Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 6: The Darkness

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The Darkness

3255, Second Age

Location Unknown

Míriel had never been so afraid. Her throat was raw from screaming, and she was a bloody mess. It was not cold in the little room, but she was shivering all the same. She knew not how long she had been held prisoner here. When she was first brought here, bound and blindfolded, she had screamed and fought her captors as best she could. In here, they had cut her free and left her alone in the darkness. She had managed to take off her blindfold, only to find the room had no window, no candle, and no light.

Running from wall to wall, she had beaten against the sides of the room, pleading for help. No one had come and she had grown tired. At last, she had collapsed into dreamless sleep, shock and exhaustion taking their toll. When she woke, it was still dark and she knew not how long she had slept, only that she was hungry. That meant nothing; she had eaten little between Tar-Palantir's death and burial.

Now she was left in the dark, a darkness that made it all to easy for her mind to be filled with dark images. The memories became clear visions in the darkness. Númenor's Queen curled up in a corner, rocking back and forth and trying to banish the truth. She was the only one left alive. She had watched trusted friends die to protect her. That memory would be with her forever.

After the first arrow had felled Aldancar, her men had rallied around her, shields up. One handed her the fallen captain's shield. It was heavy for her, but she managed to use it as best she could. She had been resolved to make their attackers pay for the death of her captain and friend. More arrows came, mostly aimed at the horses now. At last, they had been forced to dismount.

That was when their attackers showed themselves. Tall dark haired men riding black horses descended upon Míriel's party like eagles swooping down to capture their prey. Valiantly, the royal guard fought to keep her from harm, but they were no match for these murderers. At last, Míriel had found herself alone, standing amidst the bodies of her friends and foes. She could still hear the sound of her sword swinging through the air, the terrible sound of metal on flesh and bone. She had killed a man.

That man would haunt her all her life. She had no other choice but to defend herself, yet that did not change the way he died there on the side of the road, by her hand. Even in self defense, his death seemed to be a stain on her soul. She had gone into shock, unable to keep fighting. All she could do was stare down at the dead man on the ground. She had killed. How could soldiers be so unaffected by such an action? How could these men enjoy it?

At last, the sword had been knocked from her hands. All her men had been slain. She had been alone, surrounded, and terrified. They overpowered her easily. For a woman of the line of Elros, she was small in stature, and the shock bound her tighter than any chains ever could. Roughly, they bound her hands and feet. Then they had blindfolded her with a dark cloth so she could see nothing. Míriel could remember being thrown up onto a horse as the men laughed. These men laughed at death and left their fallen comrades on the ground to rot with the bodies of the royal guard.

How could human beings be capable of such cruelty? Míriel couldn't begin to comprehend it. Why would they commit such a heinous act? The answer soon became obvious. Who else but the King's Men would delight in the slaying of the Faithful? And who else would profit from her capture? Only Pharazôn.

She should have realized it earlier. When she left the capital, she had only thought of Palantir. Her cousin knew that her father was her greatest weakness; she had revealed that to him in Andunië. Pharazôn's plan could not have been more perfectly crafted. All the uproar of the past three weeks must have been specifically designed for one purpose: to be a grievance to the King. When he was in Andunië, Pharazon could have organized his men to be sure that news of every problem reached Palantir's ears.

Míriel knew she was not blameless in this. It had been foolish not to take up the scepter and consolidate her power as soon as she had returned with her father's body. She never should have allowed Pharazôn to know how weak she was when it came to her family. Would he strike Elendil next? No, she reassured herself. He and Amandil might be somewhat estranged, but respect for the other endured despite loss of friendship. What she did not understand was why they had not yet killed her. Once she was dead, the throne would go to her cousin. Without proof of her death, Pharazôn would not be able to claim what he so obviously desired. Why was she here? Did they hope to starve her to death or drive her mad? Perhaps it was simply that her cousin could not bring himself to kill her directly and hoped that she might die as her father did, of grief and madness here in the darkness.

Míriel knew not her fate. She would live or she would die. It was out of her hands now. When the time came, she swore to face the end with dignity. Now, all she could do was sit in the dark and wait. After a long while, she stopped shivering. So tired… She should sleep again, but she feared the dreams that might come.

Instead, she began to pray, first to Lorien and then to Illúvatar. The sound of her voice was strange after so long in silence. It was almost comforting to hear some noise in this abyss. Even when her prayer was through, she kept talking to fill the emptiness. She talked to her father and to her beloved, begging them for forgiveness. She talked to Elendil, pleading for him to help her if he could. She even spoke to Pharazôn, cursing him for what he had done. At last, sleep took her and Míriel surrendered herself to the growing weariness.

She was awoken by a scuffle in the hallway. Pulling herself to her feet, she tried to think quickly. If they opened the door, she could try to dart out past them and escape. A rush of excitement swept through her as she prepared to flee. Carefully, she climbed to her feet and moved along the wall. Carefully feeling the stone with her hands, she came to the door. Taking a few steps backwards, her body tensed with anticipation. The noise of the fighting outside decreased, and she wondered if there might be a rescuer out there.

