Course Correction by Raaf

Chapter 1

Idea based on this post: https://radiantanor.tumblr.com/post/165906241601/

Note I’m using the version of Tar-Míriel’s backstory in Histories of Middle-Earth and not the version in Silmarillion. ‘Tar-Míriel married Ar-Pharazôn voluntarily, wasn’t all that on board with the Faithful ideology and regrets it too late’ is just way more logically and narratively satisfying to me than ‘Tar-Míriel does nothing while her kingdom goes to hell in a handbasket and everyone (inexplicably including the Faithful) just accepts Ar-Pharazôn as the rightful ruler after his usurpation’.

Read Chapter 1

The kingdom of Númenor was in mourning. Ar-Pharazôn had left on an expedition and never returned. Some days ago the concerned search-parties had found the wrecks of his ship floating on the waves. The news had immediately engendered much suspicion as it had now been many years since the ships of Númenor could be daunted by storms or rocks.

 

Most attributed it to the wrath of the Valar. They had not been particularly subtle about expressing their disapproval of Númenor’s rebellion. Even now, as she led the funeral procession through the capital city of Armenelos the Golden, there was still a vast eagle-shaped storm cloud looming ominously above them. Targeting Pharazôn would be more effective than the unnatural storms and lightning strikes that lashed the island and it would not overly surprise her if they had done so.

 

She had also had reports of mutterrings blaming Ar-Pharazôn’s death on some sorcery by the Elf-Friends. This was thankfully a less wide-spread opinion. It saddened her however that the slander against the Faithful had become so ingrained. In all honesty it would probably have been better if they had acted as disloyal as they were accused of being and been more willing to defy Pharazôn, but Amandil kept his faction short of actual treason.

 

Many of the Faithful themselves suspected the obvious culprit of Sauron. He may have most of the nobility of Númenor wrapped around his finger, but the rest of them knew better to think he genuinely supported Ar-Pharazôn. Whatever Sauron said, she knew he wanted to avenge the humiliation Pharazôn had inflicted on him by taking him hostage. He had both the means and motive to have arranged Pharazôn's death, although she would have expected him to have made more of a spectacle of it if it had been him. Alternatively, others of the Faithful also believed it was divine punishment, though so far they had been diplomatic enough to avoid looking too happy about it in front of her.

 

The traffic was stopped for the day and an anxious hush lay on the city. The residents lining the street watched them anxiously.  She would have to find a way to reassure them before Sauron could use this to inflame tensions even more than he already had. 

 

They left the city proper and down the hill where the tombs of the kings stood. The newer tombs they passed became steadily more elaborate as the society that built each became increasingly preoccupied with death. Ironically, Ar-Pharazôn's resting place stood out in its simplicity. When he had started feeling old age creeping up on him he had grasped at Sauron's lies promising immortality instead of making provisions for his death and legacy.

 

She was grateful for the veil included in her mourning robes. Her own feelings were confused at the moment. Her husband's early death was very favourable for her, politically speaking. The rift between herself and Pharazôn had also left her increasingly isolated from real power. Now there was no-one left with the standing to gain-say her. Less pragmatically, she could not be relieved that this was how their relationship had ended after they had overcome the laws of Númenor and the disapproval of its people together to marry. Everything had gone wrong since Pharazôn had started listening to Sauron's poison and now she could never have him back.

 

She had objected from the start to making Sauron his advisor. Whatever one may or may not think about the Valar; it was undisputable to anyone with any sense that Sauron - who had thoroughly earned his epithets of the Terrible, the Cruel and the Deceiver - was not a better alternative. This was when she had discovered to her dismay that her decision to align herself with her more popular cousin had not been without its drawbacks. The King’s Men backed him over her when they disagreed and her father's old supporters were alienated from her. The influence of the Faithful had also waned since their days under a king's favour and even back then they had been widely disliked. Although she had since reconciled with the Faithful, now they could do little to help her and she could do little to help them.

 

And now she was here. Presiding over a funeral with the Enemy. 

 

"Zigûr." She may not have been able to get away with using the names he deserved, but she was never going to humour his ridiculous presumption in calling himself 'King Excellent'.

 

“My Queen, I wished to offer you my condolences in person.” He bowed over her hand. “Anadûnê has been dealt a blow, but together we shall overcome it.”

 

“That is appreciated,” she said politely, suppressing her shudder. “Rest assured that I know well the worth of your counsel.”

 

What was he playing at? She thought he had given up when he realized she was not as susceptible to his flattery as Pharazôn. Surely he didn’t think he would have any better luck now in swaying her to his cause?

 

------

 

Back at the palace she had a more pleasant meeting with her kinsman, Amandil, Lord of Andúnië. Amandil was once Pharazôn’s dearest friend and also had to watch as he fell under Sauron’s shadow. It was an inexpressible comfort to have a friendly face that would understand both her grief and her guilty relief. Unfortunately, after sharing condolences they still had to decide how to manage the situation.

 

“Has anything been discovered of what happened?” Asked Amandil.

 

"Not yet, but I made sure that there are trustworthy men and women involved in the investigations. I cannot be certain, but I don't think Sauron was responsible. It does not really benefit him. He knows that Pharazôn is the only royal willing to cooperate with him. Perhaps he intends to deal with myself and your House afterwards, but that would just leave him in the middle of a succession crisis that no-one could clearly win."

 

"I think you are right, but we must not underestimate Sauron's cunning. He might have a plan we do not anticipate. Or he could simply underestimate your resolve and wishes to act through the ruler he doesn't have a personal grudge against."

 

"We will be vigilant. But how do we rid ourselves of him? The Faithful are more diminished than they have ever been and of the Lords of Númenórë only you are not ensnared by Sauron. If they are commanded to act against their mistaken convictions and to abandon the profits they gained from Sauron, will enough of them obey?”

 

Loyalty to the Scepter was important to the King’s Men, as their chosen name implied. Of course, until the last two generations the Kings were on their side of the conflict between them and the Faithful. Their loyalty had been sorely tested during her father’s deeply unpopular reign, but civil war had been avoided. Now, however, the King’s Men also had Sauron’s religious hold on them tipping the scale.

 

"That is what I cannot stand about this situation,” Míriel continued. “Sauron is not Morgoth Bauglir. He cannot defeat us by force of arms. When he overran Eregion was it not we Númenóreans who relieved the Elves and hounded his forces back to Mordor? When Pharazôn marched our armies on the Black Tower was it not Sauron who yielded? He may have turned his surrender against us, but he still had to resort to sacrificing his pride instead of contesting the might of Númenórë outright. We should have him outmatched and instead we are our own worst enemy."

 

"Sauron The Deceiver was ever a master of lies and guile, not just brute strength. We needed to stand strong against his blandishments as well as his armies and that is where we failed. Unfortunately, turning the hearts of  Númenórë back to the right path was a battle we lost even before Sauron was involved. I told Ar-Pharazôn after we first took him into custody that we should hand him over to Valinor, but that is no longer feasible. At least we can overturn Sauron’s injustices now. That might still come to outright strife, but our cause will be stronger if he breaks his oath of fealty first."

 

“My father devoted his whole reign to returning Númenórë to the right path. All it brought him was sullen obedience from reluctant subjects, silence from the West and an early death from grief,” Míriel said bitterly. “Nimloth is destroyed and now Númenórë is doomed. Perhaps all we can still do is thwart Sauron, but he shall pay for that even if it is the last thing I do.”

 

“Take heart, the fruit of Nimloth that Isildur saved has taken root. I don’t know how much of Númenórë can still be saved, but it is not the end yet for the line of Elros.”

 

“It has been a very long time since we had a good omen instead of a bad one. Let us hope it is enough,” Míriel sighed.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

I'm no good at titles. If anyone has a wittier one to suggest, please do.

Chapter 2

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In hindsight, Míriel regretted not trying to further Númenor's reform, but the endeavor had seemed so hopeless when she ascended the throne. She could enforce old customs and push her subjects to behave as they should, but Valinor had been unimpressed by that level of repentance when her father had done that. Admittedly, she could agree with the Valar that it did not qualify as redemption when most people were insincerely going through the motions. Since it was literally impossible for her to have Númenor feel genuinely repentant on command however; if Valinor expected something else they really should have been more forthcoming about what conciliatory gesture would have satisfied them.

She hadn't let things get out of hand, at any rate. No-one had returned to persecuting the Faithful before Sauron became involved and Sauron replacing Amandil as the first counselor was not something she could have reasonably anticipated. Now she still had no concrete solution to Númenor’s problems and had Sauron sabotaging them as well.

Therein lied her fundamental problem. She needed to gather more support to oust Sauron, but any attempts to restore the policies of the Faithful would keep turning more people against her. Amandil was overly optimistic to think they could manage both, but she had no real alternative other than to attempt it.

The most important priority was naturally to stop Sauron from sacrificing people to Morgoth. Fortunately, he could not outright charge the Faithful for refusing to worship Morgoth and instead they were sentenced to the altar on trumped up charges of treason. That part, at least, she could derail for now simply by maintaining proper judicial rulings.

“Are you ready?” Míriel asked Amandil.

They were in her office. Soon would be the first meeting of the Council of the Sceptre since Pharazôn’s death and the first Amandil would attend since Sauron had taken his role. Amandil was the only member of the Faithful she could re-appoint. His high nobility and the personal prestige he had earned as a ship captain had protected his status despite Sauron’s hatred of him. Unfortunately, the other Faithful in the court did not share his advantages and there were none that were both still true to their cause and still in good standing.

“As I can be, but I’m afraid there is nothing I can argue against Sauron that I haven’t already said.”

She nodded empathetically. Amandil was an excellent orator, but so was Sauron who had an added advantage by telling people what they wanted to hear instead of being constrained by the truth. When Pharazôn had first wanted to make Sauron an advisor both Amandil and herself had raised the undeniable point that Sauron was utterly evil and the enemy of all the free world. Unfortunately, this was not very compelling to people who acknowledged that, but didn't see why it mattered.

It was ancient history when Morgoth had sent his Lieutenant on campaigns against the Edain. In the current Age Númenor itself had never felt threatened by the distant empire that Sauron founded after Morgoth’s defeat. Their only conflicts with him were their victories when they helped Gil-Galad during the War of the Elves and Sauron, and later when Pharazôn invaded Mordor. The enmity of Sauron was only a problem for the lesser Men in Middle-Earth and it had been a long time since they were viewed with sympathy in Númenor.

Shameful as it was, any moral objections to Sauron fell flat when Númenor itself was conspicuously lacking in moral superiority. That Sauron blasphemed against Eru Ilúvatar and was the enemy of the Valar was not viewed as overly problematic by a kingdom that resented them. Neither was it easy to argue against Sauron for being an oppressive and cruel tyrant when Númenor treated its subjects little better in its own dominions on Middle-Earth. Most of the Númenóreans considered Sauron purely as a political rival and were perfectly satisfied now that he was (in their opinion) safely defeated and technically their vassal.

“But there is one thing in Sauron’s history which he can’t excuse,” Míriel said. “He is treacherous and a liar. If we can find an opportunity to show his ill intent, his smooth talk will not sway the court when they find themselves the injured party.”

---

The Council of the Sceptre rose as Míriel entered the meeting room. Armenelos was known for being the fairest of cities and the palace rooms showcased all the peerless skill of the Númenórean artisans. The stone walls were smooth as glass and seamless, and the light wood furniture was exquisitely carved. She took her position at the head of the table and the councilors took their own seats again.

The Council always consisted of representatives from the five points of the Land of the Star, and variably included others by invitation. At the moment the Council was down to a single lord representing each region and Sauron. Pharazôn had rarely cared for anyone's advice and she had lacked trustworthy people to appoint. Now that the mourning period was over the councilors were back in the popular gold and silver samite robes. Sauron blended in with the Númenórean lords in appearance and dress, apart from his red hair and slightly petty choice to make himself taller than them.

Abârôn, the Lord from Forostar was the first to raise an address to her. "Ar-Zimraphel, I will say what is on everyone's minds. The Valar struck a blow at us, but we will not let our King's death go unavenged!"

