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SamJCharlton
Bree
Apr 19 2014, 1:25pm
Post #1 of 5
(1887 views)
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LOTR fan fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #22
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Sadly, the last installment is here. I started writing THE WITCH OF ANGMAR around a year ago, and now around 40,000 words later, we come to the end. :-(
Thanks to all of you who have read along, and commented on the story so far.
I hope you enjoy this last chapter!
Sam
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The Witch of Angmar
Legacy of the Fellowship
Part Twenty-two
Escape
Rose lay on her side, her body wracked with pain. Her gaze was fixed upon Morwyn’s slumped body. The witch’s blood pooled on the flagstones where she lay. A few feet back stood a slight figure dressed in tattered leathers.
Azil had slain the Witch of Angmar.
In the end, it had not been a woman, or a hobbit, that had brought about the downfall of the Witch-king’s evil sister – but a goblin.
“Betrayer!” Targkok snarled.
The Goblin King unsheathed his heavy iron sword, strode forward – and skewered Azil on his blade.
Azil sank against the wall, the iron blade that pierced his torso, scraping against the rough stone behind him.
Their gazes met. The Goblin King then leaned closer, his lips curling into a sneer.
“I would never have taken you back,” he spat, twisting the blade deeper to emphasise his words. “This death is too short, too clean for the like of you,” Targkok continued, his eyes gleaming with cruelty.
Azil did not reply, he merely stared up at his king, his thin face contorted.
Helplessly looking on, Rose saw the defiance in Azil’s eyes. A sob welled up within her. Yet, she had not the strength to reach for Sting. Morwyn had hurt her, badly, and she could even not summon the strength to stand.
“Azil!” she cried.
The goblin’s eyes, glazing over now, flicked towards her before returning to the Goblin King. Targkok’s snarling face was just inches from his.
“I don’t regret it,” Azil finally wheezed. “Mine, was not much of an existence anyway.”
“Worm,” Targkok growled back. “I shall cut your snivelling tongue out.”
The Goblin King reached down to the knife he wore strapped to his thigh. However, he was interrupted from making good on his threat by the crash of something heavy colliding with the doors to the chamber.
Those inside the Witch Tower’s chamber turned their head towards the sound.
The doors flew open and slammed back against the wall – and the bodies of the two orc guards collapsed in the doorway. Behind them stood the outlines of four men. They wore dark green cloaks, fastened at the throat with six-pointed star clasps.
Rose stared at them, hearing Peri’s indrawn gasp of shock behind her.
Rangers.
The man at the front of the group pushed back his hood.
Ethorn of Farnost scanned the scene before him. When he saw Salrean’s crumpled form at the end of the chamber, his dark gaze narrowed and his mouth thinned.
In his right hand, Ethorn wielded a magnificent sword with a long blade. His gaze fastened upon the Goblin King, who had released Azil, and turned to meet the newcomers. Then, Ethorn raised his sword high before him, grasping its hilt with two hands in a silent salute.
“This ends now,” his voice rang out across the chamber.
The four rangers, their travel-stained cloaks billowing behind them, leapt forward. The goblins, who had been holding Peri fast, released him and drew their weapons. They met the Rangers, their screeches and howls deafening in the confined space.
Targkok roared and hurtled across the chamber towards Ethorn. Their blades met with a harsh clang that echoed high into the vaulted roof.
Finally free, Peri scurried across the floor to where Rose lay. He tried to help her to her feet but she shook her head, her face streaked with tears.
“I can’t,” she gasped. “Peri, take Sting and use it!”
Peri, his face pale and strained, nodded wordlessly. Then, he reached for the elf-blade that lay in the scabbard at Rose’s side. He withdrew Sting – its blade glowing bright blue – and turned to join the fight. Rose saw the fierce determination on his face, and felt a rush of pride, of affection, for him. He was brave – and she had always known it.
A moment later, Peri engaged a goblin guard who rushed at him with a swinging mace. He stuck his attacker in the throat with the blade before swivelling to meet another goblin who had come to its companion’s aid – too late.
Rose curled up on her side, watching the fight through half-closed lids. Pain gripped her chest with every breath. What had Morwyn done to her? Her insides burned.
She was vaguely aware of more goblins flooding into the chamber. Yet, the rangers cut them down, one by one, with deadly efficiency. She saw Ethorn wound Targkok; saw the mighty Goblin King crumple, only to be dragged, still bellowing, from the chamber by his servants.
The battle raged inside the Witch Tower – a violent storm that left devastation in its wake. Dead goblins littered the ground. Groans filled the chamber from those few who lay dying. Rose saw Ethorn cut down his last adversary before striding across to where Salrean rested, unmoving and oblivious to all that had transpired just a few feet away.
