A/N: I might be able to claim Palansül and Giladrian. The others are Tolkien's; I'm just trying to spread the love for them.
In dull, faded servant's livery, the falcon's cage on her hip counterbalancing the weight of her personal baggage, Miriel reminded herself to keep her head down. She could not afford to be recognized without risking everything she had left to her cousin's wrath. She would have broken into a frightened, hopeless dash for the ship and the relative safety of flight it promised, were it not for Ragastion's steadying hand on her shoulder and occasional whispers of comfort.
To the casual observer, the former queen appeared but one more servant in Councilor Ragastion's baggage train, a rather slow-witted and stubborn maid who required a watchful eye and a tight leash. Or so she hoped.
The Winged Crown would be discovered upon the empty throne shortly enough, and the grounds of the Imperial Palace would be turned upside down in the search of the missing queen. Tar-Miriel was beginning to regret the impulse that had caused her to leave the diadem in plain sight. A gesture to her ancestors was not worth spoiling her last, desperate hope for the future.
Ragastion had reassured her many times that she resembled any other commoner. "There are those who call me a wizard in such matters, Majesty," the brown robed old man had said with a sly grin after adding the finishing touches to her disguise. "You needn't fear about being seen." Even her characteristic regal stride had been obstructed by cumbersome burdens, yet Miriel could not feel as sure about this course of action as she wished.
With any delay, Pharazon would be upon the throne and have Ragastion detained for questioning, and Tar-Miriel would be forced back into that maelstrom of fear and self-hatred that had marred her time as queen, as well as leaving gouges in both the arms of her chair and her own flesh. She would be executed for running away, at best. That was no less than what she deserved for abandoning her people to her cousin's greedy, grasping rule. Perhaps Pharazon is more just than I thought, she ruminated with a dark humor.
However, Miriel knew that death would hardly be Pharazon's first choice for handling his cousin's defiance. He would torture a confession out of Ragastion, force the old man to say that he had brought her along not only against her better judgment, but against her will as well. After breaking the her old friend's spirit and publicly shaming him with a crime he did not commit, Pharazon would have Miriel's oldest, closest, and wisest friend executed, so that she would have no one left to run to. The very thought made Miriel shudder, leaning slightly into the brown-robed man's comforting, fatherly arm upon her shoulder.
"The poor woman obviously needs someone to care for her," she could see Pharazon in her mind's eye, strutting proudly in his ill-gotten crown, leaning over her patronizingly. "As her only family left in the world, it is up to me to make sure she is properly cared for." His voice was almost as oily as his slick dark hair. "And how better to care for my dear, sweet cousin- " he would try to kiss her then, the soulless wretch, it was Miriel's deepest prayer that she would never let that most un-brotherly kiss land without a fight, "-than by becoming her husband and king?"
"Easy, Miriel," Ragastion murmured, suspecting the reason for her shudders, "We're almost to the ship." Indeed, the sounds of seabirds, haggling merchants, and bellicose fishmongers rent the air, and the smells of saltwater and fish assaulted the queen's delicate nostrils. The brown-robed man gestured to a medium sized vessel, rocking in the waves, and a grizzled sailor standing aboard waved in return, leaping ashore to help with the baggage.
"Passage for Radagast the Brown and a companion?" the seaman took the hawk's cage from Miriel, and Giladrian screeched her discomfort at a further change of handlers from under her embroidered hood.
"Best if you do not mention our true names until we set out along our way, Palansül," Ragastion bowed slightly. "Not all here are friendly with our associates, if you take my meaning."
"A paucity of friends has hardly stopped me from going about my business before, Radagast," the sea captain laughed. His eyes were bright and merry, as if he had beheld wondrous sights beyond mortal ken, Miriel noticed.
"No, perhaps, it has not," the brown-robed old councilor smiled in return, "but call me Ragastion, please, Palansül. It is the name my charge is most familiar with."
The seaman looked Miriel over, taking her brown hair, now pulled back into a tight bun, and soft features that had been smudged with soot to hide her identity into consideration with his laughing gray eyes. "And this would be she, is it not, my friend?" he nodded to her.
"I am she," Miriel said coolly, meeting his gaze with her own defiant one. Palansül gave a bow that the queen would have considered mocking from anyone else, but could quite well be genuine from this odd, jovial man.
"Well, welcome aboard the Elwing, milady. I shall be your captain for this journey, Palansül the Grayhavensailor." The ship was not much bigger than some of the tiny two man fishing boats Miriel had seen, and was further crowded by the rather half-hazard packing method its captain appeared to favor. Elwing was obviously the abode of a rather absent-minded bachelor. Its only other strange feature was a device atop a high crow's nest that Miriel did not recognize.
"Wait a moment, Ragastion," she said before stepping aboard with her councilor. She turned back toward the land, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of Andor one last time as the brown-robed old man came to stand with her. "I don't suppose we'll ever see it again, will we?" she said softly.
"Perhaps not in waking life, Tar-Miriel," he said after a moment, laying his hand supportively on her shoulder. "But it will always be there in our dreams and memories."
"All aboard, you two," a gentle voice interrupted their reverie. "It is time." Palansül cast off, but Miriel's eyes never left her homeland until it was out of sight of even the sharpest eyed hawk, the tears in her eyes preventing her from ever saying exactly when Andor, which the people of Numenor call the Land of the Gift, disappeared from the horizon.
Keeping her silent, soul-searing vigil at the stern of the boat, Miriel never noticed the quiet footsteps approach her from behind. "There was an old law, given to us by the elves when we first settled in Andor," her companion ventured shortly after the westernmost of the human realms faded from view and he realized her fierce inner battle with her emotions had been lost. "The first Numenoreans were allowed to venture as far east as they dared, but it was forbidden for a man to sail west out of the sight of Andor."
