Stones of Seeing 2. Tar Míriel by clotho123

Chapter 1

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The captain was of a household that had loved her father and whose loyalty she had kept for her own, despite their unhappy disapproval of her later choices.  He and his children she believed she could trust now, the more so as their hearts were inclined to those who called themselves the Faithful, a name which never failed to rouse Pharazôn’s anger. 

 

“You have done well,” she said, and smiled at him, the bewitching smile that still charmed the hearts of men.  “Wait.  We will leave soon.”

 

She left the room closing the door carefully, and stepped out into the deserted corridor, a small, imperious woman with black hair, richly dressed in cloth of silver  studded with white gems.  Fairest of the line of Elros, they had called her.  Flattery perhaps, but she was beautiful.  Yet her mirrors told her the beauty had begun to ebb, the use of dye concealed grey hairs and she wore paint upon her face to hide the lines.  Her life was waning with Númenor and, fallen like her people, she hated her own mortality.  Yet not all her father’s wisdom had passed her by.

 

These had been Tar-Palantir’s private quarters, where he went to read his books of lore.  They had lain unused since his death, but his daughter had loved him well enough to go there sometimes and see all was kept clean and ordered.  It was not strange then that she should go there now.

 

As she neared the quarters of the queen one passed her by, and paused to bow.

 

“Lord Annatar.”  Her tone was gracious.

 

“Ar-Zimraphel.”  His was respectful.

 

“Word has come from the king,” she told him.  “Ar-Pharazôn will return before the setting in of winter.”

 

“This word I had also,” Sauron never fell into the error of sounding unctuous.  His tone was earnest.  “His expeditions have been blessed with great success.”

 

“As ever.  Pharazôn does not fail.”

 

“He does not,” Sauron agreed.  “But he will be pleased by the swiftness of his success.”  Ah, but he was clever.  His form was fair, but not too fair.  There was no danger of his outshining the king.  He had assumed the look of a man who bore some lines of maturing and experience, so that words of seeming wisdom sounded natural from his mouth

 

“As will you,” she said, “since it brings closer your own design.”

 

“There is nothing remaining now to hinder it,” he said.  “Númenor stands on the brink of its greatest glory.”  He paused.  “There are times when I have felt you doubt that, yet it will be so.”

 

“War I have ever left to Pharazôn, it is not my sphere.  But his glory is mine, his success is my joy.”  They were not lies.  “And he does not fail.”

 

“The triumph of the King is ever my aim,” he bowed once more.

 

She reached her own rooms with composure, then slammed her fists backwards against the closed door, her whole body trembling with hatred.

 

“May the Void of your Master claim you, Gorthaur!”  But she kept her voice low.  She waited until the rage ebbed enough to be controlled, than called for her handmaids to change her garments.

