Too Easy

Sometimes, it's good to be the King. The Witch King, that is. I'm really not even a King at this point, given that I have no lands and am second-in-command to a giant flaming eye. But that's beside the point, since he has to sit atop Barad-dur while I get to issue orders in his name. Granted, it's not as though I really needed to issue said orders to a couple hundred thousand orcs when fighting less than ten thousand men. The whole 'kill instinct' is about all they needed. I did the math. Even with the highest estimate of defenders, 12,000, and the lowest estimate of attackers, 50,000, every single one of them would have to kill four and one-sixth orcs before dying. And that just isn't happening.

And after we win, of course, life gets real good. Sauron will give me a nice kingdom to rule over while he has to go about supervising and managing the affairs of the whole bloody world. I expect he'll give me Lindon and the northwest, given that any attempt to intervene by the Valar would probably come through the Grey Havens, which I will probably convert to a spa for orcs. It never hurts to keep your minions happy. I just hope he includes Rivendell in my domain. I hear that Elrond has a damn fine library.

This is far too easy. The Eight and I have dealt with the trebuchets and generally terrorized the men. Even then, I just let Krihtuzg go whither she would. She's a damn fine steed, and she just took out men and armaments without direction from me. But even we aren't really needed. The catapults did some effective structural damage, the orcs are menacing the defenders effectively enough, and when Grond did his work, I wasn't even needed to clear out the gate. Some silly trolls took care of that.

Meh. I might as well take another pass over the city, see if anything looks interesting. Maybe I should order some of the orcs to withdraw and break down the outer walls by spitting on them. That would make things a bit more difficult, though this fight could never be called a challenge. I know! I'll take Krihtuzg up top and let her assist the Steward with the death wish. Not challenging, but at least it should be fun, and it would be helpful to him. It's not as though I'm an inconsiderate being.

Hmmm. The White Wizard appears to be doing the same. What was it I told Gothmog? Oh, yes. "I will break him," I had said. And so I shall. Maybe that will pose us a challenge. I make a quick calculation of our relative speeds and then, surveying the layout of the city, identify the perfect intercept.

I land. Krihtuzg looks menacing. His horse rears, but he seems ready for a fight. "Go back to the abyss! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your master!" Hmmm. Interesting statement. There's no literal abyss that I'm aware of, except for the one in that dwarf city, but since I've never been there, I can't exactly go back. He must be using the term metaphorically, perhaps as a symbol of the mindset of evil, with which I am quite familiar but which I've never really left so, again, I can't exactly go back. And maybe I'm just an optimist, but I don't imagine nothingness awaiting us. The odds are too much in our favor. And even if nothingness did await us, we couldn't exactly fall into it, given that, if we could fall into it, it wouldn't be nothingness.

I might have explained to the old man that he would have made a far more effective threat had he used a boast he could actually execute rather than falling back on aurally pleasing but substantively meaningless literary devices, but I decided that he didn't seem in the mood to engage in such analysis and thus my best argument would be to provide an example of how to properly issue such a threat. "Do you not know death when you see it, old man? This is my hour."

That was good. Granted, the second part was clichéd and metaphorical, but the first was brilliant. Not only does it work on the literal level, because I will bring about his death, but it works on an allusive level too. There is a damn good reason that most mannish cultures, even those with whom I have not yet fought, personify Death as an unseen human form in black robes. And now, to complete the image, I make flames run down the blade. Yes, it drains some of my power, but where would be the fun in fighting this guy with my full power? Now, time for an opening salvo…

His staff breaks, releasing a force that knocks him off the horse and revealing that there was, in fact, another rider. A shorty. Wonder where he came from. I think Sauron was under the impression that this one had the One Ring. After I kill the Wizard, maybe I should bring him back to Barad-dur, just in case. If I brought him the Ring, he'd have no choice but to give me Rivendell when I ask.

Meh. That was too easy. I expected the Wizard to put up at least some manner of resistance. He must not be as great as all these men think he is. He's not even moving to defend himself. The shorty's doing it for him. Krihtuzg reads my mind and scares him off. Might as well let him experience the full pleasure of despair before we take him back to Mordor. Only someone who has felt the glorious inevitability of despair can fully appreciate the happy finality of death. "You have failed. The world of Men will fall."

I don't know why I said that. It's too damn obvious. You might think that I could come up with something wittier given that I'm about to eliminate one of my master's most obnoxious foes. Especially given that I'm addressing a Wizard and a shorty, which, while associated with the world of Men, are not Men themselves. The irony is palpable. Why didn't I just say something along the lines of 'Die now and curse in vain'? More direct, simple, effective, personal. I singled him out as my own target; the least I could do was kill him with something other than a generalization. And I turned my sword off. Why would I do that, when I've won? I must not be paying as much attention to it as I ought.

