His Corrupted Soul [Witch-King x OC]

Chapter XI : A Startling Reunion

"In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future." - Alex Haley

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|SOUNDTRACK|

Elendil's Oath - Return of the King Soundtrack

The Passing of the Elves - The Fellowship of the Ring Soundtrack

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Two months passed since the day the Men of the West won at the Black Gate, and a little less since the recovery of Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee. Minas Tirith had mostly recovered as well, a majority of the battlements and homes rebuilt and plans were already underway for rebuilding Osgiliath. Inconnu Naeril, using her influence as a hero of the War of the Ring, as it was now referred to, and as the Huntress of the North, help bring those plans into the eyes of those who could carry those plans out. Each time she thought of Osgiliath she thought of her mother and wondered at the state of the cemetery. She wondered if it was untouched or perhaps as ruinous as the rest of the city had become. Inconnu also thought it right to make sure there were plans in place for restoration before she left Minas Tirith for the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains once again.

The urge to hunt the dark and hidden things in that far mountain range was growing again, a feeling constant across the centuries as the Wanderer of the Misty Mountains.

An instinct Inconnu knew she couldn't resist forever.

In those same two months, Er-Murazor was rarely seen in the halls and streets of Minas Tirith. He was more of a ghost, a 'ghost of Numenor' Legolas once commented to Inconnu in the company of friends. Even he could sense the weariness that surrounded the former Witch-King. Inconnu, being the one closest to him and his heart, knew that was exactly why. Er-Murazor had been the Witch-King of Angmar for thousands of years. With that self-claimed title, he had a purpose as she had a purpose as the Huntress of the North. He was very much a ghost now, a soul lost without a purpose and Inconnu knew he was struggling to find one in the age of Middle Earth coming upon them. She knew, despite him not telling her. He hadn't wanted to worry her and she couldn't help but love him all the more for it.

It would come to head, Inconnu and Er-Murazor both knew, her instinct to head north and his sense of purposelessness. They didn't know when only that it would and soon.

But today was not a day for those dour thoughts. Today was an important day in the rebuilding of the west after the permanent defeat of Sauron.

Today was the day Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur, would be crowned King of both Gondor and Arnor. 

Today he would become the High-King of the Reunited Kingdoms.

The main courtyard was filled with the people of Gondor, of Rohan, and here and there were elves from Imladris, Lothlórien, and from the whisperings around her Inconnu learned that elves from Mirkwood had also come to witness the crowning of the first Gondorian king in nearly a thousand years, and there was even more time that had passed since there had been an Arnorian king. All who could come did come and were dressed in their finery for the event, and Inconnu and Er-Murazor were no exception.

The Huntress of the North had put away her furs and armor in favor of a long, slim dress the same sterling-grey color of her eyes and of the softest material Inconnu had ever felt. It was undecorated, but that was because the design itself held all the decorated it needed. It was modest at its core, covering up to the neck comfortable and down to the floor, and was long-sleeved as well. But those long sleeves left her shoulder bare and trailing down her arms to the wrists was a woven pattern that showed more of the pale skin of her Numenorean heritage. The skirt of the dress rippled like water all the way down, covering feet strapped in simple, elegant black sandals that climbed up her calves.