His Chief Servant

His rise began in whispered blight
From cold Angmar’s shadowed height
A realm of stone, of frost and fear
Where none could see and none could hear
The Witch-King, veiled in spectral might
Led forth his legions through the night

With iron will and malice deep
He stirred the North from haunted sleep
The petty kings and wayward lords
He broke beneath his cursed swords
With cunning plans and cruel delight
He set the North ablaze with fright

First came the fall of Rhudaur’s keep
Its towers shorn, its barrows deep
The hillmen bent to shadow’s call
And pledged their fealty to his thrall
In secret rites and blood-stained halls
They swore allegiance to his thralls

The Dunedain, with valor strong
Could not withstand the wraith’s foul song
Arthedain’s hosts withstood in vain
Their banners torn on every plain
The scepter of the North did quake
As Angmar’s hand did kingdoms break

The siege of Fornost, grim and long
A city proud, now silent song
Its walls were breached, its towers fell
As shadows danced and sounded knell
The men of Arnor, brave and true
Were scattered by the fell, cold dew

His power spread like creeping frost
From Carn Dum’s halls to Gondor’s cost
The wargs and orcs, the trolls of night
Marched under banners black as blight
The Elves looked on with weary eyes
As Angmar’s specters darkened skies

With each new war, his shadow grew
And all who faced him surely knew
A terror wrought in formless guise
A bane that none could recognize
The lands he touched were cursed to rot
As all of Middle-earth forgot

No sword could pierce his armor dark
No mortal curse could leave its mark
The kingdoms fell beneath his sway
As dread and ruin paved his way
And though his name was rarely sung
His evil on the North was wrung

For years he plagued the land’s wide breadth
A harbinger of silent death
His campaigns brought no gleam of light
Only whispers of endless night
And as the years turned cold and grim
The world grew darker thanks to him

Yet Angmar’s lord, still ever cold
With patience watched his power unfold
He bided time with cunning rare
And waited for the final snare
For though the North lay in his hand
His gaze was set on wider land