Chapter Text
"The sad truth is that we're all missing someone..." -Unknown
50 Miles North of Sîr Ninglor (Gladden River)
One month.
That was how much time had passed since Inconnu found the Witch-King's blade abandoned in the Fangorn Forest. Buried in the layers of ash from the fire that threatened to consume its master. The Witch-King had escaped however, the fires failing to destroy him due to the design of far greater powers. To be consumed in flame was not his fate. Inconnu has never asked to hold the fate of Witch-King in her hands, but after seeing the fiery destruction of the clearing she had never been so glad to possess it. Though in control of his ultimate fate, that did not mean that other forces could not do other things. One could not kill what was already dead, but they certainly could bring great pain and harm.
Inconnu knew that the Witch-King must have been trapped under burning tree-like being for several hours, the flames trying their hardest to devour all that made up his physical being. She did not know the full and true extent of the damage however, the pain he must be suffering from. Though he was the greatest of the Nine, fire was one of the greatest vulnerabilities they all shared. Inconnu had quickly left the Fangorn Forest astride Sverundr, the new objective of her hunt at the forefront of her thoughts. In a normal hunt she would have partaken in this was the stage where her prey, now greatly weakened, would attempt to make a run for it to somehow escape their fate at her hand.
The Final Chase, as Inconnu called it, the point in time to see which was greater: the hunter or the hunted. This was no normal hunt however, something she accepted the moment she agreed to save him. That day seemed so long ago now, a dream in the presence of Oromё within the broken halls of Carn Dûm. So much had happened since then and now here she was, chasing the Witch-King further north through the Misty Mountains. Inconnu had few traces of him as she followed him, most of them being hoofprints of a stallion.
With this she assumed that the Witch-King was still in possession of his black steed, which would explain why she had not caught up to him already. On his own he would have made much less progress each day and be unable to stay ahead of her. In the first week of this new stage of the hunt, Inconnu had figured this but could not explain why the Witch-King was still out of her reach with the pace she was keeping.
For the past month Inconnu and Sverundr kept a fast pace in order to more quickly find the Witch-King. In this haste, both of them regulated themselves to sleeping lightly and only for a few hours at a time before moving on once again. Sverundr would eat during the times Inconnu was forced to stop and hunt for food and other provisions, and when the food was properly cooked and stored Inconnu would eat as she rode. This wasn't the first time they had done such a thing, but was a rare occurrence. When Inconnu took this into consideration, she realized the one advantage she didn't have over the Witch-King.
The undead do not need to rest, to consume sustenance, nor to stop and replenish provisions.
Each time she had to stop, the further away the Witch-King became.
This irritated the aspect of her that was the Huntress of the North, but there was little Inconnu could do about it. Eventually, the Witch-King would have to stop and it would be then that she would finally find him. What she would do then, Inconnu did not know but she knew would act as the situation would demand. Right now, Inconnu had to stop due to something that had caught her eye. She dismounted from Sverundr, who snorted lightly before lowering his head to graze the tough grass that grew in the mountains. Inconnu had almost missed it in the fading light of the sun, and crouching down the tips of her fingers faintly traced the imprints of hooves from a single horse. It had rained only a few days ago and so the ground was still soft, the impressions deep enough to hold for some time.
"Still heading north..." Inconnu muttered to herself as she stood, a yawn escaping her.
Where he was headed, Inconnu did not truly know. Already Dol Guldur was far behind them, and that was the closest stronghold Sauron held to the Fangorn Forest. Inconnu didn't understand why the Witch-King didn't run for the ruins to recuperate from his wounds and make contact with his master. She didn't know what stopped him, and that was one of many thoughts plaguing her mind in the times she rested and regained her strength to continue.
Though she was truly excited by this discovery, Inconnu released another yawn and knew she could not argue with her body's demand for sleep. In minutes she relieved Sverundr of his tack, and soon both were in their normal resting position of the large stallion lying down and Inconnu resting against him. She did not fall asleep immediately however, but currently stared at the sword in her hands. Inconnu had yet to properly wield Ghost's Song in a confrontation. She had been avoiding anything that might instigate such, and a fight would have taken away time she needed to find the Witch-King.
