Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 17: The Secret Part Two

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The Secret: Part Two

Rómenna

3319, Second Age

There was so much to say. They had not met face to face in many years and little could be said in their letters without fear of discovery. Míriel sat down on a box carefully and began to speak. "I have spoken to Eärdur. I know what he was sent to do. It was a futile mission: the few Faithful that once lived in Armenelos have fled or…" Her voice faltered as memories assaulted her. It rushed through her mind: the screams, the cries, the crackling of the flames, the putrid smell. She felt nauseous, and she shut her eyes, praying for it all to stop. "There are none of our people left in that forsaken place. If there are, then they cannot be found. Eärdur could find none that could be trusted, none that could come here. Only me."

"Isildur told me how you came here. It was a dangerous risk you took. They will realize what has happened, and then they will be looking for you." He was as realistic as always.

"They will not think to look here. Pharazôn thinks me a sentimental fool, but he has granted all of my requests to visit you here. I have never kept my visits to you a secret before. He will not expect it. Nor will Sauron, I think. They have been suspicious lately that I will try and escape. Let them think that I have run away to the Meneltarma or to Andustar. They will search and find nothing. I have been very careful in this, for I cannot fail this time." Míriel fixed a piercing gaze on her cousin.

"Tell me," she said. "Where is Amandil? Little have I heard of him from Eärdur, only that he meant to leave Númenor for a time. I sense that there is more to his design than this." It was little surprise to him that she said this with such conviction. Of all people on this isle, Míriel deserved to know of this plan. After all, it had been her carefully encrypted information that had begun the endeavor.

"After you sent word of Pharazôn's plans, we knew that there was no other choice. He cannot be allowed to make war upon the Valar. Yet we alone cannot stop him."

"Has he gone to the elves?" Míriel asked him, her brow furrowing. "I fear that even the power of the elves cannot withstand the army he will soon call to him."

"Amandil sails to those who are yet higher than the elves," Elendil responded, and Míriel's eyes widened in disbelief.

"He walks in the footsteps of Eärendil…" She stared at her cousin, and suddenly she could hear the sound of the sea beating against the hull of a boat and the nervous voices of men. Shaking her head, the sounds faded into silence. "I wondered why he was not here with you making ready to board the ships."

"He has a greater mission," Elendil said. "It has been nearly a week since he has set out, and we have had no sign yet either of success or failure. I have prayed night and day that he may succeed, although I know what I must do if we fail." His head dropped, and she knew he was fiercely praying that he would never have to deal with the consequences of failure.

"What happens now is beyond your control, Elendil," she told him. "You cannot ensure his success, nor can you change what Ar-Pharazôn means to do. Do not blame yourself." He looked her in the eyes, and she saw that her words rang true. Since he was young, her cousin had always taken everything on himself. He held himself responsible for every man he commanded as a captain. He held himself responsible for the safety and happiness of his entire household. Sometimes, she wondered if he felt responsible for her life as well.

Elendil did not answer her. He only looked at her, and the pain in his grey eyes told her everything. Every member of the Faithful that burned on the altar of Melkor was like a brand on his heart, a burden on his soul. "The darkness that has enveloped this land will take the lives of the innocent, no matter how we fight it. No matter how many we save, the darkness will claim many more. You cannot save everyone."

Even as she said it, vivid memories returned to her. Long had she kept her sorrow deep inside her heart, and now she poured out the pain she had endured these long years. "I have tried to save my people, but I cannot save everyone. It is something I must accept, or else I would go mad with the grief. How do you look at a mother and tell her that you were able to spare the life of her child but that she must die by fire and blade? What do you tell the child?" Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"And yet she went to her death and did not weep. It was enough for her that her boy would live. I led the child away from the cell, never to see his mother again. I saved him. But it wasn't enough. No matter how many we save, it is never enough." Savagely, she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I cannot endure their pain, Elendil. I look around Armenelos, and all I see is fire and blood. Men kill each other in the street without reason. Bloody riots destroy entire villages and towns. There are too many orphans and not enough orphanages." The grief within her turned to anger.