"We will of course address Ar-Pharazôn’s death, but we cannot act before we know who is responsible. We won't make fools of ourselves by flailing blindly," Míriel responded.

"With all due respect, your majesty, I think the portents are completely clear,” Abârôn declared heatedly. “The observatories on Forostar have been unable to see anything but storm clouds for months! The Valar sent messengers to scold us as if we were wayward children, then they blot our sky out with signs that frighten the weak-minded, and now our King is taken from us in the seat of our strength. This cannot be borne!"

"It is not just that," added Gimilzagar, the lord from Hyarnustar. "We have been monitoring the tremors as we were asked. I regret to report that they are building in strength. We need to prepare for more serious disasters than just the tempests we have faced so far."

“That the Valar are wroth with us is nothing new. We have no real reason to assume they were responsible for this incident in particular. Small vessels may have run afoul of their storms, but that couldn’t have happened to Ar-Pharazôn,” countered Amandil.

"I agree with Ar-Zimraphel and Lord Aphanuzîr. This is a situation we should deal with carefully when we know more,” said Sauron.

Míriel glanced suspiciously at Sauron at his unexpected contribution. The worst part of having Sauron seated directly to her right - apart from the mere fact that he was there at all - was that it would be too obvious if she tried to keep an eye on what he was doing during the meetings.

“If Lord Aphanuzîr and Ar-Mêrayôn are actually agreeing with each other for a change then it must be correct,” smiled Abanuzîr, the lord from Orrostar.

“That’s settled then,” said Míriel. “Now we need to determine how we are going to manage the earthquakes.”

---

“You aren't going to take your name in Quenya now?” Amandil asked Míriel afterwards.

“No, we have enough of a struggle ahead of ourselves without burning political capital on a relatively unimportant matter.”

‘Of course Amandil was still upset about that’, she thought dryly.

“Unimportant, do you truly think so?” Amandil frowned.

“That we should use our own language in official capacities instead of treating Elvish as inherently more prestigious is the most fair stance the King’s Men have. If we are to appear reasonable we might as well grant them that one,” Míriel reasoned.

“I can’t agree with you there. If we are to turn back to our faith we shouldn’t keep dismissing associations with Valinor.”

“The root of Númenor’s bitterness was caused by envy of the gifts the Elves received. I do think it would be better for our spirits to focus more on our own worth. If we are to be successful we need to find a balance between appreciating Valinor and not despairing that we cannot reach there.”

Chapter 3

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Míriel waited nervously and restrained the urge to drum her fingers against her desk. The investigation into Ar-Pharazôn’s death had concluded. Much as she wanted to know who was responsible, the only good answer would be if they could pin the blame on Sauron and she doubted they would be so fortunate.

She had made sure that reliable people were in charge of inquiring and also took it as an opportunity to shuffle around the appointments of many of Sauron’s sympathizers away from opportunities to do harm. The court was corrupted by Sauron, but the minor functuaries were largely beneath his notice and were not the ones who were enriched by him. She should at least have advance notice now of what it was he would do.

Finally her clerk, Minaz, entered with the reports. Her heart sank as she reviewed the results. There was solid evidence, clear testimony and an undeniably guilty suspect. If only that suspect was someone else. A shipwright, Kaldak, had committed sabotage, to fatal results when the weather turned unfavourable. Most damningly, he and his co-conspirators were also accused of being involved with the Elf-friends. She did not recognize the names, but the Faithful were not so small a minority that she knew every member personally.

She was aware that rarely a case of genuine guilt appeared when the Faithful were accused of plotting against their liege or their countrymen. This did not happen with the sanction or knowledge of their leaders, but it was inevitable that in a group of desperate people there would be some that would lash out regardless. But why did it have to come now in the absolute worst circumstances?

“Please tell me the Enemy doesn’t know about this,” Míriel groaned.

“I’m afraid he certainly does, your majesty. He was the one who supplied some of the leads in the first place. I did make sure to cross-check those carefully.” Minaz said apologetically.

Now she understood. Having Pharazôn assassinated wasn't particularly helpful to Sauron, but that didn't mean he would go out of his way to save him from someone else’s attempt. Especially if his opponents would conveniently discredit themselves in the process.

Sauron’s overall design was never in doubt. He wanted to become a second Morgoth, to rule the world with an iron fist and see it bent to his will. He effectively already did so, albeit from behind the throne instead of on it. Sauron’s empire had engulfed everything but the regions defended by Númenor and now that the empires of Númenor and Mordor were integrated there was nothing beyond his reach. Sauron was certainly too prideful to keep up a pretence of bowing to Númenor’s authority indefinitely, however he didn’t currently have the leverage to overthrow her dynasty. This mess could be far too useful to him.

She needed to discreetly see what was going on and if there was any way this could be salvaged before the news spread. Míriel slipped off the gem on her brow and pulled on a hooded cloak. In these uneasy times many of the passersby on the streets covered their faces. Inconveniently, she was too recognizable to be incognito if anyone could catch a good look at her. There were few people outside Andustar who shared the Bëorian dark hair and grey eyes, but she had inherited her Andúniën grandmother’s distinct colouring and relatively small stature.

 

---

On a clear day the eastern edges of the Undying Lands could be seen from the height of Meneltarma. Now the holy peak was forbidden and a haze of smoke from Sauron’s temple constantly darkened the sky. The ghastly temple was one of the largest buildings in Armenelos and the blackened silver dome was glaringly out of place as it loomed against the bright golden roofs of the city. There Bauglir, the Lord of Slaves, was hailed as Melkor, the Giver of Freedom, because Sauron was immune to irony and nobody could learn from history.

Míriel had always refused to set foot in the place. Unfortunately, it was also now where prisoners were held. The smoke reeked much stronger as she entered through the iron doors and mixed with the stench of burned flesh and the metallic tang of spilled blood. She tugged her scarf tighter against her face in an attempt to block it out. How did the cultists stand it? She was reasonably sure that Sauron did need to breathe while he was wearing a physical form, so why inflict this on himself?

After removing the hood again she ordered the guards to let her question the prisoners. Soon she was out of their earshot and face to face with the conspirators. Most of their faces were unfamiliar to her, but she recognized enough of them to sink her last hope.

“What have you done? Don’t you realize our cause is ruined now?”

One of them, apparently Kaldak, stepped forward.

“You and Lord Amandil would have kept on wringing your hands and doing nothing until we were all dead and Númenor was lost in darkness. We will die having struck at our enemy instead. I don’t regret anything!”

“Staying true to what is right was the entire point of the Faithful. How did you think sabotaging your King would end well for anyone?” Míriel said exasperatedly.

"It’s your fault he was King in the first place. Why should we have to suffer for that when we are called traitors no matter what we do? It's past time we dealt with the King’s Men. Do that at least if you won’t have the guts to save us.”

“You may have extenuating circumstances, but you are definitively and unrepentantly guilty of treason. There would be revolt if you receive any leniency. If there was something I could do to bring the King’s Men in line I would have done so already!”

“Get King Gil-galad to help. Our forces kept him on his throne, he owes it to us to return the favour now that they have recovered from the invasion.”

“You would have us truly be what we have been slandered as,” Míriel said coldly, looking into their eyes. “Tell me at least that this won’t trace back to anyone else.”

With some relief she could see that they had acted in secret, knowing that they would not find approval.

“For everyone’s sake you need to make that clear at your trial and keep your other opinions to yourselves,” Míriel reminded.

Sauron was waiting in the hallway when Míriel went to leave the temple.

“So we were partially correct; it was not the Valar directly, but their spies and agents,” Sauron said with mock sadness. "I trust you are going to be sensible about sentencing this matter?"

“You think ritualistically torturing people to death is sensible?” She frowned in disgust.

“Of course. You shouldn’t be so squeamish, hasn’t your state always had executions? Ensuring that the method inspires horror and feels significant has excellent psychological effects that can be used in the rest of the subjects to discourage betrayal and compel obedience.”

Míriel could only stare at him for a moment. What was there to say to such a warped perspective?

“Maintaining order doesn’t mean you can't have fun in the process.” He grinned.

“I have a trial to prepare for.”

She walked past him. Wide hallways were the one good thing about the oversized building.

Her head spun as she returned to the palace. It wasn’t long before the trial would have to be held and it could not be closed. She could absolutely not look as if she was trying to plan anything. Neither could she afford to appear sympathetic at all. The accused would have to get a death penalty for treason.

At least some people would extend the association with the Faithful to suspect Míriel herself of being involved, but the complete lack of any proof should prevent that from going anywhere. Hopefully. The Faithful were already forced into secrecy and propagandized against as traitors. To have that look vindicated was an almost irreparable blow against their chances of restoring themselves, but it shouldn’t much change their current position.

 

---

At the central plaza of Armenelos they moved through the formalities of the trial quickly. Sauron knew too much of the matter for any attempt to obscure the case to end well. Númenor’s trials were usually a straightforward process. A defendant could omit secrets, but it took a very inept judge to be unable to perceive when they were lied to.

Now came the difficult part, selling the attending nobles and general public on sentencing them to the sword and not the fire.

“We were promised freedom from death. Years now we have spent gifting much, yet every day deaths come to Anadûnê, and they come sooner. Now we had our most grievous loss when our beloved Ar-Pharazôn was cut down in the prime of life and has not returned to us like he would have if he had gained the life of the Eldar. Why should we reward this remissness with sacrifices? Let Mulkhêr prove his power before trying our patience further.”

“Such faithlessness, but very well.” Sauron looked displeased, but he also had to sense that the mood of the public was not on his side for once.

‘Didn’t count on a backlash from stirring up people's dissatisfaction with false promises, did we?’ Míriel thought smugly.

She did not actually need a complete victory. It had been many generations since Númenor had loved the Valar, but only recently with Sauron spurring on their might and pride had they ceased to fear them enough to break their commands. If Númenor could be returned to their old status quo then it would not be the end of the world if they stayed there.

They could manage if Valinor never relented. The weather and tremors were not truly that severe. The storms were only troubling for what they heralded and because the weather patterns over Elenna used to be always perfectly convenient. The governors in Middle-earth frequently had to plan around nature being more uncooperative than their situation.

---

Chapter End Notes

Not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out, but oh well.

Chapter 4

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The misguided pursuits that Númenor’s Kings had turned to, had left the Lords of Andúnië to the role of cautioning sense to their kin in the line of kings. Amandil had always watched over Míriel and Pharazôn as the younger siblings he had never had. Less so with Míriel who was close to her own parents and especially so with Pharazôn who had a rocky relationship with his father. Gimilkhâd had been a bitter, unpleasant man with very definite ideas about his son spending his time advancing his causes and not with his political enemies, which Pharazôn resisted with typical adolescent rebellion.

Amandil’s position on the Council meant he had always frequently seen them in Armenelos. Both of them had also visited Andunië often, although never at the same time as the bitter rivalry between the King and his brother forbade any association between their households. To the equal dismay of Tar-Palantir and Gimilkhâd that had an unexpected side-effect in their estranged children wishing to marry. For the first time they saw eye to eye on an issue, but their mutual effort was unsuccessful. Míriel and Pharazôn remained resolute and wed after Tar-Palantir was dead and could no longer forbid it.

Amandil felt partially responsible for that misstep. Pharazôn had contrived to meet and woo Míriel — who he had fallen in love with from afar — by asking to visit Andúnië at a time he knew she was there as well[1]. Amandil would not have agreed if he had realized Pharazôn’s true purpose for that visit, but he hadn’t had any better luck preventing it afterwards than their parents did. Now he could only try to salvage their current situation.

Amandil gazed into his palantír. This one was the larger of his seeing stones and was permanently mounted in the tower of his house in Rómenna. Ar-Gimilzôr had stopped Amandil receiving Eressëan Elves visiting Andúnië’s harbour from Aman, but before their permanent departure the Elves had gifted him with seven palantíri as a consolation.

With them he could see the Tower of Avallónë where the Master-stone was held. The elven-white tower rising over the jewel-strewn beach of Tol Eressëa was indeed a comforting sight, but it was not a substitute for actual contact with the wisdom of the Undying Lands. None of the Elves there would still accept a communication from him after his people made fellowship with Sauron Gorthaur.