“Salrean,” Ethorn’s voice broke as he hunkered down next to her and reached out to touch her cheek. “Please, wake up…”
Rose’s eyes filled with tears. She looked away, unable to watch Ethorn’s grief. Her gaze fixed upon Azil, who sat propped up against the blood-stained wall. He was clutching his wounded stomach. She could see the agony etched in deep-lines on his face. Yet the goblin remained silent; his jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Azil,” Rose pulled herself across the flagstones towards him. “Can you hear me?”
The goblin’s eyes opened, their topaz intensity focusing on the female hobbit who had pulled herself to his side.
“Rose,” his voice was weak, failing. “You must leave, now while you have the chance. More will come. You don’t have much time.”
Rose shook her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Azil grimaced. “Foolish hobbit,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I’ll be dead soon – and so will you if you don’t run now.”
“He’s right,” Ethorn’s voice, tinged with relief, echoed across the chamber. “Salrean’s alive. I’ll carry her. Veldur – carry Rose. I don’t think she can walk.”
“We have to bring Azil!” Rose protested, hysteria looming.
“I’m staying,” Azil gasped, blood bubbling on his thin lips. “I took a blade to my belly, Rose. No one survives that. Go with the rangers.”
“No,” tears blinded Rose but she was too weak to resist as the tall ranger, Veldur, who scooped her into his arms as if she was a child. “We can’t leave you behind.”
Ethorn had picked Salrean up; she hung limply in his arms, her face deathly pale.
“Gonthorn – you lead the way,” Ethorn turned to his rangers. “Nathil – you take rear guard. Peri, take the Red Book and keep it safe. Stay at my side. Let’s go.”
Peri did as he was bid, picking up the Red Book, from where it sat splayed open and splattered with blood. He closed it and slipped it into Rose’s satchel, which he then slung across his front.
Ethorn walked across the chamber, halting next to where Veldur stood with Rose in his arms. For a moment, he paused, looking down at Azil.
“He killed Morwyn,” Rose sobbed. “We can’t leave Azil behind.”
The ranger’s face grew grim at this news. “We cannot take him with us, Rose,” he said softly. “He’s dying.”
“Goodbye, she-hobbit,” Azil gasped. Blood dribbled down his chin as he attempted to smile but managed only a grimace. “I wish I could have served you better.”
Grief seized Rose then. She tried to wriggle out of Veldur’s iron grip, but she was too weak and hurt to manage it. Ethorn nodded to Azil, in silent thanks. Then, he moved off, following Gonthorn from the chamber, and Veldur followed.
The last glimpse that Rose had of Azil the goblin was of a wiry, stoop-shouldered figure, leaning up against the wall, surrounded by the dead. He raised a thin hand in farewell.
Moments later, he was lost from sight.
The group fled down the stairwell, making no attempt at stealth. Azil had spoken true; they had but a short window before the Witch Tower would be teeming with goblins and hill-men. They could hear their shouts, the thundering of approaching feet. The four rangers and one hobbit raced down the network of ruined corridors towards the secret way out.
“How did you find us?” Peri gasped at Ethorn’s side.
“We tracked Azil and Rose through the Black Woods,” Ethorn replied, barely out of breath, despite that he carried Salrean. “After that, we followed them into the network of tunnels under Carn Dûm. I’d prefer not to retrace our steps, but it’s the only way out of this place.”
Peri never had a chance to ask the ranger why he was reluctant to take the secret way out – for a company of goblins collided with them. They were racing down a set of steps towards the last stretch of corridor before they would descend underground, and met the goblins on the landing below.
The rangers cut their way through the fray. Peri fought at their side, Sting glowing bright in the dimness. The elf-blade terrified many of the goblins who faced it. Some even shrieked in terror and cowered. With the last of the goblins dealt with, the party raced the last distance to the narrow stairwell that led deep beneath Carn Dûm.
Huddled in Veldur’s arms, Rose drifted in and out of consciousness. Every jolt of his stride caused her chest to spasm in agony. Her limbs were dead weights; they felt as if they did not belong to her.
As they descended the narrow, mossy steps into the dark depths, alarm made her stir from the oblivion that beckoned to her.
“Ethorn,” she croaked. “The gallery under Carn Dûm. It’s not safe. There’s a…”
“We know,” Ethorn replied quickly. “We met the wight on the way up. If there was another way out of here I would take it.”
“Wight?” Peri did not bother to hide his alarm. Those creatures, often mentioned in stories told by the fireside on long winter nights in the Shire, struck fear into the hearts of most hobbits. “There’s one here?”
“There certainly is,” Veldur spoke for the first time, his voice a deep rumble in the cramped stairwell. “Not a creature I ever hoped to meet again.”
