Nightfall in the West by Corsair_Caruso

Chapter 1

15th of March, 3319, Second Age of the Sun.
Ar-Minalêth, capital of Anadûnê, that was called also Armenelos, capital of Numenor.

Ar-Pharazôn stood on the balcony of his personal chambers, his hands spread on the polished, silver railing as he looked out over Ar-Minalêth. A foul wind blew from the west, bringing air heavy with the scent of smoke arising from the temple, the stench of offal and refuse from the lower quarters of the city, all mixing with the fresh smell of rain and the killing odor of lightning. As thunder rumbled in the distance, the mighty king turned his faded blue eyes up to the sky, hoping for a glimpse of his illustrious ancestor reigning as brightest of the stars, but inky clouds blocked his view, dimly lit by the many lights and fires of the city below.

He turned his back on the view that served only to remind him of his frustrating, precarious position: suspended between the earth below and the heavens above, denied even a glimpse of what was rightfully his by the machinations of the "Lords of the West."

He left the balcony with weary, heavy steps, returning to the luxury of his bedchamber. He folded his arms across his bare chest, somewhat chilled by the cool breeze and the cold marble at his feet, that sent a dull pain through his bones, before giving way to thick, lush rugs. He sat down on his bed, sinking into its feather mattress, catching a glimpse of his weathered face in the mirror, but avoiding looking too closely. He seldom felt a need to examine the damage that time had wreaked on his visage. He knew that, despite his weariness, he would find no rest this night. The indignity of old age had visited upon him a restlessness that was more than aching joints and frequent visits to the privy... he knew that soon he would succumb to the same darkness that had taken all of his ancestors since Elros Tar-Minyatur. From the sleep that approached, there was no awakening; he found that he sought little sleep in the time that he had left.

Despite the assurances of the Wizard, in his heart of hearts he still harboured doubts as to the coming venture. He had been ingrained with a fear of death his entire life, by his family, by his entire culture... it was difficult to dispel two-hundred years of expectations that all you knew would end, only to be told that everlasting life was within your grasp.

He stood once more, finding little desire to lie in bed staring at the ceiling for hours, and made his way to the massive table set with maps of the known world. He ran his hand along the dark wood absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the lands that fell beneath the shadow of his Sceptre. Even farther, beyond his rule lay the Numenorean exploration into the farthest corners of the world; lands dark and wild, into the utmost east and south and north, but never west. The map had been made to exacting detail, with all the skill and craft the Dunedain possessed. Several glass lenses had been set around the table, so that the king could see even the smallest of brooks, major landmarks of specific cities, all marked with titles in gold ink where his reign extended. The lands west of Numenor, however, had no such details; it was unknown, forbidden, denied to the mightiest men to walk the Earth. His lip curled slightly; everywhere he looked, it seemed, he found reminders of the limits to his power, imposed by beings whose like he had seen fit to conquer before.

He smiled at that thought, remembering the day that Sauron himself had come on foot, begging the pardon of the King of Men, asking to swear fealty to the Heir of Earendil. The Valar would soon find that they were as vulnerable as was their erstwhile servant, sometime foe. He gestured to one of the servants in the room without bothering to look in his direction.

"Wine," he said. The servants retreated, knowing their lord's tastes and habits, and returned with a fine vintage from Hyarnustar in a golden goblet, set with black opal and pearls that shimmered in the torchlight. He sipped, and set the goblet down, forgetting it almost instantly. His gaze scanned the room, taking in the walls covered with tapestries detailing the deeds of his forefathers, the various weapons taken from fallen enemies: a curved scimitar from the far eastern barbarians, a broken spear from the wide, dark lands south of Umbar... He inhaled deeply, taking in the refreshing, light scent of incense wafting from brazers set into the white marble walls, glowing dimly in the lamplight, and when his eyes opened again, they fell upon a sword sitting sheathed on a black, ebony desk in the far corner of the room.

"Summon Master Ûrîzîr to my chambers; have him bring his sword." If sleep evaded him for yet another night, he saw fit to spend the time honing his technique for the impending invasion.

The nameless servant bowed, "Yes, your majesty," and disappeared.

