Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 3: The Tower Part Two

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The Tower: Part Two

 Andunië

3255, Second Age

The tower… Míriel examined her piece carefully, thinking of all the possible movements for this piece. One of her last few pieces. Her small black army was resilient, at first retreating then boldly striking out at her opponent. She left the tower where it was and moved a pawn into place. There was a long silence, the only noise in the study coming from the scratching of a pen on parchment.

"Check!" the young man finally announced confidently, taking the pawn with his priest. Her grinned and looked up at his opponent.

"You have improved immensely, Anárion," she praised him, considering her next move.

"He even defeated his own father once," Elendil added from his desk where he was working on translations. It was a quiet day in Andunië, and Anárion had proudly challenged Míriel to a game of chess. Usually, she would play with Elendil whenever she came to visit. Now that Anárion was beginning to master his skills at chess, he was eager to play against her and see what the outcome would be. He had been an excellent opponent so far. Elendil must be proud of his progress, she thought to herself.

Elendil's attention was now on their game of chess as well. "So tell me," he called, "have you been vanquished, cousin?"

"Never." Míriel moved her king out of harm's way, her eyes betraying nothing. Anárion prepared to move his piece in to set up a second check, hopefully to be followed by a checkmate, making the game his. If so, it would be the first time he had ever won against Aunt Míriel.

"Watch your tower, Anárion!" his father warned. He glanced down at the board. "The only time Míriel is patient is when she is playing chess. She plays like a serpent, seemingly harmless but patiently waiting to strike." Elendil earned a glare from his cousin.

"It can hardly be a fair game if you help him, Elendil." Still, the damage was done, and Anárion moved his tower to a safer square. This complicated things a bit. A few more turns passed before Míriel moved her own tower across the board, toppling the white king. "Checkmate." She looked up at her opponent. "That was an excellent game of chess." Anárion nodded as he began to pick up the pieces and reset them on the chessboard.

"A very challenging game," he noted. "I suppose I expected you to play like Father, but I was gravely mistaken. At least I can almost predict his movements."

"It's good for you to play someone with a different strategy," Elendil cut in, walking over to sit on the couch where his son was seated. He still had a number of papers in his hands, and he laid them on the table for the moment. "I suppose I must thank you for avenging my loss to this expert chess player."

"Avenging your loss?" Míriel laughed. "Certainly not. I am merely training him. After all, someone needs to defeat you in chess when I am not here." Her bravado was insincere; in fact, she lost against Elendil almost as often as she won. Everyone laughed, and Anárion rose to leave. Míriel craned her neck to look up at him. The boy had inherited his father's height, although Elendil still towered over both his sons. He towered over everyone, actually…

"I am off to tell Isildur about the game," Anárion explained before going out the door. Both cousins watched him go.

"He's off to regale his brother with his tragic tale of loss and near victory," Elendil laughed. "Anárion has always been such a teller of tales."

"Rather like his father," Míriel quipped, reaching out for his notes. She knew he was struggling with a translation of an old Quenyan text about the city of Gondolin. His notes were meticulously detailed, yet she could see a few notes that did not seem right to her.

"What you deem to be stories are all based on documented fact," her cousin protested, reclaiming one of the papers in the pile. "This paper is from a set of histories written by the son of a refugee. His father built…"

"It is a history, Elendil. All histories are fallible," Míriel maintained. "Unless it's a firsthand account, I am not sure if I trust it entirely. I highly doubt your interpretation… here." She pointed it out to him and waited as his examined it. Elendil's brow furrowed as he reviewed first the history, and then his notes on it. Míriel waited patiently for him to admit his error.

"My translation is perfect," he insisted at last, handing it back to her. She shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

"But it is…" He trailed off, realizing that she was patronizing him now.

"You take everything too seriously," Míriel teased as she watched her cousin relax again. "Your translation is indeed perfect, although I think another word would work better here than the one you have chosen. However, it is not worth losing sleep." Her cousin just stared back at her.

"You appear to be the one who has been losing sleep. I do not care to imagine how many worries you have that have stolen sleep from you." His eyes were full of sympathy. "Those dark circles around your eyes are getting worse, and I think I see a few grey heirs." How quickly the mood in the sitting room shifted.