“It hates Sting,” Rose replied, her voice trembling with the effort it took to speak. “Use the sword against it!”
A short while later, the company entered the dark gallery. Gonthorn lit a torch and carried it aloft as they padded between the towering columns, each trying to make their tread as light as possible.
It made no difference. Half-way down the gallery, the ghoul sensed their presence. The same strange wind that Rose had felt when entering this gallery earlier, gusted towards them, ruffling their hair and causing their cloaks to billow behind them. The chill of the breeze on Rose’s cheeks roused her slightly. She tightened her grip around Veldur’s neck, fear twisting her belly.
Only Peri did not know what was coming.
The wight, its tattered clothing fluttering around long, emaciated limbs, loomed before them, appearing like a wraith from behind one of the columns. It rushed at them, a scream issuing from its gaping maw.
“Intruders – I will have you all!”
Peri staggered back, Sting trembling before him.
The Wight was injured. Rose could see the dark gash on its left forearm, where she had sliced it deeply with Sting’s blade. It also limped painfully; a result, no doubt, of its encounter with the rangers.
Ethorn and Veldur hung back, unable to draw their weapons, while Gonthorn, Nathil and Peri moved forward to meet the wight.
“Peri,” Ethorn commanded, “step forward and show it Sting.”
The hobbit’s face was pale and strained in the flickering torchlight, but he did as he was told.
“Get back!” he yelled. The force in his voice surprised Rose – you would have never known he was terrified. “Foul ghoul – remember this? Do you want to feel its bite once more?”
The wight drew back; its ravaged face tilting to one side, its gaze narrowing. “The elf-blade,” it hissed.
“This is ‘Sting’,” Peri replied, advancing. The wight loped backwards, cringing before the blade that had wounded it earlier.
“Keep that foul blade from me!” it shrieked.
“Let us pass,” Peri commanded. He continued to take steps towards the wight, as behind him, Ethorn and Veldur moved past. Gonthorn and Nathil flanked Peri, their weapons raised.
“No!” the wight wailed. There was something wrenching in that sound; the cry of a creature that had been doomed to spend its days in the lonely darkness. The despair in its wail chilled all that heard it.
Peri inched back down the gallery. He had his back to where Ethorn and Veldur were moving swiftly towards the archway that marked the end of the wight’s domain; yet he dared not run.
Even the terror of the elf-blade could not contain the wight’s desperation. Unable to bear the thought of them escaping, once more, the ghoul lunged at the hobbit.
Peri swung Sting, clenching his jaw as the blade bit flesh.
A blood-curdling scream echoed down the gallery. The wight staggered backwards, grasping the bleeding stump of its right wrist. Its clawed hand lay twitching at its feet.
Taking his chance, for he knew that another would not present itself, Peri turned and sprinted away. The two rangers at his side quickly outdistanced him, covering the ground easily in long strides. Peri ran faster than he ever had, his short legs flying. He dove under the arch, the wight’s terrible cries still echoing in his ears.
It was a long while, before they could no longer hear the wailing.
The party travelled deep into the earth, and eventually arrived at the underground lake. Still on edge after their encounter with the wight, Peri found the cavern unnerving. There was a watchful presence here; one that none of them wanted to disturb. The party skirted the edge, keeping clear of the gently rippling water.
There were a number of entrances to tunnels along the lake’s edge, but they took the one that Rose had marked with her scarf.
Peri was the last to enter the tunnel. Before doing so, he stooped and retrieved the scarf. He knew that, once she had recovered, Rose would be happy to have it back.
***
Night settled over the Black Woods, bringing a chill, overcast day to a close.
In the heart of the bleak forest, far from the prying eyes of hill-men and goblins, and far from the obsidian towers of Carn Dûm, the party of rangers and hobbits made camp for the night.
The party camped in a hollow, and lit a small fire. Their evening meal was frugal, for the rangers had not had time to hunt; their entire focus had been to put as much distance between them and Carn Dûm as possible.
Ethorn laid Salrean down on his cloak, next to where Rose slept deeply. The hobbit had lost consciousness soon after they had run from the wight. She had not woken since; her breathing was shallow, her skin a sickly shade. However, Ethorn had promised Peri that she would live.
The four rangers and hobbit were sharing a meal of dried beef and mushrooms when Salrean awoke.
Her soft groan alerted them. Ethorn moved over to her; kneeling next to Salrean as her eyes flickered open. Her gaze, unfocused at first, eventually fixed upon him.
“Ethorn,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you,” he gave a wry smile before reaching out and stroking her cheek. “Do you think I would have let you leave Farnost if I hadn’t planned to follow you?”
Salrean’s eyes glittered as she stared up at him, then her expression clouded. “Morwyn…”
“She’s dead,” Peri shuffled up next to Ethorn. “Azil killed her.”
