Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

---

Chapter 11: The Gambit

---

The Gambit

Armenelos

3261, Second Age

The door to Ar-Pharazôn's study swung open. Not bothering to look up from his papers, the king angrily began to admonish the intruder. "I gave an order that I was not to be disturbed!" he barked.

"I do not mean to disturb you, only to make you eat something," came an equally commanding voice. When he looked up, Pharazôn saw his wife carrying in a tray of food. She set it down on the desktop, ignoring his orders. There was a look in her eyes that told him clearly that she was not to be denied. "I am not leaving until you take something to eat."

"I am not hungry," came his reply. To Míriel, he sounded like a spoiled child. She had decided a few days ago that if he was acting like a child, then a like a child he would be treated. Ever since one of the captains of the royal navy had returned with a private report, Pharazôn had been oddly pensive. He had taken to shutting himself in his study, forbidding anyone to disturb him. She had gambled, hoping that he would not deny her entrance.

Boldly, she went over to one of the elegantly carved chairs and dragged it over so that it rested beside the desk. Sitting down in it, she snatched an olive from the tray and popped it in her mouth. They were his favorites, she knew. Black olives from the mountains, where the trees covered the peaks until it became too cold and too high for them to grow. He was staring at her, a confused look on his face.

"I have not poisoned it," she informed him. "Now eat." He still did not touch the food, but at least he set down the papers. She pressed further. "That was not a request, Pharazôn." It was a difficult venture, trying to balance command with concern. Too commanding, and he would ignore her. Too concerned, and he would suspect something.

"Why do you care?" he finally asked her. "If I waste away, I would expect you to be the first to rejoice."

"You are hardly about to waste away," Míriel countered. "What I worry for is the state of your kingdom. You are the king of Númenor, and with that title come many responsibilities. The court has been left leaderless and abandoned, and there are many who come seeking the king's judgment. Your economic advisors are urgently requesting to meet with you, and just this morning another captain from your navy has arrived." At that statement, the king looked back down at the papers scattered across his desk.

The queen got up from her chair and walked around to where her husband sat so she could get a better look at what was distracting him. There were maps laid out on the desktop, with markings on them. She recognized the symbols- they indicated the placement of forces. Her fears confirmed, she looked at her husband's face, trying to discover his emotion and intent.

"You are angry with your advisors for preventing you from colonizing Middle Earth, aren't you?" she asked him in a very forward manner.

"The fools! They would not look to the future, only to the past and present. I was in the right, but they could not see it. Now we have not the strength in Middle Earth that we need." He pounded his fist on the table, sending a few of the olives rolling off the tray. To her satisfaction, he picked them up and ate them. When they were gone, he slowly began to pick at the food she had brought in. She moved back around the desk and poured wine into a goblet and handed it to him. Then she settled back down into the carved chair.

"Many of us were mistaken, myself included," she admitted, hoping to feed the king's ego in hopes that he would reveal his thoughts to her. Between her carefully chosen words and the good Andustar wine she was pouring into his glass, she would have a story out of him soon.

"You admit your error?" he asked her, surprised at her response. "I thought you swore.."

"I said many things in anger," she explained. "When I commented on the colonization issue, it was for the sake of being contrary. The wise know when they have strayed from their path. I let my anger conquer me, and I forgot my duty to the people. What I want now is to repair what has been done and said." He took in her words, considering them carefully. It was dangerous, making admissions like this. Would he think her words false and unconvincing? There was a hint of truth in what she said; she only hoped it was enough to make her believable.

"What is it you wish to do?" It took great effort to keep herself from smiling. Her gambit was beginning to succeed.

"I want to know what troubles you. If I may trust the rumors, then I believe I can be of great help to you." He searched her face as if he were trying to discover some hidden intent or falsehood. He did not seem to find anything, for he handed her a map.

"As you know, these indicate the placement of hostile forces," Pharazôn began, showing her a series of marks near the western coast of the land. "The forces come from Mordor, and are under the command of Lord Sauron."

Míriel studied the map and its forces intently. They appeared to be accurate. She had known about this movement for a week. Her sources of information were far better than anything Pharazôn could cobble together. Elendil and Isildur had sailed to Middle Earth last spring. Their official duty had been to bring back reports on the existing Númenorean colonies there. Their more covert mission had been to gather information about the Faithful that had fled to Middle Earth.

When Elendil returned to visit his father at court and present his formal report to the King, he had met with Míriel in secret. He had delivered the dangerous news. Sauron was closing in on the shores of Middle Earth. His minions were marching toward the coastal cities, driven by fierce hatred. The dark lord would not tolerate their people to grow too powerful. He was taking advantage of their lack of troops on Middle Earth, trying to drive them out. Many of the King's Men were trickling back into Númenor, fleeing from the growing menace. The Faithful had nowhere to go- they could not go back to their homeland. They would have little strength to resist the evil that descended upon them.

