Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty by Gadira

---

Scandal

---

“He does not want to speak to me. And I am worried, Fíriel, I think he is going to do something… something very bad.”

The young woman suppressed a sigh, even as she did her best to nod sympathetically. She was beginning to think she would develop a crank in her neck from doing this –and that her tongue might start to bleed from biting it so much.

“Perhaps the King has merely been too busy with State business. It must be a very time-consuming affair, to rule the Númenórean empire!” Exiling, conquering, enslaving and murdering without trial – all those things required a strong dedication, she guessed.

“Of course he is busy, but that is not the point! I saw something, and he knows that I saw it.”

“I am sorry, my…. Gimilzagar.” She knew that it made him upset whenever she used honorifics to address him, and here she did not have the excuse of being within earshot of anyone else. The Lady Milkhaset and her cohorts were sitting on the stone bench at the other side of the fountain, pretending not to pay attention, but the sound of the gurgling water would make their conversation impossible to overhear. “I am sure that you will get your chance to speak to him, if you are patient.”

Now, he was staring at her as if a mûmak’s trunk had suddenly grown from her nose. At least this should mean that she finally had his attention.

“What is the matter with you? You are acting very odd lately.” His eyes widened. “Are you afraid to speak your mind? To me?”

This time, she did sigh.

“Not really.” For someone who claimed to be able to read minds, he did not have much to show for it, she thought, rather unkindly, but then she remembered that he had insisted on taking lessons from his mother to try and stop it, and relented a little. “But I am a lady of the Court now. I am not interested in politics.”

“This is not politics!”

“Everything involving the King is politics.” She smiled widely for the old hag’s benefit, though even from the distance it should not be too difficult to notice that the mirth did not reach her eyes. Gimilzagar looked vaguely in that direction too, following her glance, but he did not seem to register his nurse’s forbidding presence.

“But then everything happening between these walls is politics, too! And if all those courtiers are here, it is because they wish to have a part in it. They are interested in having knowledge, influence, and power, why should anyone look askance at you for doing the same as them?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because they are not former Faithful, bastards of exiles, or had any cousins executed for high treason!” she retorted, the smile leaving her face.

After only one month, Fíriel already had a rather accurate idea of what to expect from her surroundings. Even though it had been easier for Gimilzagar to secure permission for her to leave her duties and pay him visits than she had thought it would be, by the end of the day she still had to return under the Queen’s gaze. It was easy for him to feel safe in his own home, but she was a prisoner under constant watch. The day Ar Zimraphel decided she no longer had any use for her, or the King was done feeling sorry for how he had treated his son, there would be someone brandishing a list of all her mistakes, and she would have to pay for them. Sometimes, when she thought of this, she felt her anxiety become so overpowering that she wanted nothing more than to tear off those stupid long robes and run, as far as her legs would take her. Then, however, she realized that the gate guards would stop her if she tried to do that, and she felt even worse.

Perhaps her mother had been right all along. Perhaps she should never have come to this place.

“I am sorry. I am very sorry, Fíriel. I- I cannot do it anymore.” Gimilzagar looked downright pained, and for a moment Fíriel could not help but gaze across the fountain, fearing that the old nurse would notice that something was wrong with her precious ward. But then she realized the intensity of his turmoil, which was so raw that she was momentarily distracted from her other concerns. “I have been trying. Please, believe me, I have. But you are like… it is as if… as if you were a part of myself now. Whenever you are upset, I am upset. When I told my father this, it was just a ploy, but now, it is the truth.”

Oh. Damn.

“Well, I am sorry I made you upset, my lord prince. I can assure you, I am not doing it on purpose.”

“I am not complaining, I am apologizing!”

“Then you should not. I... suppose my feelings are too loud.” She was not even sure if she wanted to make it sound ironic or not, but he looked so sorry that her frustration vanished like smoke in the wind.

“What is it, Fíriel? Why are you so unhappy? While I was still lying in bed, I promised I would do anything for you, and I meant it.”