"And all is the design of Sauron," Elendil spat. "Celaurien has tracked his spies. They go about the land, creating chaos and ill will wherever they go. They set man against man and make false accusations against those who stand against them. All on his orders."

"They are no longer men, but demons," Míriel spat. "Sauron easily dominates the wills of lesser men. More and more fall to him everyday: they are blinded by his offer of power and in doing his bidding, they sacrifice the last shreds of humanity that remain to them. None dare to oppose him, for they know what awaits those who stand against the King and his counselor."

"That the Edain could ever commit such atrocities, I never imagined," Elendil muttered. "How can they still worship at the temple? How can they so cruelly end the lives of their fellow men?"

"Power and fear." She did not need to say any more. Of all men driven by power and fear, Pharazôn was the worst of them all. He drove his armies on to conquer more territory and more people so he could offer more sacrifices to his dark god. The power was what he thought he craved, but it was his fear that truly drove him. There was nothing he feared more than death, and he would do whatever he could to drive off that inevitable event. He would even cause the deaths of thousands of others. With every new sacrifice, Sauron would whisper in his ear that he was another step closer to immortality. Yet the fear grew every year, and so the king desperately tried harder and harder to appease the insatiable appetite of Death.

"Accursed king," Elendil growled, knowing his cousin's thoughts. "I wish he had never been born. When he sailed on Umbar, he doomed us all. What was he thinking, to make war on Sauron himself? How could he be so foolish as to think he could make a prisoner of a Maia?" Míriel let her head drop, unable to look him in the eyes.

Every day, she lived with the knowledge. Even as she cursed Pharazôn for his pride, she knew that her own pride was as much to blame for what had come to pass here. If she had never goaded him into war, if she had not been so foolish and arrogant, then perhaps this evil would never have come to Númenor. The guilt settled on her like a great weight, pulling her down into despair. Every time she saw the soldiers leading more victims towards the temple, the painful knowledge resounded through her. It was her doing. She had dreamed of accomplishing a great victory, but had instead brought on the downfall of her people and her land.

She was accursed. All she did was perverted and twisted into something evil and unholy. There was no penance she could do to repair the harm she had done. So each day, she endured the suffering, knowing that it was no more than she deserved. It was her own doing that had triggered this terrible chain of events, and now she must bear it. Elendil could sense the uncomfortable silence, and came closer to her.

"Míriel? What is it?"

How could she say it? How could she tell her beloved cousin what she had done? He loved and respected her. What would he say if he knew the truth? She could not bear for him to hate her, too. He was the only family she had left. If he drew away from her, then she would have no one to trust, no one left in her life to love. No, she could not tell him. Her pride was still too strong to admit such a transgression. Let Elendil continue to think that she could not have stopped Pharazôn's madness. Let him believe that she had never done anything that led to evil. Let her be unblemished in his memory.

"Some days, I do not know how I can go on," she finally said. "There is so much darkness, and I know I must endure it." Her cousin came and sat down on the box next to her. He looked down at put an arm around her.

"I often think of you, and what you are suffering in the presence of such evil. I know you are strong, Cousin, but no one should have to bear the things you have borne. I am sorry that I could not protect you. When we were young, I swore that I would always be there for you, to take care of you. Do you remember?" Míriel nodded.

"No brother could have done better," she told him gently. "There was nothing you could do to stop this. There is nothing you can do now. I was never meant to be saved, Elendil." His eyes said otherwise, but he did not argue with her. She would not let him blame himself for this. "You could not have stood against Pharazôn when he took the scepter and married me. You could not have stopped him from sailing on Umbar. You could not have stopped him from listening to Sauron. We must do what we can, and that must be enough. You cannot forever mourn for what might have been, for it will never be. Our people need you to live in the present and look to the future, not grieve for the failures of the past."

"It is easier said than done." Her pulled his arm away and rested his hands on his knees. "Can you tell me that you do not grieve for what you could not save?"

"I do. Yet more important to me is what I have saved." Míriel stood and went over to one of the boxes that had been brought into the room. She undid the ropes that fastened it shut and pried open the lid. Curious, Elendil stood and walked up to the box. It was filled with parchment, rows of scrolls laid carefully inside of it. Míriel drew one out and unrolled it, then handed it to her cousin.

