Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Part One: Daughter of Numenor Chapter 1: The Tree

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"It reminds me of Númenor," said Faramir, and wondered to hear himself speak.

"Of Númenor?" said Éowyn.

"Yes," said Faramir, "of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green landscape above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it."

-"The Return of the King"

 

 

The Tree

Armenelos

3255, Second Age

Míriel always woke early. The night before, she hadn't been able to fall asleep. When she had, her dreams were dark and terrible. It had been months since she had gotten a good night's sleep. She suspected that it was beginning to show, but no one around was brave enough to tell her. Only her father dared, and even then he would only mention in that soft, deep voice of his that she needed to get more rest or she would collapse. The worry still kept her awake, though, no matter how much she tried to sleep. Sometimes it seemed as if an endless sea of troubles threatening to overtake her at any moment. Her father's waning health, the growing threat of darkness in the east, and all the while, the King's Men undermining the royal authority… It was getting harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning, despite the fact that sleep brought no more comfort.

Sliding out of bed, Míriel dressed quickly and drifted over to her desk. There were endless stacks of papers, all coming in for royal perusal. For several months now, she had been the acting monarch of Númenor, overseeing its business and handling all the truly tedious work. Her father's health had begun to decline lately, something that worried everyone amongst the Elf-Friends. It was only during Tar-Palantir's rule that Númenor had been rescued from the shadow of pride and greed that had nearly overtaken it. The King's Men still opposed them, but Míriel hoped that she and her descendants could still save her isle.

It seemed to her that there were even more papers now than there had been last night, which meant an aide or servant must have deposited the more important documents on her desk in the middle of the night. If they had such importance, she knew that she was obligated to look through them. Shuffling through them, her heart sank. Why couldn't anyone ever bear good news to Armenelos? There were reports of incidents like the unrest in Hyarrostar, caused by the King's Men, as well as the growing danger of the darkness on Middle Earth. Frustrated, she let the papers fall back onto the desk. That was enough bad news for this morning.

The daughter of the king slipped out of her room and walked a short way to another door along the corridor. As quietly as she could, she pushed it open and gazed around the room, only to find that it was empty. Her face betrayed no change of emotion. She hadn't expected her father to be asleep now, either. Trouble sleeping was something they had both started to share. Turning around, she headed down the corridor, bound for the court of the kings.

Tar-Palantir might have been growing old and weary, but he refused to be a captive within cold, lifeless stone walls. He had his gardening tools spread out around him and was busily patting down the dirt around a small plant with wide green leaves. Footsteps clattered on the path and he heard an amused voice come from behind him. "Your head gardener's heart will likely stop when he sees this."

"And so will my doctor's," he added with a slight chuckle. "But seeing as my doctor wouldn't have me leave my bed and the gardener is fixated on having everything neat, organized and perfectly in patterns, I am not so inclined to be sorry." He went to climb to his feet, and was immediately assisted by his daughter. "Good morning, Míriel."

"Good morning, Father," she greeted him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then, she stood back to appraise his work. "No matter what your gardener or your doctor thinks, it looks lovely in my opinion." Slowly, the woman's eyes went from the small shade-plants to the tree, which was the center of this miniature garden in the King's Court.

"Gardens aren't meant to be in an exact pattern and follow rules," Palantir was saying aloud, more to himself than to Míriel. "Things grow as they will, not matter how hard you try to prune or shape them." He gave a slight smile to Míriel, who returned the expression.

"I have heard enough of your metaphors by now to know what you mean," she remarked. Her father looked at her for a moment, and she could see the dark look of sorrow in his eyes once again, his smile fading. It was a look she hated, one that told her that he was suffering some hidden pain that he could not share. Quickly, she tried to change the subject. "I know what it means to you to see the tree blooming again. You have worked for so long to see it flower." The king frowned a bit, not in anger, but in frustration.

"It is not entirely healthy yet," he muttered, carefully examining the leaves of a nearby branch. "After so many years of neglect, it will never be as glorious as it once was. Yet it is recovering, despite what our esteemed gardener swore years ago." Míriel had heard stories about a determined young king working day and night to revive the White Tree, despite the best advice of his head gardener. In his care, Nimloth had grown stronger, and the past few years had even flowered for him. She had always thought that her father must have some magic to him. Míriel told herself there must have been something of the Maia blood that remained with him, descended and diluted through the ages.

The sun's light was just beginning to pour across the land, and as it climbed slowly, it lit up the court so the carving in the walls nearby and on the stepping stones along the path. Soon, there would be an army of servants, aides, body guards, and the king's doctor, of course, searching for them. Father and daughter collected up the tools, and they left the court, with one last look at the tree. Míriel stole a glance at her father as they walked.

He was slower now than he had been, and there seemed to be almost a cloud drifting around him. Surely he was no longer young, but neither was he old, and his hair was mostly silver now. That was just a mark of the grief that he had born in his life. As she watched, his grey eyes seemed to slide out of focus and gaze beyond his surroundings, into the distance. He stopped, and she halted as well, watching him and waiting for him to move again. When his eyes focused on the wall ahead of them, she asked her question.