Since then, Amandil mostly used the palantíri for keeping watch over Middle-earth. He did not dare attempt spying on Sauron directly, but the movements in Sauron’s territories on Middle-earth could not slip by him. Amandil had been forced to turn his attention eastwards ever since the West was closed to Númenor and his own city of Andúnië was left forlorn. Many of the Faithful had already fled under Ar-Gimilzôr’s persecution to Middle-earth to their settlements next to Gil-galad’s realm. When Sauron took over the Council, Amandil had gathered everyone that remained, and could be trusted, with him in the eastern harbour city of Rómenna.

At the moment the palantír allowed him to discuss the unexpected turn of events in Númenor with their allies off the isle. Amandil and Míriel were in irregular contact with Gil-galad. The immortal High Elf had been involved in many conflicts against Sauron, and even against Morgoth in the First Age. He had fought the longest against the Enemy and knew best his designs. He had been the first to recognize the growing threat of Mordor and was the one that deduced that one of Morgoth’s scattered followers must have resurfaced there.

“It shames me to admit it, but Sauron has bent the ear of most of our people.” Amandil confessed. “Even without Ar-Pharazôn’s leadership they will still side with him against our efforts.”

“Do not blame yourself too harshly,” Gil-galad said kindly, “Sauron’s ability to influence the Númenórean people is not wholly their fault. There is something you should know. It was too late for Eregion when Celebrimbor realized who Annatar truly was, but his efforts were not in vain. His messenger reached us swiftly and secretly ahead of Sauron’s advance. We received Celebrimbor’s final work, and a warning.”

They listened solemnly. Some of the tale of the forging of the Great Rings was known in Númenor, but their first involvement in the events was at its end, when Tar-Minastir had sent a host to relieve the Elves. They knew little of the details, and less of the deeper treachery Sauron had plotted with the Ruling Ring.

“That is ill news indeed. Is there no way we can overcome the influence of the One Ring?” Tar-Míriel broke the silence.

Sauron had had entirely too free access to the palace under Pharazôn’s reign, but now Amandil had been able to leave one of the palantíri with Míriel as well.

“I regret to say there is none we know of. The One Ring is a mightier work than anything we could bring against it. Our only course is to cast it back into the fires it was made from.” Gil-galad responded.

“If we were in a position to take Sauron’s Ring from him we would not have a problem in the first place.” Amandil sighed. “If only we knew of this sooner, then we could have destroyed it when we fought him.”

“Could you have?” asked Elrond from next to Gil-galad.

Elrond Half-Elven was the herald, and a distant cousin, of the High King Gil-galad, but in Númenor he was more notable for being the brother of Elros Tar-Minyatur, their founder. He had been a regular visitor to Númenor since it was raised from the sea, up until the Shadow fell on them. It was always strange to speak to him and see an image of Elros’ ancient statues brought to life. Elrond was still technically a citizen of Númenor, though any attempt to press his influence would not be taken well, with his position as the living embodiment of the sundered fate that they resented.

“Sauron didn’t work his corruption instantly.” Amandil responded. “Ar-Pharazôn brought Sauron here to Númenor in the first place because he knew the Deceiver could not be trusted to keep his word if he were left to his own devices. He certainly wouldn’t have let Sauron keep a potent weapon.”

“We meant no slight to your friend, Lord Amandil,” Gil-galad interjected, “I would not trust anyone, even those of us here, with such an evil artifact. Mastering a work that contains all the power and malice of Sauron himself is not something that could be done by anyone now outside the West. I fear anyone who takes it will soon themself be mastered by it. But this isn’t as hopeless as it sounds, Sauron may have magnified his powers, but he is still not invincible. He must have already had the One Ring when Tar-Minastir and I had the decisive battle against him at Gwathló, nonetheless he was routed and could only barely escape with his own life. If we stand against him together, we can defeat him again and do so permanently this time by destroying the One Ring.”

Amandil frowned. “Yet it would be a hard victory if only we few of the Faithful stood with you, and an impossible one if we had to first face the greater part of Númenor that Sauron has swayed to him. There is little hope. We must defeat Sauron, take his Ring, carry it across the sea to Orodruin[2] and destroy it, all while resisting its evil influence and preventing retaliation from his followers. Taking the One Ring from Sauron by force I deem possible if we have strength of numbers, though such a battle would cost us dearly. Yet we do not have the ability to press Sauron into an engagement. The folly of Ar-Pharazôn in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed, does not alter the fact that Sauron asked for and was granted pardon from our Kingdom. We have no lawful grounds on which to contend with him, and will face reprisals if we do so.”

There was no champion in the mortal lands that could outmatch Sauron, but Amandil would take his chance against him if he could also have Elendil and Gil-galad standing by him. Once again, Amandil wished they had simply fought Sauron without quarter in the war, vanquished him and been done with it. But Pharazôn’s pride had mastered him and, without consulting Amandil about the many, many pitfalls in his idea, he had set on the more boastful victory of compelling Sauron to serve him.

Reaching Orodruin should have been simple. The Dark Tower guarding Mordor demonstrably could not hold off the Númenórean army. Amandil remembered Sauron’s imposing fortress well. The Dark Tower was a veritable mountain of steel and adamant battlements, and not diminished by the literal mountain range it was built into. The prospect of needing to make his way past that, but with his soldiers reduced into only the Faithful remnant, filled him with more dread than he cared to admit.

“Our problem is two-sided,” Míriel summarized, “we have under our control enough might that we could take the Ring and destroy it, but we cannot deploy our forces to do so while Sauron, aided by the Ring, is subverting them against us. Yet we cannot undo his subversion without first taking the Ring from him. Our task to unmask Sauron’s sophistry was difficult enough before we knew he had another advantage in impressing his will on others. Still, his control cannot be absolute, so how else can we undo it?”

For all Sauron’s unfair advantages he used to dominate the wills of others, he could not outright force anyone into agreeing with him. It was an únat to enter someone’s mind against their will and no enhancement of Sauron’s power by the Ring could enable him to do so. One of Morgoth’s tactics had been to use the fact that minds were by default open to communication to take advantage of the unwary[3], but even Númenóreans with no talent at using ósanwe themselves were still aware of that danger. Any of them who treated Sauron with the appropriate wariness — which unfortunately seemed to be only the remnant of the Faithful — should be capable of resisting his will.

“Treachery was ever our greatest danger from Sauron.” Elrond lamented. “Tar-Míriel, you should have your own influence from rightful authority, are things so dire on Númenor that that is insufficient?”

“That is what we intended to rely on: to work against Sauron and let him earn the ire of the people when he betrays his nominal fealty. Unfortunately, my authority counts for much less when it is the result of treachery done by someone in my cause. That will not work now that no-one would take a side that meant standing with traitors. The Faithful are unfairly accounted as such, but we can no longer credibly claim otherwise.”

There was some restless shifting done by the Faithful with Amandil, but no-one spoke up. The news that some of their own had been sentenced for Ar-Pharazôn’s death was controversial, especially amongst those who personally knew the ones involved. Still, there was no good to be had in further arguing about a done deal.

The Faithful were a small minority and generally seen as outsiders and rebels. Their odds were not good if a civil war broke out, yet bringing in any outside help would be the final death knell for their legitimacy. The reverence the traditions of the Sea-Kings were held in was one of the few advantages they held, why Ar-Gimilzôr could not change the succession away from his contradictory son and why Sauron still couldn’t openly act against Tar-Míriel. They could not afford to lose it.

“We could fight the Enemy on a point that is unrelated to the Faithful.” Elendil suggested. “He was originally brought here as a hostage, perhaps we could instigate a rebellion in his lands. His fearsome reputation must have taken a blow among his servants when he yielded, we could exploit that.”

Gil-galad shook his head. “We have no-one who could make inroads there. Sauron manipulated the Men he set against us through the grudge they hold against Númenor, and he also encouraged the superstitious fears they have about us Elves. I regret to say you underestimate how implacably the Men of the surrounding lands regard you. If they do fear their dark master less now, it will only mean they fear their hated enemy who defeated him the more. I do not think there is anything that could compel them to act out now, when they see themselves as trapped between a rock and a hard place.”

That was problematic, but not wholly surprising. Many years ago, the Men of Darkness showed well that they feared Númenor’s wrath even more than their God-King’s, when they deserted their master to his defeat rather than stand and fight. Amandil had to agree that if that impression indeed still lingered, then they would not attempt any rebelliousness. He was more surprised that the alarm with which the ignorant viewed the Fair Folk was still such an issue after Sauron’s influence was reduced.

The regrettable behaviour of the King’s Men in how harshly they ruled their dominions Middle-earth, and in their raids against the lesser Men for entertainment and plunder, had left the High Men feared and hated everywhere their ships landed[4] . This was to the liking of those who participated in such things, and they amused themselves by encouraging the dark legends they inspired rather than curbing the rumour-mongering. Ridiculously, when Amandil had ordered outposts established against Sauron, many of the local tribes his men had dealt with even believed that they were cannibals[5].

“Since the Ring is a weapon, we could demand he surrender it and seize it when he refuses.” One of the Faithful with Amandil, Teliadis, suggested.

“That is a potential option, but not a first resort. We need to prevent Sauron from realizing we are trying to destroy the Ring as long as possible. I mean no offense to you, Gil-galad, but it would also be better in that case to be able to offer an explanation of the Ring’s dangers to the court that does not rely entirely on accepting your word.” Tar-Míriel cautioned.

“I understand, I expected that Sauron would pursue his grudge against us from his new position in Númenor. I know he wishes to destroy us, I must ask what danger are we in on that front?” Gil-galad asked.

“There is no support for such an effort and Sauron has no pretext for suggesting it. We will, of course, warn you if that changes.” Amandil reassured.

The cooled friendship between the Kingdom of Númenor and the Kingdom of Lindon hadn’t yet led to them wanting to match arms. The Exiles had not been in contact with the Undying Lands since they left there, and were outsiders to Númenor’s issues with Valinor. There was simply nothing to gain from a distasteful betrayal of an old ally. Not even prestige, for it was perfectly clear who would win such a contest.

Gil-galad had realized even before his war started that the combined might of the Elven realms was insufficient to fend off Sauron, and sent appeals to Númenor for help. He owed his life, and the continued existence of his kingdom, to the fact that Númenor had been willing to oblige his request to help fortify his borders and also sent a host to step in before the last Elvish strongholds were overrun. In contrast, in Númenor’s own war later, against Sauron they easily won alone. Amandil was uncomfortably aware that Gil-galad’s intense efforts in rebuilding his military had not been only because he wanted a more equal footing against just Sauron.

Their alliance helping the Elves against Sauron had sadly also been the start of their friendship with the Elves ending. Ciryatan, heir of Tar-Minastir and a commander in his armed forces, had managed the remarkable feat of making a poor impression on the people he was at that moment saving from death and worse at the hands of the Dark Lord. His own impression was no better. Ciryatan returned from the war with disdain for the abilities of Númenor’s less powerful friends and contempt for the pitiful refugees fleeing from Sauron. It was when Tar-Ciryatan succeeded his father that Númenor shifted from visiting the lesser Men to give them an occasional helping hand, to instead putting them under subjection and taking tribute from them.

“Is that it then, we must keep on simply watching and waiting?” Isildur asked, crossing his arms, when it seemed no-one else had any plans to offer.

Amandil placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes that is all there is to be done. Remember how long our ancestors spent holding out against Morgoth, and then we were saved beyond any looked for hope.”

Isildur looked at the young White Tree by the window. “And sometimes taking risks are necessary.”

The seedling from Nimloth had grown steadily. Isildur — as the one who had taken the initiative to steal a fruit from Nimloth and paid with grievous injuries when he fought his way past the guards — had the privilege and responsibility of tending to the sapling. He kept it trimmed so that it wouldn’t outgrow its pot. There, the White Tree would have to remain until the day dawned where it could be replanted in its proper pride of place in the King’s Court.