Fíriel looked at Lady Milkhaset from the corner of her eye, and saw that she was greeting Lady Anobret, head of the Queen’s retinue. She probably was here to take her back, which should be for the best, as continuing this conversation could well be Fíriel’s greatest mistake since she arrived at the Court. Now, all she had to do was smile, gracefully decline the Prince’s offer, and go.

“Do you truly want to help me?  He nodded at once. “Then, get me out of the Queen’s household.”

Gimilzagar had not been expecting this.

“What? But…” He looked as if she had gone insane, and perhaps he was right. “Mother has offered to take you so she can keep both you and your reputation safe. If you were not here as one of her ladies, you would be… you would be…”

There was no need for special powers to know what was the word that Gimilzagar had in mind.

“Your whore,” she completed for him, all caution thrown to the winds. “So what? Everybody thinks that already. What do you think they called me in Rómenna since the assassination attempt?”

Gimilzagar looked shocked. Could he not have known?

“I do not think…”

“Well, then start thinking!”, she interrupted him, only belatedly realizing that her voice had risen, and the ladies had stopped her conversation to stare at her. Again, she did a great effort to swallow her feelings and smile airily in their direction. “Very well. You wanted me to discuss the King with you, so I will. He hates my adoptive father, my family, and me. Since he first heard about us, he has been pretending I am a common whore that makes you horny, and nothing more. “Gimilzagar was not used to this crude language, but she ignored his shock. “Why don’t we give him what he wants? I would no longer be the girl that you need to protect, the one you are resigned to love from afar, because she is too precious to you. I would be the girl you want in your bed…”

“Fíriel!”

“… and that he will be able to understand. And the Court too! There would be a scandal, but it would be just the kind of scandal that they want, wouldn’t it?”

To be completely honest, Fíriel was almost as shocked at her own outburst as Gimilzagar. If she had the time to wonder what her family in Rómenna –both of them- would say if they could hear her now, her face would turn as red a ripe berry. But she also felt that she was finally starting to reach the core of that terrible anxiety which had seemed to fill her lungs every night, until she could no longer breathe. She was trapped here, by the will of others who would never let her go, but also by her own heart, as shameful as it was for her to admit it. She had been constantly under the eye of the Queen, who dissected even her smallest thoughts and treated her as a puppet she could manipulate at will. She was surrounded by women who knew about her, but pretended not to, exhibiting a cold politeness that barely hid a sea of malice waiting to be unleashed. She had seen the King’s gaze, trying to look through her as if she was invisible, yet knowing deep inside that he could not. Everything around her was a constant threat, hanging over her head, and she was all alone facing it. And she could not bear it anymore. Whatever happened once she cut the ropes and let go could be no worse than this.

“But what if it is?” Gimilzagar asked. “Please, Fíriel. I only want to protect you! I do not want to…”

“Liar”, she cut him. Slowly, she drew closer, until their faces were barely an inch apart from each other. “You do not only want to protect me, Gimilzagar. I don’t have Elvish powers, but I know it. I make you horny.” At this, his cheeks grew even redder than hers, and he stuttered a word or two, but he stayed where he was, as if there was something in her face that mesmerized him and prevented him from turning away. “When we sat by the cliff, it was you who wanted to kiss me. Have you already forgotten it?”

Her question found no answer. Taken by a sudden sense of urgency, afraid that he would eventually emerge from his trance –or worse, that she would-, Fíriel leaned forwards before the astonished glance of two of the highest ladies of the Númenórean Court, and claimed Gimilzagar’s lips in a fierce kiss.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Perhaps Fíriel was better at taking care of his problems than he was at taking care of hers, Gimilzagar thought ruefully, as he forced his eyes to remain fixed on the tile patterns of the floor. He had been complaining that Father would not see him, and now, thanks to her, Ar Pharazôn the Golden had abandoned all his duties to give him his undivided attention.