"You lie. If I had a single grey hair, my maids in Armenelos would cry and shout and rush in with dyes to turn it black again. Then they would bombard me with their pleas for me to marry before I became an old maid." Frustrated, she sighed, and looked out the window, which faced south. Elendil understood what she was feeling.

He had always felt sorry for his cousin. She had never known anything but the burden of the crown and the fear of the King's Men. She had never been allowed the opportunity to love. He tried to imagine what it would have been like had he not been able to marry Celaurien, what his life would have been like had he not raised two sons. His heart ached for his cousin, for the joy that she was denied. Elendil had always hated the King's Men for the physical harms they inflicted on the Faithful. As he looked at the longing in his cousin's eyes, he began to realize that the fear was the worst weapon of all.

Elendil wanted to say something to his cousin. She should not have to endure…

"Let's play a game of chess," Míriel quietly suggested. He could see that she needed some kind of distraction from her thoughts, so he agreed immediately. As soon as they started the game, he could tell that she was not giving it her full attention. She was preoccupied, and there was little he could do to allay her fears. Happiness would come with time. Fortunately, his cousin was patient, as was her beloved. In time, the light would dance in her eyes again.

Míriel was ready to take Elendil's queen when the door swung open, revealing Amandil, Lord of Andunië. His presence was felt immediately- he was the kind of man people listened to, whether they wanted to or not. Amandil looked rather harried at the moment. He had not been Andunië's lord long; his father, Númendil, had died a year earlier. Adjusting to his new role as a counselor and governor had been difficult for a man accustomed to be exploring the seas and coastlines of Middle Earth. He had been a great captain of men and had led countless victorious skirmishes against Sauron on the shores of Middle Earth.

Now, he looked ill at ease. Amandil had news, they could tell at a glance. As always, he did not keep them waiting. "I have word from the harbor. Lord Pharazôn has returned from the east, and will be arriving soon in Andunië." Míriel's eyes widened at the mention of her true cousin. The news struck her as odd. Amandil did not look as if he had any answers, but she asked her question anyway.

"Why did he not dock in Rómenna?"

"Most of the ships did, I am told," Amandil sighed, coming into the room fully and shutting the door behind him. "But Pharazôn's flagship is bound for Andunië. Perhaps he has news for us." Elendil muttered something inaudible in Sindarin. Míriel suspected that he had been mumbling a few choice insults. Elendil had no love for Pharazôn- they had been near rivals since Pharazôn had come to Andunië in his youth to sail under Amandil's command.

"Perhaps he has made a great conquest and wishes to lord it over us," Elendil grumbled. "He is too proud not to make a show over any victory he might have." As his son spoke, Míriel could see the guilt flood through Amandil; guilt mixed with disappointment.

"His pride was ever his downfall," the Lord of Andunië sighed, sinking down on the couch to sit by his son. "Still… He was the best captain I ever trained. That boy had such potential…" Even Elendil began to feel sorry for his father. It had been no easy task to teach Pharazôn. He was a masterful man who was soundly convinced that his own judgment was best. Yet Amandil had taught him much, and there was no hatred between them. When Pharazôn had taken up his father's mantle and continued to lead the King's Men to work against the rightful rulers and the Faithful, Amandil had been furious. If he was anything like his son, Míriel reflected, Amandil likely thought that he had failed in his responsibility to make their kinsman a good person.

"Potential or not, you could not have changed his nature," she attempted, trying to reassure him. "There is nothing for you to regret, Amandil. No son of Gimilkhâd could ever have been redeemed. His father fed him on hatred and filled his mind with cruelty." Perhaps she was angrier than she should have been, Míriel reflected, but her family and people had suffered too much at the hands of Gimilkhâd and his son. It was hard for her to understand what good Amandil could see in Pharazôn. How could there be anything good in a man that manipulated people in such a way?

"No matter what, we cannot avoid meeting him. It would not bode well for us to ignore his presence and force him to seek us out. Pharazôn is popular with the people," Amandil told them.

"So it is inevitable that we must grant him hospitality?" Elendil rose stiffly and began to pace, clearly upset. He began to think out loud, his father and cousin listening carefully to every word. "I fear that the next few weeks will prove to be very difficult for us. We must be watchful for any uprisings by the King's Men, yet at the same time we cannot alert Pharazôn to our vigilance. It is a twisted game we are playing…" Amandil shook his head.

