Windwalker - Healing

A Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction

by Murasaki99

Any LOTR character you recognise belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I don't own 'em, I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun.

At Angmar's gesture the heavy door opened. Coros followed him into the chamber. They were at the very top of the Tower of the Moon, and the view out the cardinal windows was spectacular, even to his wraith's eyesight. In the center of the room was a broad round platform of stone, its surface mirror-smooth and dark.

"Put her there," said the lord of Minas Morgul.

Coros lay the crumpled body of the messenger out on the table and Angmar began tearing open her sodden clothing. "You have stopped the bleeding, I see. That was well done."

"Only after she bled her way from Ithilien to here. There isn't much blood left to be lost."

"Even so, it will do for our purposes." Moving away from the young woman, Angmar reached into a chest of dark wood standing against one wall and drew out a long box. Opening the box revealed a number of knives of various lengths and shapes. Most of them seemed to be formed of clear glass. He laid the box on the side of the table and looked at Coros. "There are two arrowheads that must be removed, one from her side and one from the hip. But first, you are going to strengthen her body enough that she can withstand the surgery and heal afterward."

"I am? How?" Coros looked dubiously at his captain.

"Simple. Remove your clothing and give to her of your substance."

"What?" Coros had lived a very long time and had been forced by Sauron to do any number of terrible tasks. But he had never been asked to do anything quite like this. I'm… actually appalled, he thought in vague surprise. I thought there was nothing that could horrify me any longer. "I… do not find children attractive, my Captain," he said at last, after rejecting the initial obscenities that wanted to leave his mouth.

"Use your senses," said Angmar shortly. "She is fully mature for one of her kind, if somewhat small and underfed." He laughed at Coros' dismayed expression. "I'll grant that Khamul would not find her acceptable, but…"

"Khamul is an idiot of the first water," Coros replied hotly.

"Duly noted. Now, will you do this or no? I must perform the surgery and the healing spells, so you must either assist now in this way or save us the effort and throw her from the tower for the wargs to feed on." Folding his arms, the lord of Minas Morgul waited, impassive and patient.

Coros nodded and reluctantly began to remove robes and armor. "I will do as you say." Letting his breastplate fall with a dull clank at his feet, he added. "At least this time I am not bespelled into accepting what I would rather not." Unclothed at last he looked down at the misty form of the girl's body and found he could not make himself move forward. There was simply no way he could deceive himself into believing her desirable in her current state. He gasped as Angmar's bare hand seized the back of his neck in an iron grip.

"Think again, Corollairë. We cannot afford to wait on your 'inspiration'. The remnant of your nobility will cost her life." Angmar sang bright, stinging spell-music in the language of Numenor.

Coros clawed futilely at the fingers that held him. Sorcery settled over his body, compelling and familiar, sending raw need surging through his veins as Angmar lifted him and deposited him atop the girl.

"You. It was you!" Coros rasped as he crawled forward. Driven by the magic, his body obediently followed the command of his captain while his mind screamed in outrage. Once his flying beast had bolted with him, carrying him far before he could regain control. The sensation of being borne helplessly along had been exhilarating at the time. But having his own flesh carry him away like a dumb beast was nearly unbearable. Through clenched teeth he growled. "The Dunedain's spell came from you!"

"Of course." Angmar sounded smug. "A minor amusement. And you were amused, weren't you? Now then, cease fighting me and do what is needed." He chanted another spell, this one to strengthen a body weakened by injury.

Coros closed his mouth, determined not to make a sound. It was every bit as awful as he had feared. At least with the woman of the Dunedain there had been some illicit pleasure to be had in the fact that she had been a willing participant. Her very eagerness had made the encounter tolerable. In her half-dead state the Southron girl was hardly in a condition to want anyone. There being no consent to assist him, it was like plunging into iron newly drawn from the mold, no longer molten, but searing hot nonetheless. While he could not turn aside from this task, Coros found he could at least try to be as gentle as possible - for both their sakes. At last he shuddered and ceased moving, resting on his knees and elbows. The girl was so small her head lay somewhere below his breastbone and he had no wish to smother her.

Angmar inspected them, pulling the girl's arm out to one side and holding it as if taking her pulse. "A good start." He nodded and reached to run his fingers down Coros' spine. The younger Nazgul sucked in a deep lungful of air as magic stabbed through him. "Again."

"You…" Coros growled a series of orcish curses, all attempts at politeness forgotten as his body jolted into involuntary motion.

