmered and he motioned for her to stand, which she did.

He then placed his fingertips against the cloth of her dress, right below her navel.

For a few seconds nothing seemed to happen, but he pulled his hand back and assured her it was done.

***

Zimra sat on her knees in the dirt in the center of the camp, cutting potatoes into evenish cubes to add to the stew pot that was nearby.

She noticed immediately when another woman sat beside her.

This woman had a pale golden hair that reminded her of hay, eyes the color of a steel horseshoe and she wore a green dress.

"You are the new woman? The one that escaped those monsters in Mordor?" She asked

Zimra nodded, confirming it, "Tis I."

"I am Éowyn of Rohan." The woman introduced herself

"Zimra." She replied, looking back down at her task, "I did not expect to see a princess in a war camp."

"I am no true princess, my uncle is the king." Éowyn answered, "And this the closest he would allow me to get to battle."

The black haired woman stood up and added her cubed potatoes to the pot, "Have you skill with a sword?"

"More than my uncle and brother would like yet not nearly as much as I would like." The blonde replied

Giving a pained, almost laugh, Zimra added, "They sound like my father, having any skill with a weapon would have helped me avoid the fate that befell me."