night threatens to fall an hour early at his arrival. the sun is hidden from the sky, obscured by dark and heavy clouds which let her golden rays pass only scantly and light everything but the nazgûl - lord’s large form, shining on him but not illuminating him. black yet shines his raiment in a hue of blinding nothingness, darker than dark ; but his riding armor is bright, and forged hard and cruel. he needs no armor, for death cannot come for him ( deathless is he who walks alongside sauron! never knowing illness, never falling to the weakened body and mind of old age. never shall he die! such is annatar’s gift. ) but it is worn nonetheless, if only for the helmet to sit upon his unseen face as a symbol of his status and as heavy as a crown.
he has dismounted his horse already. the black steed is restless for a mere moment until its master’s gauntleted hand, sharp as a beast’s claws, calms the animal in an unexpectedly gentle gesture by soothing it with a steady hand. the witch - king turns his head to thorin son of thrain, and two lights glint coldly from within the darkness where a face should be to meet thorin’s pale blue in the place of a greeting.
❝ rejoice, king of erebor! my good and merciful lord provides your people with yet another chance to earn his favor, ❞ his voice is even - toned but terrible to hear nonetheless, the emphasis on your people weighs heavy in the air. he leaves his mount for the present and stands now before the master of this land, tall and proud and still, almost as peaceful and amiable as an emissary of great númenórë of old at the height of her glory. ❝ and he hopes you do not waste it. ❞
the shadow stretches its hand to the lone mountain and darkens its fringes as a fist prepares to grip . skies turn grey with the migration of foul intent ! wings upon which herald destruction’s nigh flight . through darkness hence rode once more outward along this murky flutter a black - clad horseman to the dwarf - king’s gates . atop the ramparts the ruler doth stood ( now a second time amidst the black air , to which you said neither yea nor nay ! more perilous are your decisions now , and days must be bided for , your burglar’s life at hand ) , mithril - haired as white as frosted stars no longer seen . he leads erebor through this ever - night , the last shining of the east, olden yet unwavering as the frozen peak . hard ice - blue eyes look down with tapering corners to meet the faceless pitch swathed in metal . erebor does not cower before such threats . he will not let it .
( y’shouldn’t meet him ! dwalin insists as they tread down stone steps , but the mountain - king offers naught save a solemn squeeze to the dwarf’s shoulder as great gates swing wide . without choice , he has to . ) shield of the east , the white - raven ! donned in his finery that flows behind him alike feathers as he traversed out upon the short bridge , crowned head held high and mien cool as the light - less mist that has settled across the land . the clink of metal tells him that his guards have marched dutifully behind him , led by dwalin . his gaze flickered between the steed and the figure , narrowed beneath his grayed brows . this one is not the same as the first , clearly , lest my age and eyes deceive me . halting at the end of the bridge , he nearsightedly met the face’s lights once more ( you will not bow , nor offer the first greeting , for this being is even less welcome than the first . o silver lord ! ) . nothing is cause for rejoice , that he knows , and the dwarf’s thudding heart hitched warily .
“ the king of erebor did not know his first proffered chance had been rescinded , ” returned he , even - toned despite the hand that strays to rest upon the hilt of the sword worn by his side , thumb smoothing over it . the dwarf’s upper lip curled a tad , indignation like a burning frost ( alas , if only balin was there to give him council , he thinks ) . still , composure stubbornly unruffled , his head inclined sideward with slow speculation as color - less locks blew back in the wind . “ why does your lord wish to hurry erebor’s favor ? ” the last word comes sharply . “ did i not say to your first rider that the time of my thought is my own to spend ? ”