Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 18: The Storm

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The Storm

Armenelos

3319, Second Age

Míriel lay awake, staring at the ornately painted ceiling of the royal bedchamber. Sleep would not come; Lórien had forsaken her. Waking and sleeping began to blur together, a seamless flow of darkness and light. She could never be sure if she were asleep, or merely having another vision. Her attendants tried desperately to hide the dark circles under her eyes as desperately as they tried to keep her hair dyed black.

The grey was creeping through her hair, and Míriel felt weary to the bone. Every day was becoming a struggle. She was growing old. They said she still looked young, but she did not feel it. It felt as if she had aged 300 years in the past 30 days. It was getting harder and harder to endure this life, but there was no other choice. Deep within her, she knew that she could not yet leave the world.

She listened to the windows as they shook with the force of the storm outside. Rain and hail pounded against the window and lightning flashed through the sky. Peals of thunder rolled in the distance. The storm was dying down, but the Valar's wrath weighed as heavily on her mind as when it had begun. It was no use to think about it: Pharazôn would not be swayed.

By the light of the lamp Pharazôn always kept lit, she could see his face clearly. He slept uneasily now, often tossing and turning with nightmares. For the moment, he was quiet and still, one arm draped over her. She wondered how grey his hair would be if he did not have it colored and why he persisted in taking elixirs to keep his skin from wrinkling. Her husband was approaching death just as she was. He was getting old, and it terrified him.

Lately, he had developed a fear of the darkness. Wherever he went, there must always be a light. Even while they slept, there must be light in case he woke up in the middle of the night. Perhaps he thought that if he could keep his world filled with light, then he would never slip away into the darkness beyond the world. The fool. All men were destined to die, and death would come even for the mighty king of Númenor.

Pharazôn had sacrificed countless Faithful to keep death from coming for him, yet it did no good. Sauron whispered lies in his ear, and the king would do anything to ensure his immortality. The more the king strove to attain his goal, the more he ensured his doom. His fear, his pride, and his fierce determination had led him down a path from which he could no longer turn back. Míriel mourned, for she knew that Arda would suffer for his actions.

As she looked at her husband sleeping, painful memories flooded her thoughts. It was too much. She had to leave this place and clear her mind. Carefully, she slipped out of bed. She was not careful enough, for Pharazôn woke as soon as she moved. "What are you doing?" he asked sleepily.

"I cannot sleep. I am going for a walk," she said simply.

"You hardly ever sleep, Zimraphel," was his reply. He propped himself up a little to look at her as she moved over to her wardrobe. He was being sincere, and she knew that he was worried for her. "Whenever I wake in the night, I find you staring off into the distance. Only a few times have you been asleep, and even then you mumble nonsense."

"I am fine." Her voice was cold and clearly sent the message that she did not wish to argue with him. There had been enough of that before they had laid down to sleep.

"Fine indeed," he muttered. "Wander the halls like a ghost, if you will." He settled himself back down to sleep, and she shook her head. She could not understand how he still cared about her, after all that Sauron planted in his mind. It was the one part of his humanity that had remained through everything. She had hoped that she could use it to make him see the senselessness of his recent actions. In the depths of her mind, she had clung to the hope that she could redeem him. It had been a futile dream.

The night before he had publicly announced that the ships and army of Númenor was to gather in the west, she had begged him not to go. She had used every way she knew to convince him: logic, offerings of power, threats of doom. She had even begged him, thrown herself at his feet and wept. What little dignity remained to her she had thrown away in that last attempt. Even after all her efforts, she had failed. Nothing she could do would sway him.

It was partially for her that he was sailing on Valinor, he said. They would never have children, and so they had no other choice but to claim immortality in order to continue the line of Eärendil. Even as she wept at his feet, he knelt and told her that he had once made a vow that they would be together forever. He would not lose her to death. She could think of no worse fate than to be trapped in this world with him for all eternity.

Míriel had tried to tell him that she desired an ending. She tried to convince him that she could not stay in this world long. He had silenced her, unable to listen to her speak words of death and darkness. He did not understand when she insisted that death was a gift. Perhaps it was his doubt that kept him from accepting it. Míriel had no doubt about what she would find beyond the edges of the world. Peace, love, rest… It was waiting for her, and soon she would embrace it.

