LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #20

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Twenty

Secrets and Betrayal

R

ose turned to Azil, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

“What in the name of the Shire was that foul thing?”

“A wight,” the goblin replied grimly. “One of the undead that feeds on the living to stay alive.”

Rose shuddered at these words. A wight. She had heard that some inhabited the Barrow Downs, far to the south, but had never thought to encounter such a being here.

“What is a wight doing under Carn Dûm?”

Rose sagged against the wall and attempted to catch her breath. She had a painful stitch in her side. They had fled along a series of damp, dark tunnels, and up a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. However, it had been a long while before the enraged, pain-filled wails of the wight had faded.

“‘Tis a gate-keeper – from the time of the Witch-king himself, I’d guess,” Azil replied, his yellow gaze flicking around the shadowy landing, on which they rested. “Once, that creature would have been a man.”

Azil’s explanation chilled Rose. What a terrible existence, living in that gallery, year after year, century after century, scavenging on rodents – and waiting...

However, her attention could not remain on what they had just survived; instead, she had to focus on what lay ahead.

First though, she had someone to thank.

“You saved my life, again, Azil,” she smiled at the goblin. “How will I ever repay you?”

Azil shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t want repayment,” he replied. “Enough said, she-hobbit.”

“But you followed me – why?”

The goblin gave an impatient hiss, their gazes momentarily meeting. “I don’t know.”

Rose was flummoxed by his reticence. Yet, she could see that Azil had no desire to explain himself further so she let the matter drop.

“Whatever the reason, I thank you,” she said gently. “I will never forget this.”

“Come,” he replied, still avoiding her gaze. “We cannot linger here.”

The hobbit and goblin made their way up the last set of steps and emerged into a wide corridor. The fresh air, after many hours underground, made Rose inhale deeply. They were now inside Carn Dûm’s keep. A chill wind ruffled Rose’s hair and made her eyes water.

Rose’s gaze moved around the lofty corridor, taking in the piles of rubble and the sight of the washed-out sky through the arched windows. Judging by the light, it was late afternoon. She had spent most of the day wandering under Carn Dûm. They would have to be very careful now – this area of the fortress would be crawling with guards.

They needed to make their way to the Witch Tower – but which way was it?

“Azil,” Rose whispered. “Do you know which way to go?”

He nodded, his thin lips compressing. The goblin’s thin body was taut, his right hand sitting on the hilt of his iron sword. “Follow me.”

They turned right and made their way down a long, straight corridor.

The pair had only walked a short distance when the rough sounds of men, and the cackle and hiss of goblins, broke the silence. Rose and Azil halted.

Rose looked around frantically. It sounded as if the voices were coming from behind and in front of them.

Moments later, a company of goblins, their armour jangling noisily, rounded the corner ahead. The goblins skidded to a stop, their goat-like eyes fastening on the two figures standing before them. Panic flared, and Rose turned to flee in the direction they had come. However, she came face-to-face with a company of men wearing filthy boiled leather armour.

They were trapped.

Rose turned to Azil, her hand reaching for Sting’s hilt. This time, there would be no running away. This time, they would both need to fight.

However, Azil did not respond as she had expected. Rose had thought he too would draw his sword. Instead, as quick as a striking adder, he leapt towards her, pinioning her arms against her side.

“I have her!” he cried, his thin voice high with panic. “This is the she-hobbit our Lady seeks. Take us to Morwyn!”

Rose writhed in Azil’s grip, astonished by the sheer strength of such a slight creature.

“No!” she screamed.

She could not believe it. He had saved her life, and put his own at risk. Yet, he had done it to win her trust – it had all been a ruse. The goblin had not returned to help her out a sense of responsibility, or out of worry for her. He had seen a chance to win back his king’s favour, to return from exile.

Azil had betrayed her.

***

Peri and Salrean watched, neither daring to utter a word, as Morwyn – the Witch of Angmar – glided across the cavernous chamber to the stone plinth where the red book sat. Behind her, arms folded across his broad chest, stood Targkok, the Goblin King.

Peri had never seen a goblin so massive. He was easily twice the height and width of Azil, the only other goblin he had been able to study at close quarters. At first glance, Peri had thought that Targkok was overweight, but on closer inspection, he saw that the Goblin King was all muscle and brawn. He wore a sleeveless chain mail vest and iron bands decorated his huge, scarred arms. A heavy broadsword hung at his side.

Targkok had a heavy-featured, pugnacious face, and a collection of brass rings decorated his large, pointed ears. His bald head gleamed in the silvery light filtering in from the thin windows that ringed the chamber. Aware that he was being observed, Targkok’s gaze, narrow and calculating, met Peri’s.

The hobbit swallowed nervously and looked away.

“The Red Book,” Morwyn’s voice was once again, soft and beguiling. She had stopped before the plinth and was running her hands – beautiful hands with long tapering figures – over its worn leather cover. “Long have I coveted it.”

Morwyn opened the book; the creak of its spine and the rustling of its pages was the only sound in the deathly quiet.

“Ever since my servant brought the book to me, I have pored over its pages,” she continued, “I have read it all, suffered through the tale of these ridiculous hobbits and their adventures.”

Her mouth twisted as she uttered the last word, as if she had just tasted something vile. Listening to the witch, Peri felt a rush of anger at her derision. However, he wisely held his tongue.

Ignoring the other occupants of the chamber, Morwyn opened the book near the end, her gaze fastening upon a page.

