Through the Darkness Unescapable by Valiniel

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Chapter 10: The Loss

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The Loss

Armenelos

3260, Second Age

The door opened, and hushed voices began to whisper back and forth.

"I am sorry, my lord King, but there is little we could do," came the frightened apology of a tall physician.

Pharazôn kept his voice low, but it was filled with rage. "Tell me what is wrong with her," he demanded. There was a silence. The small group of physicians exchanged nervous glances, none of them wanting to deliver the news. For eight hours now, the king had been sitting in his study, banished from the main chamber. Now he peered past them to look over at the bed.

Queen Míriel lay quiet and still, an older woman still standing nearby. The woman quickly turned from her patient and walked over to the door that led to the King's study. She was matronly, a woman that seemed to exude wisdom and comfort. Her eyes were sad as she found the words to say what the others dared not. "My lord King, the Queen lost the child she carried."

The king stared at her, and when he spoke there was a note of despair barely recognizable in his voice. "The child?"

"The queen told me that she had been with child for a little more than two months. Bringing a child into this world is a terrible danger. I have been a midwife for many years, and I have seen this happen before, my lord King. There are times when…"

"What can be done for her?" Pharazôn asked them.

"There is little," one of the physicians spoke up.

"Little?" the King flared, his despair falling away to anger. "You will go and find something that can be done for her! Immediately."

"All that can be done now is to let her rest," the midwife tried to interject. "The queen will be tired for some time. There may be more bleeding, but it will be little compared to what had already passed."

"Just leave us. Now." It was an order, and the physicians and the midwife scurried out of the room quickly. As they hurried out, they whispered to each other.

"This is a bad tiding for the royal house. To see the queen so…"

"Even the line of Eärendil is no stranger to loss."

"The king will want us to find something…"

"What she needs now is comfort and rest, not complicated medicines."

Míriel listened as they left the room and heard the footsteps heading over to the bed. A chair thudded across the carpet, and soon she felt a warm hand take hold of hers. "Why did you not tell me?" Her husband's voice was no longer angry, the former hint of desperation taking over. He said it as if he expected an answer. Míriel remained still, feigning sleep. She did not want to face him now. Her strength was gone and she felt as if she were a cliff crumbling into the sea. If she spoke now, she knew that her emotions would overrun her reason.

She wanted to weep, to mourn for a child she would never know. Pharazôn's presence silenced her, his miserable attempt at comfort only reminding her of the morning's events. When she had awoken, she had felt ill, as if something was not right within her. A sense of danger had filled her, although she could not foresee why. When she had told her maid that she did not feel well and wished to remain in bed, the maid had gone directly to the king.

Pharazôn had come in, flanked by servants carrying covered dishes and platters. "If you do not feel well enough to come down to breakfast, then I will bring breakfast up to you," he announced. She had been frustrated at this, but it was a predictable move on his part. She had made up creative excuses to avoid his company before, and he usually found ways around them. The king probably thought she was lying about her condition. For a moment, he was busy directing servants to set down their things and leave. Then he turned to her.

"I truly do not feel well, Pharazôn," Míriel had protested. He looked at her skeptically.

"I will call for my physicians, then."

"No need for that," she had quickly snapped. Her secret was still safe within her, and she would not risk a physician discovering it. However, her comment had made Pharazôn extremely defensive.

"What game are you playing, Zimraphel?" His voice was demanding, and his face betrayed his frustration. "I tire of these games you play. If you are trying to avoid me, then come out and say it." Angrily, Míriel had struggled to her feet. As she stood, she had only felt worse, but ignored it. She would not stay in here with him so he could make her even more miserable.

"If you want the truth, husband," she spat, the last word oozing hatred, "then you shall have it. I do not feel well and I only want to be left alone to rest. However, seeing as you are incapable of leaving me be for even a few short hours, I will be in my study." She headed for the door, hoping for a few hours on uninterrupted sleep on the couch in her study. Her husband moved around to block her passage.

"How do I know what is truth and what is a lie any more?" he asked her. "I want to believe what you say, but you have not given me any reason to trust you."

"With whom do you think the fault lies?"

"If you are insinuating that the fault is mine, you are wrong. I want to trust you, Zimraphel. It is you who persists in lying, arguing, and hurting me with what you say and do. I never wanted to hurt you." He was trying to plead, his face a mask of sadness, but Míriel could see the anger behind his eyes.