"This is one of the ancient histories," he marveled. "And this crest is that of the Royal Library!" He turned to her in surprise. "How did you manage to bring this here?"

She gestured around the room at all of the boxes. "There are many things here like that scroll. Since I learned of Pharazôn's plans to sail on Valinor, I have been hoarding many such items in secret. These boxes contain scrolls filled with the knowledge of our ancient isle. They contain weapons, and armor, and things of great beauty. There are heirlooms of the house of Elros here, as many as I could save." She picked up a smaller box and brushed her fingers against the smooth lid. "This box contains some of the oldest of the queen's jewels. There are pieces here that have come from the Eldar, created in ages long past. Others were made in our days of glory. I wish to preserve the memory of our greatness, even when our people sail away to foreign shores."

"Yet there is still much that was too heavily guarded to save. I fear the King's sword shall be lost, and many of the great weapons the King keeps guarded in his armory. Yet I have saved my father's sword, and many other ancient weapons. They will serve you well, should you ever have the need to use them."

"How can I begin to thank you? This is a mighty gift you bestow upon us," Elendil said in wonder as he looked at the boxes filling the room.

"I have saved what I can," Míriel said. "I would have something of Númenor live on." Suddenly, she shivered. It had grown unbearably cold in the room, as if all the warmth were being drawn from it. The light from the windows seemed to fade until all was darkness. It loomed over her, and then covered her completely. She yearned for the light and the warmth to return, but she could not escape the terrible dark dread that consumed her. She finally found herself mumbling. "All else will fall into darkness and destruction. Nine ships will sail on the darkness, and so come into the light."

"Destruction?" Elendil grew anxious, not understanding the meaning of his cousin's words. "What destruction do you think will occur?" As he spoke, it seemed to Míriel that the darkness faded and light returned.

"I do not know. There are times when I simply… know. It feels so certain. It is as if a trusted counselor has whispered in my ear. Doom is upon Númenor. The sins of its people can no longer be ignored. We are hurrying towards our doom. You know this, and so did Amandil. That is why he is gone. Yet I have less hope than he did. I do not believe there is anything that can save us now. Even the mighty may fall, and fall the Númenoreans shall."

"What more have you seen?" Elendil asked her softly. "Have you seen that my father will fail in his mission? Have you seen the end coming for us?" She did not answer for a moment, just looking off into the air. "Tell me," he begged his cousin. "What have you seen?"

"Seen?" she finally responded. "I have seen nothing. My father had visions, but I have wisps of memory, snatches of sound, feelings, a sense of darkness and light. Even in Armenelos, in my waking hours, I hear the sea. I can feel the darkness growing, surrounding the island. There is a certainty that fills me. I think it is warning me."

"Warning you of what?" Elendil demanded eagerly.

"An end to all that we have known. To sail on Valinor is to go against the very foundations of this world. Pharazôn and Sauron are challenging the Ban; they are even challenging the judgment of Eru. Pharazôn will never stop seeking immortality, and Sauron will never stop until he has destroyed us."

"You think he will succeed?"

"No…" she said slowly. "I do not think he will have the victory he desires. Even if he does, it will not be complete, for part of Númenor will be saved." Elendil smiled.

"That is why we are making ready the ships. Soon, a part of this isle will be carried away, beyond the reach of his foul machinations. Hope will endure."

"Hope…" The word was so simple, so short a word for such a great force. Once Míriel had hope in her heart that she might turn Pharazôn away from Sauron's words. She had hope that some good might come of her being the wife of the king. Yet all her hope had turned to despair. In the midst of the darkness, the fire, and the sounds of the sea, all her hope had been drowned in sorrow. There was no hope for her now.

When Míriel looked on Elendil, she saw light and goodness and hope that were untainted by evil. "Yes, hope will endure," she said quietly, her face still very grave. "From you and your line shall spring hope, and it will drive away the darkness."

"I am glad that there is still some light left in your world, Míriel," her cousin said going to sit down again. "Soon we will leave this place, and we shall have hope again. If we go to the east, then you shall see Galisil again and…" He looked at the dark haired woman who stood before him. She was fighting to hold back her tears, her hands clenched at her sides. She would not look him in the eyes, staring down at the ground as the tears finally came.

