Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 14: The Fruit

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The Fruit

Armenelos

3300, Second Age

Míriel looked up from the manuscript, noting how hard her attendants were trying to look as if they would rather be anywhere but here. She felt no pity for them. The five women that surrounded her were Sauron's people. They were nothing but spies, although this purpose was supposedly disguised by calling them "the queen's handmaidens." For nearly ten years now, she had not been able to escape their constant presence. Sauron was no fool, she had to admit. These women were more effective than any guard.

She felt stifled, as if she were living in a small glass room with no windows and no door. The years felt as if they were getting longer and longer. Each day, she watched her country fall further and further. Soon, there would be no redemption. Sauron's strength grew as hers waned. His minions and spies were everywhere, from Andustar to Umbar.

For nearly thirty years, the Maia had been the king's chief advisor. He sat at the king's right hand in court and shadowed him everywhere. Pharazôn never went anywhere without being accompanied by his "advisor." Sauron did not dwell long in the prison they made for him. Now he lived in the palace and moved about freely, his dark deeds unnoticed by many. Míriel knew much, but there were so few to listen.

She knew of the dark prayers and rituals her husband made, both deep in his chambers and openly in a small temple he had built within the walls of the palace. Pharazôn had also become more secretive since Sauron had begun to poison his mind, and Míriel feared that more than anything. It was impossible to counter what she did not know was coming. She had thought that the king would flaunt the lies that his counselor told him and tell her what a fool she was for clinging to the Valar. Yet he said nothing, and when she attempted to speak of it, he would ignore her and speak about something else.

He was changing, of that she was sure. His temper was even more perilous now than it had been before. He was quick to anger, and acted upon his grudges. Many of his former counselors had been banished or worse. All now agreed with their king for fear of provoking his wrath. When Míriel thought of who he had been before he had sailed to Umbar so many years ago, she felt like weeping. If she had not driven him off, perhaps this doom would not now be creeping over the Land of the Star, and over the royal house.

It was useless, though, to sit and think of what might have been. At the present, there was little she could do, save send what information she could on to Celaurien. She only prayed that it might be of use, and might keep her people safe. The Faithful of Rómenna faced a growing threat, but they were safe for a time. The King's Men were not so bold as to attack such a large community of people under the protection of the realm's most honored lord. There was very little else that Míriel had to be thankful for.

Returning to her manuscript, the queen tried to banish her worries for the time being. She reached for her pen and dipped it into the decorated glass vial of ink. After thinking for a moment, she set the pen to a piece of parchment, and let the scarlet words flow across the page. The library was nearly silent, except for the bored chatter of her handmaidens and the scratching of her pen on the paper. Few came here now to read the old lore that was housed in the palace. They preferred to believe the lies that Sauron fed them.

She had always been amazed at the vast amounts of lore contained in the palace library. As a child, it had been one of her favorite places when she had to stay in Armenelos. Her only regret had been that the library caretakers would not let her take manuscripts out into the garden to be read in the warmth of the sunlight. That was no longer her only concern. She knew that her attendants watched what she read and wrote, and that it would soon be reported to Sauron. For the first few years, she had been outraged and frustrated at this. By now, she had ceased to care.

Most of her attendants could not read Quenya, and their Sindarin was limited. The texts she was copying from now were originally written in arcane Quenya, but soon, the lore they held would be written in Adunaic. Míriel was determined that the history of her land would not be lost. There were too few masters of lore now to keep the old legends alive. Ignorance ruled the land, but Míriel hoped to fight it.

"Why the queen would rather spend her days amongst dusty parchment rather than in the court, I do not know," one of her attendants whispered to the one sitting next to her. The words were not so soft that the queen could not hear them, for they were meant to be heard.

"I would rather spend my days among manuscripts I can trust than sit on a throne and listen to lies and deceit conquer my country," she replied sharply, knowing that the woman had not expected a response. The attendant looked suitable shocked for a moment, then fell silent. Míriel watched as she tried to memorize the words so she could report them later. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to speak without fear of retaliation, to do what was in her heart without a second thought. She stopped writing, the pen's ink blotting the page as her mind turned to the east, to the coasts of Middle-earth. When she closed her eyes, she could see him, standing beneath the foreign trees of a foreign shore… Her heart ached, and she wondered how many years it had been since she had last seen the one she loved.