"You hurt me more and more each day. I can never trust or love you. I told you once that I would hate you until the day I die, and I will not retract that oath so easily." He had opened his mouth, the anger finally beginning to manifest itself openly. Then the first pain had come. She had felt as if her insides were tightening and twisting. The first flash of pain she withstood, but the second was worse. She had doubled over, clutching her stomach. Her first worry was for the fragile child inside her. She sensed the danger again and knew. Her child was in danger.

Her husband had panicked, yelling for someone to bring a physician. Then he had gone over to her, helped her back to the bed where she laid down. The pains were increasing. Míriel had been in pain before, but this was different. It was as if her body was tightening then relaxing, over and over again. She was reminded of childbirth, and was suddenly afraid. The child inside her was not yet ready to live outside the safety of her womb. Despite her fear, she had said nothing to Pharazôn, who looked terrified.

It had not been long before three physicians had rushed in. They had sent the king out of the room almost immediately, saying that he would help the queen more by collecting himself and leaving her in their hands. How very right they were… Pharazôn had nervously retreated to his study, and the doctors had asked her many questions. Reluctantly, she told them that she was with child. Their eyes had widened, but they said nothing. They decided to send for a midwife, and Míriel asked for a woman that she trusted. She had come to know the palace staff and knew well who was of the Faithful and who reported to her husband. Not long after a page was sent to bring up the midwife, the bleeding had started.

The next few hours went by in a blur. People had been rushing around her, chattering nervously when they thought she could not hear. They knew the king's temper and were terrified that they might be blamed for the loss of his child. Desperately, they worked to stop her bleeding. The midwife even whispered a quick prayer to Eru for her when the others were consulting in a corner. Míriel had been so afraid. She had known that carrying a child was dangerous, and had made the decision to keep it. Suddenly, she was watching her blood rush out of her, the child leaving her. Fear for her life and for her child's life overwhelmed her. There was no way to save it now, she knew. The child was gone. Her child…

It would always be her child, she had told herself. When she first realized that she was pregnant, she had almost rid herself of the child with herbs and medicines. Long ago, she had sworn that she would never bear a child to Pharazôn, that she would never give him an heir to twist and corrupt. It disgusted her to think that the child of her body might be a tyrant like his father. Yet, when the time had come, she had not been able to rid herself of the child. It was not his child, she had realized. It was hers. Perhaps Pharazôn had a part in its making, but she would make sure that he had no part of its life. She would raise this child and love it.

She would have someone to love. Loneliness had dominated her life here in Armenelos. She saw Amandil occasionally, but it was not enough. What she needed was someone to love unconditionally, and someone to return that love. Perhaps Pharazôn would allow her to remove from the capital and raise the child in a quiet house in the countryside, far away from the city that had become her prison. If it was son, then he would have no further need of her, and she might be free…

When she had decided to keep the child, she had thought of her grandmother. Inzilbêth had been married to one of the King's Men, another unwilling Faithful bride. She had told Míriel once that after her marriage, her children were the only thing that brought any joy to her life. Even Gimilkhâd brought her some happiness in his early years. When she removed to Andunië with Palantir, it had been the happiest time of her life. Her grandmother had raised a Faithful king. Míriel had believed that she could do the same.

Now she had no choice. The child was gone. The hours passed, and the doctors still bustled around her. The midwife spoke with her, told her that all she needed was rest. She had drifted in and out of sleep, wondering how long it would take to regain her strength. When she slept, she dreamed of her child.

She could see him so clearly in her mind. Her son stood tall on the shore, the waves crashing around him. His hair was black and long, and he almost reminded her of Isildur. Proud grey eyes looked back at her, and he was smiling. At once, she sensed his strength and nobility in the way he carried himself. This was a young man born to rule, born to lead people. She could feel the strength of their connection, an overwhelming love filling her. She would give her life for this child. Míriel wanted nothing more than to watch him grow up, to learn and explore the world…

When she awoke, she only felt empty. She still felt as if a part of her was missing. Tears threatened, but Míriel refused to let them come. The last thing she wanted was to face her husband. He was still holding her hand, the silence settling uncomfortably around them. She tried to be as still as she could, focusing on her breathing. Then someone knocked on the door, and Pharazôn let go of her hand. She listened to his even footsteps, the noise slightly muffled by the carpet. The door swung open and she heard a familiar voice.

"I met the physicians on my way here, so I offered to bring this up for them, my lord King." There was a pause, then Pharazôn spoke.