She pulled on a velvet dressing gown. It was deep blue, like an evening sky. Along the edges was heavy silver and pale blue embroidery: a pattern of waves rising and falling across the robe. There were bright jewels sprinkled across the dressing gown as well, sparkling like stars against the field of blue. It was a work of art, an expression of the majesty and wealth of the royal house. To her, it was yet another sign of this false life she led. Every day, she was dressed in magnificent gowns and in her hair were set priceless jewels. She had become little more than a visual reminder of the majesty of the royal line of Númenor.

She found another lantern and lit it with the already burning candle in the other. Then she glided out of the room, wishing she had put on slippers as soon as she stepped off the carpet onto the cold stone floor. Míriel did not go back, but rather kept walking out of the bedroom, going into the long corridor. The hall's only window was on the northern side at the other end of the hall. Even from here, she could see that the storm was quiet. The rain had stopped for the moment and the wind was not as fierce. She made her way through the halls and soon found herself in front of the door that led to the courts of the King.

It was more splendid than ever, if one measured splendor in the number of beautiful marble fountains or other works of cold stone and metal. To her, it was a tainted and twisted remnant of what it had once been. Very few living things would abide here any more. The tree was gone, an empty patch of ground marking where it had once stood. The rotting stump of Nimloth had been long since removed, but no one had dared erect any fountains or statues on the ground.

This place was a reflection of all of Númenor: a barren remnant of a once beautiful and vibrant place. All that was left was death and decay and cold stone. Míriel hated what this place had become. She looked up at the statue of Pharazôn that stood before her. It stood tall and proud, its beaten gold and inlaid jewels glinting in the light of her lamp. Next to it was a statue of herself. She hated this most of all. It was a perfect likeness of her, her own face looking down disdainfully upon her. It had no warmth and its expression was not one she would have made. It was lofty, distant, and so very cold.

Míriel held the hem of her robe up out of the mud as she moved past the statues toward the few green things that still clung to life. Around the great emptiness where Nimloth had once been a few stubborn plants that clung to life. She could remember her father planting these, on a bright morning beneath the shade of the white tree. These desperate plants were content with what little sun they could get. The sun… She longed to see the sun and moon. All she could see now were clouds. They veiled the sky and seemed to press down upon Númenor. Míriel could hardly bear it.

There were so many storms now, and some of the ships on their way to the western coast on the king's command were shattered against the rocks during these squalls. It would rain for days at a time, until the lowlands would flood. None could live along the rivers, for they would flow over their banks during the storms. Sometimes, ice would fall from the sky, damaging houses. It was a nightmare from which they could not escape. Míriel had wondered if they were some kind of punishment. Then the eagles came.

They were made of clouds, and would rise up from the Undying Lands. Swiftly they came upon Númenor, darkening the sky and shutting out the last bright rays of sunlight. The first time she had seen them come, it had been so utterly dark that she had wondered if death had come for them at last. It was not so, and she could not say whether this made her sad or relieved. The eagles had brought with them the first lightning storms. The white bolts had leapt down from the underside of the eagles' wings, smiting many men who stood in the open and defied the might of the Valar. Yet they held not the power to destroy the one being on the island who truly had brought on this wrath.

When she saw the eagles, Míriel had realized that this was only a sign of doom, and not doom itself. When she had tried to tell Pharazôn this, Sauron laughed at her and her husband soon joined him. Sauron was convinced that these storms were the Valar's way of punishing Númenor. "A pitiful army they send: clouds and ice. We will send mighty ships, filled with mighty men. Then we shall see who the true Lords are." Pharazôn had smiled at this, clearly imagining himself as the Lord of all Arda. The counselor knew just what to say to provoke the king. There was nothing Míriel could say to sway his mind anymore.

Too many misinterpreted the signs. They believed that the Valar were challenging them. Pharazôn said that these attacks on their sovereignty could not go unanswered. He used them to rally the people of Númenor behind his terrible cause. He manipulated the people's fear as easily as Sauron manipulated his fear. Most of the people of Númenor believed him, and the few that did not could not risk disagreeing publicly. There was no one else who could or would risk standing against the king and showing the land the true danger behind these signs. She was alone, and none would heed her warnings.

What were the signs telling her? Míriel knew in her heart that the Valar were trying to frighten them away from their current course of action. They were trying to prevent a war. Now, war was inevitable. Pharazôn had set himself against them, but he would soon find that he had been unwise in his choice of enemies. The Valar had created this land, and Míriel had learned as a child that those with the power to create also have the power to destroy. She did not know how their doom would come, but it would come if this battle continued. Even the mightiest army of men ever gathered could not stand against the Mighty Powers of Arda. If Númenor fought them, then Númenor would fall.