“Did you do it to upset me? Is that it?” he asked, without wasting his time in greetings or preliminaries. Before Gimilzagar could even think of an answer to this question. Ar Zimraphel laughed.

“Really, husband! Are you so lost in your contemplation of my beauty as to be unable to notice the beauty of others?” All the eyes in the room instinctively turned towards Fíriel, who had been kneeling on the floor since they arrived, and did not move an inch or look away from it even now. “There are other reasons why a young man like Gimilzagar would want to kiss this girl, which do not necessarily involve you.”

“Oh. And did this great beauty drive him to do it in broad daylight, in sight of his nurse, your lady and their women? Was she too beautiful for him to do what he needed to do in private, without causing a scandal?”

Gimilzagar had no idea of the answer to those questions, since Fíriel was the one who had caused the scandal. And yet, he was the one being questioned, not her, and he was aware enough of the situation as to know that he had to endeavour to keep it that way.

I would be the girl you want in your bed, and that he will be able to understand, she had claimed, shortly before she took away his remaining ability to think, or to even register what she was saying. He prayed to all the gods in the world that she was right.

“I… I was not thinking, Father. She was - standing there, talking to me, and suddenly I just could not keep my hands off her. A- and perhaps my frustration because you would not speak to me played a part at first, but once I started, er, kissing her, it was as if nothing else mattered anymore.”

When Ar Pharazôn stared at him in incredulity, he had to force himself to remember that his father was reacting to the message, not necessarily questioning its truth.

“In other words, he is a man, though you still see him as a child.”

“I see him as a child? I, see him as a child? I thought I had been found guilty of the opposite failing, when I took him to Middle Earth with me!”

“A man does not necessarily mean a copy of you, Pharazôn. There are many men in the world, each of them different from the others.” Zimraphel smiled. “Though there are some things which appear to be common to all.”

“Oh, is that so? And if I had done this with you in public when I was his age, and Grandfather held the Sceptre, not to mention when your father did, how do you think that they would have reacted?”

“This and that are very different things. We were cousins…”

“She is a peasant’s bastard!”

“… our fathers were enemies…”

“And so are theirs!”

“… and, most importantly, those kings were not like us. They did not rule the world, and needed to grovel pathetically for the approval of their courtiers and councilmen so they could carry out their policies. My father spent over seventy years of his life trying to impose his beliefs, and not even the meanest populace would obey him! But now you move a finger, and all the peoples of Middle Earth cower.” Her voice grew passionate. “You no longer need to find your son a bride from the line of Indilzâr to keep the nobles happy. Whoever he chooses to bed, even if it is a barbarian from the most remote corner of the world, they will have to accept it.”

“A barbarian, maybe. But one of the Faithful? I thought that you, of all people, would remember the havoc wrought by the Princess Inzilbêth on the Palace and the royal line!”

“Fíriel is not one of the Faithful, Father” Gimilzagar argued, gathering some of his wits back after this disturbing exchange. “She left all that behind when she came here.”

“Oh, truly?” Ar Pharazôn laughed. “She told you so herself, did she not?”

“The Princess Inzilbêth has nothing to do with this” Ar Zimraphel spoke, before Gimilzagar could open his mouth again. “She was our grandfather’s wife, and the mother of his children. This girl will never have such power.”

The young Prince’s head spun, as the painful truth of this statement made its way through his understanding. Since he was old enough to remember, he had loved Fíriel, wanted nothing more than for her to love him back, and be by his side for ever.  And yet, he had somehow never spared a thought for the exact nature of this arrangement, or what it would entail for either of them. He had been so blinded by his feelings that he had failed to realize that someone such as her, even if both his father and mother would tolerate her presence, had no hope of ever marrying him or bearing his children. Whether it was the Sceptre, the Council or the nobles who controlled Númenor, whether they were forced into secrecy or not, the only role open to her was the woman in his bed.