The queen felt so old, as old as the crinkled manuscripts she was translating. It was more than just feeling old, though. She was growing weary of the fear, weary of being watched, weary of striving to shape Pharazôn's actions so they did not harm her people. Many years lay yet before her, and yet she was beginning to wish that she would not have to endure the world much longer. Even through this, there was a quiet voice deep within that whispered that she still had much to do in this world, that she could not abandon her realm to Sauron. She would endure, as she always had. There was no other choice, and so she kept on living.

Míriel looked down, frowning at the ink blot that spread across the page. She sighed and began to put away her pen and ink. Her attendants gave her stares that seemed to ask indignantly if she was finally finished. The queen stood, the other women doing so as well. As she gathered her papers, she decided that she had to escape the confines of the palace, if only for a few hours. First, however, she had to archive what she had done today.

Without a word to the others, the queen left the library and headed back to her study. The room was much to her liking and had large windows that overlooked the western gardens. It had become a library as well, with various manuscripts piled on her desk and on several stools. Since she had been robbed of what little political authority she had been given, she had little else to do save occupy her mind with translations and histories.

It had been at Sauron's insistence, of course. Pharazôn had never before doubted her competence at governing the day to day matters of Númenor. He had faith in her training, and his people reviewed all her work to be sure that it contained no Faithful policies. Yet when his counselor began to whisper in his ear about the deceitfulness of his Faithful queen, her power had been taken from her. The ensuing argument had been one of their worst, and Míriel knew that she had said unforgivable things that day. She had felt so betrayed, just as she was beginning to think that she could trust the tyrant who called himself her husband.

When she reached her study and opened the carved wooden door, she found Ar-Pharazôn sitting inside, waiting for her. Their eyes met, and she knew that this would not be a pleasant conversation. "Leave us," the king commanded her attendants. "I would speak with the queen alone." Without a word, the servants remained in the hall, shutting the wooden door to the study after Míriel stepped in.

"I am surprised that you still recognize me as Queen of Númenor," she remarked, carrying her papers over to her desk.

"You are my queen, and will be forever more," he replied smoothly. No matter how charming he was trying to be, it would not avail him. She ignored his words and sat down in her chair.

"I am busy." Her tone told him that she was not inclined to listen to anything he had to say at the moment. Pharazôn stood and walked over to her desk, taking the manuscripts from her.

"Your papers will still be here when I am finished." Standing, she pulled them away from him. Dust flew into the air, and she glared at him.

"Why do you plague me, Pharazôn? If you've something to say, then say it and be gone." Perhaps it was not wise of her to be so curt, but she had grown tired of his games long ago. Her wisdom told her that she should be receptive and try to win his favor, but she was too tired right now to play the part.

"I came to request your presence in court tomorrow," he said, leaning on her desk. "I have an important announcement, and I would have you there by my side when I speak."

"You mean to say that Lord Sauron would have me there, so he can gloat over whatever foolishness he has convinced you to carry out." That comment invoked his anger, as she knew it would.

"It is always the same with you, Zimraphel! Why must you be so hard hearted? Can you not see the wisdom in his words?"

"Not all his words are so wise. Even you know this. He is still our enemy, Pharazôn." She watched as he considered this.

"Lord Sauron does not rule Númenor, and neither do you," he told her harshly. "I rule, and my decisions will govern this land. Know that this decision was mine." She wanted to laugh at him and tell him that he no longer controlled his decisions. The king was under the Maia's power so inexorably that he did not understand that he was only being manipulated.

"And what decision have you made, dearest husband?" she asked, a false sweetness in her voice. "Have you decided to make war on those who dwell near Umbar, as your chief counselor has been hinting for the past two years?" He did not speak for a few moments, obviously surprised at her insight.

"I had not expected one who avoids court so often to be so well informed about its happenings," was the remark he finally made. She gave him a disdainful look that told him that his intentions were obvious.

"When all decisions arise from the whisperings of your councilor, it is not hard to guess your actions. The war on Umbar was inevitable."

"Have I not made decisions that go against him as well?" Pharazôn demanded indignantly. "He has long urged me to cut down the white tree, and yet it still stands."