Fear for her people had filled her, and she promised Elendil that she would find a way to help them. She knew and loved some of the refugees, and refused to let them come to harm. She was their queen, and it was her duty to protect them. The difficulty lay in finding a way to shield them from the danger of both the King's Men and Sauron's forces. It was Elendil who had made her realize the solution.

"The King has strength enough in Númenor, but Middle Earth is slipping away from him. I do not know whether to rejoice or lament." His words had stayed with her, even after he departed with Amandil and Isildur for Andunië. It had taken her days to discover the solution, and longer to decide how she could achieve it. Then Pharazôn's captains had returned and told him the same news. He had been brooding in his study for some time now, but she had to be careful in deciding when to step in. Timing was crucial in this gambit, as was utilizing everything she knew about her husband.

Pharazôn had reached his breaking point now. He would be receptive to what she was about to say. His frustration made him vulnerable. Amandil had warned her that the king could be a stubborn and prideful man, convinced that he was infallible. Pharazôn preferred to do his own thinking rather than let others do it for him, even if the other person was more qualified for the task at hand. Yet there were times when he would take instruction, the Lord of Andunië had revealed. All she could hope for was that he would take her word in this.

"Sauron's evil has plagued our people for centuries," she began. "Our forefathers have fought him before, and we have been victorious. We sit here in our citadel now and are afraid of his might. Do you not think he is doing the same?"

"You think he fears us?" Pharazôn asked her. He sounded pleased with the idea.

"I know he fears us," Míriel asserted. "Why else is he trying so desperately to push us out of Middle Earth? He fears that our strength there will become great enough to challenge him in Mordor. It was once ours- we know the land well. The tower of Barad-dûr, where he now reigns, was built by one of our kings." Pharazôn looked at her skeptically.

"You have known about his movements in Middle Earth for some time." It was not a question.

"I received reports, yes."

"What advice do you have for me, then?" She had to take care now, not to make her advice sound too much like a command.

"You have great strength in Númenor, Pharazôn. Sail for Middle Earth and challenge Sauron." He was silent for a while, awed at the audacity of those words. He stared at the maps, then up at her.

"Attack Sauron's forces on Middle Earth?" he asked at last, disbelieving. She nodded, resolute in her plan.

"Over the past few years, you have built a large and powerful army. Given a few more months, you could build a grander army than the world has ever seen. We have a superior ability to launch ranged attacks. Our siege weapons are highly advanced, and our archers are the best in the world. Our soldiers are better trained, and better equipped. There are enough ships here to carry such a vast force over the sea, and if there are not, then more can be built to accommodate them. We have the advantage in this battle. It is within your grasp. Think of it… How do you want your name to be recorded in the annals of history? Do you wish to be known as the king who withdrew from Middle Earth and allowed it to be lost? Or will you make your name revered throughout the ages as the one who finally defeated Sauron, the dark Maia?"

She could see the effect her words had on him. She had stoked his desire for power and glory and renown. His greed for it would help persuade him that she spoke wisely. She had revealed one of his deepest wishes with her words: to live forever in the minds of men through his great deeds. In legend, men could achieve immortality, and Pharazôn desired immortality as much as any other man in Númenor. Míriel was offering him his dreams. At the same time, she was concealing her own purpose.

Through Pharazôn, she would rid the world of one its greatest threats. As Lúthien had done, she would overthrow Sauron and send him back into the shadows where he belonged. Too many times in the past had Sauron threatened Númenor. King Gil-Galad and his people on Middle Earth were constantly struggling against him. Without aid, they could not hold out forever. Númenor had come to their aid before, and if Míriel succeeded in this, they would come to the aid of the elves once more. Many would benefit if Sauron were overthrown.

There was the possibility that Pharazôn might be defeated. If that came to pass, and he was killed, then she would not weep for him. It might give her a chance at the throne again, if she acted wisely. Her power and influence had been slowly and subtly building these past few years. She could only hope that there might be some opportunity for her to regain her rightful place on the throne. The Faithful could return to Númenor and the King's Men could fend for themselves on Middle Earth. No matter who won the battle, she would benefit.

Her husband interrupted her thoughts when he reached over and refilled his wine glass. "I am surprised that you would suggest such a bold course of action," he told her. The voice had an amused tone, without a hint of suspicion.

"You forget my actions as princess. I have always supported an aggressive policy against those who threatened Númenor."

"As one of your captains, I could not forget such a thing. I only found it rare because most of your people prefer peace to war." He admired this trait in her, she knew. It had given him the chance to flaunt his skill at command and battle. She had overlooked this at the time, thinking only of the evils he rid the world of and her own interest in keeping him away from the isle as often as possible. There were so many things she now regretted. When she had made the decisions, they had seemed wise..

"I do what I think is best for all the people of Númenor, and those in her colonies," she replied. "If they are best served by war, then so be it." Pharazôn was right. Often, she had disagreed with her father on military matters. He had been determined to create an atmosphere of peace. On the contrary, she had always been worried about outside threats. Now, as Míriel looked at her husband, she found it ironic. The threat from within Númenor had become her undoing.