"All the hope I have lies in you. I have no hope for myself, nor for Númenor." The words were so hard to say, but she knew that he would understand. Still, she wept as she said them, for there was no way to avoid the bitterness of their parting. She had brought a few baubles and blades, but she could not go with him. He would have to leave her behind.

"You… You have not come to escape with us."

"I have come to say farewell." She watched as he put his head in his hands and the pain of realization washed through him. Not able to bear his grief, she went over to him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "Please, do not grieve for me like this. I… I have lived too long in this marred existence. So many years of sorrow and fear and anger… I do not want it any more. Even if I went with you, across the sea, wherever I went, this pain would remain. You fear that I will die, but do not! For when death comes for me, I will welcome it."

"Do not say that!" Elendil exclaimed looking up at her. "You are too young to die!" He paused a moment, then began again more timidly. "Are you truly so unhappy that you desire an ending?"

"My father once told me that death was a Gift from Eru. I could not understand then, for I did not yet feel the great weariness that I feel now. Since arriving here, I have been happy. But even that happiness can not drive away the sorrow the long years have brought me. I am tired, Elendil, tired of enduring the pain that comes with each passing day. I have loved and I have hated. I have succeeded and I have failed. I have held newborn children in my arms and watched them open their eyes, and I have watched people die. It is my time."

"Does it hasten upon me, too, this weariness?" Elendil muttered. Míriel heard his desperate whisper, and hastened to drive away his fears.

"Your time will come, too, but not for many years yet. For the light in you will sustain you. You still have hope, Elendil, and much to do in this world. Yes, you have much to do before you may find repose. I can feel it even now: great victories, cities that reach toward the heavenly bodies for which they are named, a lineage of hope and light amidst darkness…"

The knowledge faded from her mind, and a great sadness filled her. "You will go, and when you do, I ask of you a single favor." Míriel went over to one of the boxes and opened it. Amidst the clothes she had brought from Armenelos was a sealed letter. Carefully, she slid it out of the box and held it reverently in her hands. "Please… Deliver this for me. I have heard that he has settled near the Bay of Belfalas." Her voice broke as she spoke, and he could feel her sorrow.

She placed it in his hands slowly, as if letting go of it would mean letting go of her very life. As she did so, she did not weep, for this was a pain too great for tears. He took it from her and looked down at the thick letter in his hands. It was addressed to Lord Galisil in her flowing hand, the ink as red as blood against the parchment. As he felt the bundle, he noticed two small objects were. He knew what they were: two rings from slender finders. He looked up at her in surprise, unable to understand.

"Tell him…" Míriel tried to say. "Tell him…" She broke off, her voice failing her. For a while, she was quiet, staring at the letter. Then, she said "I cannot find the words. He will know what I leave unsaid. He has always known."

"There is nothing I can say to make you come with me?" he asked desperately

"I cannot leave Númenor," came the answer. "Even for love, I cannot abandon my land." She deserved to stay, Míriel thought bitterly. She would stay and face the doom she had brought upon this place.

Elendil clutched the letter tightly, as if he could hold onto her by holding onto her letter. "You will never be forgotten," he promised. "I will write the history of this land, and I will make sure that everyone knows what you have done. I will make you a legend, the equal of Lúthien." His cousin only shook her head and wrapped her arms around him, as she did when they were young, when she would go running to him after a fierce storm or bad dream.

"No… Do not write of me so. You should write of hope: there is enough despair without any more tales of it. Tell the story of the Faithful, and how they have endured through all trials. Tell your own story, Elendil. That is hope. That is the story that will endure."

"I will not have you fade into the past," he whispered sadly. "You do not deserve to be forgotten."

"Then tell what little of me you must," she instructed him. "Say only that Míriel was a true daughter of the line of Elros and that she was queen. Yes… Tar-Míriel the Queen. That is how I would have it." She released her cousin and took another look at him. Yes, there was grief in his eyes, but there was also hope, and a destiny far beyond his imagination. He would come through the darkness that she could not escape. Her hope would survive. And that would have to be enough.