The fountains made trickling noises as the water sprayed forth from their spouts. The sound assaulted Míriel, growing until it was a roar. It was as if there were great sea waves surrounding her. She could almost feel them crashing into her, the heavy weight of the water surrounding her and crushing her. The air smelled salty and rotten, and she could see nothing but darkness, despite the lantern she still held before her.

She tried to run, desperate to escape the oppressive darkness. Then water began to pour down on her from above. At some point, the lantern slipped from her fingers, already extinguished by the pounding rain. Suddenly, it was as if she was being smothered. Her lungs burned for air and her limbs grew weary. Rushing down stone paved paths, Miriel felt her robe becoming soaked and heavy. The hail began to hurl itself down upon her, and she madly tried to escape its fury. She ran without thinking, stumbling in the darkness. At last, Miriel flung herself forward in despair.

Instead of falling to the ground, she slammed into stone. A wall loomed before her. The queen felt something jutting out of the wall and groped for it in the darkness. It was the handle to the door. Wrenching it open, she threw herself inside. The hall was not completely dark, but it was mostly covered in shadows. Míriel was wet and cold, but the spell had passed and she could breathe again. She gasped in air as she sank down onto the ground.

Behind her, lightning flashed through the sky. The storm had returned, growing even fiercer than it had been before. At last, she stood and went to shut the door against the rain and ice that poured in. She began to shake as the chill of her wet clothes ran through her. Slowly, Míriel wandered back to the royal quarters, finding a parlor with a large fireplace. She lit a fire and shed the soaked dressing gown. Laying the wet garment near the warm fireplace to dry, the queen stared into the flames.

"Fire bursts from the stone," she muttered to herself absently. As she said it, a sense of dread spread through her. "Fire from stone? Impossible." Míriel held her hands closer to the fire to warm them. "I am not afraid," she told herself. "I will not fear the rain, nor the hail, nor the lightning, for I am of the Faithful. I have nothing to fear. If it is a herald of doom, then let doom come." It was easy to say it, but not all her heart was in the words.

To comfort herself, she began to sing part of a song she remembered from her childhood in Andunië. It was a mournful song, sung in the tongue of the Elves that had once been friends of Númenor. Her voice was husky and quiet as she sang into the silence. "Lovely is Númenor. But my heart resteth not here forever; for here is ending, and there will be an end and the Fading, when all is counted and all numbered at last, but yet it will not be enough, not enough. What will the Father, O Father, give me in that day beyond the end when my Sun faileth?"

As a child, she had not understood the lyrics but had loved the haunting melody. Now, as she sang them softly in the darkness, their meaning was revealed to her. Yes, this land was beautiful, even through the darkness and the fall of its people. There were still things here that endured with grace and dignity, like the tiny shade plants. Yet it was not enough to keep her here, for she was meant to go beyond, as all Men were. She repeated the last lines with a slight smile. "What will the Father, O Father, give me in that day beyond the end when my Sun faileth?" Peace, she thought to herself. The sun will fail only to make way for a different kind of light.

"Your sun will soon fail," came a harsh voice from behind her. Míriel leapt up and spun to face her adversary. Sauron had entered silently, moving like a shadow along the edges of the room.

"I know what waits for me," she responded. "As well as I know what waits for you."

"Do you think that you will enter paradise and I will be destroyed by the Valar's vengeance?" Sauron spat at her. "No… You will go out into the dark, and I will remain. They cannot destroy me. I will go on, and you will fade away into the abyss."

"If you have come to debate theology, you are wasting your time." He nodded, acknowledging that she had a valid argument.

"I am here to speak with the king when he awakes. Yet the trail of tiny muddy footprints was intriguing. What was the Queen of Númenor doing outside in such a tempest?"

"Perhaps I should have been more careful," she replied, not answering his question. "The Valar's wrath is perilous, especially to those who defy them." Not long before, a storm had struck his temple. Its great silver dome had been torn apart by a bolt from the heavens, but Sauron had denied that this was any sign of power. He still stood in the temple, and challenged the Valar to strike him down. The lightning had struck him, but he had not been burnt. There were some who thought that this act made him as powerful as those who had sent the storm. More fools flocked around the deceitful Maia every day. Those that were not declared false and burned in the temple were usually conscripted into the army to defend their beliefs during the planned assault on the undying lands. The price for their loyalty to Sauron would be their lives.

