Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 5: The Inevitable

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The Inevitable

Noirinand

3255, Second Age

The wind tugged at the banners draped in black, and the sky overhead was gloomy and grey. Míriel's tears had dried; she had no more tears left. Riding at the head of the funeral procession, she had never felt so alone. She wished she had her family or her beloved by her side, but they were all far away, and could bring her no comfort now.

Behind her lay the Tomb of the Kings, at the feet of the Meneltarma. She remembered when her grandfather had been laid to rest there. Never had Ar-Gimilzôr been fond of his eldest son and granddaughter, so his death hurt Míriel only in that it meant a change in her life. She remembered looking on the resting places of her ancestors. The family resemblance was clear, and she had marveled to notice something of Elros Tar-Minyatur's features in her own father. She never believed the day would come when her father's features would be cold and still, another silent king in a silent tomb.

It was so cold amidst all the stone. She had shivered as she spoke the words of blessing and prayer over the grave of the king. He looked so peaceful, as he only had at the very end. But he was gone, just as she had always feared. Now everything depended on her. Even though she had been the acting ruler for years, the official title was like a crushing weight that had settled on her shoulders.

Tar-Míriel. Her guard addressed her so, although she had not yet taken up the scepter and Erendis' star. Tar-Míriel, Queen of Númenor. All of her father's lessons resounded in her head. A ruled existed to serve the people, never themselves. A ruler must be a guide, a source of strength, a wise and just caretaker. Now she felt as if she was none of those things, but she knew what she had to do.

No more fear. When she returned, she would speak with Lord Galisil of Eldalondë. He had waited so long for her for a time without fear, but perhaps that time would never come. They had loved each other for so long, and she needed him by her side now more than ever. Besides, without a recognized heir, the throne would fall to the line of Pharazôn. She would rather die than see him or his progeny destroy all she and her father had worked for.

"You will be queen soon…" Pharazôn's words still echoed in her mind. How had he known? Not three weeks after she had hurried back to Armenelos, Isildur himself had come bearing news from Andunië. Palantir was dying. The visions had been coming more and more often, and he was losing his hold on Arda. He was fading away, and when he was lucid he spoke often of his daughter.

There was no question of what to do. She left Armenelos as quickly as she had left Andunië. Leaving behind instructions for her ministers and advisors, she rode with Isildur and her personal guard to Andustar as quickly as their horses would carry them. With every passing minute, she prayed to Illúvatar not to let her be too late. He must have heard her prayer, for when she arrived, the king yet lived.

It was Elendil that greeted them at the door. His face was grave, and she could see the pain in his eyes. Isildur fell back, letting the cousins speak. Elendil had escorted Míriel inside as quickly as he could, trying to explain to her the circumstances surrounding the past few weeks. He told her that Amandil was with his cousin now. They were all waiting for her. Foreboding hung in the air, and it seemed to her as if the mourning had already begun.

Ever since Pharazôn's return, the King's Men had rallied behind their leader. At first, Míriel thought her decision to return to Armenelos seemed wise. The Kings men were organizing, but she managed to reach the capital in time to start counter measures to fight off any direct challenges to her authority or attempts to undermine her power in the city. Night and day there were problems to deal with, and important business came up that required royal attention.

Elendil had told her how news of this reached the ears of the King. As it came, he had seemed to age more and more every day. His kin had tried to shield him from the distressing news that kept flooding in. Somehow, the news still came to him. It could no longer be ignored. There was even violence flaring up in Andustar itself. All this settled like a dark storm cloud about the king. No one should have had to bear the burdens Tar-Palantir bore. Now he was collapsing beneath their weight, fading into time and slipping beyond the world.