"Thank you, Lord Amandil. I assume you are here to speak with Queen Zimraphel?"

"I do not wish to disturb her if she is sleeping," came Amandil's polite voice.

"She is not sleeping," Pharazôn told the other man. Míriel slowly sat up in bed, opening her eyes and glancing over at the two men standing in the doorway. Pharazôn looked weary when he turned back to look at her. "She has been awake for some time." He looked at her as if to drive in the point. She met his gaze with an emotionless stare, then looked beyond to Amandil. The Lord of Andunië looked worried as well, and she perceived his great sadness.

"I'll leave you now. Perhaps she will be willing to speak with you," the king said bitterly. He pushed past Amandil and left them alone. Amandil entered the room, closing the door behind him. He walked over to her bed and set a goblet of some liquid down on a small bedside table. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at her.

"I told your father I would look after you," the old man began, looking guilty. "I have been doing a poor job thus far, Míriel."

"There is nothing anyone could do," she tried to tell him. "Perhaps the child was not meant to be." Her uncle shook his head.

"I am sorry," he said, patting the hand that lay on top of the covers. "Trying to bring a child into the world is never easy." Míriel felt a wave of sympathy for Amandil. His wife had died bringing Elendil into the world after a difficult delivery. Something was wrong with the world, she decided. The Lady of Andunië had never been able to watch her son and grandsons grow, her own mother had passed away before Míriel even had the chance to know her, and now she would never know what her son might be like.

"I wanted that child," she said at length. "I would have loved him." Her companion's brow furrowed.

"You are so sure it was a son?" That made her pause. Yes, she was sure it was a son. She could feel it; she could even see it.

"I simply know. How or why, I do not understand. I just feel it." Some things had invaded her senses lately, and she could not rationalize them.

"When he was young, your father knew things he could not know. I would not be surprised if you were the same. All I can do is hope that you will not suffer from the visions as he did. Our future is darker now than it was even in his last days. I would not lose you as we lost him."

"I will not let myself be lost to despair," she promised him. Despair had nearly consumed her once, but it could not rob her of her will to live. She would make it through this. "Come, let us not talk of sadness and loss." Attempting to lighten her uncle's spirits somewhat, she turned the tide of the conversation to something more pleasant. "Tell me how Elendil and his family have been. I have not seen them in many months." It had not taken her long to learn that nothing distracted a parent better than talking about their children.

"Elendil is well, as is Celaurien. They send their love to you. If you could find the time to travel to Andunië, it would be good for you. Not only for you, but it would be good for my son. He worries for your sake, and he already has enough to concern him. Yet there is some joy in the household. It seems that Isildur has a sweetheart now." Míriel smiled. Life went on outside this palace of stagnation. Love still existed for others, even though she could not grasp it.

"He is a bit young to be thinking of marriage and courtship," she marveled. "It is well that Elhíril is a patient girl." Amandil only shook his head.

"It took no foresight to know that," he said. "They have been friends since birth. It is good to see my grandson happy. There is so little happiness to be had these days."

"And what of Anárion?"

"He is immersed in his studies, as usual. His sword skills have improved a great deal, as has his chess strategy, I hear." He looked up at Míriel a moment, and she forced a smile.

"It has been a long time indeed since I played chess," she admitted. Vaguely, memories of a chess game in Andunië drifted through her mind. As she spoke with Amandil, she wondered if she had managed to distract him from the gloom that drew him here. Even trying to speak of happy things, her sadness was still dwelling in the back of her mind, plaguing her. They continued to speak for some time, before they both trailed off into silence.

"I can see that I am not bringing you any comfort," Amandil said at last. She shook her head.

"There is nothing anyone can do, Amandil. Only time can heal me." He nodded in agreement.

"Your physicians concur. They sent this." He indicated the goblet he had brought in and set on the table beside her bed. "It is no medicine, just a drink to settle your stomach a bit. They worry more about the king than you, I think."

"Let me worry about Pharazôn. I am his wife, and I will deal with him." She narrowed her eyes. If her husband directed his anger and grief at the physicians, he would answer to her. It was too difficult to find a good physician that could be trusted with the health of the royal family, and she would not let the king drive decent ones away. The king… She would have to deal with him soon enough. Amandil looked tired, still as worried as when he had come in. This was not helping either of them.

"I think I may need some rest now," she told the older man. "Thank you for talking with me. It was so good to see you again."

"I am at your service, my queen," he answered, using the bed to push himself up again. He stood and gave her the barest trace of a smile. "Your family still loves you. Always remember that."