Now she had some hope, but she was still resolved to run. It seemed an eternity before all sounds of the scuffle stopped, and footsteps heralded someone's approach. There was the sound of rattling keys, and then one was put into the door and turned. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Míriel was blinded by a sudden rush of light. Still, she took off, darting towards the door.

As she ran, she stumbled blindly over a protruding stone. Putting out her arms to break her fall, she cursed her failure. She never hit the ground. Someone caught her as she fell, and held her up. She was almost able to see again. Who was it that had caught her? Would they throw her back into the darkness, or were they here to rescue her?

Then, the person spoke, and Míriel needed not see to recognize who it was that had caught her. "Do not fear. I have come to set you free," a deep voice reassured her. She tore herself away from him, backing into the dark room.

"Get away from me, Pharazôn." Her eyes began to adjust, and she could see him now, the light of a large window shining behind him. His face was neutral and he heeded not her words, but stepped towards her again.

"You are distraught, no doubt, but you needn't fear me." His words had no effect on her. She kept backing away from him, and he followed her. When Míriel realized this, another plan formed in her mind. The room was not very large, but she could keep backing away from him, drawing him away from the doorway. She was almost ready to dash for the door when he realized what she was doing and moved to block her escape. "You don't understand, Míriel…"

"I understand," she spat at him. "All this is your doing." He shook his head in denial.

"There are some men in Númenor who would not have you as queen. Those are the ones that kidnapped you." If he thought she believed him, then he was a greater fool than she thought he was. His lies were too obvious.

"You insult me cousin, if you expect me to believe one word that falls from your lips. I have had time enough to think on what has happened." Her throat was dry and it hurt to speak, but now she must speak and learn if what she had conjectured was true. In her faint and scratchy voice, she addressed him as forcefully as she could. "I should be dead. The only reason that I yet live is because you will not have me killed because of your relation to me. Tell me, is this true?"

She watched him consider her words. Inside, Pharazôn was debating whether to end his façade or attempt to convince her that his lies were truth. His frustrations were visible to her keen eyes. Doubtless he was ruing the fact that Míriel's captivity had had the opposite effect he had hoped for. "It is true," he said at last.

"Then you will have the scepter, I suppose. Do you think I will surrender it willingly? I am still Queen of Númenor…" She drew herself up to her full height, gathering all her dignity and majesty about her. He only laughed at her pitiful attempt at intimidation.

"What power do you think you have over me?" A sense of dread filled her as he spoke. "The King's Men now rule Armenelos. Any ally you might have had is no longer in any position to fight my people. We rule the army, the majority of Númenor's cities, the merchants, the people… Did you think the reign of one king could change the destiny of Númenor."

"The reign of one king has the power to save or destroy this isle. You will be a poor king if you do not realize that." Although her last words rebuked him, her first seemed to spill from her subconsciously. However, her thoughts did not dwell on her own words, but on his. Were her Faithful allies safe? Had they suffered the same fate as Aldancar and her other guards? Was there any hope?

If Pharazôn was truthful, then she had little hope of stopping him. Míriel realized then how powerless she truly was. Her life was at his mercy, her land would fall to his tyranny, and the Faithful would be forced to fall back into the shadows. In one moment, she felt as if all she and her father had worked for had crumbled away. Anger stirred within her and she clenched her fists. What could she do? Was there anything, even the smallest and most futile act, that could keep this from befalling her beloved Númenor?

"You are a despicable man, Pharazôn," she rasped. He stopped laughing at her, his composure becoming more serious.

"Do not say that, please. I do what I must do, what the people demand of me. The people want us in power." Míriel only shook her head in disgust. It was no lie, but neither was it any justification for what he had done. Her cousin only sighed and took another step towards her.

She watched as he drew her pendant out of a pocket. The mithril swan dangled on the edge of a chain, drawing her eyes to it immediately as it caught what little light came into the room. "Why haven't you worn this?" he demanded.

"If I could, I would forget you and all you have done. Why would I wear a constant reminder of the misery you have created?" came her retort. The pendant was beautiful, but every time she saw it, she could only think of him and how he had looked at her in Andunië. It made her shiver, and she had hidden it away in a box in her quarters. That meant he had gone through her personal possessions to find it… It was petty, but it was yet another violation, yet another wrong he had done her. How much more humility would she be forced to endure?

"I would have you wear it." It was no request; it was a command. She knew not what to do. Should she take it from him and let it be the end of the matter? No, she decided quickly, giving in to him was not an option.

"I will have nothing to do with your games, Pharazôn. If you have come to kill me, then stop toying with me and do it, coward." She could not let him rob her of her dignity as well as her life. If she was destined to die, Míriel told herself, she would determine the manner in which she left this world, a daughter of Elros to the last.

"You are so sure I wish you dead," he remarked, incredulous that she would ever suggest such a thing to him. "I have never lied to you, Míriel. I came to free you from this place."

"To what end?" she demanded. "You have killed my father. Your men have poisoned the minds of my people. Now you take everything I have from me. What is left for me? What am I to do? What is to become of me?" He said nothing to that, only looked down at the pendant in his hand. "Why have you done this Pharazôn?" Her voice was nearly hysterical, it demanded an answer. It was then that he looked at her as he did in Andunië, in such a way that a chill raced down her spine.

