Course Correction by Raaf

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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’

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.

----------
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.

------

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.”

-----
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.
 

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.

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