In Terror He Reigns by Beatrisu
Fanwork Notes
This, I must confess, is but a latenight rambling. I have no real purpose with this, other than to experiment. I therefore apologize for the shoddiness of this piece. Constructive criticism is ever welcomed, along with any compliments you are kind enough to shed ;)
- Fanwork Information
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Summary:
A lone inhabitant of Angmar reflects on its terrible king.
Major Characters: Original Character(s)
Major Relationships:
Artwork Type: No artwork type listed
Genre: Experimental, Horror
Challenges:
Rating: Teens
Warnings:
Chapters: 1 Word Count: 341 Posted on 19 January 2010 Updated on 19 January 2010 This fanwork is complete.
In Terror He Reigns
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You lie awake in bed and listen to the noises outside your window. The treebranches scratch the shutters, like long fingers seeking entrance into your bower. You listen as the wind howls, frightening and dreadful, like the voice of Him.
You saw him once, when you were young, a mere child clinging to your mother's skirts. He is the king of these lands, and you've heard tales of what he does to little children. Ever your people live in fear, of the man who conquered this region. You do not obey him out loyalty, but out of sheer and utter terror.
As you lie awake in bed, listening to the storm and the howl of the wind, the scratch of branches on the shutters, you think back to that day. That accursed day when your heart knew true terror. You saw Him, the King. In his black robe he stood before you, and everyone cowered as if threatened with bodily harm. Yet you remember one thing in particular, and this is what comes to haunt you on nights like this. The sheer and utter terror.
You were but a lad of four years, now you are a seasoned warrior of mankind. And you still feel it – the rapid beating of your heart, as if it sought to beat its way out of your body. The pain in your chest, as if your heart was succeeding. A lightheadedness, testament to your shortened breath. Pearls of sweat beading on your small face, and your hands clenching in your mother's skirts, as if they could save you from this dread. The rank smell of piss, as you soiled yourself out of fear for this dreadful individual.
And you know, when you lie awake at night, thinking back to that day... That you will never escape, you will never know freedom, you will never know what it is to be unburdened by terror. As you lie awake at night, you weep, for you know what it is to be without hope.
Chapter End Notes
And that was my venture into the idea that the Witch-King, in order to wage war on Arnor, must've had subjects in Angmar, and perhaps not all of them served him out of loyalty. Perhaps not all were evil. After all, did he not conquer Rhudaur?
There you have it, simple and easy. I hope you've all enjoyed my attempt at horror-lite.
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