Elendil had opened the door to the king's chamber, and Amandil went over to her with a look of sorrow. He gestured silently for her to go into her father's bedroom. She passed through the small sitting room and went through the door as the Lord of Andunië and his son went out into the hall. Then she looked on her father for the last time. He was asleep and dreaming when she entered. It was a light sleep, as always, a sleep where he seemed at once aware of what was around him, but in another world as well. He called to her, his voice strangely distant. "Tar Míriel, Queen of Númenor." His words cut deep down into her heart, for she knew that these words would soon be true. No longer would she be Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir, but Tar-Míriel, the queen and protector of her people.

She said nothing at first. All she could do was go to his side and stand by the side of his bed as he awoke and looked up at her. "I've been waiting for you," he told her quietly.

"Waiting?" Without thinking, she asked the question. He just barely smiled at her, and her heart nearly broke with pity. He looked so frail, as if that small smile took all his energy. Yet at the same time, she could still sense the strength of his mind. This was her father, and yet a change was coming about him. Nothing could prepare her for what was to come.

"Waiting to accept the Gift of Illúvatar." The breath caught in her throat, and she sank down to her knees beside his bed, tears forming in her eyes.

"You can't…" she muttered. "You can't leave me."

"I will," came his soft answer. "I will and I must. The gift is still mine to accept. Would you have me linger in illness and insanity until my spirit and body break from sorrow and pain?" She shook her head, trying to conceal her selfish desire. Inside, she was a storm of emotion.

How could he leave her now, when the future was so uncertain? He was abandoning her to face the world alone. Yet, did she not face many things alone now, to keep him from grief? Did she not have a duty to fulfill? In truth, she had no desire to see him in such pain. He had already suffered so much in remaining here. Even so, her heart was torn and she could not bring herself to speak.

"I understand now," Palantir tried to explain. He sensed her indecision and turmoil, of course. His voice was so soothing. She wanted to believe him so badly it truly hurt. His words brought no comfort to her, though. "I am weary of this world's troubles. When my spirit departs, I go to the realm of Illúvatar, where I will dwell in peace and contentment. No more fear, Míriel. No more fear."

"I don't understand," she finally managed. "I can't…"

"But you will." His eyes lost their focus, looking at something beyond this small room. Then he focused on her again, his words tinged with sadness. "When all the elements come together, you will understand. Your time will come, and you will know it. You will know that what Elros chose was no curse, but a gift. Míriel, you always worry about the future, and the only wisdom I can give you is to tell you that you need not worry any more. You are strong. You will endure all that is to come."

Every moment her desperation grew. "But what is to come?" she asked him. "Have you seen my future?" Her eyes were so hopeful, and she could see his disappointment. She knew his answer even before he spoke.

"Only a shadow," was his elusive answer. "I cannot tell you your fate, only pray that you may succeed in realizing all your hopes and dreams." Still so uncertain… Her grief for herself began to twist into regret. He wasn't telling her the whole of what he had seen, but she would not press him now. She was being so selfish…

"I am sorry," Míriel finally told her father. "I have done what seemed wise to me, but in the end it has all come to ruin. You will never hold your grandchild or…"

Her father stopped her, shaking his head slightly. "Do not speak of it." She fell silent, the tears still flowing freely down her cheeks. With great effort, the king raised a hand to brush them away. "My little Míriel. I have watched you grow from a tiny baby into a beautiful and wise woman. Nothing has given me more joy, or more fear. But now you can stand on your own. You no longer need me. It is what every parent faces. I love you, my dearest daughter. Know this- you are my only hope, my only light, and for you, I would stay."

She wanted to reply immediately and say "Please stay, Father, and do not leave me." Yet she remained silent and said nothing. No matter how much she wanted him to stay, she could not ask it of him. It would be so selfish to make that foolish demand. He had given her everything; he should not give her this. For love of her, he was willing to stay, even in pain and despair. For love of him, she could let him go.

"I love you, Father," she finally told him. "But you are tired. You can sleep now and I will be all right. And I promise… no more fear." Then he smiled at her, a smile that reminded her of days long past, when he would smile at her mother and herself in the gardens in Andustar. Tar-Palantir had found his peace at last.