"Ah, Corollairë. If you feel so strongly as to demand my aid, then the work shall be done well or not at all. She needs as much as you can give her, my feckless youth. Have a little patience."

Patience! thought Coros, biting back a scream as once again his body went through a painful parody of love-making. By the third time he decided to save his breath rather than curse and at the fourth he simply set himself to endure, leaning his forehead and arms against the smooth stone, letting his body move the minimal amount required, and permitting his mind to wander. So it was in that state that was almost relaxation he became aware of the girl's spirit, brighter now and drifting warm against his own. To his surprise he found that rather than being fearful, her mind and energy were accepting, even welcoming. Molten metal became soothing warmth. Little by little he relaxed into it and as he did so, pain inverted into pleasure. The peak caught him by surprise and he grunted sharply as his muscles convulsed and stars sparkled behind his eyes.

"There, that is exactly what was needed. Bravely done, Corollairë." Angmar held his hands over their bodies. "I was almost certain you would take all night, but you surprise me. You may rest now and permit me to complete the work."

Control of his body finally restored, Coros withdrew carefully and collapsed to one side of the girl. Moonlight caressed him as he lay half-curled around her, panting from his exertions even though he did not normally need to breathe.

"When we are finished here, remember to drink and eat something," said Angmar, leaning over the girl with a short-bladed knife. "You must replace what you have lost."

"S'not like losing blood," muttered Coros, watching his captain through half-closed eyes.

"Have you learned nothing in all this time? For us, it is like opening our veins and letting forth our life, our substance." Angmar's hands moved precisely, lifting up a length of bloody metal. Laying the Gondorian arrowhead aside he closed the incision with a spell.

Recovered somewhat, Coros pushed himself upright and slid down from the table to put on his clothing. By the time he had set himself in order, Angmar had removed the second dart from the girl's hip and was cleaning the instruments he had used for the surgery. Coros could sense the girl's regular breathing. She felt much stronger and that realization made him feel something that might have been gladness. He hid the sensation deep inside, aware that the Dark Lord would tear him apart for even this minor infidelity. At least their efforts to save her life could be adequately explained by the need to keep loyal and successful servants working for them. Orcs were easily replaced; well-trained humans were not.

"We are finished here. Take her up and go to your chambers. Rest this day. I will send food and drink. Make her eat, and make certain you eat something as well, my stubborn boy. You will need your strength." Angmar smiled wryly at him. "Now that you know how it is done, give to her as often as you can. She will heal faster and it will do you some good as well."

Wrapping the girl in his outer robes, Coros lifted her, gathering that small bit of living warmth to his heart. He glared at his captain, feeling much put-upon and more than a little rebellious.

Angmar must have caught something of his thoughts for the sorcerer fixed him with a steely glare. "Do not be stupid. I do not prescribe this for your torment. Have a little trust. You are part of a greater weaving. Now go." The heavy door swung wide at Angmar's soft command. Coros stalked out, nearly running into Herumor as he left. Herumor took one look at his face, worn, fierce, and wild and stepped quickly aside to let Coros pass. The youngest of the Nine blew by and stamped down the tower stairs without a word.

Herumor stood in the doorway of the chamber, sniffing the scents of blood, fury, and sex hanging in the air. "Was this a private party?" he asked diffidently. "I will return later." Before he could exit, Angmar moved quickly and placed his hands on Herumor's shoulders.

"O no, Herumor, you are most welcome. Now that I have solved Coros' little problem, you may help me with mine." A fey smile lighting his lean face, Angmar pulled Herumor into the Chamber of the Moon, closing the door behind them.

Notes:

Coros really really really wasn't expecting to be dragooned into a healing ritual of *that* sort. He just figured Angmar would patch Kou up and cast some spells and that would be it. And he had assumed given her small size and light weight that she was underage so he wasn't thinking of her as a potential bed partner. Tactically he was in a very bad spot - it's much easier to defy Angmar when one is oh, about 50 leagues away. :-D

Later when Kou is recovered enough to actually speak to Coros, he asks her why she wasn't afraid of the entire situation. She replies, "Oh I am already dead, so there is nothing to be afraid of."

Coros: "No you aren't!"

Kou: "Yes I am. I've had my funeral and everything. So all is well."

Coros is left to ponder the weirdness of the Southron culture. "It makes a sick sort of sense, and I suppose I should not try to persuade her otherwise since it is better she remain without fear."

Authors notes: Yet another WIP, this one a prequel to Aftershock and a sequel to Windwalker. The former Lord of Angmar is still working on his long-running project .