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He couldn't remember when or how it had started. But what he knew, was that neither of them had made an actual effort to stop whatever it was that had started to blossom between them.
Of course he'd tried to avoid taking that particular road at the beginning, but sooner than later, his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had returned to that particular spot on the road, which was nestled between a great field of wild flowers and a patch of grass with a few trees next to a small river, behind which laid the treeline of a forest.
She'd intrigued him, the being with no name or kin, and he'd kept returning to her as often as he could. If she had been to believe, she had no memory of what she was, or what her name was, but one thing she had known for certain; that river and the fields and woods around it were her home.
He'd come back to her nonetheless, even when he had ridden with his brothers in shadows, who had never understood why he would always stop by that particular spot, and why he would never come when they called for him, but they had never – not even once – told their Master of his disobedience. His Lord had, of course, questioned him on his new habit of not only stopping there when riding with his brethren, but also taking that route even when it promised to delay him on his travel. He hadn't had the heart to tell their leader of the lovely creature he had discovered there, and perhaps his fear of one of the other eight stealing her away from him was partly at fault for it. Jealousy had always been wide spread between the Nine, for whenever one of them had something – possessed something –, the others would try and take it away; ruining it in the process. He hadn't wanted that to happen to his love.
Not that it mattered anymore now. She was gone, and no more would he hear her laughter ring in the air like quiet bells, just like he would feel her fleeting touch no more, feeling often like a warm breeze brushing over his skin. Nor would he be able to steal kisses from her soft lips anymore, tasting like something fresh and sweet to him, almost like freedom. She would also never again be able to give him the stones that she found in the riverbed, that he treasured like they were rare gems or jewels; simply because she had found them pretty enough to gift them to him.
They had never figured out what she was, because to him, she and her power had felt more like the Maiar than the Elves, but more like the Mortals than the Maiar at the same time. It had been... confusing, but they had never let the mystery of her keep them apart. Never once had the question of what she was hung over them like the stormy clouds hanging over Mordor, as his visits to her dwellings were few and short as they were, and they had cherished every moment of their time together. He wished he had been able to come more often and stay longer with her.
He should have held tighter onto her, should have been more insistent in taking her to the saddle of his horse and sweeping her away to the City of the Dead; but she had declined his request with the simple words "this is my home, my love, this river and these fields, and this is where I belong", and he had let her be. Despite all that he was – a creature of might and dread and pain – he hadn't been able to take all of that away from her, or rather, her away from it. For all that he was a terrible being, she had made his cold and unbeating heart skip a beat every time she even as much as looked at him, and he had gladly endured standing in the blinding sun despite being more comfortable in the dark of the night, and it had been for her. It had all been for her.
And she was gone now. His dark steed neighed beneath him, and he felt something wet and warm fall from his eye and slip over his cheek as he tore his gaze away from the destroyed forest and grassland. Instead, he turned his eyes to the fields of wild flowers, where his beloved now laid under the very earth she had cared for so very much.
Orcs from Isengard had come to her home, but he did not know what they had sought there. Not that it mattered. For all that they had left in their wake was destruction; for the trees and grass and flowers had been burnt to the ground, and the once clear river that she had enjoyed walking barefooted in now trailed blood and dirt. He had found her there, laying halfway in the river, with a short, broad-bladed sword sunk deeply into her stomach. It was unmistakably the sword of an Uruk-hai. She had died in his arms, bleeding out onto his robes. Perhaps, if he'd been there sooner, he might have been able to save her, but he'd come too late, and his sweet love, his one ray of sunlight in his shadowed world, was lost to him.
He had buried her beneath the fields of flowers she had loved walking through, just across the river and grassland and forest that had been her home.
He had avoided coming there for quite some time, and this was the first time since he'd buried her that he had come. He had, intentionally, taken other roads through the land, if only to avoid coming back to her grave. But now, sitting there on his dark horse, his dark cloak a stark contrast to the almost idyllic landscape, and with tears falling from his eyes, he made two promises.
The first one was that he would never again come to this place, for he was certain that it was him who had doomed her upon making a place for himself in her heart and giving her one in his, and he couldn't bear seeing the ruin he had brought her over and over again.
His second promise was that he would find the Orcs that had taken his love from him and that he would make them pay. For they would know the Wrath of the Nazgûl.