“Often have I read this page,” she mused. “It tells of my brother’s death – at the hands of a woman and a hobbit nonetheless. What an irony.”

Her gaze swivelled then, to where Peri and Salrean stood, flanked by goblins. “He feared women, you know. That’s why he never married. Then, he took Sauron’s ring and became his creature, and his dislike for women turned to hatred.” Her gaze fastened upon Salrean then. The ranger stared back at Morwyn, her face like stone. The witch’s angular face split into a smile; an expression that chilled Peri to the core.

“He especially loathed strong women, which is why he rid himself of me,” Morwyn concluded, turning back to the book, her gaze resting once more on the page. “I should have been the one to end his miserable life.”

Silence followed her words. There was nothing for any of them, the Goblin King, included, to say. The Witch of Angmar reeked of bitterness and rage. One wrong word and she would turn that fury upon them.

“I digress,” Morwyn sighed, as if realising she had an audience. “What matters most, is that the Red Book is mine – and that I must know its secret.”

The witch glanced over her shoulder then, her gaze snaring Peri’s.

“Pericles Took,” she murmured his name as if they were old friends, although her eyes were like pieces of flint. “I have read this book again and again – but cannot find the secret I seek.”

She then flicked back to the start of the book. “Come here, Pericles,” she ordered.

When Peri did not move, the goblin flanking him shoved him between the shoulder blades. Stiffly, Peri walked forward and stopped at Morwyn’s shoulder.

“Find it for me,” she hissed, her hand fastening on his shoulder like a claw. “Look and tell me what you see.”

Her proximity caused Peri’s heart to race. She smelt dry and musty – with a faint trace of iron. Her nearness made his skin prickle with alarm, and her grip on his shoulder hurt. It took all his will not to shrink away.

“Find me this secret,” she demanded, her voice suddenly harsh. Her fingers bit cruelly into Peri’s flesh. “I must know it.”

The hobbit reached out and began to leaf through the pages. The tale of Bilbo’s journey through Mirkwood, to the Lonely Mountain, and the defeat of Smaug, greeted him. He continued to search the book, noting the change in handwriting as he began Frodo’s tale. When Peri reached the part where the Fellowship found themselves lost inside the Mines of Moria, he paused and dared look up into Morwyn’s face. Her expression was hard and hungry.

“Have you found it?”

Peri shook his head.  “There is no secret,” he told her, his voice trembling. “‘Tis an epic tale, nothing more.”

A terrible silence followed his words. Finally, Morwyn replied, her voice low and threatening. “You lie.”

“It appears you have wasted your time.” Salrean spoke for the first time since entering the chamber; her voice was sharp with victory. “How disappointing for you to discover you went to so much trouble, for nothing.”

Morwyn moved then.

She released Peri and swivelled towards Salrean – and before anyone in the chamber had time to inhale – the witch flung her outstretched hand at the ranger. A column of fire erupted from her finger-tips. It shot across the wide space and hit Salrean in the centre of the chest.

Salrean cried out, although the sound was cut off, as the column of fire lifted her into the air and flung her across the chamber. She hit the far wall before crumpling like a broken doll to the ground.

Peri stared at the ranger’s unmoving form, aghast. He moved towards her, but Morwyn’s hand shot out, her fingers grasping his shoulder and pulling him up short.

At that moment, the boom of a heavy fist knocking on the door to the chamber, interrupted them. Still gripping Peri’s shoulder, Morwyn swivelled towards the sound, her face twisted in rage.

“Who dares interrupt me?”

The door swung open and Peri turned cold when he saw who stood before them.

There in the doorway, her dirt-smudged face streaked with tears, stood Rose. Azil was at her side, but Peri saw immediately that the goblin was not captive, for he wielded an iron sword in one hand and gripped Rose’s arm with the other.

“Rose,” Peri whispered, torn between joy to see her alive, and despair that she too had been captured. His gaze then flicked to Azil.

“Traitor,” Peri hissed at him. The goblin looked away, avoiding his accusing glare.

“Azil,” Targkok spoke for the first time since the captives had been brought before them. His voice was deep and powerful. “So you dare show your face before me again.”

“Sire,” Azil’s voice was a plaintive whine. “I apologise for deserting you, but I brought you a prize – one that I hope will earn your forgiveness.”

The Goblin King’s gaze narrowed. “Spineless worm,” he growled. “Do you think I am so easily appeased?”

Targkok was about to say more but Morwyn interrupted him.

“Rose Fairbairn,” the witch’s gaze was riveted upon Rose’s face. “You will be of more use to me than this dolt.” With that, she shoved Peri away, back towards the goblin guards. She pushed him with such force that he stumbled and fell. Ignoring him, Morwyn beckoned to Rose.

Peri climbed to his feet, wincing at his skinned knees. He looked at Rose and saw that she looked on the verge of fainting. Her eyes were huge on her pale face; her body trembling.

“You know of the Red Book’s secret, don’t you?” the witch crooned, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Your forebears were clever, weren’t they? They wove the secret into the words of this book, and passed the secret down the generations.”

Rose’s face twisted in confusion.

“What secret?” she stammered as behind her, the door to the chamber boomed shut. “It’s a story book, nothing more.”

Morwyn of Angmar shook her head, the smile still plastered to her face. However, Peri saw the look of vicious desperation in her eyes.

“There is a secret,” she told Rose, her voice harsh. All pretence at civility was now gone, “and you will reveal it to me.”

End of Part #20

Be back for Part #21 on 4 April!