"Thank you," was all he said as he leaned back against the pillows. Her tears were drying now, but her throat was still tight. She tried to say farewell, but the words would not come, so she only sat with him until he fell asleep again, until his breathing slowed to a stop. When Amandil returned late that night, Míriel was still holding her father's cold hand, looking down at him with a strange emptiness in her usually bright grey eyes.

That memory was burned into her soul. Her father was dead, but she was left with his legacy. She was his hope now. Someday, she would be with him again, but now she had work to do. She knew the King's Men were to blame for Tar-Palantir's death. It was her duty now to rid Númenor of them forever. No more fear.

It was easy to tell herself, but harder to try and bring it into reality. Her enemies were strong. The people were easily swayed by their promises. Who would not wish to live forever? Was it truly fair that so many gifts be given to the elves? The people of Númenor were nearly their equals in skill and might. Should they not then claim what they merited and be angry with those that denied them? Even Míriel had to admit that she was tempted by the King's Men promises. What most people had forgotten, however, was that everything was by the design of Illúvatar. He would never have cursed his children. Even that which seemed dark and terrible might have effects that would bring great good.

So few understood that now. Míriel was gaining more supporters, though. She would be safe enough. Once she was sure of popular support, the tables would turn. Then the King's Men would find themselves out of favor, and they would flee Númenor. Their terrorism would end. She vowed to be stricter in punishing those who murdered or burned the homes of others. Then she would start more schools to teach the elvish languages and histories. Somewhere, a large amount of lore written in Quenya still existed. It had been written during the island's golden age, and buried by those who abandoned the old ways. All it needed was someone to uncover it.

It would be a start. Her reign would further rejuvenate the island. Míriel hoped that she could live to see the day when Númenor regained its former glory. Once again, it would become a place of learning and peace. In a few days, she would return to Meneltarma and speak on the holy mountain for the first time. She already knew what her prayer would ask. No more fear, only hope and happiness for all Númenor, but also for herself.

There would always be obstacles to consider. She looked towards Armenelos. There dwelt her treacherous cousin now, most likely rejoicing because another leader of the Faithful was gone. Taking care of him would prove to be difficult. He was popular with the people, and had mighty friends. Perhaps she would make him Lord of Umbar, which would effectively exile him to a port on Middle Earth favored by the King's Men. That would keep him far from his allies on the island. Without their leader in the middle of things, the King's Men would lose much of their potency. She made a mental note to ask her advisors about it upon her return.

The captain of her guard rode over to her. Aldancar had been with her for many years and knew her well. He was also in mourning for his king, but his strong sense of duty drew him over to the lady he had sworn to serve. "Tell me, your Highness, is there anything I can do?" She thought for a while before answering.

"When I return to Armenelos, I must take up the scepter," she confided in him. "Afterward, I would have you accompany me to Eldalondë."

"On royal business, I suppose," he sighed. His response was to be expected. Míriel pitied him; she had been quickly fleeing from place to place lately without much notice. It had been far too dangerous to travel alone, so her guard was forced to accompany her. It was not that she could not defend herself. She had been trained in the use of sword, bow, and dagger. As the King's Heir, she had received a beautifully crafted sword that she could wield quite effectively. The light, slightly curved blade hung at her side even now. She remained in danger as long as she was the sole heir to the throne. That was why she traveled with a full company of armed guards all across the land. It was the price she had to pay for her safety. Besides, it put her at ease. No one could feel unsafe with Aldancar and his men nearby.

She corrected the chief guard's false assumption, a tiny bit of joy breaking through the ice around her heart. "No. My business in Eldalondë is of a personal matter."

"For your Father?" he asked her, still not understanding. She nodded.

"Yes, for my father. For Númenor. For myself. No more fear." Even as she spoke, the arrow pierced the peace of the day, and Aldancar fell from his horse, dead.