"And for that I am thankful," Míriel admitted, sitting down again. "I know that you are capable of making wise choices. If I seem angry at you, it is only because you sometimes ignore your own wisdom and let yourself be led astray." She saw him bristle at her comment, but he held his tongue. Suddenly, she felt a longing for some kind of peace. They were always at war now and it made her weary. "Please, let us end this argument. Both of us are too stubborn to change, so let us not speak of it any more." As she spoke, she knew that if she expected him to make concessions, she must make some of her own. "I will come to court tomorrow, and I will say nothing on this war until afterwards. Only promise me this: that Sauron will have no part in its planning."

He looked thoughtful for a while, and then nodded. "I will plan the war myself, along with my military advisors on Middle-earth. Will you trust my 'wisdom'?" She smiled slightly, collecting her papers.

"I would trust your wisdom over Sauron's any day," was her response. Rising, she picked up a stack of documents. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will go to the library."

Pharazôn followed her to the door. "You spend far too long amongst your scrolls, Zimraphel." She said nothing in her own defense. It was of no use.

"I shall return to the palace before nightfall," she promised. "If you wish a more detailed account, then ask your spies." With that, she swept out the door and down the hall. Her attendants, noting their mistress's departure hurried after her as soon as they saw her go. Soon, she was flanked by two guards as well. Briefly, she wondered what kind of guard they would surround her with should she travel to Andunië or Eldalondë. It was absurd. She had long ago learned that she could not run. She was bound here by invisible bonds stronger than any chain.

Míriel made her way out of the palace and through the streets of Armenelos. Her worries followed her. No matter how much Pharazôn tried to reassure her that he would not cut down the tree, she knew that it was still in great danger. Fortunately, the king vainly hoped that she might yet bear a child, so that his line would continue. Tar-Palantir had said long ago that their line would only continue if the tree stood in the courts of the King. The tree would stay as long as the king's hope remained, but she feared that he was beginning to give way to his councilor's urgings. Sauron wanted nothing more than to destroy the sacred symbol of the Valar, but Pharazôn's fear had so far kept it safe.

As she walked, she heard one woman shout "Long live the queen!" and she smiled, pushing away her dark thoughts. She signaled her guard to stop and stepped forward to speak with the woman briefly. Her father had taught her that a ruler must know their people, so that they can work to improve their lives. The conversation was short, but her guards and ladies began to scowl nonetheless.

When she had finished speaking with the woman, she turned to her company with an imperious glare. They said nothing, and looked down at the ground. Her power might now be diminished, but she could still command their respect and assume an aura of majesty. To her benefit, in this uninterested state, they rarely paid full attention to her. She had long ago learned to use this against them, but it was no more than another petty game.

They passed into the garden district of the city, a fragrant marketplace full of goods that come from as far as Middle-earth or the Nísimildar. Trees grew by the side of the road, and everywhere there were merchants or farmers selling their produce. As she breathed in the sweet scent, memories of accompanying her father here came back to her. He had loved to go out among his people, making sure that his people were content. She always thought it had made him seem more human to them, rather than a lofty ruler who never descended into the masses. Yet she also remembered being surrounded with royal guards in plain clothes. It had been far too dangerous to go out alone when the King's Men hated them so much. Now she could walk among the King's Men without fearing for her life, although not in the way she had imagined as a child.

Some people stopped to stare at her, but said nothing. Then, one caught her attention. She looked into the steel grey eyes that watched her, and her heart skipped a beat. The man looked utterly unremarkable, the typical young man sent out to fetch a few items at market. He did not appear familiar on first glance, but she knew those eyes. They had been nearly blue when he was born and had turned grey as he grew to be a man. She drew close to him casually, trying not to look as if she intended to speak with him. Her guard followed aimlessly, not noticing her intent.

"Long live the queen," the young man said as she came near. She turned to him to answer.

"Good day, sir," she greeted. He bowed deeply.

"Your majesty."

"Will the moon be full tonight?" she asked slowly. He considered her words carefully and smiled as he answered.

"It has come to its zenith and is ready to wax. Yet I fear it soon shall wane." As he said the last words, he reached out to lay his hand on a tree in a way that seemed natural, but she could see how purposefully it was done.

"What is your business this day, sir?" she asked him.

"I come from a town east of here for such a fruit that can be found in no place but Armenelos." Realization stuck her, and his cryptic words yielded up their meaning to her.

"The fruit is indeed in season. But I fear the price will be high if you are not careful."

"Thank you for your advice, your highness."

"I am your queen, and it is my duty to serve my people. I shall strive to aid you and all my subjects." Her guard was beginning to get restless, and she noticed that they were beginning to wonder why she was speaking so long with this young man. Quickly, she spoke one last time. "Take in the sight of the full moon tonight, and best of luck in your search."

