The Waters Draw Back by Grundy

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The Waters Draw Back

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Pharazôn eyed his captive warily.

The victory had been hard-fought, but would go down in the annals of Numenor as the greatest feat of arms since the War of Wrath. Taking Sauron prisoner was beyond even his wildest dreams of what this campaign might achieve.

And yet…

“Ask, great King,” Sauron said.

It was just shy of a command. Obviously their great Enemy was not in the habit of being the one not in control of a situation.

But all the same, he had to know.

“What have you done with my father?”

Sauron smiled.

“Only what he asked for. I granted him his heart’s desire. It turned out that was all for himself, nothing to do with you. I doubt you’ll see him again.”

Knowing his father’s appetites, Pharazôn could only imagine. Probably for the best if Gimilkhâd stayed lost. Or dead. Dead would be better, but lost was a good fallback.

“As far as Numenor is concerned, he is dead, and you will not say otherwise.”

“Of course not, great King.”

“And I am not the King. You will address me as ‘Lord’ or ‘Commander’.”

“My mistake, great Lord.”

Pharazôn doubted that, and could practically hear Míriel warning him to be careful.

“I am, however, disappointed that the ruler of Numenor could not be bothered to oppose me herself, merely sending a lackey.”

Pharazôn nearly chuckled at the thought of what Míriel would have done given the opportunity to vent all her pent-up frustrations and rage on Sauron. It was probably just as well for the creature that she had sensibly remained in Armenelos.

“You mistake yourself again,” he said evenly. “I am no lackey, I am the Queen’s husband, her right hand.”

“As you say, great Lord.”

It took work to keep his voice and face neutral at that. Sauron had clearly had spies in Numenor, Gimilkhâd not the least. Did he know something Pharazôn did not? No, it was impossible. With the shield wall of her handmaidens so firmly in place, the only men Miri ever saw alone were himself and Amandil. Amandil had married one of those same handmaidens. He could picture her flying easier than picture his wife betraying a friend.

“I once offered your father his heart’s desire. As a token of my submission, I offer you the same – you have only to name it.”

It was easy enough to laugh at that.

“My heart’s desire is beyond your power to grant,” Pharazôn snorted.

Sauron’s gaze sharpened.

“You might perhaps be able to grant me some semblance of it, but it would be feigned or forced, and thus not what I truly desire,” Pharazôn continued. “So it is useless to speak of it, and you waste your breath.”

“As you say,” Sauron nodded, not sounding convinced.

Pharazôn had the uncomfortable conviction that the subject would come up again, and an urge to allow as few opportunities for that as possible. It seemed a good first step to put distance between himself and Sauron.

The soft chuckle from his captive conveyed well enough that no thought here was truly private.

When Pharazôn emerged from the tent where the captive was being kept, he gave orders to put it under an even stricter guard. He wanted only experienced men for this duty, unlikely to be swayed by either curiosity or bribery, under orders never to enter; and a double guard at all times that no man would be alone there.

He’d been so damn proud of capturing Sauron that he hadn’t stopped until now to think what to do with him now that he had him. It wasn’t as if he could just let him go again, but taking him home as a prize suddenly seemed like an even worse course. A fine trap to have walked into!

He’d give anything to have Miri here for five minutes to give advice. He was right enough on a battlefield, but this strange and sudden peace and the conundrum that came with it unnerved him. By rights, he ought to be feeling pleased all considered- a defeated Enemy, a fine summer day, a camp in good spirits at the prospect of returning home with fewer casualties and more spoils than they’d dared hope.

Yet somehow it felt to him as a frigid winter night without a star.