The pot was also housed in the high tower with the palantír, as a compromise between the need to expose the sapling to a sunlit window and the need to keep it out of sight. The tree’s lineage was immediately obvious in the otherworldly, silver glow reflecting from the underside of the dark green leaves. Their defiance against Ar-Pharazôn’s command would be undeniable if anyone caught a glimpse of it. They had already been very lucky that Isildur’s disguise wasn’t dislodged when he was wounded, and that they managed to keep his recovery process quiet enough to be deniable during the search for the ‘brazen rebel’. Sauron had of course suspected the culprit was one of Amandil’s household, but Pharazôn and Míriel had not allowed his home to be searched on only a suspicion.

“It is already a step forward to know exactly what we are facing from our Enemy,” Míriel said, “it appears that is our best option to focus on for now. We will look to assemble proof of what Sauron has done with the Ring. No-one will listen to him anymore when they know of that undue influence on them and he will no longer be able to oppose us.”

---

Chapter End Notes

1The way they got together, Tar-Palantir forbidding his brother and nephew from his house, and Gimilkhâd objecting to Pharazôn’s visits to Amandil’s family and love for Míriel, are all from draft b in HoME.

2‘Mount Doom’ doesn’t get coined as a name for Orodruin until Sauron’s comeback.

3From Tolkien’s essay, Ósanwe-kenta. We never see him do this onscreen, so I guess it was mostly early on when he was corrupting his Maiar servants.

4Naturally, this is also because of the Faithful’s own wrongdoings, but, judging by their narrations in canon, the Faithful are not very self-aware about that. I’ll take this moment to make a general statement that their fantasy racism is intentional characterization and not a reflection of me, the author. I don’t want to whitewash our good guys into saints, but rest assured that, like now, their arrogance will not be a good thing for them.

5From Tolkien’s short story Tal-Elmar. “Some say that [the Númenóreans’ captives] are eaten for meat; and others that they are slain with torment on the black stones in the worship of the Dark. Both maybe are true.”. Kinda raises some implications about the Melkor cultists tho, since we know the sacrifice part is accurate :|.

Chapter 5

Elwing’s name does not have an Adûnaic equivalent that I am aware of, so the one used in the chapter is my own attempt. I translated the roots in her name: El (star) -> Nimri (star/elf) and Wing (foam/spray) -> rôth (foam/wave-crest). I’m no linguist so please tell me if it sounds bad.

Read Chapter 5

Ring-lore was an esoteric field. The Rings of Power was a unique innovation by Eregion’s Brotherhood of Jewel-smiths, and one that was thereafter lost upon the disastrous reveal that their teacher was in fact Sauron in disguise. It was very unlikely, but not impossible, that Númenor would have recorded anything from the Elven craftmasters involved. Míriel thought she might as well try, and was busy checking the indexes in the palace library.

The library was one of the few rooms that were lit with Fëanorian lamps: dazzling crystals lit on the inside by ever-burning, smokeless, blue flames. It was a distinction left over from the days they had better esteemed their lore. The lamps were suspended in a net of silver chains below the ceiling, casting their glow over the shelves and desks in the large room. Like many of Fëanor’s creations, no-one else had managed to recreate the craft of making them and the only remaining Fëanorian lamps were a limited stock of treasured heirlooms, kept safe over the millenia. Even in the palace they were not commonly used. The fascinating artifact was one of the reasons this was her favourite room as a child.

Míriel did actually find accounts from Númenórean officials who had visited Eregion’s capital city of Ost-in-Edhil. Some of which involved ‘Annatar’, but none of which mentioned the Rings. The descriptions of Annatar were very different from Sauron’s current guise. She hadn’t thought of that, but it did make sense. Sauron had, after all, needed to fool Elves who could potentially have encountered him before as Morgoth’s Lieutenant. Despite his concealment, Galadriel had still been suspicious of Annatar, and left Eregion when she could not convince Celebrimbor that it was a mistake to let Annatar join his Jewel-smiths. Since Galadriel did that because she only had suspicions of his ill-intent in his work with the smiths and no-one knew of anything actionable, this was not particularly helpful information to Míriel, but did make the aloof Elven Lady suddenly feel relatable.

Míriel was interrupted when Sauron’s arrival was announced. She at least didn’t have to run into him without warning anymore, but regrettably she could not prevent a royal advisor from asking to access her altogether. Deciding that it would look more suspicious to try to keep him out of the room, she let him in. She was slightly surprised at his presence. Sauron, perhaps acknowledging that he had for now lost his momentum in the court, was spending more time than ever in his temple. Míriel was very concerned about whatever he was plotting there, but that was the one place she could have no ears. No free Man would swear Morgoth’s creeds, for any necessity of pretence. She did know he hadn’t tried to seize anyone to take them into the temple, which was reassuring, but only raised more questions about his purpose.

Míriel went through the greetings perfunctorily. Sauron had arrived in Númenor already conversant with the customs of their nobility. Unsettlingly, that had practically confirmed the rumour that some of his Nazgûl were originally Númenórean lords. Everything about his persona, from his speech to the fair form he had assumed, was crafted to manipulate the court. Sauron was consequently very good at being charming when he tried to be. This was undermined by how incredibly disturbing the incongruous facade came across when you knew the true malevolence behind it. Bafflingly, entirely too many people who should have known better still fell for it.

“I hadn’t realized you had a library here.” Sauron looked curiously at the shelves.

Míriel watched with annoyance as Sauron flipped through her books. They were copies — the original manuscripts, which ranged from old to ancient, needed more preservation than a bookshelf and were stored in the Loremasters’ archives — but she had many fond memories of them. With Sauron enflaming the anti-Elvish sentiment, those originals were not as safe as they should be either.

She took the opportunity to surreptitiously look at his hands. On his left index finger was an understated golden ring. The fiery inscription was written in the familiar tengwar runes, but read nonsensical words which presumably meant something in his Black Speech. She had seen it before, but hadn’t realized its significance before Gil-galad’s revelation. Such an innocuous thing to be so significant.

"Leithian as well? I read Pengolodh's[6] work at Ost-in-Edhil, but they hadn’t included this biased tale. I see the written version is even worse. I know poetic exaggeration has its purpose, but this lay takes it entirely too far.” Sauron tsked as he put the manuscript back soon after he had taken it.

Productions of the Lay of Leithian were encouraged by the Royal House even after their break from the Elves. It was very convenient for any ruler to remind their people that the royals’ revered bloodline descending from the Holy Ones was a matter of historical fact. It was simple enough for kings who did not want to give credit to the Elves or Ainur to emphasise the heroics of the mortal hero Beren and downplay the help he had received. Beren’s kin had always tended to do that regardless. The King’s Men could take it as propaganda of their own just by adding some focus on the unsympathetic Elves portrayed. The Elf King Thingol’s callous dismissal of Men and the outright villainy of the Fëanorians, Curufin and Celegorm, made that very easy.

It had only stopped under Sauron's influence, who had not taken gracefully the unflattering depiction of his embarrassing defeat. The cessation bothered Míriel less than it should have. Listening to the epic exploits of her legendary, half-Maia foremother, who had taken on both Sauron and Morgoth and won, only made her own powerlessness feel worse. But Míriel was no Lúthien, and even Lúthien could not have accomplished her feats if Beren had wavered and helped Sauron instead.

Míriel would have dearly liked to emulate Lúthien’s trouncing of Sauron, but lacked a convenient, friendly Valinorean Hound. In her case a physical confrontation would not actually help, either. Lúthien having had to wrest a Silmaril from the Iron Crown of Morgoth was closer to their problem with Sauron and the Ring, but incapacitating Morgoth was a feat only Lúthien could have managed. You could not ensnare someone more powerful than yourself in an enchantment. Lúthien had only succeeded in charming Morgoth asleep by also charming him more metaphorically with her beautiful dance in order to trick him into keeping his gaze on her. Sauron by no accounts shared Morgoth’s weakness for that sort of thing. Which was a relief, as Míriel very much did not want to have to attempt that tactic.

She wondered if Celebrimbor really had left that account out. Poor Celebrimbor’s own reputation had undergone some posthumous vindication after his steadfast resistance had brought him a very ugly death even by Sauron’s usual standards, but the Fëanorians in general had not been kindly treated in the histories. She knew how unpleasant it was to have all your relatives’ evil actions detailed. Although hers were usually praised for them instead of condemned, and she was uncertain if that was better or worse.

"I am surprised at you, Ar-Zimraphel,” Sauron smiled slyly, “banned material, right in the heart of your capital?"

"These works have great historical significance and they are hardly spreading subversive ideas to anyone impressionable from in here." Míriel responded evenly. “What was it you wanted?”

Pharazôn had never paid much attention to the library — which mostly consisted of volumes in Elven languages he couldn’t comfortably read — and did not particularly care either about a collection of illegal material that no-one other than herself would access. She had not fallen so low yet that someone could cause trouble over her bending Sauron’s law against ‘spreading Elvish propaganda’.

“I simply wanted to see how you were. We really must settle our differences sometime.” Sauron said.

“Really.” Míriel said sceptically. “You can’t have missed that I despise you and everything you stand for. Are you going to try and pretend you don’t hate us now?”

There was no point in hiding her feelings when they were alone. Even if she could have stomached pretending to cooperate with Sauron, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“Can we not let bygones be bygones?” Sauron sighed. “I had a dispute with your kingdom, you had one with me in turn. But I do like you Númenóreans, you have the power of the Elves without having their intractability. You had already left them behind before I came, and even more so now with my guidance.”

“Everyone saw the benefit your guidance gave Ost-in-Edhil.” Míriel said pointedly.

Sauron had spent centuries living unobtrusively in Celebrimbor’s city and never faltered in his guise as Annatar. Then he played his hand and destroyed them. That he had behaved himself humbly for a paltry decade in Númenor proved nothing. Unlike Celebrimbor, Míriel knew exactly who and what she was dealing with.

“Yes, and after everything I taught them, those greedy fools still betrayed me to steal my work.” Sauron snarled, clenching his fists.

Míriel blinked at his outburst. It seemed she struck a nerve there. ‘Surely Sauron didn’t actually believe his own line about working to the benefit of Middle-earth?’ Míriel thought bemused. On the one hand, she really wanted to ask what exactly had happened there. Everyone else who had been directly involved in the Ring incident was dead. Some of them might have been re-embodied since then, but as Númenor no longer had contact with Aman that made no difference. The Elves of Lindon had only found out that Sauron had invaded Eregion after he had already sacked Ost-in-Edhil. On the other hand, Sauron’s spin of the events would be worse than useless for learning anything.

“But they no longer matter.” Sauron said more calmly. “Your scepticism is unfounded. I know many things beyond your mortal limitations, and haven’t I been generous in sharing my teaching?”

“Devising engines is not comparable to changing the natural order.” Míriel disputed. “Besides, you served Aulë the Smith and not Estë the Healer, unless you are going to try to claim the histories lied about that as well. Even granting that curing death was possible, it would not be under your purview.”

It was difficult to imagine at all that Sauron the Terrible had once been a force of good, but it was completely ridiculous to picture any benevolent version of his personality in Estë the Gentle’s line of work. Whereas she could almost see how he had fit into the technical focus of Aulë’s forges. Sauron had been politic enough to mix his false promises with other advances that he really could bring into their reach, specifically his vast technical expertise. As the other thing Sauron was chiefly known for was his ability to turn anything to evil purposes, Númenor’s resulting advancements had made them more powerful, but simultaneously increased their dissatisfaction.

“Remember that Melkor shared all the powers of the Valar, and did not accept their arbitrary limitations. Just because the Valar think they must hoard immortality in their land does not mean it is so.” Sauron said.

"I know that changing the Gift of Eru is not in the power of any of the Ainur and that living in the Undying Lands only hastens death for mortals." Míriel disagreed.

“The only reason you have to believe that is Manwë’s messengers saying so.” Sauron countered. “As a counterpoint you simply have to look at what actually did happen when a mortal reached Valinor. Tuor, Azrubêl and Nimrirôth all dared to venture to the Undying Lands and each became immortal as a result. It makes one wonder why exactly Manwë saw fit to eternally isolate them from their kin afterwards.”

“That is a misrepresentation. Tuor is the only one of them that was entirely mortal to start with, and him becoming immortal was a rumour, not a fact.” Míriel said.