Ar-Pharazôn unsheathed his blade and began moving through forms, taking a deep breath to center himself, starting withParting the Silk, then moving aggressively through form after form, imagining multiple opponents seeking to cut him down in his mind's eye. He knocked their blades aside and removed limbs and heads, wet, scarlet blossoms blooming in straight lines following the path of his blade, as he stabbed and slashed the air quickly and with the skill of an arm long practiced and well-experienced. He began to sweat as he imagined impossibly dispassionate Elven faces, with their sharp features and cold eyes, moving with inhuman speed and strength. His teeth gritted as he pictured the white, sparkling shores of Valinor, glittering with diamonds like a swath of stars reaching across the earth, now soaked red with the blood of Men and Elves mingled together. A guttural sound began to escape his throat as he moved faster, the tip of his blade whistling through the air as he reaped his phantom foes. His heart began to pound, and the breath came into his lungs in great swallows as he envisioned the Elven dogs falling to Aranruth in dozens, and then scores.

He stopped, abruptly, as he heard one of his servants call out, "Your majesty, please pardon my interruption. The Wizard requests an audience; he begs your pardon for the late hour, but gives his assurances that the matter is of the utmost urgency."

The King held his hand out and another servant moved forward with a towel; Ar-Pharazôn wiped the sweat from his brow and his bare chest, and replied "Very well. See him in, and then leave, all of you."

The guards posted at the entrance to his bedchamber opened the tall, ebony doors and behind them stood the very enemy that Ar-Pharazon's might had humbled years ago. Once a rival for world-power, now merely a servant and an adviser, though the king admitted to himself that Sauron's advice had brought the greatest kingdom in all the ages to even greater heights. The tall figure was cloaked in black that seemed to pull the light from the very lamps as he entered. He strode into the room, hands folded into the opposite sleeves of his robe, as the king's servants bowed and retreated from the room, walking backwards with their eyes averted to the floor. Sauron bowed before his former enemy, now master.

"Hail Ar-Pharazôn, King of Kings and Lord of Lords."

"Stand, wizard; you have disturbed my repose with word of urgent news. Speak quickly, and have your tidings, good or ill, be known."

Saruon rose, his unearthly gray eyes flickered in the half-darkness, giving away but little of his inner thoughts, "I beg your pardon, had the news been of less import I would have waited for the morn, but I dared not."

Ar-Pharazôn walked to a desk in the far corner of the room; he sheathed his sword and set it down, taking a moment to run his hand across the smooth, polished white wood as Sauron continued to speak.

"I have recently learned of a plot against your life, your majesty."

Ar-Pharazôn froze for a moment, and then a single bark of laughter that was more than half a snarl of anger. "Then the traitors have finally abandoned all pretense of loyalty; still... it was only a matter of time before their true nature showed itself." He turned to face Sauron, whose inhuman gaze was now fixed with on the king with an intensity that even Ar-Pharazôn found somewhat unnerving. "... How did you uncover this plot?" he asked, somewhat discomfited.

"I made the discovery while in the Temple, making sacrifice to the one true Master."

"I see, one of the victims attempted to save his life by revealing his co-conspirators?"

Sauron's eyes narrowed slightly, "The aspirant assassin saw the forthcoming attack on the Valar as a doomed venture, which shall result only in the destruction of Numenor and all her people. He saw fit to end your life as a means of preventing this, to ensure that the power of Numenor and the glory of her might endures forever."

The king gritted his teeth, "While that final sentiment is admirable, I find his lack of faith disturbing. Morelike he sought to conceal his true motives, in a futile effort to save his miserable life. The Elf-slave traitors seek to prevent the downfall of their craven masters by any means." Bile rose in his gorge, and he spat the foul taste from his mouth, crossing the room once more to retrieve the goblet of wine sitting on the great table where he left it. He swallowed twice, and then turned to Sauron once more.

"Your majesty, the time for tolerance of the foolish and the weak is over; we must put an end to their kind forever and cut them out like a festering lesion. It may be painful, but the body will survive, and be all the healthier for the pain."

"Is the matter so dire that it needs be addressed before we make sail for the western shores? The Elf-friends have but little power, and wait in Romenna upon my word; they live or die at my command. Once I have taken Valinor, their machinations are all in vain; I shall be the Deathless King of all the Earth."

"But should you fall before then, then Ar-Pharazôn the Golden shall be merely another dead king rotting alongside his fathers. Forgive my candid speech, your majesty, but the matter must be settled without delay and all due haste; I fear to wait would be folly."

Ar-Pharazôn thought for a moment, before nodding his agreement. "Very well, let us destroy those who stand in the way of the King of the Earth. Let us cut them down where they stand, that all may tremble in fear of their fates for years to come."
Ar-Pharazôn thinks for a moment, before nodding his agreement. "Very well, let us destroy those who stand in the way of the King of the Earth. Let us cut them down where they stand, that all may tremble in fear of their fates for years to come."

A rictus smile abruptly spread across Sauron's face, his eyes suddenly widening with a savage glee, "I am happy to hear, o mighty king of Men, we are of one mind."