And she had always known it, he realized, just like his mother and everybody else. When he considered her actions under this light, their new meanings took his breath away. She had left Rómenna and the protection of Lord Amandil to come here and live within the walls of this Palace, only because she was told that Gimilzagar was dying and she was the only one who could save him. But once that she did, she was aware that everybody would see her as Gimilzagar’s secret mistress, and so they had. And today, she had not been trying to tell him that she did not mind this – her true point had been that she could no longer bear this hypocritical arrangement where she was reviled and her life threatened for something that she was not even allowed to have.

Either way, there was nothing Gimilzagar could do spare her from this anymore. The only thing he could have done, to stop bothering her and ruining her life while he still had the chance, was a ship which had already sailed beyond the grasp of his new maturity.

“Well, then. If Gimilzagar does not mind parading her in front of the entire Island as his whore, I see no reason why this should be any of my concern”. His father’s words pierced his thoughts, throwing them into even further disarray with their callousness. “The only party involved who might object to it is Amandil, but his discomfort is none of my concern, either. As for the girl, I assume you gave her a reason to be willing, though if the reason is not between your legs…”

“Father!”

“Do not interrupt me!” Pharazôn’s voice was suddenly sharp as steel. “If you are not ashamed to do something, you should not be ashamed to hear it spoken. If the reason is not between your legs, I say, she may be disappointed. For she will never wield any power through you, or have an honourable position at Court. And if she ever has the effrontery of mentioning the lies of the Baalim-worshippers before the one mortal they have wronged the most, I do not care where she comes from or how much you want her: she will be dealt with just like the rest of her treacherous breed!” For the last words, she had walked past Gimilzagar, until he was in the vicinity of Fíriel, and forced her to look up until their eyes were in line. Her face was pale, and Gimilzagar could feel her terror, but she stood her ground and even managed a quiet nod.

He will not do that, my son. Do not fear, Ar Zimraphel’s soothing voice filled his mind, just as it had so many times when he was little. He has received many setbacks in the last months, and those threats are just his way of remaining in control. He will never accept that you love this girl as much as he ever loved me, and between your cluelessness and her impulsivity, you have provided him with a rather convenient narrative he can stick to. But deep inside, he knows. It is not a show of public debauchery what haunts his thoughts, but the vision of Fíriel holding your hand and bringing you back from the world of shadows where you lay trapped because of him.

“Now you may leave, and take her with you. But remember that from now on, she is your responsibility.” The King was looking at Gimilzagar again. “If you are truly attached to her, you will not let her step out of line. I hope you are at least capable of doing this much.”

There was very little of what Ar Pharazôn had said in that conversation which was not deeply humiliating towards either of them, even if Gimilzagar needed to consider it as a fair price to pay for Fíriel’s safety. But the last words his father had spoken gave him pause, and as he mulled over them, he was suddenly able to detect the undercurrent of resentment underneath.

“Father, please.” He had to speak fast, before the opening was gone. “May I speak to you in private?”

The King snorted. Regular mortals would have seen nothing but exasperation in his countenance, but Gimilzagar saw the pretence as well. His powers were growing – and yet, he could not help but feel more powerless than ever.

“I have no more time for your eccentricities, Gimilzagar. I am the King of Númenor. If you will not help me, at least do not hinder me” Ar Pharazôn said. “You have the girl, which is what you wanted. Now take her and leave, and count your blessings.”

The young man winced.

“But…”

“I said, leave!” It was shocking to hear the King raise his voice like this. Usually, a show of quiet displeasure was enough to make the bravest man in the realm cower, but now, it was as if those setbacks which, according to Mother, he had received in the last months, had slowly eroded the control he exerted over all his surroundings, bringing the hidden menace closer to the surface. Gimilzagar could perceive many feelings in disarray, some in open contradiction with the others. And yet, he saw also a strong determination sustaining it all, which was solidifying as fast as the mixture that masons used to keep the bricks in a wall together.

