The Lord of the Nazgûl

Terror In Her Eyes | Éowyn & Murazor

Éowyn could offer no worthy answer for Murazor’s questions. Traveled so far to seek revenge, lost her purpose, lost her way, wound up exacting a different type of revenge, but on herself - yes, the strength of her self-loathing at that moment could have leveled Mount Doom. She had no proper answer for him. "The men have gone." Not her men, the men, for she was dead to them. She could not find it in her heart quite yet to call them dead to her. This simple declaration was given without any further explanation.

The next question surprised her. “Wh- what is…” She balked, not understanding his tone, embarrassed at her display of weakness. If there was one solid rock she could cling to in this emotional morass, it was anger. “How dare you,” she drew her sword. Tears began freshly streaming down her face. Dare he… what? Defeat me? Humiliate me? Love me? Take mercy on me? "How…" Her rage boiled hot again, but tears poured steadily too, as she was unable to contain her sorrow. She advanced with quick, steady steps to face the Witch King. She had slain him once before. "This should be simple," she wailed, her weapon poised. Though her arm stood ready, she could not bring herself to strike.

Murazor stared blankly at Eowyn as she seethed in her rage, waiting for her disjointed statements to finally form a question. She was all alone? Deserted by her men? Why? Because she had failed to kill him?

When her tears began to flow again he cocked his head a little, furrowing his brows with a concern he could not quite articulate. Eowyn moved to strike, and Murazor stepped out of the way, avoiding the edge of her blade with little more than a side-step. He was confused, but not so much as to bother asking questions. It was quite clear to him what he was doing, and it seemed perfectly reasonable.

He considered running, or perhaps granting motion to the plants again and letting them restrain her, but the latter seemed to have upset her last time... In his panic, only one solution came to mind- a technique he had not thought to use in a long time.

Taking another step back, the wraith muttered a string of muffled, pidgin Quenya. His grey eyes focused intently on Eowyn's sword until the weapon grew hot, and the grip became unbearable to Mortal touch. Murazor watched, and winced, hoping Eowyn would have the sense to let go.

#lilyofsteel

beruthielthequeen

"Hello, my lady," Murazor mumbled, voice soft as ever as he reached Beruthiel's doorstep. He knocked several times, reaching out from behind the mass of yellow flowers he was cradling. "My overabundant primroses wished to visit you today."

Berúthiel opened the door with a smile and was startled to see, not Murazor’s dearly-loved face, but instead a billowing cloud of yellow blossoms seeming to float there of their own accord. She started laughing and peered around the sides of the great bouquet. “Murazor? Murazor, are you in there somewhere?” she asked, as though she could not find him.

beruthielthequeen

"Oh, THERE you are!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands to her cheeks and letting her eyes go wide. "I thought you’d taught the flowers to speak!" She laughed merrily and leaned in to kiss him.

"I can think of but one species of flower that can be taught to mimic human speech and primroses are not it. However, I still fail to see how y-" Murazor kept yammering on until Beruthiel's kiss forced him to still. He blinked when she pulled away, and smiled from ear to ear.

"I am very glad you are well, my lady, and happy, too!"

#beruthielthequeen

beruthielthequeen

"Hello, my lady," Murazor mumbled, voice soft as ever as he reached Beruthiel's doorstep. He knocked several times, reaching out from behind the mass of yellow flowers he was cradling. "My overabundant primroses wished to visit you today."

Berúthiel opened the door with a smile and was startled to see, not Murazor’s dearly-loved face, but instead a billowing cloud of yellow blossoms seeming to float there of their own accord. She started laughing and peered around the sides of the great bouquet. “Murazor? Murazor, are you in there somewhere?” she asked, as though she could not find him.

#missing the point Murazor forever #beruthielthequeen

The wraith burrowed his way out of the blossoms with a confused look on his face. "Of course I am, my lady," he replied with slight concern. "Even if you could not see me, you can surely make out my voice, can you not?"

Now Murazor, this may sound strange. . .but I have given you two Create-a-Mate sets. These sets can be used to make a mold of your penis, and then a copy can also be made of a material similar to what your penis feels like.

Then this penis copy can be made so that one of your dear ladies could wear it in a harness and use it on the other lady; perhaps you can gift them with this bit of sexual tom-foolery to enjoy while you are away?

"That seems extremely, surprisingly reasonable. Does the kit allow you to grow human tissue into a particular shape? I may find additional uses for this."

#not safe for Duna #not safe #wat #WAT #submission

"A gift for my king's rats. Perhaps they will enjoy playing in this small pail when they find the regular dirt boring?"

Murazor received the pail with a shallow bow and a smile, instantly seeing the appeal his small army of rodents could find in it.

"Thank you, stranger," he said, remembering to be poilte after a too-long pause.

