Chapter One: The Return

"Land ahoy!" came the call from the crow's nest.

Fifteen years, and now I was home. From the spray-covered deck of the flagship, my eyes watched the great spikey silhouette of Mount Meneltarma edge over the horizon. It had been too long. Winning renown in Middle-earth had garnered me enough riches to last me many a lifetime, but the Land of the Star would always be where my heart lay. The grey ocean waves crashed around us. Their roar was as music to my ears.

I thrust my arms into the air in triumph. "We have done it, Amandil!" I cried. "We are back!"

"It would appear so," he said, standing beside me. Amandil was my closest friend, the man who had fought shoulder to shoulder with me against the orcs and savage men of Middle-earth. "It will be good to see my wife and little Elendil again."

His wife was a shrew, self-righteous and judgemental, but I resisted the temptation to pass comment. "Elendil will no longer be little," I said. "He will now be a man of one-and-twenty."

"Indeed. Time passes so swiftly these days."

"I wonder if my uncle will be there to greet us when we sail into Rómenna."

"I would not be too hopeful, Pharazôn," said Amandil. "The King likes you not, and a mere fifteen years will not have changed him."

That was true enough. No doubt old Inziladûn would have preferred me to sail away and never return. "The King likes no-one." I said. "He has more interest in Elves than his own subjects. Our glorious Empire was built in spite of men like him."

Amandil smiled. "You would be wise to be more circumspect when we arrive in Rómenna. Tar-Palantír sees far, and hears all."

I slapped my old friend on the back. "Ah, Amandil, always the old stick-in-the-mud. But, yes, you are right. My beloved uncle will seize any pretext for eliminating me. I am a challenge to him in a way that my father has never been."

Amandil laughed. "It is a short step from challenge to treason, my friend. I think you have been too long in Middle-earth!"

"I could have told you that already. The women were starting to bore me, for a start. There is only so much rustic charm one can take."

During the next few hours the howling easterly gale blew the fleet towards Rómenna. We passed the eastern lighthouse, and I waved to its garrison. Unless they were using spy-glasses, they likely could not see me, but it felt good to greet them nonetheless. Then the harbour opened up before us. The great eastern port of Númenor looked much as I remembered it: messy, sprawling, and lacking the refinement of the capital Armenelos' inner city, but nevertheless sturdy and strong. Its granite towers cast long shadows over the rest of the buildings. The various pleasure craft of the local nobility mingled with fishing boats in the harbour, but all were dwarfed by our great warships as we sailed into port. It is as it should be, I thought. Let the herring merchants and perfumed fools know that Pharazôn has returned with the slaves and gems and gold of many a conquered nation.

Later, striding down the gangplank, I noticed a gaggle of men lurking by the wharf. They were well-dressed but I did not recognise any of them. Perhaps, I thought, they were some of the petty nobles who had risen to power based off the King's favour. My uncle had spent many years trying to insert Elf-friends into positions of power, to the extent that it was often said, only half in jest, that one's best hope of advancement under Inziladûn was to dye one's hair dark and start quoting Quenya. But that foolishness was not for me. Elf-friends were fine in their own way, I had long ago decided, but Númenor was a nation of Men, and could not realise its full potential until it cast away the child-like inferiority that had marred so much of our early history. That said, it was not an issue where I allowed politics to trump friendship: despite my father's wrath, I had many friends among the so-called Faithful, including, of course, Amandil himself.

One of the men came towards me with a gesture of greeting. He was a slender man with dark hair and grey eyes, and no sword at his hip.

"Lord Pharazôn, it is so good to see you again!"

To be honest, I could have sworn that I had never laid eyes on the man in my life, but then fifteen years away is a long time, even for we long-lived Númenóreans.

"Yes, it has been a while, has it not? And who might I have the honour of addressing?"

"Minardil son of Elentur" he said. "I am the harbour master of Rómenna."

I frowned. "What happened to old Kimilzôr?"

"Kimilzôr drowned seven years ago in tragic circumstances. Lord Raphizôn of Rómenna saw fit to appoint me as his replacement."

Yes, I thought, he would. Old Raphizôn was one of those lords who blew with the wind, and under my uncle the wind from Armenelos was one where the lembas-eaters were looked kindly upon. It hardly needed saying that under my grandfather, Ar-Gimilzôr, Raphizôn had been one of the more dedicated King's Men. As for this Minardil, his name and new status left me in no doubt about his views.

"Long may you enjoy the position," I said. "I must say, it is good to have Númenórean soil underfoot again."

Minardil smiled. It was a bland smile. I decided that I disliked him already. "I imagine that you have brought back much wealth from the lands of Middle-earth," he said.

"Every cargo hold in our entire fleet is filled with booty," I said. "Precious gems from the Blue Mountains, walrus ivory from Forochel, slaves from the hills around Pelargir, gold from the Kingdoms of Harad. Even mithril silver from the dwarven realm of Khazad-dûm."

Minardil's eyes widened. "Khazad-dûm? You have made war on the dwarves?"

"Do I look like a fool?" I snapped. "I traded for it. The dwarves are always eager for foodstuffs and fodder, and after our raids on the savages, we had more than enough to spare. I tell you, my friend, that in all the long centuries of our great Empire, there have been few occasions where such wealth has been brought back to the homeland." Yes, I thought. My men and I had done more to advance Númenor in fifteen years than the lembas-eaters had done in two thousand. Not that my uncle Inziladûn would ever acknowledge such a blasphemy.

"These are great tidings indeed, my lord. It may interest you to know that your cousin, Princess Míriel, is visiting Rómenna, and is currently staying at Lord Raphizôn's palace as a guest."

"Is she indeed?" That awakened old memories, and no mistake. My cousin, Inziladûn's daughter, was the most beautiful woman in Númenor. Under pressure from the King, she had been forced into an unhappy betrothal with Amandil's cousin, Melendur, an ugly, bookish fellow whose political views matched well with our esteemed monarch's. Míriel, or rather Zimraphel, was decidedly unhappy with this arrangement, but she did not let her betrothal interfere with her pleasure. She habitually took to bed whichever young nobleman currently took her fancy, while the King had fumed in self-righteous anger. "Melendur does not mind," Amandil had once confided to me over some wine. "He would rather watch the stars and read Elvish manuscripts than spend time with your cousin."

"Has she finally wed Melendur?" I asked Minardil.

"No, my lord. The betrothal has now entered its thirtieth year, and the wedding does not appear to be any nearer." Poor old Inziladûn, I thought. My uncle had clearly lost control of the situation, thrown his hands up, and moved onto other things. I almost felt sorry for him.

"A pity," I lied. "Still, I had best pay a visit to Lord Raphizôn, and pay my respects to both he and my cousin. It is expected of me."

Minardil bowed low. The wretch may have been a toad, but he knew his protocol. "I shall send a messenger to notify his lordship at once."