Time she did not have much of in the first place and so too valuable to waste. This did not mean that Inconnu was careless however, rushing past everything in her haste. Like any good hunter she was careful and swift in her actions. The fingertips of her right hand traced the designs etched into the crosspiece, admiring the craftsmanship and acknowledging the time and care that must have gone into creating this blade. Inconnu had seen Westernesse blades before, and often they had been simple daggers defeated by time.
Other, longer blades she had seen had been carried by the odd traveler or had too been by the elements. The Westernesse blade in her possession however had been well cared for and for a long time too. Obviously,Ghost's Song had been a part of something to have earned its name and the care it had been subjected to.
"What made you special, hmm?" Inconnu said to the blade, even though it could not reply.
She then unsheathed it slightly, further examining the smooth etches on the blade itself. Suddenly, the very last rays of the sunset flashed silver across the metalwork and temporarily blinded Inconnu.
Inconnu staggered to her feet, looking around wildly. No longer was she in the Misty Mountains, but a battlefield.
"What is this?" Inconnu said in a hushed tone, thoroughly confused and unable to gain her bearings at the moment.
From what she currently observed, the battle that had been fought in this place has only recently ended. The soldiers and their commanders had already left, their dead left to be collected another day. Weapons of various types laid strewn everywhere, their masters more than likely no longer among the living.
It was a depressing sight to her, seeing the abandoned dead left for the crows in this moment. Heavy breathing from behind her caught her attention and she whirled around. What met her gaze left her in shock.
There, only a few yards away, was the Witch-King of Angmar.
Inconnu was to the side of him, but he but acted as though blind to her presence. His form was hunched over in obvious pain, an iron hand gripping his side and the other at whatever was lodged there.
Inconnu looked down slightly, enough to see what was causing him such pain. Her grey eyes widened and her hands flew up to her mouth to smother a gasp. A longsword had found its new sheath inside the Witch-King, and the hand that did not hold his side tightened its grip on the hilt before removing the blade. It was a smooth motion, quick too, and the Witch-King only growled at the pain he was feeling because of it.
The Lord of the Nazgûl only glared at the longsword momentarily before tossing away and using to aid in the other in stemming the pain. Inconnu could watch as the scene slowly began to fade away, the Witch-King turning away full from her and walking away stiffly.
She looked down and saw that the longsword has landed at her feet. A strange, translucent black blood coated the blade nearly to the hilt, seeping into the etches that formed a single phrase: Lírё en' i' Ossё.
Song of the Ghosts.
"It can't be..." Inconnu managed to whisper to herself before darkness overtook everything.
Inconnu's hands dropped the sword immediately, letting it fall back into its sheath as it hit the softened earth below with a dull thud. Sverundr lifted his large head a bit, turning a bit to see his rider better. He noticed the sword on the ground and lowered his head to be a little closer to it before snorting. Her old friend looked up at her, Sverundr's intelligent brown eyes questioning. Inconnu sighed softly before winding her finger in his thick mane.
"An unexpected vision... It shocked me Sverundr, and for more than one reason."
Sverundr nickered, encouraging her to go on and she did just that.
"I saw him Sverundr... Er-Murazor, he was injured and alone on a battlefield." Inconnu glanced down at Ghost's Song warily as she continued with, "I saw Ghost's Song there, and it had been lodged in his side. His pain... I had only seen him in that much pain once before."
Sverundr maneuvered his large head so to nuzzle his rider's shoulder, comforting her in his usual way whenever she became like this. First it was the experience, then the shock, and sure enough the emotions took hold and his rider needed someone else to be there too. An anchor to keep herself grounded, and Sverundr was there whenever this occurred. As predicted Inconnu's arms wrapped around the large stallion's neck in a firm hug, glad for his companionship.
Eventually, both friends relaxed and fell into comfortable positions before finally falling asleep.
Feeling quite safe in the company of the other as they had for centuries.