“Unfortunately, the Goblin King escaped, but I injured him badly,” Ethorn added. “He won’t be causing trouble for a while.”
Salrean’s eyes widened at this news. “The Witch of Angmar is dead,” she whispered, as if saying the words out loud made them truth. “Then the quest did not fail.”
“No,” Ethorn replied, his smile fading. “Although things did not turn out the way you’d hoped.”
“Where’s Rose?” Salrean asked suddenly, her gaze flicking over the faces of the four men and one male hobbit who stared down at her.
“Next to you,” Peri replied. “Morwyn injured her too.”
Salrean rolled over onto her back with a soft groan.
“I feel as if I’ve been beaten,” she gasped.
Salrean looked over at where the small, female hobbit lay next to her, sleeping soundly.
“She looks so young,” Salrean observed softly. “Yet, I’ve never met anyone braver.”
“Azil escorted her to the secret way in,” Peri explained, “but he betrayed her once they were inside. Morwyn was sure that the Red Book held a secret. She was about to kill Rose for not giving it to her when Azil stepped in and killed the witch.”
Salrean shook her head, incredulous. Her gaze then returned to Rose.
“I misjudged Azil,” she whispered. “Sometimes, there is goodness in those we believe to be incapable of it. Where is he now?”
Silence followed her words, but the expression on Peri’s face told her all.
“Targkok stabbed him. He was alive when we left the Witch Tower. He won’t be now…”
Peri’s voice trailed away, only to be replaced by silence. The gazes of all present rested Rose’s sleeping face.
It was done. They had slain the Witch of Angmar and retrieved the Red Book. The death of Rose’s father had been avenged. Morwyn would never march her armies south and bring a reign of terror to the free peoples of Middle Earth. Yet, victory had left a bitter taste in their mouths.
All of them had expected to feel happier than they did.
***
Rose’s eyes flickered open, her gaze shifting over the faces of her companions.
Crouched at her side, Peri could see Rose’s exhaustion, pain and sadness. He longed to reached out and hug her. However, he was not sure of the extent of her injuries and did not want to damage her.
“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling with fatigue. “Have we escaped?”
“Yes,” Peri reached out and took her hand in his. “Carn Dûm is behind us. Gentler lands lie ahead.”
“Good,” Rose gently squeezed his hand and managed a tremulous smile. “I’ve had enough of adventures for now. I think I’m quite happy to spend the rest of my life back in the Shire, doing everyday things.”
Peri gave a soft laugh at that.
He could not agree more. The gentle green hills of Hobbiton, with its neatly tended fields and good-natured hobbit faces would be very welcome indeed. He would carry the Red Book back to the Shire, and one day Rose might write their story in its pages. For now their adventure was at an end, and not a moment too soon.
“Good idea, Rose,” he replied. “Let’s go home.”
The End.
'All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'
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boldog
Rohan
Apr 20 2014, 9:12am
Post #2 of 5
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Great ending to a masterpiece!
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Id never thought id be so upset by the death of an orc/goblin before. R.I,P Azil.
Great work mate, i really enjoyed every minute i spent reading this story. To me it feels as if it is actual canon. So whenever i think of the fourth age of Middle earth, this story will come into my mind straight away.
Thanks again for a great read 
I believe that Azog and Bolg are possibly the only two orcs who may be an exception to the typical evil nature of an orc. Azog had brought up his son, well enough that he actually acknowledges him as his own son. That is a first for any orc. And Bolg sets out to march upon Erebor in vengeance of his fathers death. How many orcs will Try and avenge another dead orc? Most will just forget about the dead one. This gives me hope that Orcs, have some traits of good in them, even if it is small aspects.
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SamJCharlton
Bree
Apr 20 2014, 12:28pm
Post #3 of 5
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Thanks so much for your support!
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It was great fun to write - I really appreciate your kind words. :-)
'All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'
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nandorin elf
Bree
Apr 23 2014, 11:50pm
Post #4 of 5
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That was a perfect ending to a fabulous story, Sam. Poor Azil. I like to think even an orc can change.
I was so worried more of them would die, especially Rose. You really had me scared. I had remembered that Ethorn was coming so it worked well when his rangers showed up just in time. Very satisfying ending yet a little melancholy--just like LOTR.
Boldog is right. This feels like canon. At least, it has been added to my personal head canon. Thanks for letting us read this!!!
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SamJCharlton
Bree
Apr 24 2014, 7:10am
Post #5 of 5
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Can be a bit tricky, so I'm thrilled you enjoyed it! The ending was a bit 'bitter-sweet' but I think it needed to be. Thanks for your support! :-)
'All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'
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What a great ending!
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