Horns, horns, horns. Or at least one horn. Echoing in the dark sides of the mountain. Rohan, apparently, has come at last. Hmmm. I could just kill the Wizard right now and then go harass the horsemen, but that would be too easy. Okay. Let's begin calculating how long it will take us to get from here to the riders, decimate them with a couple of Krihtuzg's claw dragging passes, and then get back. Assuming my airspeed velocity is… No, that's too easy. Let's start with the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow and extrapolate using mass ratios…

Anyway, it's back to the air. The Wizard will be there later. The Rohirrim, unfortunately, have yet to begin their charge. Well, it wouldn't be fair to interrupt their leader's rousing doom and gloom speech by letting Krihtuzg eat him. I mean, picture that, if you will. He's speaking, 'Oaths ye have taken… Fear no darkness… Fell deeds awake…' and such inspirational drivel, when suddenly a dark and fell deed drops out of the sky and swallows him whole. The men are terrified. The odds in favor of my orcs increase, say, three-fold. The fees demanded by Rohirric motivational speakers sextuple, on account of the increased risk of death on the job. A bad business, all in all, and it makes everything far too easy.

So what can I do? I know, I'll fly over and see how far away our corsair friends are. Not that we need them to… Hold on. My ring (or, rather, my lingering mental obsession therewith) is ringing. Must be Sauron. Yes, Lord? 'Status report. Now.' Two levels of the city are ours, and the rest will follow shortly. The Rohirrim have arrived, but the orcs should be easily capable of handling them and, if not, the Haradrim would love the opportunity to shed some blood. They're feeling left out because we wouldn't use the mumakil in the siege proper, and they're griping far more than the Easterlings about being left out of the action. The corsairs are on their way and should be here soon, though whether there will be anyone left to kill or not is debatable. It's all too easy. 'And why did you send the other Eight back?' Oh, I figured that since we had everything under control, I should send them back to make preparations for the big party later. 'Big party? Who said you could have a big party?' Oh, come on, my Lord. Don't tell me that you expect us to remain sober after trashing the biggest bloody city in Gondor and eradicating the largest force that could be assembled against us. 'Actually, I was planning on sending you all north. The elven forests are proving more difficult to conquer than I expected.' Come on. Can't it at least wait until tomorrow? Krihtuzg will fly faster if she's rested. And what will the others think if I have to call them back and cancel the party? They'll be crushed, demoralized, resentful, and generally less effective. 'Oh, all right then. Have your party. But be ready to fly tomorrow. And let me know as soon as they're all dead.' Yes, Lord.

Oi. I hate it when he's like that. You'd think, if a giant flaming eye can figure out how to use a palantir, he could figure out how to imbibe a mug of grog every once in a while, but no. He just resents it whenever anyone else gets sloshed. That's why, with regard to such things, I follow the philosophy that it is better to ask forgiveness than seek permission. Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yes, I was letting the Rohirrim finish their pre-battle ritual. He should be done by now, so I should go and kill him. Let's make one more pass over the city, just for good measure. If he's in battle now, then finding him won't be too easy.

Oh, nevermind that last bit. If he's rallying the riders around him, then of course he's easy to find. What kind of fool crowds the horses together in the face of a mumakil charge? He should be spreading them out to reduce the number of riders trampled. Oh well. His loss. Why don't I just let him know I'm coming? A good scream to make his blood colder and thus more palatable for Krihtuzg. Idiot. Doesn't even attempt to run. I'll give him credit for understanding the inevitability of the situation, but man, even I prefer to have a bit of fun, toying with my victims before killing them. Is that all you can do to defend yourself, turn your pretty white horse's head into her mouth? Honestly, aren't you supposed to be Rohan's best warrior? You're making this too easy for me.

All right. Let's land here and scare off everyone in the immediate vicinity. Hmmm. I'm surprised he isn't dead yet. The whiplash alone should have killed him. Given the forces being applied to a body of that age… Assume your best 'menacing' pose, Krihtuzg. That's it. "Feast on his flesh." As if she didn't already know that. What am I doing, playing to an audience or something? I mean, I know it, she knows it, he knows it, who else is around to hear me?

Hello, what's this? I guess someone was around to hear me. Interesting. "I will kill you if you touch him!" A curious statement, to be sure. He could be referring to either Krihtuzg or myself, but I personally have no intention of touching him and she has already touched him and probably broken several of his bones. If I wanted to, it would be fairly elementary to analyze out the force vectors and figure out exactly which bones were broken. But I don't feel like it. I lost my interest in human anatomy a long time ago. Of course, all this analysis is moot because no man can kill me. I mean, honestly, what's the deal with this guy? He's supposed to be scared.

Krihtuzg, at least, knows how to deal with such brave fools. Appetizers. Hmmm. This one apparently doesn't understand the inevitability of his death. As if dodging would really do him that much good and… Huh? What are you doing? What the shit are you doing to my baby?