"How convenient,” Sauron drawled, “you received these histories from Valinor, yet they are not to be listened to when they say something Valinor finds awkward. But only then."

"I would rather trust old friends than an old enemy.” Míriel retorted.

"You shouldn't. The Valar ruined Middle-earth in war and then abandoned its people to suffer miserable and pointless lives in the aftermath. Can you say with conviction they were right to do so? I know that Númenor, as I also did, took pity on Middle-earth and aided its people in rebuilding while Valinor never gave them another thought. The Valar never had any true understanding of incarnates and no real vision for building Middle-earth up to what it should be. I saw that staying within the confines of their dictates would lead to nothing ever being done, and history has clearly vindicated that view." Sauron declared passionately.

Míriel was unimpressed. “You speak as if you were the only one of the Ainur to venture into Middle-earth. It was Eönwë’s teaching that helped us to build up Númenor and Uinen has long been our protector on the oceans. Neither did anyone in Valinor object to my ancestor, Melian, living in Middle-earth and joining a kingdom of incarnates. If you had honestly cared about helping Middle-earth you could have also done so in a rightful manner. You certainly never needed to join Morgoth and bring destruction instead.”

Middle-earth could certainly have done with a Maia who helped its troubles. Even Melian had returned to Valinor after her husband and daughter died. She wondered why couldn’t he have just done that instead of spreading the Shadow. So many problems could have been averted.

“That route may have worked out for Melian, but I’m afraid marrying my way into a throne wasn't an option for me. Why, are you offering, Míriel?” He smirked.

“What? No!” Míriel spluttered. She took a deep breath. 'Don't let him disconcert you', she told herself sternly. "Without changing the subject, and without being so impertinent, you can explain how you are helping anyone other than yourself.”

“Hasn’t our current association helped Númenor enough?” Sauron asked. “Your professed allegiance would have you refuse to admit it, but you know, Queen, that it pleases you to have your banners flying everywhere to the edges of Arda. Though, I would suggest you complete the picture by making those foolish Elves your protectorate in name as well as in practice. They do make a nuisance of themselves with those nagging letters.”

Míriel felt irritated. Sauron had no business knowing what correspondences had occurred between Númenor and Lindon, but of course he did anyway thanks to Pharazôn’s lapsed judgement. Reopening diplomatic relations with Gil-galad was one area where her father actually did have success, but afterwards that just meant the Elves were being horrified at them directly instead of at distant rumours.

“You know nothing of what I want, and I don’t need your kind of help.” Míriel frowned.

“You have a vision, but your recalcitrant subjects will not fall in line to implement it, and you need a way to overcome their stubbornness to enact your design on them. I understand that perfectly. People never do accept what is best for them.” Sauron sighed. “What you don’t understand is that you should have used different methods than your own if you wanted to accomplish that. You approved Melian’s softhanded guidance, but I'll remind you that her approach ended in her kingdom not following her advice, to their ruin. Eönwë taught your ancestors, but, without anything to reinforce that, they still ended up departing from Valinor’s guidance afterwards. See? I told you that Valinor does not understand how to effectively deal with incarnates. But that is fortunate, Arda could still have been under their thumb if they did.”

“You are missing the point, that they are not obeyed by force is what separates a king from a tyrant.” Míriel argued. “You remember the Great Battle, did the descriptions do it justice? If ruling by Strength was something the Valar were willing to countenance, then they would have simply destroyed your kingdom too, and you would not have been able to make that argument in the first place.”

“Are you sure that is the metric you want to argue?” Sauron smiled, amused. “Your father’s subjects hated him, and they would not have chosen you as their leader either, if they had had a say in the matter.”

“Loyalty does not necessarily entail agreement. Don’t accuse my subjects of treasonous wishes so lightly.” Míriel said coolly.

Míriel herself couldn’t unreservedly agree with all of Manwë’s decisions as the Elder King, but that didn’t mean she thought rebelling against Eru’s vice-regent was wise. And for all the unpopularity her father had had, he had faced much less overt rebellion than he could have had. The Valar themselves had directly appointed Elros as King; the authority of his heir could not be disputed over a philosophical disagreement. Númenor may have turned away from the Valar, but losing the substance of their traditions had never stopped them before from still using them.

This inconsistency was why the King’s Men, despite a few of their points being genuinely valid, had an untenable ideology. Númenor’s privileged position was due to Valinor, and if Valinor’s authority was not legitimate then neither was their own. Without higher ideals, Númenor’s ascendancy was based only on their strength to enforce it. Which would make them no better than Morgoth and Sauron’s tyranny, so of course Sauron would see it that way.

Admittedly, it had also helped Míriel’s father that he had been considerably more intimidating than she was. Tar-Palantir had taken ‘Far-sighted’ as his regnal name because of his gift of Foresight, even the people who had hated him were wary of his truth-speaking. His prediction that the line of Kings would also perish when the White Tree died, had for a long time stymied Sauron’s insistence that Nimloth needed to kindle the altar. Pharazôn had only given in after Nimloth’s fruit was stolen, enraged by such blatant defiance. If Isildur had been less brash then it might not have happened. Míriel was still mostly relieved that she had let Amandil know about the threat to Nimloth[7]. Sauron had already once before succeeded in eventually convincing Pharazôn of the unimaginable when he built the temple in the first place. That had been another situation with no good answers.

“Fair enough.” Sauron acknowledged indifferently. “You still have a naive estimation of Manwë. To be any kind of ruler, one must have something to rule over, and precious little of that had survived Valinor’s last campaign. Manwë cannot make a direct assault without destroying his objective, and he has no talent for the subtle approach. His attempts to bring you back in line have been poorly thought out, haven’t they? We have nothing to fear from his interference.”

“Think about it.” He added when Míriel didn’t respond. He left, leaving Míriel alone with her thoughts.

So Sauron did think he could corrupt her as he had Pharazôn. He had badly misjudged her then. Míriel didn't know if victory was attainable, but, if she would lose, it would not be because she listened to Sauron. Ultimately, the truth or falsehood of Sauron’s persuasions didn’t really matter when she knew he was making them in bad faith

---

Chapter End Notes

6 The Elf historian that in-universe wrote down many of the stories in the Silmarillion.
7 Amandil and co obviously had to get all that info they still hear even after leaving Armenelos from someone still there and in the know. Míriel is the obvious person to be responsible for that, and it gives her something to have been doing during Akallabeth.

Chapter 6

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Their trouble with Sauron had not brought the mundane matters of state to a halt, and Míriel had some to attend to.

The first issue was solved easily. Pharazôn, who spent most of his youth building up a lengthy military experience, had himself filled the office of commander in chief of the armed forces. The vacant position needed a replacement, but for once politics were in their favour. The logical choice was Amandil. He had also earned wide-spread esteem as a captain, often on the very same expeditions securing their Middle-earth borders that had made Pharazôn so popular. There had been some formulaic meetings that were held and quickly adjourned.

Míriel was avoiding the second issue. A seemly amount of time had passed and the court became politely insistent that their Queen should remarry. They spoke of needing to see the succession secured, and had unspoken aims of advancing themselves through their preferred candidates. She obviously saw the need to avert the looming succession crisis, but there was no good option for doing so.

Míriel had no direct relatives in the line of Kings to make her heir. In those frenetic early years after her father’s death she had thought they would have plenty of time for children later when things were more settled. Then, only six years into her marriage, the war with Sauron happened and all of her plans were derailed. Between the irreconcilable disagreement Míriel had with Pharazôn's new course and Pharazôn being convinced that the quest for immortality would soon be over, the issue of an heir had fallen to the wayside.

Míriel’s third cousin, Amandil, was her closest living relative, but that was through her father’s mother. It was a distant 17 generations ago that the Lords of Andúnië had branched off from the line of Kings. His family was still the strongest successor candidate, as they were the only other Númenórean House accorded royal status and were second in rank only to the ruler. It was almost stated that they were meant to take the throne when Númenor’s symbolic White Tree had its line continued in their keeping.

Amandil had also outright named his son 'Elf-friend'. It was an open secret that Amandil led the Elf-friends. Despite this, Aphanuzîr the great ship captain was generally popular in Númenor, for he was accomplished in everything the populace admired. They could forgive him some eccentric beliefs that did not cause him to behave improperly. It was not a matter of them accepting Amandil himself, however. Amandil was considerably older than Miriel, and he came with unpopular heirs.

Unfortunately, Elendil ‘Elf-friend’ did not enjoy the same goodwill as his father, and his own son, the outspoken Isildur, had even less. While Míriel was sure Elendil or young Isildur would make a good king, passing the throne to a branch House was unprecedented in their law. The King’s Men would be reluctant to acknowledge their claim in the first place, and would more likely than not use that excuse to refuse to do so. They were better than having no appointed heir, but it would still cause strife.

The most stable solution would be to oblige the court, which was not an option she would have preferred even if she had wanted to remarry. The Council of the Sceptre’s power was purely advisory, unless they needed to act as regents. She was not entirely sure it was a good idea to make a regency for a young heir possible, but the kind of infighting a succession dispute would cause would be even more useful for Sauron.

Doing so was not simple. The royal house of Númenor conventionally only married within the Line of Elros. After their blessings started fading, the high-born Númenórean Houses focussed heavily on preserving their bloodlines to grasp at the gifts they could still keep. They had only a little more luck there than they did trying to cure death. Keeping track of family trees was an exponentially difficult task when you took into account more than a single line of descent, and no-one knew for certain how the more mysterious traits were inherited.

There were few unattached noblemen left who were of high enough and pure enough blood to be eligible for her hand, and finding one who would serve for her agenda would be difficult. The last thing she needed was one of Sauron’s deluded followers trying to wield influence through her. Neither could she lightly afford a controversial choice against that convention.

Amandil’s House were still the only Faithful left in court, which was not a very feasible option either. Reverting to the broken betrothal her father had originally set up with Amandil’s older brother, Elentir[8] , would be troublesome to frame in a way that wasn’t insulting to both him and to Pharazôn’s memory. Elentir had not at all helped matters by being so dramatic about her rejection and insisting he would never marry anyone else. Not to mention that it would be intensely awkward to ask him again after all that, which would still be less awkward than having to rob the cradle with one of Elendil’s sons.

At the time Míriel had agreed that their most powerful and influential supporters was the best political match, but her fondness for Elentir was too familial for her to be happy about it. Whatever the law said, the distant cousin that was friends with her father was the one that felt too close to marry. Then Pharazôn had come and seemingly offered a perfect solution to everything she had worried about. Given how that had turned out and her current circumstances, she would have to set her expectations lower again to sensible political convenience. It was nothing urgent at least, even if she couldn’t put off a decision indefinitely.

The next issue involved a petition from the Houses of Healing and first required further attention before it could be addressed. The Houses of Healing in Armenelos was a quiet and grim building. During Míriel’s youth her father had frequently brought her along to his visits there. As part of his attempts to revive the old ways, both of them had learned medicinal lore so that the hands of the king could be the hands of a healer again. She had actually quite enjoyed it — it was a relief to have problems that were straight-forward to fix — but rarely had time for it anymore. The sweet scent of athelas and the muffled chants seeping through the walls was almost painfully nostalgic.

All forms of sickness were nearly non-existent on the blessed Isle of Elenna. The Númenórean people as a rule lived untroubled by infirmities and natural deaths came only after many long years. The Halls was hence mainly used by a trickle of unfortunate people who had suffered accidents. A fortunate Man would never step foot in there and most people did not like to be reminded of its existence. Now, however, it was the busiest she had ever seen the place. When she entered, there were even people lining up outside the building that had to make way for her entourage.

Míriel was unsettled by the unusual bustle which only kept increasing, until she reached the more private office of the head healer. This would at least involve a mostly friendly face. Khibilphêl was a relative on her mother’s side and they had been taught together. Healing was a fairly popular option for younger sons and daughters in the Line of Elros that could not inherit anything important, but did not want a military life. Medicine was always useful, but the spark of inherent power from Melian the Maia which was inherited by the descendents of Elros let them influence more than the mundane effects of a poultice[9] .