#that is really adorable and I have to make a chill spot like that for my boys #submission

*Hangs head* Nay, 'twas not that, for Poppy always seems to visit when I least expect her to do so. I... *Sigh* Master's voice became particularly loud and convincing one day, and in despair, I forced myself to sleep. I hoped to wake with a clear mind - well, as clear as it may, considering the circumstances - and I had.

Murazor's brows furrowed. "His will refuses to leave you, still. I understand now the cause of your problem... but what a grim and tawdry solution you've resorted to!"

At least you're admitting it my dearest Murazor. -bows deeply so he can hide his wide grin-

"I admit it," said Murazor firmly, completely missing the humor and teasing in Ji's tone. "And it is thanks to our wonderful lady Beruthiel that I was able to see the narrowness of my thinking." He beamed, and tilted his head to indicate slight confusion at the pirate's bow.

#ji-indur

incorrecttolkienquotes

I killed a Balrog. You are so outclassed it's not even funny.

- Glorfindel, to the Nazgûl on the banks of the Bruinen, book I, chapter XII

alyruko

#GLORFINDEL#grabs your face and yells about him#AU in which glorfindel faces the nazgul#and theyre so overwhelmed with his perfection#they forsake their dark lord#and start following glorfindel instead#like literally following#it’s just like he a got a bunch of goth groupies overnight#glorfindel is all like#you guys uhhhhhh#this is making me a bit uncomfortable#you following me around everywhere#also while my quarters are quite spacious#ten’s a bit of a crowd you know; undead or not#so could you not… hover like that#this is very awkward you guys#but then they start giving him backrubs and making excellent tea and braiding his hair nicely#’my lord of the golden flower’ they screech#’while your hair is really a glorious wonder -‘#(screech)#’you must admit it is also a proven safety hazard’#glorfindel frowns but concedes their point#also the witch king of angmar turns out to be quite the capable hairstylist#glorfindel and his nazgul entourage#can that be a thing please (via dwimmerlaiks)

oh

my god

ji-indur

Isn’t that the actual story between Fin and Murazor? -cackles-

#jiindur #goldenglorfindel #holy tick

Everyone has some point in their life when they struggle with addiction...

*Jerks back in confusion* I-I-Nay, I thought I had offended you, and you had merely replied in turn!

Murazor's headtilt became even more extreme than before. "You've not offended me, though I am curious as to why you chose to sleep. Did you have nothing to attend to?"

I... had been in slumber for some time, much longer than I anticipated. You say you did not notice... *Waves hand dismissively* Never mind it, you said your journey to Angmar was fruitless. Did you find anything at all?

"I found a number of older books, which my lady intends to restore, as well as certain artifacts of my childhood. Most of what I have brought back are gifts. For you as well-" Murazor stopped suddenly and tilted his head, "...Wait, have I offended you?"

*Disappointed sigh* I see... *Wrings hands* Never mind that, whatever were you doing up north?

"I visited my former kingdom... to see what I could salvage, and perhaps remember something. 'Twas mostly fruitless." Murazor tilted his head. "Why are you upset?"

*Hangs head* I have been gone for some time, and I never told a soul... I came to apologize.

"Your absence did not bother me," said Murazor earnestly, completely missing the somewhat offensive implications of the phrase. "I too have been gone. I traveled to the North for the sake of my own curiosity, though my findings were disappointing."

Terror In Her Eyes | Éowyn & Murazor

Her shuddering cries were heavy like a door hanging on one hinge - her sadness precarious, as if poised over a huge abyss. There was nowhere she could go, nothing she could do, only to remain there in that spot and weep. The men of Éowyn’s riding party would return to Rohan. They would slander her name. They would bring shame on her family line. Oh, Éomer, she sighed to think of what her brother would say. Better they leave me here, that I won’t have to face their scorn. When she looked up, a pair of startling yellow eyes greeted her. Eerie, disconcerting, the proud grey cat sitting atop Windfola made her spine tingle.

She expelled a puff of air. “Huhhmm.” You are a curious thing, aren’t you? The cat’s head stood tall, as if she sat in judgement over everything around her. Well, what are you looking at, hm? "Go on! Git." The proud shieldmaiden swiped her hands at the tiny intruder, but she appeared unimpressed. Éowyn tried again, shooing and swatting at the cat, unknowingly saved by the distraction if only in the form of her irritation. It quelled her sobbing. That much was a godsend. Minutes passed, and soon Éowyn rested in the cradle of her horse’s mane.

She did not realize that the cat was gone until much later when she heard footsteps approaching the clearing. The sound of shuffling feet was barely audible, but in the stillness of night it invaded her reverie like a cavalcade.

"Who’s there? Show yourself!" She stood, and while she meant to seem impressive, her words rang hollow in her sunken chest.