 

~~~

 

In the east of Númenor stood the haven of Rómenna, and in Rómenna lived the Lord Amandil, close kinsman of the royal house, and the leader of the Faithful, although not openly declared.  In his younger days he had been a great captain of ships, second only to Ar-Pharazôn in the great host which humbled Sauron, but as the armies of the king turned to conquest and tyranny he had withdrawn from warfare and lived retired. 

 

Rómenna was become a place of fear now, for since the ascendancy of Sauron human blood was shed on alters in sacrifice to Melkor the Deliverer, and it was largely from among the Faithful that victims of Númenorean blood were taken.  Amandil kept his household armed, for he was resolved on resistance if the king’s men should come for him, yet he had remained unmolested as yet.

 

There were many strange comings and goings in those days, as the Faithful increasingly sought out Amandil for protection.  Those that he could, and who were willing, he conveyed overseas.  Yet many of the Faithful were still reluctant to leave their home, save at the last extremity and Amandil had aged with grief at his lack of power to protect those who remained.

 

So Amandil was not surprised when word was brought that a lady had come to the house who would speak with him and no other.  With his son Elendil he took her to an inner room, with stone walls and a door of oak that none might hear what passed.  There the woman put back her grey hood from her face, and for a moment Amandil was beyond speech.

 

It was Elendil who spoke when his father could not.  “The queen of Númenor does us honour.”

 

“Not so,” she answered.  “This is the visit of a kinswoman, and it must not pass these walls.”

 

“Be it so,” said Amandil.  “But what brings the daughter of Palantir here?”  His tone was wary, for the Faithful had no trust in the Queen, who had deserted her father’s allegiance to join with her cousin Pharazôn.

 

“I bring a warning and a bequest.  And I will speak without ceremony to spare time.

 

“Firstly, Amandil, know that the king is persuaded by Sauron that if he sets foot on the Undying Lands then he will gain endless days, and the king is planning a great fleet with which he will sail West, and bring war against the Valar if they attempt to withstand him.”

 

Amandil stared at her in stricken horror, the blood draining as he put out a hand to the table to steady himself.  Elendil flushed in anger.  “Witless Blasphemer!” he exclaimed.  “I had thought our race could fall no lower!”

 

“This will bring destruction on us all,” Amandil whispered.

 

“Yes.”  The queen of Numenor was the calmest of the three, for she had faced the horror long before.  “I am not so foolish, or so crazed with fear, I do not know that.  I know well Ar-Pharazôn the Golden has fallen into madness, and will not escape the wrath of the Valar.  I know that all who follow him are doomed.  But my husband will not hearken, for he is besotted with fear of death, and heeds the words of Sauron before the words of his queen.  Ar-Pharazôn will attack the West, and Númenor will perish.”

 

“Why did you come to us,” Elendil asked harshly, “why torment us with our fate?”

 

“Because the Valar may spare the innocent.  I say may only, I do not have faith in it, but there is a hope for you and yours.  And to be forewarned is to be prepared.   Do as seems best to you, in the face of our Doom.”

 

“And what Doom awaits our house?”  Elendil demanded.  “How long before the heirs of Silmarien are dragged to the Temple?  Will we even live to see the Valar’s wrath?”  Elendil was a stern man, although just and honest, and the charm of Ar-Zimprahel the queen moved him not at all.

 

“Ar-Pharazôn will not move against Amandil and his family without cause, at least not yet.”  Her smile was saddened.  “You remember, Amandil, in times long past Pharazôn was your dear friend for all your differences.  His heart is not so darkened he has forgotten that.  He will not touch you unless you give him reason.”

 

“Then perhaps it was not all amiss that I invited Pharazôn to my father’s house in our youth,” Amandil said grimly.  It was in the house of Amandil that Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir, had set eyes first on her cousin Pharazôn.  “If it causes him to hold his hand a while.”

 

“There is a second reason for my coming,” the Queen said.  “What do you know of the palantíri, the Stones of Seeing which were the gifts of the Eldar long since?”

 

“Little,” Amandil replied, but Elendil said,

 

 “I read something on them, in my youth.  They were set up in the chief places of Númenor, each in a chamber built for that purpose and there long remained.”

 

“Indeed.  The tradition became strong, so when the Númenóreans began to make settlements in Middle-earth the stones remained in their places, although there was little need for them there.  And in time they fell out of use entirely.”  She smiled again, this time with a hint of bright mockery.  “It is not entirely for nothing that I am the daughter of Tar-Palantir, learned in old lore.”

 

“No doubt the falling out of use came with the falling of the Shadow, as our people came to resent the Eldar and their gifts,” said Elendil, unyielding.

 

“No doubt.  They remained in place, all but forgotten.  Until now.”  Her eyes were bright and determined, although her face was hard.  “Today a wagon will come, bearing what seem to be wine barrels.  The palantíri I, as the heir of Elros, give to you and yours, to use as you will, in whatever need you find.  If you escape indeed the Doom of our land, then their use may be great.”

 

They stared.  At last Amandil found his tongue.  “You cannot!  If this is discovered it will go ill for us both alike.”

 

“It will not be discovered.  I planned carefully.  This is my gift, Amandil.  I will not say my repentance, but it is my effort to secure something of our heritage against the wreck.  Take the stones and use them well.  And if I may make one request, take also into your service the captain who brings them and his family.  You will find them faithful and true-hearted.  I have commanded them to leave my service in my father’s name.”

 

“I will do so,” said Amandil.  “And I will speak, if I may, once more as kin to kin.  If you believe in truth there is a chance for the Faithful, will you not join us?  Will you not be true to your father?  It is not too late.”

 

She shook her head.  “It is too late.  For me to stand against Pharazôn now would bring only greater destruction.  And though much of what Sauron has wrought has horrified me, yet were I to bend the knee to the Valar now, it would only be from fear.  I will not do so.”

 

“You would rather cling to pride?”  Amandil said sadly.

 

“If you would call it so.  It is my thought that to repent from fear is not to repent truly.  I regret much that has been done, indeed.  But though my father was right in many things, I could never stomach his humility, his abasement as he begged forgiveness of the Valar.  You are right, Amandil, I am proud.”

 

“Even now?”  The voice of Elendil was unyielding.

 

“Even now.  And I will not leave Pharazôn.  I am prepared for the price.”  She stood straight and still, proud heir of a brave race, but her eyes saddened again as they rested on Amandil.  “But before parting, kinsman, I would ask that you forgive me for the pain I dealt your brother.  For it was never my wish to hurt him, although it would be a lie to say that I regret my choice.  Even now.”

 

There was a heavy silence.  Amandil had dearly loved his brother Elentir, who had been betrothed to Míriel, daughter of Tar-Palantir, at her father’s wish.  At last, however, Amandil said, “I believe he would not have us part for the last time in bitterness of heart.  The Valar protect you, cousin.”

 

Her smile was swift and dazzling.  “That is unlikely.  But I thank you for the wish.”

 

