A Game of Chess by Lilith

Chapter 1

The king is sleepless.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.  

— Eliot, A Game of Chess, The Waste Land    

The king's summons came late at night as they so often did.  Pharazôn seldom summoned her when a clear sky and brilliant sunlight burned his fears away. But, at night, when there was no one to comfort him, when Miriel, the Queen, would have savored his fear as Mairen's wolves had savored the taste of human flesh, when the work of the day could no longer distract him, he would send for her.

At first, he was careful to have a purpose behind his summons, a pretext for his call.   The first time he commanded her presence a seafaring captain had discovered a stone no one had seen before in Numenor and of which no reference might be found in any of the ancient books, even those gifted by the Elves and secreted in the king's own library. The second time his engineers had met with an accident when designing the defenses intended to guard the Western Havens from assault. The third time his mathematicians had been baffled by a problem he would have them solve.

He dangled each problem before her, framing each one as a test, a tool by which she would demonstrate the good will and faith both he and she knew she did not possess. He needn't have worried. As he'd intended, she found herself stifled in the hothouse atmosphere of the palace. She remained confined to her chambers with few ways to pass the time, save for the brief outings she was granted in the palace gardens or the embroidery he sent to her when she requested a diversion from the hours she must spend in her rooms.

"A pursuit suitable for a lady of Númenor," he had written on the note he'd included with needle, thread and material.

She'd laughed. The only stitches she knew were the careful lines of rivets binding sheets of armor, whether on man, beast or machine.  

So she was careful to devote her full attention to each problem, aware that proof of the trust she does not possess earned her hours outside her rooms and additional freedoms. Pharazôn may not trust her. He may never trust her. But she may yet prove herself to be indispensable.

But, later, when each problem was solved more quickly than the king expected and he remained frightened and lonely late into the night, he summoned her with little pretext. At first, she was uncertain. She had believed him uninterested in her body, his fear of her exceeding the degree to which he coveted her form, and she'd thought him too clever to attempt to exert his dominance over her by taking possession of it. Pharazôn  was a canny fighter, and he well knew that would ensure her enmity. He sought to woo her differently, to acquire her allegiance and fealty in a more subtle way, by showing her that she could not escape his custody but that he would prove a more generous master than the one she'd served before.

It was not his fault she had little interest for the things he had to offer.

Yet, when the guards arrived after the moon had set and when no stars might be seen above the streetlights of Armenlos, she wondered at his purpose and she was, though she sought to stifle it, afraid.

Her fear only grew when they brought her not to the council chambers but to his personal suite. She entered the rooms only to find Pharazôn seated at a table with a board aligned with different pieces, handsome ones, a sturdy king, a delicate queen, a strong tower and a knight astride his horse, one set made of ivory and the other of the blackest onyx. He indicated the chair across from him.

"Did they wake you?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "I seldom sleep."

"I had not wanted them to wake you. I gave them instructions that if they saw no light, they would not disturb you."

"I was not disturbed. What does Your Majesty require?"

"Do you play?" He gestured towards the board before him.

"Of course,” she replied and sat.