And he had just run into that wall.

“Yes, Father.” He bowed, then turned back towards the place where Fíriel was kneeling to make a gesture in her direction. She looked up; there was confusion, and yet also sympathy in her eyes. “Come, Fíriel.”

The girl struggled to her feet, and followed him in silence.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Ar Pharazôn let go of a long breath. It had not been problematic enough to have someone close to him intrude upon his thoughts: now, there were two of them, and neither in a helpful mood. He remembered Ar Gimilzôr, how he had always refused to meet with his own son, afraid that the Prince Inziladûn would steal his secrets and use them against him. For years, he had believed himself to be above this, just as he had believed himself to be above so many other things that his predecessors and ancestors had done. Ar Zimraphel was a powerful force, as wild and unpredictable as the Sea, but he was not an ordinary man, or an idiot like Vorondil. He would be capable of taming the Sea itself and earning its love and cooperation, wouldn’t he? And the day she bore a son, he was certain that the child would never be like the Princess and the Prince of the West who had preceded him, who hated their own fathers and plotted against them. Why would he? Unlike that collection of paranoid, superstitious tyrants, Ar Pharazôn the Golden was a proper father, and a proper King.

Of all those ironies, however, the most poignant was that he had never actually wanted to do this. He had changed his mind because of Gimilzagar –for Gimilzagar, one could even say. The boy could not be so dense as to ignore the implications of what had happened in the mainland: to have him elevated to the kingship would mean not only the ruin of Númenor, but also his own death. He probably would not even last long enough to take the Sceptre.

“Perhaps you are judging him unfairly.”

“Am I, Zimraphel? What do you think that would have happened if I had to get rid of his little friend, because a future King cannot be fooling around with a Baalim worshipping whore? What if I told him to assist me at the sacrifices for the King’s festival next month, so the assembled people can see him as my successor? And, what if I ordered him to accompany me to the mainland again, when I go there in a year, or two, or three, because there is a revolt that needs to be quelled?” He started pacing around the room. “He may have your power, but he is not strong enough to live with it. And, even if you managed to turn him into someone like you, do you think he can marry a powerful general to lead his wars on the mainland?”

“That is not what I mean.” Zimraphel replied. “You are angry, and you see his actions as an attempt to thwart you. But has it occurred to you that, when he pried into your thoughts, it was not to use them against you, but to help you? He would even offer to shoulder burdens he knows he cannot withstand, to keep you from taking a dangerous course of action. Perhaps you should take a moment to appreciate that.”

Pharazôn pondered those words, but he did not let them stay for a long time on his mind, for fear that they would fester. He could not allow himself to be weak, least of all now.

“To offer something that one does not possess is just a meaningless gesture” he said, rather more harshly than he had intended. “I meant what I said before, Zimraphel. If he cannot help, at least he must stop getting in the way. He had his chance; I doubt that he would thank me if I gave him another.”

“And yet you refuse to face him and tell him this much in words. You are treating him like an enemy, Pharazôn. When he was at the brink of death, he did not do it on purpose as an attack to you. When he kissed this girl, he did not do it to spite you. He does not hate you, but if you keep walking down this road, he soon will. And you do not want to fight your own son.”

Pharazôn laughed bitterly.

“Oh. Do you think he would make a worthy opponent for me?”

But she was in no mood for jokes, bitter or not.

“Stop it”, she hissed. “We have a very dangerous future ahead of us, Pharazôn. You are intent on following through with this course, so be it! But if it leads you to disaster, it will be your responsibility, not his.”

This direct attack had the virtue of making his temper flare again.