“I can already say that your petition for increased funding and expansion was warranted.” Míriel smiled wanly. “What is happening here?”

“More of the usual that the Avalôi has taken to inflicting on us, Ar-Zimraphel, but the cumulative effect is becoming problematic. The quicker Men age, and the more they grow ill, the less hands we have for maintaining our struggle. Why are they being so petty?” Khibilphêl vented.

“We know why. If we serve the Darkness as well, then obviously, if unfortunately, the Lords of the West will also treat us like Men of Darkness." Míriel said unhappily.

Sauron, damn him, was correct that Númenor had long ago departed from Valinor’s example in regards to Middle-earth. After the Men of Darkness had ceased to be threatening to their old enemies, they became pitied for the desolate circumstances they were since reduced to. That was a point which Míriel could simply not agree with the Valar’s judgement, either.

It was not undeserved, that the Men who had accepted the leadership of Morgoth’s servants were left to all the cruel consequences that had brought them. But it was harsh, when those Men had not had many realistic options for avoiding the action they were condemned for. The Númenóreans’ ancestors had, at dreadful cost, rebelled against Morgoth, but their suffering was why they had been so richly rewarded. You did not reward someone for an action they were merely obligated to do, which conversely meant that you should not punish someone else for not doing so. The fate of Middle-earth was a very unpromising indication for how long Númenor would bear their own guilt for returning to Morgoth’s worship.

“Then it was very dishonest of Avallōni to offer us gifts”, Khibilphêl said, “and not admit they were in truth bribes to hold over our heads. Yes, it was good of them to fix the mess they made in the first place, but it is a bit much to expect us to be eternally grateful for it. Really, what did they even give us that we were not entitled to in the first place? They gifted us a new land, but this was only necessary because they had destroyed our homes in Beleriand. They restored our lifespans and health, which again was only necessary in the first place because they abandoned us to their renegade brethren when Men Awakened.

“They still think it is good that we alone are fated to die. Why, I don’t think they realize what a gift is. It is a sad joke to call death a gift when we do not want it and cannot refuse it. Almost as bad a joke as telling us that our mortality is not a punishment, but then punishing us by shortening our lives again. We do not need their conditional blessings, we will soon have a real solution like the Elves. We will just have to work around our current inconveniences in the meantime.”

The lifespan the Edain used to live was increased three-fold when they were gifted their blessings and Elenna-norë. The Line of Elros, who also descended from the great kings of the Eldar and even one of the Ainur, had a five-fold lifespan. Ever since Númenor had stopped following the Valar, however, the Sea-Kings died earlier every generation. It had reached the point that the House of Elros lived only an ordinary triple span, and the Númenóreans of lower birth dropped even lower. They did not know exactly how that had happened, but the pious branch of the Lords of Andúnië being far less affected was a rather clear indication that their rebellion was the cause.

Her father’s death at 220 made him the first King who outlived his predecessor since the decline had started, if only by three years, and his years might have been longer if they had been easier. Like the rest of Tar-Palantir’s efforts, he had still restored much less than he wanted to. Amandil, with his undiminished blessing, was already two decades older than Tar-Palantir had been at his death, yet Amandil was not even close to his own old age.

Míriel wasn’t sure how her own faithfulness would be judged. Her reign had certainly outdone all the previous rebellious Kings; Númenor was now descended as far into evil as the collective ingenuity of its people could devise. The question was if it would help that this was despite her efforts and not because of them. She likely couldn’t count on more than another 60 years either. At best.

Her uncle, Gimilkhâd, had not even lived a full two centuries, though even in their cursed days that was an abnormally young death for a descendent of Elros. The worry that he would share his father’s bad luck had gnawed on Pharazôn, especially since he looked older than her despite being in truth a year younger. Sauron had never let an opportunity pass for Pharazôn to feel reminded of his inevitable and likely early death.

“Yes,” Míriel said, “and now when someone dies, just as soon as they did before, we can preserve the dead flesh against rotting. I admit you studied Healing further than I did, but that quest is not leading to anywhere. You know that the Elves are little different from us in body, the difference between us lies at a deeper level than that. Immortality has no material cause that we can affect, it is simply not possible.”

That was an old argument on Númenor. In terms of pure biology, there wasn’t any significant difference between mortal Men and immortal Elves. The existence of Half-Elves was a definitive demonstration of that. Any biology at all, was strictly optional to the other immortals, the Ainur. The brothers Elrond and Elros had after all, had absolutely no difference between them, beyond being allowed to choose if they wanted to have the fate of a mortal or immortal. Elros, Half-Elven and part-Ainu[10] , had less than half his blood of Mannish origin and still lived and died as a mortal Man.

“Zigûr’s necromancy is distasteful,” Khibilphêl admitted, “but his wraiths are a proof of concept that mortal spirits can escape from death and continue on without any ‘natural’ lifespan. If you can simultaneously preserve the spirit and preserve the body, then aren’t you immortal? Immortality is theoretically possible and we won’t just give up.”

“Distasteful is putting it mildly. It is counterproductive to try escaping from the horror of death by being constantly surrounded by it.” Míriel said.

Míriel had experienced the misfortune of seeing one of the Nazgûl up close. Sauron could not attend to every aspect of ruling his lands while physically absent, and occasionally his most important subordinates came to meet with him. The Ringwraiths filled their surroundings with the icy cold of the grave, and their shrouded faces made you feel your own inevitability creeping upon you. There was a reason not even her misguided people had tried to escape death through necromancy.

“Regardless, we still have practical problems to sort out in the meantime.” Khibilphêl said.

That, at least, consisted of some straightforward arrangements.

“A lighter question then, have you decided on marrying someone yet?” Khibilphêl asked afterwards.

“I’m still weighing my options, there is a lot to be taken into account.” Míriel evaded.

“That’s cold, you were always the one that loved the tales of fated romances.” Khibilphêl teased.

“Yes, but defying the world for love didn’t work out very well for myself.” Míriel said ruefully.

“Ah, are the Faithful still upset about your marriage to Ar-Pharazôn?” Khibilphêl asked.

“I can’t really complain, they did turn out to be correct that it was a mistake.”

“You did make the right decision. Tar-Palantir left Anadûnê on the verge of revolt, whereupon you reconciled the populace and now we are more prosperous than ever. Of course you were justified in improving the stability of the realm instead of pursuing a futile mission to restore archaic beliefs.”

“I am glad there is someone who isn’t upset with me,” Míriel said dryly, “but now I have neither a stable realm nor did I maintain our ‘archaic beliefs’.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Khibilphêl said, “I don’t think you actually would have had better luck opposing the King’s Men’s agendas if you hadn’t married Ar-Pharazôn. Remember when your father was King and how your uncle kept subverting his efforts and raising rebellion against his commands? We would have just gone through that again and worse, for Ar-Pharazôn was better loved than his father and Tar-Palantir had exhausted the Faithful’s credibility. If you had followed Tar-Palantir’s plans you would have likely just brought down a full civil war on your head.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better. We will never know now.” Míriel said.

“Then look at it this way,” Khibilphêl winked, “the Faithful only gained their grip on the Sceptre in the first place thanks to a King marrying unwisely. It's only fair to take it with good grace when they are on the losing side of that as well.”

“An internal dispute is one thing,” Míriel complained, “Zigûr taking the opportunity to involve himself is another.”

“A little flexibility is in order, don’t you think?” Khibilphêl asked. “Zigûr is powerful and we should take advantage of the fact that we can force him to compromise and cooperate with us.”

“That was what Pharazôn thought,” Míriel said, “and now Zigûr is the power behind the throne. We cannot control him and it is foolish to try.”

Beyond a few formalities, Míriel had had no contact with Sauron in those first three years when he had been a mistrusted prisoner. His presence was always unsettling and there was no good reason for seeking it out. Unfortunately, Pharazôn had been overconfident from his victory and underestimated the subtler dangers Sauron still posed. Afterwards, she was obliged to see Sauron frequently in the elevated position he had connived for himself, but he had soon realized that he could not cozen her in the same way as he had Pharazôn. Since he had not actually needed to do so with everyone in the court, except Amandil, following Pharazôn’s lead, he had previously seemed content to leave it at that.

Míriel would not repeat Pharazôn’s mistake in thinking Sauron could be controlled. Sauron was only constrained because he had objectives he was unwilling to abandon. If he had thought his position was unsalvageable, then he always had the last resort of sacrificing his physical form and abandoning his empire to their retaliation. That was likely how a ‘victory’ on Míriel’s part would turn out. Having him gone from any positions of power and influence, and unambiguously cast as Númenor’s common enemy, would be such a boon however, that she would be entirely happy with that result.

“Zigûr only managed to accomplish anything that he could cajole the King into. That Ar-Pharazôn turned out to have less moral principles than you would have preferred does not change that. Unless you think you are suddenly in danger of succumbing to Zigûr’s charm, we are quite safe.” Khibilphêl pointed out.

“And the cult Zigûr started was things being under control?” Míriel asked sarcastically.

Míriel may have had to always frame her objections to worshipping Morgoth in terms of pragmatic issues the person she was addressing would care about, but she never made a pretence of not opposing the practice. Dark blood rites in honour of Morgoth Bauglir was past the point where one could morally hold a diplomatic neutrality on a subject.

“If Mulkhêr gives more generously than Êru will,” Khibilphêl said, “then it is only fair he receives more valuable sacrifices than the first fruits we offered to Êru. So long as he really will deliver on Zigûr’s promises, that is. You are perfectly right that it is past time we start seeing actual results for our efforts.”

“Khibilphêl, how can you say that?” Míriel was horrified. ‘ Was there nowhere on Númenor that Sauron’s rationalizations wouldn’t be swallowed?’

“Saying some people should die is an improvement over saying everyone must die! The Avalôi don’t have the moral high ground here.” Khibilphêl scoffed. “Besides, putting the lives of malefactors and lesser Men to good use for the glory of Anadûnê is hardly an outrageous concept, this is just more direct.”

---

Míriel returned home with a heavy heart.

Spring was going to begin soon. That was the last issue she had to make a decision on, whether the first day of spring would also lead to the first of the yearly Three Prayers, as it should. It was clearly a bad idea, the very few people who would approve were not going to have their positions significantly changed from the observance, and the rest would cause trouble. Míriel hadn’t yet tried something controversial against Sauron’s influence, for the very good reason that the worst thing a leader could risk was to issue an order that wouldn’t be obeyed. This wasn’t a good point to use as a start. Yet neglecting it also felt too much like the compromises that had landed Númenor in this position in the first place.

The afternoon darkened into the long evening. Armenelos was built on the eastern slope of the vast Pillar of Heaven and consequently the city always saw relatively early sunsets when the Sun dipped behind the mountain. The shortness made the sunsets no less spectacular, as the flat mountain top became outlined by the setting sun's glow and the bright colours reflected on the clouds below the summit. At that moment, the sky was only darkening instead. The sunsets were rarely visible anymore, for that was the same time that Manwë’s clouds rose out of the West. Míriel shivered in the evening air, the sign seemed inexplicably more ominous than usual.

---

Chapter End Notes

Footnotes:
8 Elentir’s existence and the Elentir-Míriel-Pharazôn triangle are only in the HoME drafts. It’s not said that the betrothal was Tar-Palantir’s idea, but Míriel immediately breaking it when she gets an opportunity makes it a pretty obvious interpretation.
9 Aragorn’s ‘Hands of the King’ magic healing powers was because of his non-human ancestry from Lúthien (Letter 155). There used to be a lot more people running around which that applied to, which I’m guessing is partially responsible for Númenor’s amazing medical abilities. Which really raises the question of how ‘magic’ genetics works, since that is a lot of generations by the time we reach Third Age Aragorn.
10 If you want the exact math, Elros is 6.25% Maia, 56.25% Elf (10/64 Vanyar, 6/64 Noldor, 20/64 Teleri), and 37.5% Man (15/64 House of Bëor, 5/64 House of Hador, 4/64 House of Haleth). So nearly everyone and the majority not human :p

Chapter 7

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Míriel was frustrated. It felt like they were progressing too slowly in dealing with Sauron. That should probably not have surprised her, they had spent years only managing to stay the horrible situation Sauron had dropped them in while everything grew gradually worse. The slightly greater freedom they had gained to act was not by itself enough to turn that situation around.