As she spoke, he smiled. "If ever there are those who think I married you only for your beauty and your blood, then they are fools," he told her. "You are wise beyond your years, and you see clearly what must be done. As do I." He rose from his chair, leaving the wine glass on his desk.

"I will build you an army, Zimraphel- an army so great that none will dare to stand against it. If Sauron fears us now, then he does not know the true meaning of fear." Míriel smiled as well, a smile of satisfaction. Yes, Pharazôn was in her hands now. She would wield him against Sauron as a warrior wielded a sword in battle.

"I have no doubt that your victory will be celebrated for ages to come," she assured her husband, walking over to him. "Then we will establish our colonies and lands on Middle Earth, and we will have nothing left to fear." Míriel had great plans for the colonies. She had the king's ear now, and she would find a way to keep the colonies apart from the fragile Faithful community that was springing up near Pelargir. With Sauron gone and the King's Men occupied in their own lands, there would be no threat to the Faithful. Those she loved would be safe. It was all that she could give them.

"Sauron shall learn that it is futile to challenge the line of Eärendil," her husband declared, taking her hands in his. "Legends shall speak of this day, Zimraphel. They will tell of our might and our glory and how we rose above all our forefathers to do what they dared not."

"So they shall, my lord King," she answered, feeling the rush of power that those words sent through her. "So they shall."

The King stood on the deck of his ship in Rómenna, surveying all that he had done. The great fleet of Númenor was ready to sail. The dock was filled with the families of the soldiers and those who wanted to catch a glimpse of the men who would become legend. They cheered for their warriors, and for their king. Pharazôn stood before them all, robed in red and gold with the King's sword at his side. None could deny that this was a mighty ruler of the line of Elros, bearing the sword of an elven king and standing tall and proud in front of a great armada.

The harbor was filled with ships, and each ship was filled with the finest soldiers. How brilliant his wife had been… They indeed had the advantage in all things: numbers, siege equipment, skill, and so much more. When this force landed in Middle Earth, their enemies would quake with fear. Never had such an army sailed across the sea. Pride and determination filled him as he thought of his impending victory.

His thoughts did not distract him long. He scanned the dock, then turned to his captain. "Where is your sister with the bough of return?" he asked sharply. The King was anxious to be off, and he hated delays.

"I do not know, my lord king," the captain apologized. "She ought to be here shortly."

"Let us hope that she is," came the king's answer. Pharazôn was impatient to set sail, but he had never left the harbor without setting the bough of oiolairë on the prow of his ship. It was an age old tradition, one that was never questioned or overlooked. However, the woman bearing the bough had never been absent when the time for the ceremony came. He was almost ready to send one of his men to search for the captain's sister when there was a murmur from the crowd.

The people parted, making a path down the long dock that led to the king's flagship. At last, the bearer of the bough of return had come. When Pharazôn looked on the woman who bore the green branch, his heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. She wore a gown of silver that shimmered like moonlight on the water and trailed behind her as she carefully made her way down the dock. Her dark hair was black as night, with small silver combs glittering like stars in a dark sky. Around her neck was swan, a marriage of adamant and mithril. She was the image of Lúthien, with a beauty that was almost ethereal.

She stepped up onto the ship carefully, attendants making sure the gown did not catch on the rough wooden steps. "I have come, my lord King," she said simply. Pharazôn did not know what to do.

"Zimraphel…" was all he managed to say. He was overcome by the sight of her, and by the scent of the flower oils that she used in her hair. The queen went over to the prow, and Pharazôn and his captain followed her. Pharazôn was not alone; all the people seemed to be awestruck at her appearance. No doubt they were also shocked to see their queen supporting her husband so publicly. With uncommon grace, she fastened the bow of oiolairë upon the ship's prow and said the ceremonial words. All throughout, Pharazôn stood mesmerized.

When the ceremony was through, he asked her to follow him to the command room. She assented, and dismissed her attendants. Before long, they were alone and he could speak his mind. "What are you doing here?"

"Is it not tradition that kin of the captain should come to lay the bough of oiolairë upon his ship?" she asked him.

"Before I departed Armenelos, you said that you…"

"I have changed my mind." He looked into her eyes, but he could not see her thoughts. Even Míriel hardly knew what she was doing here. It had been a whim, an idea that had come to her not long after the king had left for Rómenna. "I am your wife," she told him. "I cannot run away from that any longer. Besides, I wanted to give you my blessing in this."

"Your blessing?" He could hardly believe what she was saying.

"I did not want to send you across the sea with nothing but harsh words weighing on my conscience," she replied. "I came here to wish you good fortune, and may the grace…" He tensed, thinking that she might speak some Faithful blessing, but she paused and chose her next words more carefully. "May the grace of the line of Eärendil be with you." Her eyes were intense as she looked at him. "Return to me victorious."

"I will." He looked at his wife, in all her glory, and a small ray of hope warmed his heart. Perhaps he could save this wreck of a marriage after all.

End of Part Two