“And what do you want me to do? Gimilzagar was our only hope, and now it has failed us. Everything we did, the efforts we poured and the lives we spent to have him grow to adulthood have been wasted, for he will never hold the Sceptre of Númenor. All around the world, people see us as gods, but we will not live forever, and what then? Will we let our empire collapse, our line fail, our Island fall to strife and ruin? Do you know how many traitors lurk in the shadows, awaiting their chance? Answer!” Her silence fuelled his anger even more. “You were supposed to share the Sceptre with me, Zimraphel! You were here to tell me which way I should turn, where to step to avoid the snares of Fate, and yet you abandon me when I need you the most! If there is another way, I would hear it from your lips. And if you merely do not wish me to take Zigûr’s path, then stop hiding behind vague prophecies of doom uttered behind closed doors, and challenge me in the open! Or are you a coward, who does not dare oppose me until you see me brought down? Is that it? Do you want to see me fall, and then pick up the pieces and reign supreme over what is left?”

“Is that what you think of me?” She asked the question sadly, as if she had never been anything but a victim. As if she had never let her son go to the mainland with him, even knowing what would happen. “You are as bad as Ar Gimilzôr ever was, then, if you no longer distinguish your own wife and son from your enemies.”

“You already killed one husband in that manner, Zimraphel.” They had never spoken of this before, but now it was as if it was simply inevitable. She shook her head, aggrieved.

“He was not my true husband.”

“That is not what he thought.”

“Stop making me responsible for other people’s choices!” Her voice was shrill, an imperfect sound coming from perfect lips, and he was aware that he had struck a nerve. “I am not all-powerful, and even with all the gifts I was given, I am a mortal like you! I cannot put Gimilzagar under a spell, as Zigûr tried to do, I cannot reshape the world, and I do not know how to save Númenor!” Her uneasiness was now clearly visible in her features, and it gave him pause. He had not seen her this vulnerable in a very long time. “Wherever I turn, all I see is darkness. But if we allow this to drive a wedge between us, the darkness will only grow deeper, and swallow us whole!”

Perhaps he was being a gullible fool, like Vorondil had been once, and yet something in her eyes, in the way her voice trembled almost imperceptibly as she confessed her weakness, had the ability to disarm him. Doing his best to swallow his anger and suspicion, he sat by her side, holding her pale hand in his larger one.

“It does not have to be like this”, he said. “We can do more than just sit here, waiting for the darkness to find us.”

“Run towards it?” It occurred to him belatedly that perhaps she was not used to this –and if so, that her aloof, calculating demeanour might have been a way to hide that she was even more lost than he was, and yet too proud to admit it. If only he could be certain of this interpretation.

“No. Meet it on the battlefield, and fight it.”

“Is that how you think you can solve everything? By fighting?”

Pharazôn pondered this question. Of course, he was not as much of a fool as to believe that he could fight all the forces in the world and emerge victorious. Still, if there was a choice between fighting and meekly submitting to oblivion, she could not expect him to choose anything else. And if the gain was so great….

Then why don’t you ask Lord Zigûr, Father? He said that he knew the secret of immortality.

This secret is the most precious possession of those whom you call the Baalim, and the Faithful honour as the Valar, Zigûr’s voice remained etched in his memory, like the bloody line left by a sacrificial knife on tender flesh. They can make you immortal, like they did with the Elves, and strong while the world lasts. But they will never do it willingly, for they will not suffer Men to become as powerful as they are.

The people of Rhûn believed that Ar Pharazôn had defeated a god, and forced him to make him immortal. But he had only caught himself a demon, who could do no more than extend an appearance of youth and invulnerability to fool the superstitious and the gullible. The true prize had always been further afar, in the forbidden seas that his ancestors had always feared to sail. The true prize – or the sole escape.

“I have no idea”, he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “The only thing I know for sure is that my mother bore me with the ability to take paths that others did not dare to tread. And it is because of this that we are here now, that we are King and Queen of Númenor and Middle Earth, and that you have a son at all.”

“I am aware of that, Pharazôn” As she extricated herself from his grip and stood on her feet, her eyes looked clouded by a veil of unreadable emotion. “And that is why I know that I cannot stop you. You have always made your own choices, and you always will. Do you think I could not tell? You never needed my foresight as, in your innermost of hearts, you believe that you make your own fate. And, who knows? Perhaps you are right.”