Míriel glanced around her room to check once again that she was alone, then opened the non-descript letter.

It was a report from the Lord of Dol Amroth[11]. He was a high-ranking lord from the Line of Elros, and he ruled the major bastion of the Faithful in Middle-earth. Since many of the Faithful had fled from Númenor to Middle-earth, there were much more even numbers between the Faithful and the King’s Men outside Númenor.

The fortresses held by the Faithful and the Elves represented a considerable force, if not one that could compare against Númenor proper. Míriel was going to do her absolute best to avoid being forced to call on them, but it never hurt to be prepared. Especially when the odds were against you.

Númenor’s soldiers had been remaining mobilized as it was. They currently had to deal with a fairly regular threat of uprisings in the populace. Míriel knew, but could not prove, that Sauron was responsible for stoking unrest in Númenor’s people. The Faithful had obvious reasons to oppose Sauron, but, more generally, his awful policies had also created predictable reactions in those who were unhappy at not being the ones benefiting from them. She did know that Sauron was the one encouraging the harsh way such murmurings were suppressed by the aristocracy. It was easy to see why he would do both, to weaken Númenor.

Míriel uncovered her lantern, then carefully burned the letter.

It was an uncertain balance. Any drastic action the Faithful could take had so much potential to make things even worse. They were simply lacking in feasible actions to pursue. At the same time, that same passivity gave the Enemy far too much chance to pursue his own plots.

---

“To what do I owe this unexpected honour?” Sauron asked sardonically.

Míriel valiantly resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at him. Míriel and Amandil were the best placed to try to find out more about what he was up to, and she had braced herself for him to be obnoxious about them going to his seat of power in the temple.

If Leithian had had any poetic exaggeration of Sauron’s theatrical taste, then Sauron seemed fully intent on now living up to it. The center of the temple to Darkness was illuminated solely by the altar, making the shadows around and above the contrasting fire seem impenetrable. This was the origin of the haze constantly darkening the sky, ever since that first day when Sauron had conjured up the flames to consume the wood from Nimloth. The ever-burning altar was exactly placed in the yawning, circular chamber in order to accentuate his black seat of blood-darkened stone and flaming eyes with ominous shadow. The excessiveness of the display would have been ridiculous, if it had not been so deadly serious.

The presumption of the near throne was accepted for nominally being the seat of a High Priest and not a King, but that wasn’t a distinction Númenor had held before. Making their offerings and prayers was supposed to be a role fulfilled solely by the rulers of Númenor. Bad as it was in itself, it had not so much been the cruelty of the cult that had been the worst sign for them. That Pharazôn had not cared about Sauron usurping away such an important authority away from them was what had really shown that Sauron had completely ensnared him.

“You have been making yourself scarce lately, and I wanted to know why.” Míriel said blandly.

Sauron smiled smugly. “I have only been fulfilling my duty, my queen. If you missed my counsel, then you only needed to ask. And here I thought you were uninterested in matters of religion. Has that changed?”

Míriel was not going to dignify that with a response.

“Since no executions have been ordered in the last while, I wonder what has been keeping you so busy?” Amandil asked.

“There are less precious rituals to pursue. Since you are so insistent on seeing a demonstration of power, then I must make an effort to provide you with one. You are of course welcome to stay and join us tonight, if you are curious.” Sauron taunted.

He seemed entirely too pleased with himself to not be succeeding in something, but Míriel didn’t know what he was doing in order to thwart it. He might be expecting good results from whatever fresh horror was he was finagling his cultist into. Equally, goading them into showing him the ‘favour’ of bringing him back under eye in the palace might be exactly what he was actually after.

---

The highest tower of the palace contained an eyrie. Traditionally, a pair of Manwë’s great eagles would live in the palace with the rulers. The summit of the tower had housed them, and included a very large and uncovered window for the ease and freedom of the birds’ movements. The room had been deserted for many decades. It lacked a purpose now that they were no longer friendly with Manwë and his birds, and the window was impractical now that their weather was also unfriendly. But the obscurity and excellent view made it very convenient for brooding, however.

It was obviously galling that her people followed Sauron. It was doubly infuriating that popular support was his advantage, and imperial rule was hers, when, in any reasonable world, it should have been the other way around.

It would have greatly helped Míriel in turning her people away from Sauron’s lies, if she had an alternative answer to offer them. Manwë’s explanation, that Eru must have had some good reason for making Men mortal and that being immortal was not a better fate, had reassured exactly no-one. Not even those who had accepted it and became the Faithful party, who were merely willing to resign themselves to trusting the unknown.

Sauron’s cult only offered empty hope and a target of blame, but that was enough to make it a more attractive alternative for his followers. Most people preferred feeling justified in being unhappy, instead of having their own inescapable corruption blamed for their unhappiness.

It rather belied the Eldar’s assertion that Men only feared death due to Morgoth's corruption, when he was the only one of the Ainur that had succeeded in making death look like a gift. The only accounts where Men had extolled an outright gratitude for their mortality, was them taking comfort in being able to go beyond the reach of Morgoth’s hate. If only Morgoth’s new followers remembered what they were letting themselves in for.

Since Manwë self-admittedly did not have any actual insight on Eru’s intentions for the fate of Men, Míriel felt justified in not blindly accepting his opinions on it.

The Númenóreans were the best illustration of the difference, or lack thereof, between Elves and Men: Men, restored from Morgoth’s corruption to what they should have been, ended up as essentially Elves that were mortal. It was a bitter implication that every blessing that distinguished them from their fellow Men — their lack of disease and withering, their greater height, their farsight and bright eyes, their faculty with ósanwe — were also all the traits that made them more similar to Elves.

How were they supposed to be satisfied with a position that cast them as nothing but fleeting Elves?

All of a sudden, Míriel was distracted from her bleak mood by a heavy storm rolling in, darkening the sky. That had become a regular occurrence, but it was happening oddly early in the day. She rushed to the window in concern. She winced in sympathy as she saw some of the other onlookers, caught off-guard in the streets, scrambling for cover. Despite the thick storm clouds, there was very little rain, and she could see quite clearly as the multitude of lightning bolts kept piercing the gloom. 'The clouds were formed from the sky’s wrath, not its water,’ Míriel thought darkly.

The fiercest part of the storm raged on the temple, and the dark wings of Manwë’s cloud-eagle were spread as if they were swooping down at it. A burning bolt cracked straight through the top of the temple and its dull silver dome became wreathed in flames. Míriel held her breath, relieved to see the house of so much evil broken, but not quite daring to believe it.

ndeed, though the dome was marred, the structure of the great temple still stood strong. Braving its pinnacle was unmistakably the inhumanly tall figure of Sauron, glowing from the fire surrounding him on the burning roof. He held out his arms daringly, seemingly impervious to the storm’s rage. The lightning flashes increased blindingly, then faded, and left Sauron unharmed. His voice rang out over the city: “Was that your best blow?”

There was no response.

Míriel heedlessly leaned out of the window. “I stopped the sacrifices, why are you upset now?! And why do something that would only fail and make things worse?!” Míriel shouted at the sky, her voice drowning in the fading storm. Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the airs and wind, would still be able to hear her, even though he was probably not deigning to pay attention. This disaster was still not something she was going to let pass without comment. She clutched the windowsill in helpless fury as she pondered what could have provoked this escalation when things had been going relatively well.

Then realization struck.

There certainly hadn’t been any more official ceremonies in the temple. Sauron could not put a citizen of Númenor to death without first obtaining cause and permission. Belatedly, Míriel remembered that recently more than citizens lived in Númenor. Khibilphêl had also mentioned lesser Men being sacrificed, apparently that didn’t only refer to what was going on in Middle-earth.

It was clear from the start that one of Sauron’s motivations in starting the cult of Melkor was to drive an insurmountable wedge between Númenor and Valinor. They had only managed to make him continue his efforts more subtly, and that was still enough for him to build up to success.

---

Chapter End Notes

11 I couldn’t find info on what was going on with the Princes of Dol Amroth before King Elendil elevated them into Princes, but presumably they were already the most important of the Faithful’s holdings.

Chapter 8

Reposting this chapter after it got lost in the migration.

Translation cheetsheet:

Manwë (Quenya) = Avradî (Adûnaic)
Valar (Quenya) = Avalôi (Adûnaic) = ‘Powers’
Valinor (Quenya) = Amatthâni (Adûnaic) = ‘Land of the Valar’
Melkor (Quenya) = Mulkhêr (‘Lord of Darkness’ in Adûnaic)
Isildur (Quenya) = Nilûbên (Adûnaic)
Elendil (Quenya) = Nimruzîr (Adûnaic) = ‘Elf-friend’
Sauron (‘Abhorred’ in Quenya) = Zigûr (‘Wizard’ in Adûnaic)
Adûnâim (Adûnaic, subjective plural noun)= Númenóreans (Quenya) = ‘Men of Westernesse’

Read Chapter 8

There was a death toll. People had been outside when the huge storm covered both Armenelos and surrounding countryside, and many of them had been unlucky. Neither had the temple been the only building sundered, if by far the most dramatic case. Míriel tried to focus proper attention on the report that was being delivered to the emergency session of the Council, but her mind kept turning to the even worse implications their most recent castigation had delivered.

She wasn’t the only one that was distracted despite an outward composure. Most of the Council, and those of the court that Míriel had managed to see in all the turmoil, felt inappropriately happy instead. The days they had spent settling the aftermath had also passed with silence from Valinor. The current weather cycle was merely what would have been predicted for an island at their latitude, and neither blessed nor cursed. This wrong-headed attitude Míriel picked up on from them only soured her troubled mood further. It should be seen as a very bad sign that Númenor was no longer considered even worth censuring.

Númenor had undergone its most tumultuous times during her life. Míriel was intimately familiar with what you could accomplish by being the absolute ruler of the most powerful empire in the world, and what you couldn’t. What was simply not possible, was commanding hearts. Ar-Gimilzôr and Tar-Palantir had each managed to cow an opposing faction into not acting openly, but in the end both the King’s Men and the Faithful remained unyielding. Neither her harsh grandfather’s cruel persecution nor her farsighted father’s ominous prophecies could do more than frighten the uncommitted into temporary and superficial compliance.

She’d also seen that an error cast a longer shadow than a correction. In Valinor’s eyes, Tar-Palantir’s repentance had never succeeded in amending his predecessor’s insolence. The ships from Aman never returned after her grandfather sent them away, no matter how long her father had spent brooding in the western watchtowers, looking for them. Ridding Númenor of the malicious meddling from Sauron would let Míriel bring an end to their worst evils, but she resignedly accepted that they would still never be forgiven for listening to him in the first place. It would take a miracle to do more than that in restoring Númenor.

Unsurprisingly, Sauron did not let his opportunity to inflate his importance pass. “I hope that all doubts have been laid to rest now,” he smiled, as soon the main agenda was done. “Who can stand against us except for Amatthâni, if even they? If Avradî truly speaks for the real Supreme Power as he claims, then why can he not compete against Mulkhêr’s representative?”

Míriel put her pen down to stop herself from clutching it too tightly. Manwë’s failure at striking down Sauron was certainly deeply troubling, but it was not a meaningful victory for Sauron. Even a Vala’s power was limited when physically absent, and Manwë had never made a pretence in the first place at being as infallible as Eru. Challenging Manwë, like the Edain had long ago defied his more powerful brother, Morgoth, had always been theoretically possible. Just impossibly stupid. Defeating Manwë was therefore irrelevant to Sauron’s metaphysical claims for his cult, even if he could have done so in real terms.

Unfortunately, a powerful spectacle always made more of an impression than intellectual consistency did. Míriel could expect bringing any of that up to be even less helpful than all of her previous attempts to reason against Sauron’s manipulations. She swallowed her bitterness as the Council, except for the sombre Amandil, offered Sauron their fawning agreement.