"Lightning is nothing to an immortal," Sauron boasted. "It is a petty trick. The Valar have underestimated Númenor if they think a few bolts of lightning and clouds will overthrow the greatest ruler this land has ever had."

"You know the truth as well as I do, Sauron the Abhorred," Míriel said venomously. "You know that they are only heralds of doom."

"Ah, your beloved doom," the counselor sighed, moving closer to her. "Is it coming for you now? Will you welcome it with open arms, or will you draw back in fear when the moment comes? It is so easy for you pathetic Faithful to profess faith in Eru and say that you love death, that it is a gift. Yet every day I hear the Faithful plead for their lives when they are dragged to the altar of Melkor. You have heard them beg, have you not, Ar-Zimraphel?" He waited for a reaction, but she gave him none. He sneered and turned away from her. "For all your words, in the end, you are all the same."

She remembered standing upon the Meneltarma with the dagger in her hands. Yes, she was afraid then. Part of her was still afraid. Yet there was something else that was beginning to fill her now. The sense of doom and dread that had surrounded her lessened, and she closed her eyes. It was so faint, but it was there…

"What is it?" her enemy taunted. "Another dream? Another premonition, mighty queen? What doom does it foretell for you? Will you bleed upon the altar? Will you be consumed by the flames? Perhaps you will die by some cruel revenge of the Valar? What is it like, your majesty, to know that you are doomed to die? It is coming soon, that much you are sure of. Yes, soon… What then? Then it will all be darkness, the darkness that you pitiful humans fear so irrationally. Darkness and nothingness. Your pathetic faith is a sham, a ruse to make you the servants of the Valar. How are you so certain that death is not a bitter ending?"

Míriel's grey eyes snapped open, and they glittered like stars as she looked up at the Maia. "I can hear it. Even now, on the edges of waking and sleeping, it is there, calling me. The Music… I hear and I know." She smiled as she heard it, a peaceful feeling spreading through her. Sauron said nothing and would not meet her gaze. He stormed out of the room as swiftly as he had entered.

"Cling to your faith then, fool," he spat as he walked away. "In the end, we shall see who is right. I will watch as your faith fails and you crumble beneath the fear."

"You will be waiting a long time," Míriel muttered under her breath. "I fell to fear once, but I will not fall again." The queen knelt to collect her dressing gown. She put out the fire in the fireplace and made her way back to the royal bedchamber. The music had made her feel weary, and she knew that she must rest her body even if her mind could not sleep. As she moved, she felt the familiar pain in her knees and wrists. Yes, she was tired of this body, these endless battles of words and wills, the hatred, the suffering…

She opened the door to her chamber. The candle in the lamp had died down to a flickering speck of light amidst the darkness. Míriel looked at it for a few moments before blowing it out. She let the dressing gown rest on a chair and made her way to the bed. Pulling the coverlets over her for warmth, she tried to calm her mind. As she lay there in the dark, the sounds of the sea returned, but not the dread. She had chosen this darkness. It surrounded her, protecting her from the visions that always filled her with fear. At last, Míriel let herself rest.

The morning came swiftly, or so it seemed to Míriel. She did not know if she had slept, for dreams and waking both brought the sound of rushing water to her ears. Even the rhythm of the pounding rain and hail and the whistling wind had not been enough to drown out the phantom sounds that came to her. As morning approached, the noise had faded. All she could hear was the storm outside. A little light began to creep into the room, but it was very dim. The sky was still dark grey, angry clouds hanging over the Land of the Star.

There was a knock on the door, and Pharazôn stirred from sleep and sat up in bed. He looked nervous, as if he were troubled by his dreams the night before. "Something weighing on your conscience?" she asked in an innocent voice as she climbed out of bed. Her husband responded with a disdainful grunt and rubbed his eyes.

"I dreamed last night, but now I cannot remember it," he mumbled. He got up and went to put on a robe. As he walked across the room, he noticed the rather muddy, damp dressing gown lying in a puddle on the stone floor. "What happened here?"

"I went out for a walk last night and the weather was somewhat less than obliging." Míriel went over and picked up the nearly ruined dressing gown.

"It is not like you to destroy your things like this," Pharazôn remarked.