And before he could find a reply, she was gone.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Fíriel sat by the edge of the bed, her body wracked by violent shivers. She could hear voices floating around like the dull hum of the wind, insistent but unable to pierce the wall of her understanding.

“Leave us alone.” That voice was familiar. It was growing louder, closer, and more and more difficult to ignore. “Fíriel, I am here. Fíriel!”

She hugged herself, seeking warmth, but since the cold was not the reason for her shivers they did not stop after a blanket was thrown over her shoulders - not even when other arms encircled her and pulled her close.

Ssssh. The voice was not floating around anymore: it was inside her, and she could not help but listen, though she did not want to. She knew that it meant well, but also that it would inevitably remind her of what had happened.

I am sorry. But you cannot escape things this way. I know, for I have tried.

He was right, damn him. The smell was still on his clothes, on his hair, on hers. Whenever she closed her eyes, the blood was still there, too, as well as the pain and anguish, and the evil creature who stood before the altar, gazing at her in false pity before he buried the blade in the victim’s chest. She did not know the faces of those unfortunate men and women, both barbarians and Númenóreans –Faithful, she could almost hear the King correcting her with a cruel sneer- but wherever she looked she only saw Zebedin and his friends, screaming for mercy in voices that no one could hear under the loud chanting of the multitude. She felt lucky that she never had the chance of meeting her father, for if she had, she knew that she would have seen him, too.

I tried, Fíriel. I tried to spare you this, he said. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and it seemed to her that even they smelled of burned flesh.

“But you can’t, so what is the point in trying?” she hissed, rather harshly. “What will the Court think if the Prince’s Baalim-worshipping mistress refuses to attend the holy rites? At least I am allowed to stand at the foot of the altar instead of lying on it, though I am sure the King intends me to work hard to keep this privilege.”

Both his voices were silent for a long, uncomfortable while, but he did not let go of her.

“You were braver than I was the first time. I remember I had to be taken outside by Mother.”

“Lucky you”, she snorted.

“I am not lucky. Whenever I set foot in the Temple, every eye is fixed on me.”

“Except today, when they were fixed on me.” Little by little, the shivers were subsiding, though Fíriel still felt as if there was something surreal in this conversation, as if it was her mouth talking and not her. “How do you do it?”

“Practice” he said simply. Still, a shadow was on his face, and somehow she knew that he would eventually speak again, as soon as he managed to gather the courage.

“He made me do it. That was what almost killed me.”

It took a long time for the meaning of those words to register in Fíriel’s mind. When they did, she tried to speak, but the words would not come.

“I perceived the thoughts of my victim, and they were so strong that they took control of my mind. And then I… saw myself as he saw me, and I hated myself so much that I had to make sure I was dead. Only- the person I sunk my knife into was him.” Gimilzagar smiled mirthlessly. “It almost sounds like a joke.”

“Can you…. hear what they are thinking?” Suddenly, a new world of disturbing implications was opening before her. He nodded.

“All of it. If I did not, perhaps I would have managed to see the sufferings of the rest of the world as if they had nothing to do with mine. As if they did not matter. And then, I could have been a proper heir for my father.”

Something in this assertion troubled Fíriel, but she hid her turmoil behind a smile which was just as joyless as his.

“Perhaps. But I would never have loved you, so you would have come out poorer than you are now.” And she would not have felt the need to save him, and he would have died, and then those people would have lived.

“And I would never have been at the brink of death in the first place because I would not have fallen victim to my own mind, so I would not have needed you, and those people would still have died” he retorted, more passionately now that during the rest of the conversation. “Do not blame yourself.  Once you start playing this game, you cannot stop.”

“You are the last person in the world who should be giving me lessons on this” she retorted, defensively. “And stop reading my mind!”

“Do you… regret saving me?”