Míriel regarded Sauron suspiciously. Surely he didn’t expect that he could withstand the hosts of Valinor descending on them any better than Morgoth had done. Númenor’s only chance was if Valinor dismissed all of them as a lost cause. Maybe they would. Míriel had a sinking feeling, when she remembered how much it had taken to finally move the Valar to act against Morgoth’s tyranny.

This time, there would be no Eärendil to venture as intercessor to Valinor, pleading with a Silmaril in hand. There was nowhere left holding a front against the Darkness to save, even if relief did come. Sauron would most likely have his dominion until the end of the world, whether it was until the actual end of the world or if the Hosts of Valinor hurried the end along by destroying the mortal lands again.

Idealism hadn’t worked out very well for Tar-Palantir, but it had become undeniably clear that neither had pragmatism led Tar-Míriel to anything better. ‘Are we just doomed, no matter what?’ Míriel thought gloomily.

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Afterwards, Míriel went to find Amandil and Elendil. They couldn’t talk about anything of consequence while amongst the court, but at the moment she would settle for being around someone who’s demeanour didn’t sicken her.

Everyone was gathering for the evening feast. It was an ordinary one and not a special occasion, but people felt in need of cheering up and so the hall was rather louder than usual. The Great Hall was brightly by the fireplace taking up most of a wall, the warm light glowing on the gold robes and swallowed in the black base layers. The expensive true-black dye was only obtainable in Númenor, and was wore by anyone of note to offset the gold outer layers. It didn’t hurt either, that it was the opposite of elven-white.

Court had never exactly been comfortable for Míriel. When she was young, her grandfather was king and he had done his best to eradicate the Faithful as a faction. Míriel had had to ensure she gave nothing away which could further endanger anyone. Then her father’s turn as king had come, bringing strife and rebellion in Númenor as he tried to reverse his father’s policies and reconcile with the West. Which meant she had had to be very careful against giving his many enemies any further ammunition. The only exception had been the relatively brief span between Pharazôn siding with her and before Sauron disrupted that. Tonight, Míriel really had no patience for that usual dance around their honeyed malice.

Míriel wasn’t sure where Amandil had slipped off to, but Elendil was at least always easy to find in crowds. Elendil the Tall had earned his epithet by standing well over a head above most Númenóreans, and was the only one who could comfortably look Sauron in the eye. Meaning that Elendil was near of a height with him, no-one was comfortable making eye-contact with Sauron, even those foolish enough to admire him. Sure enough both were clearly visible, Sauron monopolizing the centre of the hall, and Elendil’s dark head sticking out near the head table.

“Tar-Míriel.” Isildur bowed

“Nilûbên,” Elendil frowned, “mind yourself.”

Míriel smiled slightly at Isildur's perfunctory apology. She had been about Isildur’s age when her father had finally succeeded the throne, but she’d never had the liberty of his unguardedness in her own youth.

“While Nimruzîr’s name is very fitting, don’t you think it would have been more suitable for his mother?” Someone tittered behind their group, barely loud enough to reach them, but soft enough to keep deniability.

Elendil rolled his eyes, but didn’t otherwise react. Míriel squeezed his hand sympathetically. Poor Elendil was used to getting taunted for looking like a Half-Elf[12]​ – his less used epithet was ‘the Fair’ and he earned that one just as much. Although no-one could suggest with any seriousness that Elendil was not Amandil’s son, his peers did not need plausibility just for convenient mocking material. No-one had been as blatant as this about it since they were actual children however, which was another troubling sign for public opinion.

Míriel also used to receive such teasing to a lesser extent, but unlike her, Elendil had never quite succeeded in changing their peers’ perceptions after their childhood. His embarrassing attempt at growing a beard when he came of age, whereupon he turned out to carry too much Elvish blood to be able to, had been especially counterproductive. To be fair – which the nobility of course weren’t – that was nothing to do with Elendil specifically, the strong Elvish strain in the Line of Elros just did occasionally show some effects.

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Amandil turned out to have been higher up in the palace where the palantír was hidden.

“Have you been here the entire time?” Míriel asked in shock. Amandil certainly looked like he had spent hours pacing.

“I was trying to contact Valinor,” Amandil sighed, “but we are completely out of luck.”

Míriel was unsettled by Amandil’s uncharacteristic dismay. He had always been the one who had such unshakeable conviction.

“Sauron is simply repeating his master’s old tricks.” Míriel said. “Morgoth also proclaimed that there was nothing beyond him, but our ancestors knew it was not so. They held to their faith and fled his grasp till they found their escape. Perhaps our task is not easier, but it is no harder either. What else can we do but try?”

Amandil kept staring at the empty palantír. “My life’s goal has always been to keep my loyalty to Númenórë without betraying my loyalty to the Valar, but what can I possibly do now when the Valar will not overthrow Sauron from his dominion over Númenórë?”

"But why haven't the Valar done anything about Sauron?” Elendil asked frustratedly. “I understand that Valinor does not want a repeat of the War of Wrath either, but they don’t need to have come in force again. We didn’t need any help to deal with Sauron’s servants, all that needed to be done was to send in accompaniment someone of the same order as Sauron, who could contend with him and contain him. Perhaps Ar-Pharazôn would not have accepted such an arrangement, but Tar-Minastir certainly would have.”

"Why would the Valar act further?” Míriel asked rhetorically. “The only people suffering under Sauron were the ones who had refused to obey them. We know their judgement to forsake the Men of Darkness, and why would they intervene so that the Exiles can keep avoiding their return to Aman? Everyone under Valinor’s authority, we on Elenna and the Elves on Tol Eressëa, the Valar had already removed out of Sauron’s reach. Until we were foolish enough to bring him here ourselves. We will have to get rid of him again ourselves as well.

“We have the small blessing at least, that Sauron cannot quite repeat Morgoth by making himself the object of worship. Our people lost their sense, not their pride. They remember that Sauron came here as a subjugated enemy, and he will not be able to make them forget his surrender as soon as his enmity.”

“Do not count on that.” Amandil said gloomily. “When we were on campaign I saw the people under his rod had dedicated many more temples to Sauron himself than to Morgoth. It is clear what he truly wishes, when he has the power to exact it.”

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The perennial problem of politics was gathering allies. The Faithful was as usual at the disadvantage there, but, thanks to Sauron’s presence on Númenor, Míriel now had an additional complication added by Sauron’s infamously inescapable Eye. Unless you first ensured otherwise, it was safest to assume that Sauron would learn of anything that you said or did. Which meant any attempts to reach out to anyone had been forced to be frustratingly slow and cautious.

Which was also why she was both dubious and encouraged when instead one of her Council members had taken the initiative to reach out to her. The situation was too convenient to take at face value, but, before their latest set-back, Míriel had held a cautious hope that some of Sauron’s followers would be more persuadable without Pharazôn’s lead.

The Faithful had very little support for their own cause, but they were not wholly alone in wishing to be rid of Sauron. Philosophical debates aside, a capacity for compassion was all that was needed to wish not being party to such gruesome Orc-work, and mere prudence was sufficient to wish a dubiously loyal vassal to have less influence on the Sceptre. No-one with self-preservation would speak against Sauron, but a few vocal critics of the Faithful’s ideals had lost some of their enthusiasm when their standpoints became absorbed into Melkorism.

Lord Gimilzagar came from Hyarnustar to join the royal court in the middle of Ar-Gimilzôr’s reign. He was a King’s Man to the core, but also a prudent and fair-minded man. He had ever been a useful member of his cause, notwithstanding distancing himself from the grosser abuses of power Ar-Gimilzôr had taken to persecute the Faithful, and later also the unlawful parts of Gimilkhâd’s rebellions. Not everyone who had approved of Ar-Gimilzôr and Gimilkhâd’s goals had been comfortable with the precedents their methods set.

Gimilzagar’s appointment to the Council, as at least somewhat palatable to everyone, had been part of Míriel and Pharazôn’s efforts at reintegrating Númenor. He was reliable enough at fulfilling his duties, but they had no real association outside of that and Míriel hadn’t expected anything this radical from him.

“I know we have never been friends,” Gimilzagar said sombrely, “I always said Tar-Palantir’s ill advised policies would only cause trouble and I stand by that, but I find I prefer dealing with your brand of trouble to the road Zigûr is taking us down. We were the ones that could see death is our greatest enemy, yet somehow that demon has us cutting short the precious lives of Anadûnê’s children. I will not see him starting the sacrifice of Adûnâim blood again.”

“You know I’m not going to disagree with you on Zigûr’s sacrifices. I’m sure however, you realize that is not entirely convincing?” Míriel challenged.

“I don’t need to care about the Elves’ opinion to tell that Zigûr cannot be extended any true trust.” Gimilzagar said. “We encountered his dark master long before we knew anything of the Eldar or the Avalôi. We may not have been able to preserve all our lore through our travails and the Elves’ additions, but the efforts of our Wise were not unrewarded.

“Zigûr was always only as useful as far as he can be made to cooperate with the interests Sceptre, and it is also now clear he is not as willing to listen to you as he was to Ar-Pharazôn.”

“You have it the wrong way around,” Míriel said, suppressing her annoyance at that framing, “it was Pharazôn who was more willing to listen to Zigûr.”

“Regardless,” Gimilzagar said, “I never thought the temple was worth its bloody cost, and now that Zigûr is still advancing it without Ar-Pharazôn’s endorsement, it is obvious that it really for his own agenda. So when are you going to dismiss him?”

“If it were so simple, I would have already sent him away.” Míriel hesitated. As best as she could see, he was being entirely honest about his intentions, but she couldn’t risk telling him too much either. “Zigûr’s influence is stronger than you realize, and more pernicious. We cannot afford further unrest, while people’s loyalty are less than they should have.”

“But what is he doing and how will we stop it then?” Gimilzagar asked. “I know it is a tricky question whether something can be treason if the Queen is plotting it, but I hope the Faithful aren’t truly planning anything drastic? I would strongly advise against trusting them too much, after recent events.”

“I can promise you that as a whole they really had nothing to do with arranging Ar-Pharazôn’s death.” Míriel said.

“I do believe you. Haven’t I always held that foolhardy allies do not make one’s cause invalid? I know you yourself love Anadûnê, but that doesn’t change the fact that some of your allies are foolhardy.”

“That is why I am being careful,” Míriel said, “especially since yours are even more foolhardy these days, which is my worst problem in banishing Zigûr.”

“That is solvable,” Gimilzagar said, “you need to offer a path that more than a fraction of fanatics can embrace.”

“I am aware of that.” Míriel said dryly, “I’ve spent my entire reign attempting to do so, but that is also less simple than you think.”

“But perhaps,” Míriel said slowly, in thought, “that is where you can help. What I need, is to show the people Zigûr duped a proof of his disloyalty. He will not expect you to be involved; come up with a plausible excuse for us, him, and some good witnesses to go to Middle-earth. Then I will see about arranging proof.”

Middle-earth was were the subordinate Rings of Power were, and all the people who had had the misfortune of dealing with them. It was the best place to show what they were dealing with. At the very least there she would be able to present Gil-galad’s testimony to more people.

And if she could not find a way to be sufficiently convincing, then that was the best place to face Sauron without being as badly outnumbered by his followers as on Elenna. Of course, disunited Númenor would never survive such a move without splintering apart into a disastrous and unwinnable civil war, but she was beginning to think that there wasn’t a way to be rid of Sauron without being drastic.

That was Míriel’s secret fear. That saving Númenor from destruction, and saving the world from evil, would be mutually incompatible. It was clear which she should choose if it came down to that. It only needed a little objectivity to force a Númenórean to admit that their society was the antithesis to everything they were supposed to be. There was one highest allegiance that should never be forsaken for any other, to which Númenor had become misaligned. But for her to make that choice in reality would be easier said than done.
 

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Chapter End Notes

Footnote:
12 In The Lost Road, Herendil angsts about his appearance, because his peers mock him for looking Elvish and call him a Half-Noldo. Since it's an interesting detail and Elendil more or less replaced Herendil in the later versions of Akallabêth, I transferred it to him. Especially since Elendil does actually get called 'the Fair’ in some of the writings. So no wonder he’s so unpopular in Númenor, being an Elf sympathizer is bad enough, but on top of that he is a pretty-boy who literally looks a like an Elf ;p.