"Farewell, your majesty." He bowed again and melted into the crowd as Míriel's guards and attendant drew in close to her.

"We must make our way to the library more quickly if you are to join the king for dinner this evening," one of her attendants urged her. The queen gave no arguments. Her head was now filled with plans, and she now knew that she would have to return early. There was much to be done before night fell…

Ar-Pharazôn was awoken by a very nervous guard. "Your majesty…" the man stammered, not knowing how to continue. Immediately, the king knew that something had gone very wrong.

"What is going on?" he demanded, sitting up in bed.

"In the court… Nimloth…" The man was stuttering, clearly terrified that he would be punished for being the bearer of bad news. The king was losing his patience, and he was waiting angrily for a concrete report on the problem. He was about to lose his temper when the queen awoke to the sounds of the guard's stammering.

"What is the matter?" she asked, her voice sounding sleepy and calm.

"The white tree… someone has attacked it." Míriel's face seemed to go pale.

"Attacked it? Who would do such a thing?" she demanded, her voice not sounding tired any longer.

"We… we do not know, your highness. It was a tall man, and he fought us when we tried to stop him. Two of our guards were slain by his hand, but he was wounded also. They are searching the city for him now." Pharazôn's anger grew, but he contained it.

"How did someone reach the court of the Kings?" he demanded.

"We were alerted to a threat to the temple where you worship now, my king. It was decided that the men who guarded the court would go to the temple area. We did not think that it was necessary to guard it so heavily because it is in the center, and the areas around it were well guarded. I do not know how he got through all the other guards."

"Go, then, and search for him. Tell the captain of the guard that I will speak with him shortly." The guard bowed and left in a hurry, thankful that the king had done him no harm. Pharazôn threw the covers off with furious force and began to dress himself hastily.

"Incompetence!" he spat, and then he turned to her. "Was it your people who did this? Will they stop at nothing to strike out against me?"

"My people? The tree is sacred to us." Míriel rose from the bed as well and headed over to her own closet. "I only hope that they apprehend whomever Lord Sauron has sent to sabotage Nimloth."

"You are ever too quick to blame Sauron for everything," Pharazôn countered angrily. "If this had been ordered by him or by the King's Men, then I would know it."

"Did you know it?" she asked him, her fury as obvious as his.

"No!" he exclaimed. "And what of you? Did you have any knowledge of this?"

"I had heard in the streets of the plot on the temple, but nothing did I hear of the tree," she told him.

"You knew of the threat on the temple? And you did not tell me?"

"I would have been happy to see your dark temple burn to the ground, Pharazôn. It is an evil blasphemy." He said nothing, seething in anger. As he set his crown upon his head, she quickly searched his face to see if he doubted her. She saw no doubt, only fury, and her heart was eased a little. The king stormed out, and Míriel finished tying the sash to her gown.

She had written a message in simple Sindarin that her handmaidens would understand. It was addressed to a fictional member of the Faithful, saying that she had heard on the streets that the king's dark temple would soon be destroyed. Surely enough, this news had gone directly to Sauron's ears. He had ordered the guards from the courts of the King to protect his precious temple, for it was the device through which he hoped to control Pharazôn. Her diversion had been successful, and she prayed that it had given her fellow conspirator enough time to do what he had come to do.

The guards' false perceptions were a blessing. No one would realize that a fruit from the tree was missing until too late. She must go see the tree herself, to see if a fruit from the tree had been saved, or if the endeavor had failed. The sense of danger that had been growing in her heart was even greater now, but she also felt as if there was a small ray of hope trying to shine through. Yet even with that hope, when she thought of the white tree she felt a great pain. When her eyes shut for a moment, she saw a flash of fire and blood, and she felt like weeping.

The fear threatened to overwhelm her, for she was certain that some great doom was coming. Her mind was filled with fire, and then the screams began. She tried to make the visions go, but as the fire faded, she saw a wounded man trying to run through the streets of a dark city, desperately searching for something. Her visions overwhelmed her, and Míriel fell to her knees. Bowing her head, the queen offered a desperate prayer to Eru, whispering into the night. "Please, protect he who has kept our hopes alive with his valorous deeds. Let him return safely to his wife and child. Oh please, preserve our hope, and do not let us fall into darkness. Do not let Isildur fail."