"The King's Men were meant to have this power. We are the rightful rulers of this isle. An accident of birth is all that kept my father from his rightful throne. The laws and traditions of Númenor are relics. They were not written for the times we live in. Númenor and its people must take their proper place and demand their proper dues. To have such power and waste it as your father did is unforgivable."

"You will be King, then, and I… I…" He nodded, his face unreadable. His eyes still burned into her, and she found that she could not hold his gaze for long. Her throat ached from speaking so much and so forcefully. She was hungry, weary, and her heart was ready to break with grief. Yet if the choice lay between trusting her cousin and remaining here in her current state, she would remain here. What would her life be worth if she were nothing but a puppet of Pharazôn?

"What will become of me?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. A brief hope kindled in her heart as she imagined a quiet life in Eldalondë. Even if that did become her fate, however, she knew she could never be truly content knowing that Númenor would fall back under the tyranny of the King's Men. There was no bright future anymore. She stared down at the ground, still mumbling to herself. "If I am not queen…"

Suddenly, Pharazôn moved forward and clasped the mithril swan around her neck. "No, Míriel." He lifted her chin so their eyes met and sighed. "Justly were you named. You are like a jewel, so cold, but so brilliantly beautiful. A jewel you shall remain forever more, unchanged, the jewel in my crown. You shall be Queen of Númenor, my lady, the most glorious queen that has ever graced the halls of Armenelos."

Everything seemed to come to a stop. She had not known, had not foreseen… She could not… Míriel was completely bewildered. Her cousin ignored her silence, the fire in his grey eyes growing even fiercer.

"Do you know how many years I have loved you, unrequited? Seventy eight years I have waited, seventy eight years I have watched you grow lovelier, as if you did so only to spite me. You despise me, I know, but your spite can never be stronger than my ardor. Now I have you here before me, and I will dare to speak the name I have whispered into the night for seventy eight long years. Zimraphel. My Zimraphel." He bent his head down to kiss her, and she summoned what remained of her strength. Míriel strove to twist away from him, but he tightened his grip on her chin so that breaking free of him was impossible. His lips captured hers for a brief moment, and then he released her.

She stumbled way from him, shaking her head. "No. This cannot be. I cannot… We are cousins… By law…"

"Law?" he roared at her. "Law? I am King. The law will be stricken down if it stands in my way. What is law compared to love? I love you, Zimraphel, and I will have you as my wife. I care not who or what bars my way. I have waited long enough, and I will not be denied any longer."

Her mind was frantic, still reeling from the horror of his words. It seemed to her as if everything that was certain in life were changing, as if she were standing on the brink of a sea of chaos. And she was dangerously close to falling… "What will… If… Do you think… How could you imagine that I would consent to this… to this…" There was no power, no force behind her words. The woman sounded like a frightened child, not a queen of Númenor. Pharazôn paid no heed to her objections.

"I care not whether you will consent or no. Seventy eight years I have waited, hoping that I might kindle in you some love for me, that you might consent. I will wait no longer for you. The time has come, and you will be my queen, my jewel, my Zimraphel."

All reason left her. The small woman flew at him with blind desperation. Her only goal was to wrap her hands around his throat and to squeeze the life from him. She cared not if he struck her down. She would kill him or be killed, but she would not let him take her.

He was not expecting her sudden attack, and therefore did not defend himself in time. Her hands closed around his neck and began to tighten around it. Míriel never hesitated; her mind was set on destroying him however she could. It was not long, though, before he struggled with her, trying to loosen her grip. He tore her hands away from him and held them safely down at her sides as she kept trying to break free of his grasp.

Pharazôn was strong, too strong for her to fight him and win. She struggled and fought with him like a trapped bird, flailing and kicking and shaking, but it did her no good. She was ensnared in his net every time. He had her wrists so firmly that she could not get free. Even as she stomped and kicked at his feet and legs and writhed wildly to try and break free, he held onto her. His grip was crushing her, hurting her, but he still held tightly to her as if to let her go would be to let go of his very life.

"Please do not do this," he begged her as she struggled against him. His voice was almost pleading. "I will not let you go. I can not let you go." Míriel was growing weary, her strength failing her. Her head began to spin and she fought to maintain her consciousness, refusing to give in to him so easily. At last, it was beyond her will. She had not the strength to resist him any longer. No tears spilled from her eyes.

He could take her life, her scepter, her freedom, but he would not take her dignity. She would not weep before him. Her words spilled from her, using the last strength she had. "I will curse you every day of my life." To her great surprise, his eyes betrayed another emotion, one she had never thought to see. His anger no longer ruled him. She could almost feel a pain and sorrow growing within him when she spoke, as if every word from her lips was an arrow piercing him to the core.

"I would have you love me, Zimraphel, but whether you love me or not, you will be mine until the end of days." His words spun in her mind as the world seemed to spin around her.

"Then may the end of days come swiftly upon us."

End of Part One: Daughter of Numenor

 

TBC