Blood Amongst The Lilies by Kaylee Arafinwiel

Blood Amongst the Lilies

I think this is a oneshot. These fics do have a way of surprising me, so we'll see. This is set shortly after Tar-Palantir's ascension to the throne of Numenor.

The Decree of Forbiddance has been rescinded, but the Faithful among Miriel's family are still careful to stick to Adunaic when in Gimilkhor (Pharazon's) presence, since he and his father disdain the Eldar and their languages.

S.A. 3177, Armenlos, Numenor

 "Zimraphel." The voice was chiding, and the King's Heir did not need to look up to see Gimilkhôr smirking at her as Queen Mother Inzilbêth scolded her. "You are not focused, granddaughter. You hold the brush so. It is a pen, not a dagger. You are a Princess, not a warrior. What enemies do you see here?"

"My apologies, Grandmother." Miriel accepted the rebuke with a murmur. "I see no enemies before me." It was true enough -with her eyes downcast she saw no one, enemy or friend. Her brush strokes moved across the paper, watercolour blooming in its wake. The splashes of red flowers amongst the still waters she was meant to be painting, though, looked more like blood.

"Zimraphel," Gimilkhôr sneered. "You're doing it all wrong."

"What do you know of painting, cousin?" Miriel retorted, taking great care to continue to speak Adunaic in front of him. "I know that you are meant to be painting flowers. not make Anadûnê run red with blood."

"No, that is your job, isn't it?" Miriel retorted waspishly.

"Zimraphel! Apologize!" Belzimra swept to her daughter's side, eyes flashing, and Miriel chanced a glance up at the new Queen, having the grace to blush.

"I only meant, Gimilkhôr is a warrior, Ammê," Miriel said hastily, and Belzimra nodded, mollified.

"No doubt," Inzilbêth said in conciliatory tones. "Gimilkhôr, perhaps it is best if you attend to your own duties. I believe your weapons master is awaiting you by now."

"Grandmother." Gimilkhôr bowed stiffly. "With your leave, Aunt." Belzimra nodded crisply. "Go then, Nephew." He went, closing the door behind him with a sharpness just short of rude.

The tension in the room eased as the lad's footsteps died away, and Belzimra's hand gently constricted around Miriel's shoulder. "Are you well, iel-nin?" she whispered. "What did you mean by your words to your cousin?"

"Nana," Miriel's hands shook and she set her brush down, backing away from the paints and turning into Belzimra's embrace. "I fear a great darkness will fall upon Andor. I see our people drowning in darkness, despite Ada's best efforts."

Belzimra shivered and held her only child tighter. "Is that foresight speaking, Miriel, or only fear?" Miriel shook her head as Inzilbeth embraced them both, giving Miriel a kiss of benediction. "Daernana...you know of what I speak."

"I cannot say for certain when or whether this vision will come to pass," Inzilbeth murmured, "or what can be done to stop it - if anyone can. But your ada and I, too, have seen it, child."

"You see. And Gimilkhôr is at the heart of it," Miriel whispered. Inzilbeth held her daughter-in-law and granddaughter, and prayed to the long-ignored Powers of the West that Miriel was wrong. She knew better, though - she heard the name her grandson's closest friends called him. Pharazon.

Ar-Pharazon. The name lingered in her mind, and Inzilbeth suppressed a shudder. Foresight, or fear? Time would tell, and likely she would not live to know.