"And I suppose you consider yourself a hero, for breaking this single request that the elves gave to us. The eastern lands are not good enough for Captain Palansül the Grayhavensailor. He must seek a way to bring ruin and torment to the elven lands as well," Miriel's eyes flashed with her fiery spirit, which was no less tempestuous for her troubled decision. Palansül was willing to swear of a close kinship between woman and falcon that even now rattled restively at the bars of her cage, if not for the hot-blooded nature of all members of the "gentler" feminine sex.
"I am one of the Faithful, majesty," the captain rebuffed her gently, "as surely as you yourself are and your worthy father was. I still follow the laws of the elves, being what I am."
The brown-haired woman, tears of what was at least partially laughter smearing the masking dirt upon her cheeks, wiped her eyes as the sailor looked at her in askance. "Surely you don't mean that, Palansül; the island is long out of my view, and we follow the setting sun upon this course."
"You imply the sun will rise in the west tomorrow if I am telling the truth? I have seen stranger things happen, Mistress Miriel." He smiled playfully at her proud glare, and reached to kiss her hand. The queen pulled out of his grasp hastily, not wanting a stranger to see her scars. Palansül shrugged expansively, mistaking her abruptness for the hubris of the old noble houses. "But indeed, we may be out of sight of the eagles of Andor, but they are not out of ours," he added mysteriously, with a twinkle in his ever jocular gray eyes, as if he were exposing some grand and heartening secret.
"How is such a thing possible?" Miriel searched his expression for some hidden clue, some vulnerability she could turn against this sailor to make him reveal the truth to her, but save perhaps a weakness for good jokes exposed in the wrinkles about his eyes and mouth, she could find none.
"Come, Majesty, and I will show you," he replied. "Old Radagast, or Ragastion, as you know him, could probably use the opportunity to rest his aged eyes at any rate, wizard or no." Gesturing broadly with an entire forearm, he led Miriel up to the crow's nest upon the single mast that dominated the small ship. Starting up the ladder with the practiced ease of a spider in his web, he turned to offer the queen a hand as she approached the rickety climb.
"Don't you have a ship to run?" Ignoring the proffered hand, Tar-Miriel started up the ladder behind him, careful not to look down.
"Aye, but the Elwing will get along just fine without her captain for a good while yet," Palansül kept his ineffable constant grin upon Miriel as they climbed up to the crow's nest. "We've a good wind at our backs and a three-week journey to the Havens. She's a smooth runner, and allows me a good measure of independence. A man can hardly ask for more out of a good life-mate, and that the Elwing is to me, sure as her namesake was to Eärendil."
"I know many a ship has been cursed by a maid for taking away her beloved, but I take it this one is not so blessed?" Miriel teased gently, attempting to gain a better understanding of this strange man.
"No, not as of yet," was all Palansül was willing to respond. They finished their climb in thoughtful, companionable silence; the captain offering Miriel a hand up once they reached their destination. The queen pulled herself up determinedly without assistance, unwilling to acknowledge either her fear of heights or hidden scars to Palansül.
"Now, what is this miraculous device you are using to strain my councilor's eyes that you are so eager to show me?" Miriel asked, scanning about the cramped lookout tower.
"Surely the daughter of Tar-Palantir would recognize this," the captain unveiled a deep blue stone that looked as if it had survived the deepest seas and then taken the essence of their endless waters into itself. In its murky depths Miriel could make out the image of a gull in flight, and a harbor of ships rocking in the tide beneath.
"How did you lay hands upon a palantir, Palansül? I dare not ask how you learned to work this," Miriel shot a questioning look at her councilor, but Ragastion simply shook his head and turned back to a tube-like device that he peered into toward the distant shore.
"A long story, Milady, but then we have a long journey ahead of us," Palansül relaxed against the mast, seemingly unconcerned about the long drop to the main deck, should he shift his weight in the wrong direction. "I dragged that aboard with a net of fish some ten years ago, and showed it to friend Radagast here," he nodded to the brown robed councilor.
"I warned him not to use such things as he cannot understand, but Palansül was never one to listen to an elder's wisdom," Ragastion groused, turning from his device. "Though he has made a perfectly good telescope, the tomfool refuses to use such, relying instead upon a contraption that allows anyone with a similar tool to spy upon us." The sailor bowed with a smile at the old councilor's praise of his optical instrument, but shook off his warning with his infuriating grin.
"I don't try to enforce my will upon it, Radagast, you know as well as I that it is impossible to get this seer-stone to focus anywhere else. I don't know why it keeps such a vigil upon the western shore of Andor, but it makes a useful tool, for whatever wild or tragic tale may be connected with it." Palansül turned to Miriel, guiding her hand atop the seeing-stone. "But I know your tale is not yet finished Mistress Miriel, and perhaps with the sight of your homeland, it will be a little less tragic." For the first time since she had met him, the smile dropped from Palansül's face, leaving only sympathy for her quandary. "If you will accompany me, old friend, the queen can surely keep watch upon her country as a hawk over her nest." Palansül, his smile back but paler, led the older man down the ladder. "Best not to bother a broody falcon, if you take my meaning," the sailor added quietly, hoping not to upset the woman any further.
He need not have worried, though. Miriel, staring over the bluish scene in the palantir, was lost in thought, deaf to her surroundings in her joy at catching even a brief glance at her home country, which she had no chance of ever seeing again in the flesh.