IV.) Revelation
Three years had passed since King Ar-Pharazon the Golden had dispatched his armada against Sauron, returning triumphantly with his illustrious prisoner, and without a single casualty amongst his troops. The Great Victory, as it had come to be known. The victory celebrations had lasted for an entire month. The triumphal procession had passed through every major city of Numenor. In each city Sauron, dressed in his white robe and red cape, walking on foot in front of the King's horse, and bound with golden chains, had been paraded in front of a crowd of ecstatic commoners and speechless noblemen. Ar-Pharazon, ruler over an empire that stretched across all the mortal lands, was praised as the greatest Man ever to walk the Earth. The minstrels at court sang that he even passed in reknown his illustrious ancestors, Earendil the Mariner and Elros Half-Elven.
Sauron had then been installed as a prisoner in the Palace at Armenelos. He had been allowed to keep his ring-bauble – "At least permit me this one trifle, my liege" he had said to the King – and had been issued with a suitable wardrobe. He was held in a suite of rooms in the Palace that were spacious and even sumptuous, although well-guarded. Thus Sauron, the fearsome demon of a thousand bone-chilling tales, had been reduced to a vassal of King Ar-Pharazon the Golden. Sometimes, the King would place Sauron at the foot of his golden throne, so that the nobles of his court could marvel at the King's prize, and envy his power. At other times, the King would visit Sauron in his prison-suite alone. On occasion he would gloat over Sauron, while at other times he would listen to the fair words Sauron spoke to his master the King, always in that clear, ringing voice that was a balm to the listener.
Ar-Pharazon reflected on these facts as he sat in a comfortable chair in Sauron's prison-chambers on this cool spring day. He had not felt well that morning, and though one would hardly expect a Man of nearly one-hundred and sixty years to feel youthful and spry, the King was troubled by his ailment. It troubled him, because although he was lord and master of the Seas and of the mortal lands of Earth, he had not conquered his greatest enemy; the spectre of old age and death.
"Nor, I fear, have you conquered Valinor, my liege" said Sauron, a tinge of regret in his fair voice. Sauron, who with the King's indulgence always kept up with the latest fashions of the Palace court, was dressed in a blue robe, trimmed with cloth of gold, and a shimmering red cape. As ever, his golden ring was his only adornment.
"Of course I have not conquered Valinor! It is the land of the Gods, you fool!" shouted the King, the lines on his aged face deepening as he scowled. He let out a racking cough, and pulled his golden cape more tightly around his blue robes. Being ill always put him in an especially poor humour. And how had Sauron known what he was thinking? The creature had always seemed to have an uncanny ability to read his thoughts.
"Of course it is, my liege. Forgive my foolishness. Yes, Valinor is the land of the Valarian Gods...and of the High Elves as well. In the Undying Lands, the deathless dwell in wonder and beauty forever."
The King ground his teeth and swore. "Mention not the word death!" he said. "I am in no mood to hear of it." Like many of the Numenoreans, he found the immortality of the Elves a bitter draught to swallow. He could accept that the Valar were eternal; they were older than the world itself, and had shaped the very elements of its creation. But the Elves? They were hardly different from Men in appearance, nor were they much greater in powers of mind or body than the Men of Numenor. Indeed, they were not as powerful as the Numenoreans, who had succeeded in conquering and taming Sauron where the Elves had failed.
Yet, the Elves were immortal, and Men, even the long-lived Men of Numenor, were not. It was unfair. More than unfair, thought Ar-Pharazon; it was deeply unjust. Many Men of Numenor, he knew, agreed with him; their envy of the eternal life granted to the Elves was the chief source of the estrangement between Elves and Men that had developed in recent centuries.
"I would not know of the wonder and beauty of the Und... of Valinor" said Ar-Pharazon, his voice sounding soft and weary for once. "The Valar have allowed their Elvish pets to dwell there, but they have forbidden Men from setting foot in that land. We must content ourselves with Numenor and the lands of Middle Earth to the east."
"Of course, my liege" said Sauron. "The Ban of the Valar; I have heard of it. Still my liege, I suppose you must accept the lot the Valar have apportioned to you. You are still lord and master of all the Seas and of all the lands of Earth, save Valinor alone. You are the most powerful, the most exalted Man who has ever lived. Surely these thoughts are a balm for you? Surely they shall ease your passage into the twilight, my liege?" Sauron's ever-youthful face bore every mark of sincerity and concern, and his voice was soft and sympathetic.