Okay, now I'm pissed. Krihtuzg should have known better than to leave her neck exposed like that. She made it too easy for this guy. Well, he'll pay. He will suffer for killing you, my love. Screw the sword. He deserves the mace. Let him have a good look at it. That's going to really hurt when it hits him. Why don't I try an overhead swing? Aim will be a bit off, but the additional force of gravity pulling it into him should offset the difference. He dodges. I wonder if he's aware that he's already done that. You know, buddy, soldiers with a dodge to the left as their only move don't last very long. You need to challenge yourself, grow, expand your horizons. For instance, if you close to sword range, I won't be able to use my mace. Actually, I will, but that's beside the point. You don't know that. It's much easier to shorten your grip on this handle than you might imagine.

Oh well. If he won't rise to the occasion, I suppose I could swing around and hit him in the side. Break maybe a third of his ribs, if I'm lucky maybe rip out some flesh. Dodge this! Okay, he did, or rather, he ducked. I've always wondered about that word 'duck.' In this context, isn't that simply a vertical rather than a horizontal dodge? And what does that have to do with common water fowl? Okay, that was lame. I'll move on now.

Let's see. He'll probably expect me to try something different, tapping into my vast reservoir of mace combat moves. Well, guess what, buddy? I don't have a vast reservoir of moves. The Mouth does, but that's only because in his youth he served as the thurifer for services at the temple to Sauron. Hey, if you spent twelve years swinging around a censer filled with burning incense, you'd develop some pretty fine chain-based action yourself. But enough about him; let's return the focus to me. Since I don't have many moves, I'll just repeat the last two I did. He won't expect such predictability, will he?

Actually, he did. Two swings, same result. He must be afraid of me, though. A smart warrior would come at me as soon as the mace swing had missed its target. Of course, my sword would impale him before he got close, but that's beside the point. He has no way of knowing that I really am ambidextrous and not just holding the second weapon for show. That's one of the reasons I was chosen to lead the Nine over Khamul, but most orcs just assume it's because I can hold my liquor better than he can.

Let's try something different. Right in his face! He pulls back, but I made some contact. I think I'm on to something here. He's content just to retreat, never to attack. In terms of effort, it's probably easier, but it must be mentally harder. How can he take the anxiety, knowing that he didn't die on that blow, but could just as easily fall before the next? I don't know much about battlefield psychology- I can never get the orcs to lie still and answer questions about how they feel when killing someone for more than three minutes and forty six seconds- but I'm sure that such avoidance of your fear of death can't be healthy. Come on, buddy, and face your end like a man!

I swing around one more time, he ducks, and then I whack his shield. And probably break his arm. Oh well. He should have known he couldn't dodge me forever. Well, maybe he could have, but I suspect that, being mortal, he'd tire out before I did. Yeah, that's right, fall back against the corpse of the pretty white horse, show me the fear in your eyes. That's right. Time to strike my 'exultant' pose, just for your edification, and give you a moment to think about my triumph. You killed my baby! You're gonna die, bitch!

All told, it was too easy. Always too easy. That's what happens when the odds are so overwhelmingly in your favor. Okay. I've held my pose long enough. He's probably soiled his pants. You know, I've never strangled anyone before. At least, not with my bare hands. Or rather, gauntleted hands. Maybe it's time to try that. Let's see, my hand should go around his neck thusly. Good. "You fool. No man can kill me! Die now." I say that last part so calmly. I suppose it's because I am calm. I've gotten used to the idea of Krihtuzg being dead, and I'm killing her killer. Sure, I'll get roaring drunk tonight, forget about her somewhere around midnight, and ride out on a new beast tomorrow never knowing the difference. I've done this before, when the others died of old age, and I'm sure it'll work in this case.

There's a sudden stabbing pain in my knee. What the bloody name was that? Actually, how do I even know it's a stabbing pain? It's not as though I've ever been stabbed before. Whatever. It hurts royally. My back arches involuntarily and I drop to my knees. This is certainly unexpected, and not exactly pleasant.

The artful dodger staggers to his feet. Meh. I don't think he can harm me. I doubt that the poor fool was much of a swordsman anyway, and fighting with a broken arm certainly wouldn't improve him. He pulls off his helmet and… oh shit. "I am no man!" Yes, dear, I can certainly see that. And you're a fairly attractive no man, if I do say so myself. This is unexpected. And generally not good. Her sword is coming toward my face. No, it can't end this way. It's too easy…

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Notes: This started as a humorous attempt to explain why the Witch King, with Gandalf at his mercy, flies off to fight the Rohirrim before killing the Wizard and then disappears for the first part of the Rohirrim vs. Haradrim fight. It expanded because I like the idea of the Witch King being somewhat like me, overanalyzing everything and being a bit too geeky at times for his own good. I wrote it in first person, present tense, which is unusual for me but probably good for broadening my horizons. This is all Movieverse, except for a few allusions to quotes from Bookverse, so it belongs to Peter Jackson as well as Tolkien, and I am making no money off of it, though I hope to gain reviews.