"Thank you." As he left, she settled back down and shut her eyes. There were still those in this world that loved her, though it was too dangerous to show it often. Her child was gone, but she would endure. She always endured the losses that surrounded her. If all the world fell away, would she be forced to remain, to mourn its loss? Her dark thoughts did not plague her long. They were interrupted by Pharazôn's entrance.

He swept into the room, looking slightly less worried. Someone had obviously explained the situation to him, and now there was a different emotion coloring his presence. Unexpectedly, he did not go straight to her when he came in, but rather went to look out the window. She said nothing to him, only shut her eyes, letting him know that she did not wish to speak at the moment. He did not heed her actions, and began to speak aloud.

"I understand that you knew that you were with child for some months," he said evenly. She opened her eyes and looked over to where he stood. The afternoon sun shone around him, his dark silhouette standing tense and tall in front of the window. Timidly, she answered his question in a quiet voice.

"I knew for little more than a month. I did not know what to do, much less what to say." She had been filled with uncertainty, and when that faded, with anger and hatred. Never had she imagined trying to tell her husband about the child.

He still looked out into the distance, across the great city. "Why did you not tell me? Did you mean to rid yourself of our child?" His cold voice made her shiver. From fire to ice, her husband was as changeable as the moon today. It frightened her to see him this unstable. Would the fiery anger return unexpectedly? Or would he remain seething and aloof? She prayed for the latter. She was in no condition to struggle with him tonight.

"I considered it," she finally admitted to him. "I will not watch you corrupt any child of mine. Even so… I would not have rid myself of the babe."

"Then this is not by your hand?" His question revealed his mind to her. He suspected her of destroying her child out of hatred for him?

"You are not worth that much hatred, Pharazôn," she answered. "I would have kept the child, if it had… If I had…"

"I have grieved for the child we lost, and yet I am thankful that you are alive and unharmed. There will be more children," came his voice, surprisingly strong and sure. "I must have an heir."

"What if you do not?" she asked softly, feeling the anger build within him as she spoke.

"I will!" was his insistent reply. "Some said that we could not make a child, you and I, but we have. The next child will not be lost, and will grow strong: a true child of Elros, with pure blood and long life!" As he spoke, she felt an emptiness filling her that felt very… certain. It washed away her fragile defenses, all the false happiness she had willed herself to feel after Amandil's visit.

"Are you so sure that there will be another child?" she said, as soon as he finished. That made him pause, set him on edge.

"Are you so sure there will not?" he countered quickly. She felt the certainty down to her very bones. It was a knowledge that flooded into her, whispers of an empty future.

"No child of our blood will ever come from this union." Her voice was distant, as if it were a prophecy that she spoke of. Pharazôn only shook his head, disbelieving.

"You are tired, Zimraphel. I know that you were not sleeping after the physicians left." She meant to ask him why, but he paused only briefly, not enough time to allow her a question. "You have your reasons for avoiding my company, I am sure. Since you are ill, I will honor your wishes. I have arranged a room for you in the east side of the palace that should be ready by tonight. It is yours until you recover."

Míriel suddenly felt as if the heavy burden of their marriage was lightened, as if the overwhelming chains that held her in this place were suddenly unlocked. A few days of freedom… Did he know how much it meant to her? Did he know what a kindness it was? As she watched him study her reaction, it occurred to her that he knew exactly how much she desired freedom, no matter how small. That he was capable of such kindness, she never knew. Of all the things he had taken from her, she wondered, how much had he also given her?

She looked at him and suddenly felt the absence of the little life that had once grown within her. Perhaps she winced, or perhaps he simply knew, but he took a few tentative steps toward her. "Zimraphel…" His voice softened, a low warm voice that she almost wanted to trust. "Are you… Will you be well again soon?"

"I will," she answered quietly. "It is only that I grow tired." The next few words poured out before she could stop them. "And I feel so empty, so alone now…" She felt the bed sink as he sat down on it.

"You are not alone." He smoothed an errant strand of hair away from her face. In the hours after she lost the child, she had never imagined that Pharazôn could bring her anything but pain. Yet now, as he sat beside her, she felt an ease and comfort that Amandil could not give her. Pharazôn was capable of such kindness at times. She only wished that she could unearth in him all that was good and drive away the cruelty his father had instilled in him. She would never stop hating him, but as he sat with her, watching her, she felt a strange sense of acceptance.