"What do you see?" These visions had come on him too often lately, and sometimes they seemed wise, and other times nonsense. When things had come to be so uncertain, though, Míriel was almost eager to hear what he might tell her of the future.

"Nothing," her father assured her, brushing her off. His daughter let out a sigh.

"I wish I had your gift, just to know what would happen in the midst of all this… tension!" She had never acquired her father's gift of infinite patience, although from him she had her eyes and love of all things that grew in the earth. And yet, her father never seemed rooted on the earth, but rather in time.

"To see as I have seen is neither gift nor curse, Míriel," Palantir sighed, his voice sounding weary. "To see and not know if what you see can be changed, or if it is unalterable fate... He trailed off, looking down the way. "I thank the Valar that you do not see what I do. It is every father's wish, that his child will have a better life. I still hope that you may have a better life, and hand the scepter to your child in better times." Now they had reached the doors and passed into the palace.

Sure enough, a royal attendant was about to come out in search of them. He bowed upon seeing them and relayed his message. "Your highness, your physician has his medicines ready for you. He has been looking for you."

"No doubt he has," Palantir replied, his response somewhat less than enthusiastic. "Tell him I will take them in a short while. But first I will break my fast with my daughter." The man bowed once more, and after a quick murmur of assent, went off to deliver the message. "I hate taking those medicines," the king grumbled as he followed his daughter towards the dining hall.

"I know you do," she laughed. "But if they keep you strong a while longer, then they are worth taking."

"I have lived my life. I am old, Míriel, old and weary of this world. I cannot, will not stay forever."

As she looked at her father, she could see the weariness in his face and began to understand. She had often thought about the King's Men and their obsession with immortality. It was alluring, the promise of living forever. If her father lived forever, she would not have to worry so much about ruling Númenor on her own. She wouldn't be so frightened at the thought of not having him there to help her, protect her, listen to her. Tar-Palantir had been the ever-present force in her life since she was a baby. He seemed immortal to her, her pillar of strength through the storm. But her father was dying. And that was just something she would have to accept.

"I know how much you worry about me, Míriel." His eyes sought hers, looking into her with expression of fatherly concern. "For a long time now, I have come to understand the Gift of Illúvatar to men. The only healing I will find will be when I am in the presence of Eru." So dark, those words… How could she find comfort in them? The king shook his head. "I make no sense to you yet, but wait. Wait until you are weary of the world, and then you will understand. And may that day come many, many years from now."

"Yes, Father." The mood was decidedly dark now, and Míriel only picked at her breakfast. Concerns began to worm their way back into her mind, and she began to think through her schedule. There would be a council meeting today to discuss new policy, and of course, endless documents and reports to shuffle through. And sometime, she should….

"Would you come with me to Andunië?" her father's words broke through her thoughts. One last time. He didn't need to say it, but they both understood it. They often traveled to Andustar and visited Lord Amandil, her father's good friend. Her father always went to the tower of Oromet and just stared off into the distance. He always searched the horizon, and always found nothing. But it was peaceful in Andustar in a way that Armenelos could never be. Míriel thought of the forests and the flowers and the vast sea. She smiled, the dark thoughts pushed away by fair memories.

Palantir didn't miss his daughter's smile, a rare occurrence now that she had grown into such a grave woman. "And perhaps we shall travel to Eldalonde afterwards?" To that, his daughter nodded enthusiastically. Taking advantage of her good mood, the king pressed on. "You know, I would like to see you married happily before I leave this world."

"Perhaps someday," Míriel answered. "But I will not put the one I love in danger. I could not bear such a pain." They said no more on the subject, for it was not well known what they spoke of. Few knew the truth of how Rilwen, the sweet young wife of the crown prince, had died. Míriel had just discovered the fact herself. Her mother had died when she was only five. Her death was sad because it was so sudden. One day she was healthy, and the next day, she was dying. It was a tragedy that had devastated the king and his young daughter. Palantir never married again: he couldn't. He had found his soul's match in Rilwen, her loss had affected him deeply. Later Míriel discovered why.

Lady Rilwen had been poisoned by the King's Men. They wanted to stop the possibility of a male heir, or at least any more heirs than necessary. When she found out this truth from her father, she began to understand why he had always been so protective of her. And she also understood why she had been challenged so much at a young age. She had to be strong: Númenor depended on it. She had to be strong enough to keep her scepter from the King's Men and their schemes.

But the discovery of her mother's death did something else: it convinced her to hide what her own heart truly wished for. Her father was right, of course. Her heart dwelt in Eldalondë, but that was something that could not be revealed to anyone. At least Palantir understood her hesitance. His own pain at the loss of his beloved wife was still sharp. He let the matter end, and they finished the rest of their morning meal in alternating silence and polite conversation.