"Yes, yes!" snapped the King. In truth, he was not satisfied, not at all. Yes, he was ruler of all the world save the land of the Valar and the High Elves, but what of it? He had only so many years left, he knew not how many, and then he would be gone. No longer Ar-Pharazon the Golden, but Ar-Pharazon the memory. He would be another statue amongst the many statues of dead Kings that adorned the Houses of the Kings at the foot of Mount Meneltarma. Would anyone really remember his power and his glory when he was gone? Would they even care? Even if they did, which the King very much doubted, what of himself? He would no longer experience the thrill of Kingship, the bliss of power and prestige.
'Curse the Valar!' thought Ar-Pharazon to himself. Surely it was their doing that the Elves enjoyed eternal life, while Men had to face the certainty of death?
"And yet" offered Sauron, "not all Men have had to face death, nor have they all been banned from seeking the land of Valinor. Your own ancestor, for instance, the thrice-renowned Earendil the Mariner. The Valar permitted his passage to the Undying Lands, and as a reward for his valour, they conferred on him eternal life. To this very day, he sails the skies in his enchanted ship Vingilot, appearing to Men as the morning and evening star."
"As you well know, Earendil was half an Elf, and his wife was more than half an Elf, and she was numbered amongst the Elven people" said Ar-Pharazon. "It is because their son Elros, my ancestor, renounced his immortality to become the first King of Men that my line is mortal. His brother, Elrond Half-Elven, accepted the gift of immortality, and still he dwells at Imladris, or Rivendell as some call it, in Middle-Earth today!"
"All true, my leige" said Sauron. "Although, if I recall correctly, Earendil was counted as a Man, notwithstanding his Half-Elvish blood, just as you are a Man, even though you have Half-Elvish ancestry. The Valar did make an exception for him."
Ar-Pharazon could not deny it. "Aye, they did. As if the descendents of Earendil are not as worthy of immortality as was their ancestor."
Ar-Pharazon recalled an old story from many generations before. It was said that the Valar had heard the Men of Numenor were embittered by the fact that they did not enjoy the gift of eternal life. The Valar had sent emissaries to King Tar-Atanmir the Great, and incredibly, these emissaries had told him that death was the creator God's gift to Men! That it prevented Men from having to endure in the World for age after age, long after all joy of living was past, suffering under the ever-mounting burden of aimless years. For the Elves, they had said, were bound eternally to the World, and even if their bodies were slain, their spirits must remain forever chained to the Earth, suffering the growing weariness of aimless existence as they had when incarnate. Whereas the spirits of Men, they had said, were free - after a short time in their physical bodies they could journey beyond the Earth, indeed beyond the Circles of the World themselves. Even the Valar envied Men in this respect, the emissaries had said, for they, like the Elves, must remain in the World until the End of Time. Thus, neither Elvish immortality, nor Human mortality, were what they appeared to Men to be.
Tar-Atanamir had not believed a word of this nonsense, and neither did his descendent Ar-Pharazon. It was Tar-Atanamir who had begun the severance of ties between Numenor and the Elves of Valinor and Middle-Earth. Amongst the nobles, only those fools, the Lords of Andunie, had believed the Valar in the time of Tar-Atanamir. That dodderer Amandil and his son Elendil, it was well known, continued to believe them today. It was for this reason that they alone amongst the nobles of Numenor were still counted as Elf-friends, though a small group of commoners, who mostly dwelt at Romenna in the east of Numenor, were known to share their beliefs.
"The Valar claimed that they were powerless to change the fate of either Elves or Men, unless the creator God should wish them to" said Ar-Pharazon. "They could lengthen the span of years allotted to Men, but in the end Men must die. They said it was He, the creator God, and not them who had made an exception for Earendil in granting him eternal life. Even Earendil's exception was a sort of punishment for setting foot in Valinor, since he was made to sail the skies forever in his enchanted ship, and can never again return to the lands of Men."
"Yes, the creator God. Illuvatar, the Elves call him, though Men know him as Eru" said Sauron. He paused, and appeared thoughtful. His eyes narrowed, and he looked intently at the King. "Tell me, my liege" he asked, "it is rumoured that a few Men, such as your ancestor Earendil, and perhaps your ancestor Elros, have been fortunate enough to bear witness to the presence of the Valar, have gazed upon their very faces. Yet who has seen the face of Eru?"
"No one" said the King. "He exists beyond the bounds of space and time. So the Elves tell us."
"Do they?" asked Sauron. "Then let me ask you, my liege; if no Man has ever seen this Eru, indeed cannot see him, how do you know he exists?"
"What is this blasphemy?" cried Ar-Pharazon. Even he was shocked by such an impious query, though in truth he had paid little thought to Eru in the course of his long life.
