History Lessons
By Aria
A cold winter's night makes for a warm discussion any time with the fire burning hot in the hearth and filling the room with its snap crackling glow.
"Sam-dad, that makes no sense."
"What makes no sense?"
"Well I understand why Manwe would be upset with Numenor, I understand that, but why would he punish everybody there for the actions of only a few? I think these books are wrong."
"Those books were written by the Numenorians themselves, Eleanor. Somehow I don't think they've got their own history wrong."
She frowned, "but these Numenorians were clearly the ones who escaped the flooding and sinking, Sam-dad so how can they know what happened. Besides how can they know that, well that happened." She stabs at the offending line.
"What happened?"
"That!"
"But Tar-Miriel the Queen, fairer than silver or ivory or pearls left it too late to ascend Meneltarma to the holy place; for the waters overtook her, and so her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind."
"See, Sam-dad, it makes no sense. If all of the women and children died there would have been no-one to report the story and since it was reported clearly some must have survived."
"But there were witnesses, dear heart. Manwe saw everything."
"But it doesn't say here that Manwe told anyone. I think if Manwe decided to speak with the Exiles, Sam-dad they might have written it down."
Sam chuckled. "Aye, they might have done. But perhaps Manwe himself didn't speak to them, perhaps someone spoke to them on his behalf?"
"Which surely they would have admitted to. I think it's simply a writer's fancy, Sam-dad. Like how Old Mr Bilbo would make things up when he didn't know exactly what happened, or didn't like to admit how something really happened."
"And what do you think really happened?" His hand rested on the pages intrigued.
"I don't know. But that" she punctuated her point by poking the offending line, "is poetic license, Sam-dad. Nothing more, nothing less. For all they know Tar-Miriel spent her last minutes praying to the Star-kindler to stay her husband's and Iluvatar's hands since they were over reacting."
"Now Elanor I don't think the King would like to hear you talking like that about his ancestors. Nor Prince Faramir for that matter." Sam admonished with a slight frown.
"But if no-one was there no-one can say what truly happened to Tar-Miriel or Ar-Zimraphel. The historians haven't even written down which name she preferred. After she's married to Ar-Pharazon they forget all about her until she dies during the drowning and that's just not fair. She was the rightful Queen of Numenor, Ar-Pharazon seized the sceptre. It doesn't even say why the people of Numenor let that happen, Sam-dad!"
"Well maybe you should try and find out, Elanorelle. Maybe that can be your great work. Finding out the truth of Tar-Miriel, I think the King and Queen would be quite interested in helping you with that. Now I think it's time for bed since it's long past the hour we agreed upon."
"History is written by the victors, Sam-dad." Elanor adds gravely as she gives her father a brief hug and peck on the cheek. "Even by those who mean well."
Notes:
As always I post my annual story on new years eve as I rummage about on my harddrive for things to complete in the new year and inevitably find one already finished.
Written for the Back to Middle Earth bingo a number of years ago, so long ago in fact that I can't even remember the original prompt!
I always felt this story needed an expansion, I want to see Elanor Gamgee off in Minas Tirith unearthing historical compendiums and annoying all the fusty historians. ;)