"That such a game would be necessary, I never dreamed." The older man looked down, memories of the past on his mind. Míriel had often heard her father speak of the days when her grandfather had ruled Númenor. Palantir told her that he and Amandil planned to restore the glory of their land in a few short years, a naïve hope for two naïve young boys who were unable to understand the complexities of politics. She herself had been an idealist once, but now, she was buffeted every day by the abrasive truth. They were playing a dangerous game with their opponents, but every game they won brought them one step closer to their goal. Amandil thought for a while, running a hand through his hair. "What is our next move in the game?"

"Let him come to us," she suggested, devising a strategy in her mind. "He will come to us; there is no doubt of that. Not only does he hold you in high esteem Amandil, but he will try and profit from your popularity and influence by attaching himself to your house. Besides, I am here, as is my father. As Elendil said, he will want to proclaim his victory to us directly, rather than let us have news of it. He will not want to give us any time to react."

"Then what would you have us do Míriel?" Amandil had learned that when it came to matters of political intrigue, his kinswoman was brilliant. She made do with what resources she had, but used them to great effect. These days, there was so little power for her to wield, but she managed to keep the Faithful in power. It never ceased to amaze him. The princess seemed to consider her next move, as carefully as she planned out a game of chess.

"Should we invite him to stay here as a guest?" she wondered aloud. It was obvious that Elendil disliked this suggestion, but he seemed to agree with his cousin.

"At least if we keep him here, we may keep him under our eye," he counseled his father. "We cannot trust him not to rally the local parties of King's Men if we left him to his own devices. I suppose it would be better to keep him occupied here." The Lord of Andunië nodded.

"Wise counsel from both my son and my niece… I concur that we should appear open and accepting to Pharazôn while keeping him under close watch. We must remain in control."

Control! Míriel despised that word. With Pharazôn, everything was a game of control. He was respected or feared by most of Númenor; she knew how this fed his pride and drove him to seek more control over people. She had been struggling to counter him for years now. Predictability was his weakness: she could count on him to act on his pride and greed. Unless there was some deep secret of his that he yet kept, she had the measure of him. With a great deal of planning and a little luck, they could prevent a disaster.

"Should we send for Palantir to come?" Amandil asked after a few moments. He looked into Míriel's eyes for an answer. She only shook her head.

"Send word to him that Pharazôn is here, but do not bid him come. He does not need to be troubled with that right now. I will handle this." I will handle this as I handle everything else, she thought. Her father had enough of a burden on his shoulders already. She would greet Pharazôn and play the warm and welcoming cousin. And afterwards, she would set to mending what damage he would inevitably do. She would take care of everything as she always did.

Amandil considered her words quickly before responding. "Very well, Míriel. Your decision is a sound one. I see why your father is so proud of you…" He spared her a slight smile before rising to leave. "I have to see what I can arrange. If we are to receive him, rooms must be prepared, dinners be arranged… I must see that everything is done when he arrives." He rose to go and looked down at the chess board lying abandoned on the table. "Terribly sorry I had to ruin your game." With that, he exited the study, looking as harried as ever.

Elendil looked over at his cousin and marveled that there were no wrinkles yet on her brow. How she could remain looking so young and bore so many burdens was beyond him. Míriel now wore a look of worry and frustration to her as she considered the situation. "I am sorry that your visit could not have been more uneventful, cousin," he apologized. He was rewarded with a slight smile.

"At least it won't be dull…" She trailed off for a moment, considering something else. Then she spoke, just as he was about to turn and leave. "You will see to the spies, of course?" He nodded and began to make his own plans.

"I will make sure that my people help them unload the cargo from the boats, and I will instruct them to open their ears to any information Pharazôn or his people might drop. If they dress very similarly to his own men, he might be a little more careless with his speech. Perhaps he will let some information slip…"

"Valar grant us that small boon," Míriel prayed quickly. "I will always trust you, Elendil. You have never failed me, and something in my heart tells me you never will."

"May it be so," he replied quickly. "Well, cousin, let us take up our duties." With that, he left, striding away out of the study and down the long hallway.

Míriel sat on the couch for a few moments, staring at the chess board. She had been moving her black king in to take his queen, then proceed to take the tower that defended his king, and then the king itself. The black king, approaching the tower… As she looked down at the board, she found herself mumbling. "The white queen will fall, and the tower, but not the white king…" With a sigh, she rose and left the small study and made her way to her rooms to prepare herself for the coming of Pharazôn.