Darkness Remains

They had no purpose, these wraiths. They served no master, yet owned no slaves.
Nor were their hearts whole; they still had a gaping wound where the Lord of Morgul used to be.
They were lost.
Completely and utterly lost.
And it frightened them.
They cried out in unison, overwhelmed by loss, confusion, and fearful anger.
They were shattered, and the fragments with which they could rebuild themselves caught on the wind and scattered. The Eight were left empty.
They were alone.
Nay! Not alone, for they had each other, even as fragile as their bonds were at this moment, spurred by whims and impulses, they were together.
The Eight.
They had a brotherhood that mortals couldn’t possibly conceive. They were connected by something stronger than blood. They still had their Rings. And as each wore it upon his finger, they were connected.
They stood together once more under the broken shadow of Mordor, willing their fears to be put away.
“We go East?” asked one quietly.
“Aye, but what then?” said another.
“We shall fade, it is certain.” one replied morbidly.
“Have you no courage?” growled a husky voice.
“Burzum, faith! We have no purpose, no destiny! We must forge ourselves one, and ‘tis no easy task. Do not growl belligerently at one of our own, merely for fearing the future. Would you deign tear us apart, my brother?” Khaműl intervened, desperate to keep emotions under control. True, this has not been the first of many arguments, indeed, they oft had furious rages with one another, but now, even as they are united, any bickering could weaken them needlessly. The Eighth hung his head in guilty submission, as one accused.
The First sagged somewhat, weary and overcome by a compelling emotion to cast himself into the yawning chasm beneath the blade tip. He willed guidance come to him, but none was forthcoming.
“Ah,” he thought bitterly, “I am weak! Once, I was a king of the East, and needed no council but my own! The years of servitude and dependence of Sauron hath weakened me more then I know.”
Khaműl then turned his head to the sky. He saw nothing, save a blazing white that seared his eyes. He always was most sensitive to the merciless golden orb.
Why he looked up, he did not know. Perhaps it was in hope that the sky clouded over, and the foul sun covered. ‘Twould not happen anytime soon. He looked back to his brethren, close as kin.
“We go East, for we have no other option. If we stay here, in this graveyard, we will perish. The men of the West hold no love for us. And we hold none for them. But their memories of us shall fade, and we will survive, always as we have done before.” He smiled then, and let loose a roar of victory.
The light does not hold sway over the shadow yet.