"Yes, something beautiful was destroyed by my carelessness last night. Perhaps it is a lesson that you should learn."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The king continued to his wardrobe and soon emerged with a robe wrapped around him. "This is my last morning here. For one morning, could you keep from making these foolish remarks of yours?" She nodded.

"Yes, they are foolish, for I know that you will not listen and still I persist. Have you ever wondered why?" As Míriel looked at him, she could clearly see that her words made him angry. He tried to subdue his frustration, but at last it overcame him and he began to speak rapidly.

"Of course I wonder why! Every day, I wonder what I have done to you to make you like this. I wonder what happened to the woman I married. Once you were like a star, shining above everything else, and now your light seems dull and faint. I still see in you a glimpse of the majesty you once commanded, the grace and dignity you once possessed… You have become a ghost, Míriel, mourning for something that was meant to be. You have been blinded by some senseless grief so that you cannot see what lies before you. All you speak of now is darkness from which there is no escape…"

"But there is an escape," she interrupted. "Do not go to Eldalondë. Do not make war on the Valar."

"You once said that courage is the duty of a king, that he must have the courage to do what is right for his people. I am doing this for the good of Númenor. I know you fear that the Valar will destroy us, but we shall defeat them before they can harm us." She turned away from him. Why did she try? It was useless.

"Just go." Her voice was quiet and without any trace of emotion. "Your trusted counselor is no doubt waiting to fill your ear with more of his excellent advice." She could hear him sigh and the rustle of fabric as he moved around to face her.

"Will you not come with me to Eldalondë, Zimraphel?" He looked into her eyes, and she could see it. There was fear there, and she realized that some part of him had realized the truth. Perhaps it had been a dream that had shown him, a dream that his mind had shut into some distant corner of his memory. Although he denied its presence, some small part of him knew: the part of him that was still decent and wise, the part of him that had died when Sauron descended upon the island.

"You know my answer."

"Then here we must part," he said slowly. His words hit her with an unexpected force. They were parting forever, and this would be the last time she would ever speak with him again. What should she say to him, before he rode away to claim the doom they had wrought together? As she stood there starting at him, she was filled with sorry and regret. Years of animosity and bitterness faded away, and she saw before her a man about to die.

"I am sorry," she said at last.

"So am I." Pharazôn took her hands in his. "I love you. I always have, and I always will." For a moment, she saw in him the man who sat by her bedside when she had lost their child. She saw in him the king who had wanted to defeat Sauron and save their people. She saw in him the remnants of the good man Amandil had known so many years ago. It shone through the evil that had overcome him, like a star struggling to shine amidst the clouds.

She found herself beginning to weep, and she could not find the words to say farewell. He had hurt her, he had taken from her everything she had loved, but he had also been a part of her life for so long now that she did not want to imagine what awaited him. She wished that she could save him from this doom, that she could save them all. But she could not, no matter how hard she tried.

"Please forgive me, Zimraphel," he said, wiping her tears away. This was more than a mere apology. In her heart, she knew that it was a desperate plea, the last wish of one who was about to go out into the darkness. It could not go unanswered. She turned away and went over to the coffer that held her jewels. From the box, she lifted the adamant swan he had given her so many years ago.

She pressed it into his hands. "I forgive you." As they stood here, at the end, she could not deny him the forgiveness he sought. He had hurt her, but she had hurt him as well. Through all the years, they had become both closer and more distant. She could not say goodbye now. It was too final. Instead, she remained silent. They stood there for a few moments that seemed like an eternity. Both of them understood now. They needed no words.

Tentatively, Pharazôn took a step backwards. He held her gaze, his face a mask of sorrow. "Farewell… Míriel." With that, he left her standing alone in their chamber. In her heart, she had relinquished him to the hands of fate. She had given the necklace back to him, ridding herself of the symbol of their marriage and his love for her. She was free of him at last, but it brought her no joy. He had chosen his path, and so their doom would fall. Míriel remained in her room, lost in her thoughts.

Hours later, she watched from the window as he rode out with his soldiers. The rain had stopped, but the wind remained. It tugged at his golden cape and his banner as he followed the road that led away from Armenelos. She watched him until she could no longer distinguish him from the men around him, until he was no more than a glittering point of light amidst the dark host that moved west.

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Chapter End Notes

Author's Note:

The song Miriel sings is taken from Tolkien's  The Lost Road and Other Writings