Course Correction by Raaf

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

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Chapter End Notes

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