Course Correction by Raaf

---

Chapter 7

---

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.