~~~

 

Ar-Pharazon returned to Númenor before the end of autumn, and Ar-Zimprahel the queen greeted him upon the steps of the great dais, where the twin thrones stood side by side.

 

He had aged more than she, and the terror of final dissolution lurked behind his proud eyes, yet beauty had not left him wholly, and she could recall readily enough the young man she had first seen standing upon the steps of Númendil’s house in Andúnië.  Tall and golden and in the full strength of his arrogant youth, and from that day she would not wed with Elentir, her betrothed, nor with any other, until her father died.  Then she had sent for her cousin Pharazôn, and he had come.

 

Palm pressed to palm, they walked up the steps together, and seated themselves on the thrones, both crowned.  And a murmur of pride and approval ran through the great hall, an echo of the roar that had gone of the day of coronation long before, when together they had raised the great, jewel-studded sceptre, their hands touching in joint sovereignty, shared glory.  Queen and king, wife and husband, great rulers of Númenor’s greatest age.

 

Her blood still thrilled to their power and royalty, and the shared dazzling of hearts that rested on neither.  Her blood still thrilled to Pharazôn, even now, in the decline of his years.  What man could be more than a pale shadow beside him?

 

With long practice she concealed her seething thoughts when Sauron joined them in the smaller council chamber, where it had ever been their custom to speak after Pharazôn’s return from voyaging, the room where he would tell of his triumphs and she of her rule of Númenor in his absence.  She had tried and failed to oust Sauron from the king’s trust, it was small consolation that he had failed equally to oust her.

 

Sauron’s report to the king was all of conspiracy frustrated and punished.  Some of the plots had been real, she knew.  Some had not.  The queen of Númenor set her teeth in loathing, not simply for what Sauron had done to her land but that he had reduced Pharazôn the Golden to his puppet.  Yet she permitted none of her rage to show when her own time came to speak.  She must do what she could, and she refused to falter in dignity or pride.

 

“The elven influence is being rooted from these lands,” the slight curve of her lips was assured of approval.  “I have seen the destruction of the last inscriptions in the elf-tongue.  Now the public places of Númenor bear only the language of our fathers.  And the elf-stones that were kept in the chief places of our land have been cast into the sea.”

 

“The Stones of Seeing,” Sauron asked.  “Have you cast them away?”  She thought there was some displeasure there, perhaps he had thought to steal the stones for his own use. 

 

“I have,” she said, “For they were made by thralls of the Valar, and could not be trusted in the service of free Men who would defy bondage and shape their own fate.  They were tools of the West, and this land will be sullied by them no longer.”

 

“Ah, Míriel,” the king murmured, and it was a strange quirk of Pharazôn’s character that in private he used still the name given her by her father in the elf-tongue, “my lady, you forget no detail.”

 

“My skill, my lord,” she said.  The details had been well-planned indeed.  If Sauron were to inquire he would find a ship had indeed been taken out, and the caskets which had held the stones so long cast into the deeps.  “As breadth of vision is yours.”  It was an old exchange between them, spoken in words of many forms.

 

“A well-matched team,” and the fierce light of their long love was in his eyes.  “Will you be with me in the plans that I forge now, beloved?  Will you gift me once again with your keen eye that overlooks no detail, with the insight of your thought?  I have feared that you do not approve this venture?”

 

She would have opposed the venture with all her will if she had thought she would succeed, bur the fear of death now was stronger in him than all else.  Ar-Pharazôn, fearless in battle or storm, reduced to terror by old age.

 

“Such a great undertaking is not to be embarked on lightly or with less than the full strength you can summon,” she said.  “I would not see you act in haste.  But oppose the venture?  Nay.  Do you think I wish to see Pharazôn the Golden dwindle in unjust dotage?  Do you think I would see the rule of Númenor fall to lesser men?”  Her eyes held his as she raised deliberately the greatest grief of their marriage, that no child had come.  No heir.  There had surely been tongues enough willing to attribute the barrenness of the marriage to the supposed sin of their coupling.  The old laws of their people forbade marriage between first cousins, but none could gainsay Zimraphel and Pharazôn in the full strength of their royal power.  None had dared ever in their hearing to claim the marriage was cursed in punishment.

 

Pharazôn came quickly to her then and put his arms around her shoulders so his hands rested against her back.  “We will reign for eternity, my love, my mithril queen!”

 

“My golden lord!  Not for us slow dissolution.  We will dare what none before have done, and reap our reward in pride!”

 

Uncaring of Sauron she pulled his head down so that their lips met, the old passion burning between them undiminished.  Whatever she mourned, whatever she loathed, whatever she raged against, she could never regret loving Pharazôn.  Never.  And their love would blaze strong for as long as their lives lasted.