Her belligerence died as abruptly as it had come, as she perceived the trepidation behind his voice, and the sudden fear in his eyes. She shook her head, wondering how to answer without making either of them look like monsters. Perhaps there was simply no way to do that.

“I don’t. That is where all the guilt comes from.” She sighed. “If I did, there would be no need for it, would it? I would only need to gather my guts and stick a knife in you like a proper Faithful martyr.” His eyes widened at this, but he did not flinch. Almost as he was not wholly averse to the idea, she realized, growing angry again. “You cannot be asked to feel guilty for living. It is not fair.”

“And what is fair? Children being killed in altars because of the crimes of their parents? Villagers drawing lots to choose those who will be taken across the world to feed the Great Deliverer’s fires?” He shook his head, despondently. “Perhaps this is why the gods gave me this half-life, because they want Númenor to end. Perhaps my father’s efforts will not change this outcome, because it is the only outcome that exists, and I should stop trying to warn him. Perhaps it is for the best.”

Fíriel shivered again. As if they had been illuminated by a flash of lightning, she saw again the features of the last woman to be dragged to the altar. Her eyes were brimming with desperation, and she kept repeating that she had not done it –that she was innocent. No one had listened to her, just as no one would listen to any of them the day their world fell. They had long forfeited that right.

Suddenly, she realized that those were not her own thoughts but Gimilzagar’s, intruding upon her mind. Their darkness was so deep, so disturbing, that for a while there was nothing she could do except sit there, feeling the warmth of love and life and hope gradually trickle away from her.

No! her mind shouted, instinctively lashing back with all its strength. She could not allow this. No matter how guilty she felt, she would not surrender to it. She was here because she loved, because she hoped, because she wanted to live. And if one day she had to pay for it, they would never make her go willingly.

“Stop”, she whispered, turning towards Gimilzagar, whose arms were still encircling her back, to claim his mouth in a kiss. Surprised by this move, he did not respond at first, but she held firmly to him until she could feel his lips part. Kissing him over and over, she pushed him on the bed, where he lay on his back for a moment, staring at her in sheer disbelief and confusion. Soon, however, her hands were roaming all over her body, and she was growing irritated by all those clothes, and she knew that she had to take them off as fast as she could.

“Fíriel” he protested, alarmed. “Fíriel, what are you doing?”

Her own clothes were easier to discard, because she knew how they worked. Once he was presented with her naked body, his eyes grew wide, and he stopped resisting her.  

“What we should have done long ago”, she answered, her mouth trailing across his neck and down to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating fast.

“But…” he tried to protest again. Just then, her instinct –and some dirty stories she had overheard her cousin’s friends telling each other- told her to go lower, and his voice died on his lips with a groan.

“I want to have you. To feel your body against mine. To feel alive in this rotten world. And you will not deny me this, Gimilzagar”, she hissed, though she did not even know who she was angry with. “I came here to save you from the abyss, not to be dragged into it!”

He did not protest further, but his movements were too slow and clumsy for her liking, and soon she was trying to take his clothes off with her own hands again. Little by little, she began to notice his body’s responses to her touch, and when his own hand roamed timidly around the area of her breasts, she held it there.

“Fíriel…” he moaned. She nodded with enthusiasm.

“Yes. Yes.” The veil was starting to dissipate, and she could see it all: the light, the colours, the warmth of his body against hers. The shock in his eyes, giving way to joy, and love. Suddenly, it was as if everything had become crystal clear: why they were there, she and him, and why they should endeavour to walk this world for as long as possible, no matter how cruel, how ugly it was.

I can see it too, he whispered in her mind, as she closed her eyes to feel the touch of his mouth against her skin. Please, do not leave me. Do not leave me, Fíriel. I –I can see it now.

The next morning, as she awoke in his arms to vivid memories of their lovemaking, Fíriel realized that she was no longer able to tell where her mind ended and his began –but for the first time in her life, it did not matter.