The Witch-king of Angmar takes a *fabulous* step to prepare for battle.
Disclaimer/Warnings: I do not own the characters, but I do own what I did to them. =D It was nothing major, really./Movie-version based!
Genre: Humor (at least my attempt ;) at it.)
Summary: The Witch-king of Angmar takes a fabulous step to prepare for battle.
Cast: The Witch-king of Angmar and his second-in-command, KhamÃ»l
Contact: betagirl23 at yahoo dot com/http://livejournal.com/users/dmitchell1985
Author's Notes: This story was written for the Julie_Fianna_Archive Writing Challenge #4 (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Julie_Fianna_Archive/?yguid=155156167). I did not make up "KhamÃ»l," I found it in an online database.
The famed Witch-king of Angmar was known all of the charted lands over for many things, and a keen fashion sense was one of them. The upcoming end-all battle to take place on the Pelennor Fields before the doomed city of Men had the fallen king in a fashionista's tizzy. This was any NazgÃ»l's dreaded nightmare.
Every powerful ruler knew that the beginning of each successful battle was rudimentarily based on an attractive outfit, and then the presense it took to pull it off flawlessly. Naturally, the hands-on skills to destroy that ruler's enemies would come into play - eventually. This would only occur after the diligent work that been taken in dressing the ruler had been appreciated by the luckless foes. What would be the value of the time spent preparing for battle, if the preparations were not first admired?
The pacing Witch-king had taken the battle decorum to heart as a young royal, and continued its practice until this very Age. Though the recovery of the One Ring for his Master took precedence in his shadowed life, their was no need to appear unbefitting of his status.
He called for KhamÃ»l, his second-in-command, to help him narrow his options. He blindly ran a hand across the last of the accessories to choose from as he waited. He had to don an unequaled adornment if he was to present the impression he sought.
'Were spiked headdresses still considered frightening to most peasants and warriors alike?' the king pondered silently.
His second appeared by his side in a instant following the hollow summon.
"Which do you believe suits myself, this battle, and the impending victory best?" the Witch-king inquired earnestly.
KhamÃ»l stared down at the spiked and smoothed selections spread across his king's chamber-table. He tired of the more flamboyant displays of status. What prey honestly cared what was worn when they met their demise? Prey would not stop to remark on the meticulously polished armor of The Nine as they fled.
But KhamÃ»l understood the requirements of his king, and beared the almost laughable nightmare as he would any other order.
"The spiked one would suit you, the battle, and the victory best, my king."
"Very well. Assist me in this matter, and then ready my steed."
KhamÃ»l nodded his compliance and turned to lift the weighty complement for the Witch-king's armor high above his head. He suppressed a snort at the king's ridiculous pride as he lowered his arms. Perhaps one day he could enjoy a respite from the tiresome routinue. Until then, there was decorum to attend.
Info on the Witch-king/The NazgÃ»l/Where I got KhamÃ»l's name: http://www.tuckborough.net/witchking.html