Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Tolkien's works or world.
Author's Note: I had no plans to write this little fic, but then suddenly my muse demanded that I do it. Today. Immediately. And so, here it is. I hope you enjoy it, and please be sure to review!
. . .
The sun shone on Númenor, its fair, golden rays deceiving those who looked out upon the morning as fair. Sauron silently cursed its bright light from his seat in the large, stone council room, but his face maintained a polite smile, his eyes ever-twinkling. Most men thought his eyes looked to be full of nobility and wisdom. Amandil compared them with those of a snake.
"My king," Amandil said, attempting to ignore the piercing gaze of Sauron which was always on him, "I implore you to please reconsider. This act will have far-reaching effects that none of us can begin to imagine."
"Do you speak against that which the king declares to be good?" asked Sauron, his voice as sweet and alluring as honey. "Do you suppose that your way is better than the way of his highness—the way of the majority of Númenor?"
"I speak to Ar-Pharazôn," Amandil answered, his wrath kindled but not revealed.
"But the king and I are in agreement," the Dark Lord went on. "The worship of the Darkness is not to be feared; the prejudice of the Faithful is founded in only jealousy and hate. Númenor should no longer be bound by their foolishness."
"I do not now dispute whether the praise of Melkor is good or evil," Amandil answered. "I know that I am in the company of those who deem it permissible, and that is their affair. But in this council today, that is not the point. The point is that I and many others do not approve, and while you may do all you want in your own place, it is against the laws of our nation to impose this order on the unwilling."
"The laws of the nation?" chuckled Sauron lightly, his laugh soon being accompanied by other chuckles from many of the council members. "The king is the law of the nation," he almost purred.
"Nay," Amandil stated, grasping the arms of his chair and sitting up straighter. "Rather, the law is king. A ruler cannot create justice; he can only enforce it. That has been the way of Númenor since its birth."
"And where did it get you," Sauron asked, his tone turning darker and more dangerous. "Look at the wealth your nation now has! Look at the power and dominion that are yours! These did not come from the precious Valar, not the Eldar either. All you lack is immortality, and to get this everlasting life, you must let go of such foolish lies and embrace the wisdom of Melkor. That is what this command will give; it only has the people's good in mind."
"Your lies do not sway me," Amandil said adamantly. "I speak for the law and the people who wish to uphold it. Pharazôn, I beseech you! Do not force any people to do something they are convinced is wrong!"
"Peace, Amandil," Pharazôn finally intervened, speaking up for the first time. His gaze was not as sharp as it had once been, though Amandil knew it had nothing to do with age. Sauron had somehow wormed his way into the king's mind, and even now, the king's will seemed diluted by the Darkness.
"Sire, I beg you," Amandil said again, standing up this time and taking a step towards the throne where the king sat. Sauron, who was seated at the ruler's right hand, glared at Amandil in a way that made the Lord of the Andúnië's blood run cold. But he refused to submit to the ploys of the Dark Lord and instead turned his grey eyes to the king.
"Do not do this," Amandil pleaded, almost in a whisper. A tear, so rare in the eye of Amandil, slipped down the Faithful's cheek, and the lord knelt before Pharazôn. "Please, reconsider," he said so quietly that the other council members could not hear him.
For a fraction of a second, the words of Amandil seemed to get past the haze of lies and Darkness, and Pharazôn's stoic expression softened. He looked at Amandil—who had once been his most trusted friend—directly, and his confidence seemed to waver. But then, in the corner of Amandil's eye, the lord could see Sauron focus his glare from Amandil to the king, and the ruler's face hardened again.
"What I pronounce today will be law," Pharazôn stated without emotion. "Do not go against the command of the king."
"But Pharazôn," Amandil begged, unwilling to sit and watch in silence, "this is unlawful—"
"His highness has tolerated your destructive speech long enough," Sauron nearly hissed. "Be seated or be removed."
"I do not take orders from you, worker of evil and trickery and death," Amandil boomed, drawing up to his full height and returning Sauron's glare with one of his own. "Nor shall I ever, and nor shall all the remnant of the Faithful. No matter what law you force on this land, you shall never make us bow the knee to your master!"
Sauron released a roar of anger and leapt to his feet, standing above Amandil and looking down at him with such a look of hatred and wrath that any man other than Amandil would have surely quailed. But the Lord of the Andúnië stood his ground, and the Dark Lord raised his hand to deliver a blow.
"That is enough!" shouted Pharazôn, though he remained in his throne.
"He speaks treason, my king," Sauron insisted, daring to break his focus and face Pharazôn. "I cannot tolerate such a berating of your royal person and authority. If this traitor refuses to repent of his words, he ought to be put to death."
The room became silent as every eye turned to Amandil, waiting to see if he truly would recant. The Lord of the Andúnië let the silence linger as he hoped Pharazôn would say something to counter Sauron, but the king only sat and watched the scene play out as if he were seeing it from a window in a far off building. At last, Amandil spoke.
"Let the king kill me if he deems it just; I will not change my words."
"He has pronounced his own doom," Sauron said matter-of-factly. "Your highness surely has no reservations now?"
Pharazôn again seemed to dispute with himself in his mind, but in the end, he appeared to be his own master as he stood from his throne.
"Amandil, you are dismissed from this council," he declared sternly. "Be gone, and do not return."
Amandil opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to issue a reply. The Dark Lord gave a wicked grin of victory, though he had not all he had wanted, and the other councilmen looked on Amandil with disgust or shame. When the Lord of the Andúnië had taken in the command, he came forward to kneel, kissed the king's hand, and strode out of the room, never looking back.
Amandil did not register anything about what was happening around him as he walked back to his property, disregarding the city noises and events completely. When at last he went through his own front door, he was immediately greeted by his son.
"What is it, father?" asked Elendil with concern when he saw his father's state.
"Pharazôn is sealing a law to recognize and establishes the worship of Melkor throughout the entirety of Númenor," Amandil answered with a sigh. "All citizens are expected to accept and contribute to such worship."
Elendil gasped in horror, but Amandil only set his hand firmly on his son's shoulder before heading away without another word. He walked through the elegant halls of his home, climbed to the top of a spiraling staircase, and unlocked the door that led into the highest room of the house. In it, there was nothing save one chest filled with many of Númenor's greatest heirlooms.
Amandil looked around the bare room, watching the dust particles float past the shafts of broken sunlight coming from behind the curtains of the only window. The beams were not enough to give much brightness to the room, and the dirty floorboards were also uninviting. But this was always the place Amandil went in a time such as this.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.
Amandil slowly, solemnly, sank to his knees in the middle of the room. He lifted his hands and clutched his head in them, the tears coming in a sudden fury. There would be more fighting against this evil, he knew. There was still hope, and he would never give up on it. But now, sorrow was necessary.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh.
It was not a time to laugh.
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
It was not a time to dance.
Amandil found his forehead touching the floor as he bent over and wept, his heart breaking for both the Faithful who would suffer at the hand of this new command and also the King's Men who would be drawn into the Darkness and lost. He could not find in himself hatred for any man in Númenor; only sadness. Sauron alone did he despise and reject, yet that anger was now swallowed by grief.
There certainly would be a time to hate and challenge Sauron and his schemes. There would be a time to take action, and it would not be long in coming. But it was not today.
Now was a time to weep—a time to mourn.
. . .
The quotes were from chapter three of Ecclesiastes. I hope you liked the story; thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!