"I merely asked a question, my liege. If you can never see this Eru, how do you know he exists?"
"We have only the word of the Elves for it" admitted Ar-Pharazon.
"And from whom did the Elves receive this word?"
"From the Valar" replied the King.
"So" said Sauron, "the Valar claim they cannot grant eternal life to Men, because Eru prevents them from so doing. And when they make an exception, such as for your ancestor Earendil, they claim it is because in that case, Eru permitted it. Yet no Man, nor even any Elf, has ever seen the slightest proof that this Eru actually exists. Curious, isn't it? And very convenient for the Valar when they wish not to answer the prayers of Men."
Ar-Pharazon was silent for some moments. Then he turned to Sauron. "And what do you think, my servant?" he asked. "You yourself once ranked amongst the chief servants of the Valar, before they cast you out from their ranks in the days when the world was young, if the ancient Elvish legends about you be true. Do you believe that Eru exists?"
Sauron stared directly at the King with his clear, blue eyes. "I have no doubt the creator God exists. He is the Lord of the Darkness, the Lord of All, who existed before the World, before there ever was a light."
"Then you know that Eru exists?" asked Ar-Pharazon.
"That name again" replied Sauron, with a frown. "I said that I believed in the creator God, the true creator God. For I have never seen this oracle Eru of the Valar. I have no reason to believe he is anything but a cipher, crafted by the Valar to justify their use of their own powers. I have only seen, and have always served, the true creator, the Lord of the Darkness."
"And who is this Lord of the Darkness?" said the King.
Sauron's voice dropped to a whisper, to ensure only Ar-Pharazon could hear. "He has been called many names, but His true name is Melkor. I am His loyal servant. The Valar are but rebels against His rule, and He will one day emerge from the Darkness, from the great Void, to put paid to them. It is for my loyalty to Him that the Valar exiled me, but ever have I served Him, and I serve Him still today."
"You speak in riddles" replied the King scornfully. "I am not unversed in Elvish lore. They called Melkor by the name of Morgoth, and the Valar expelled him from the Circles of the World three and a half thousand years ago. You were but his slave, as you are now my slave. But if this Melkor is the true creator, as you claim, then tell me this; why did he make the Elves immortal, and Men mortal?"
"He did not determine the fates of the races" replied Sauron calmly. "He left their fates in the hands of His servants, the Valar. They chose to make their Elvish favourites immortal, so they could forever enjoy their company, while leaving Men, a race for whom they care little, to face the dust and shade of the tomb. And as I said, the Valar rebelled against Melkor. For now, he dwells again in the Darkness, the element from whence He came." Sauron narrowed his eyes, and raised his palms expressively. "But the day is coming when He will return in all His might! He will punish the rebellious Valar and their Elvish pets, and well reward those Men who follow Him."
"How will he reward his followers?" asked the King, astonished, yet seized by the growing conviction that this revelation was true, that it explained all the mysteries that had been kept so well-hidden by the Elves and the Valar.
"With all their heart's desire" whispered Sauron, clasping Ar-Pharazon by the shoulders. "Even with life eternal, should they prove His truly loyal servants."
"You know this?" asked the King, shocked, and yet elated at the same time.
Sauron withdrew his embrace, and stared at Ar-Pharazon. "I speak only the truth of Melkor. I am His loyal servant. Will you serve Him, or not? Or shall I say, will you serve the Valar and their false oracle Eru, who promise you only the tomb, or Melkor, who promises you eternal life?"
For King Ar-Pharazon the Golden, there was no question of choice at all, when the right answer was so obvious. He had waited all his life for this. First, he had become master of the world, King of Men. That was only the beginning, not the end. And now... "I choose to serve Melkor" said Ar-Pharazon, his aged body trembling with fear and anticipation.
"Swear to me, as the true emissary of Melkor" said Sauron. "Take my right hand, kiss this golden ring, which represents Melkor's power, and swear that you will loyally serve Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, until the End of Time, and that you will offer unto Him any sacrifices He requires as proof of your loyalty! Swear this, fulfil your oath, and eternal life shall be yours, my King!"
The King stooped down. With his withered, aged hands, he took hold of Sauron's ever smooth, pale hand. Were not Sauron's eternal beauty and youthfulness symbolic of the good faith of Melkor's promise to his most loyal and deserving servants?
Ar-Pharazon kissed the golden ring. Then, staring up at Sauron, he said "I swear that I, Ar-Pharazon the Golden, King of Numenor, shall loyally serve Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, until the End of Time, and that I will offer unto Him any sacrifices He requires as proof of my loyalty."
Sauron's clear blue eyes gleamed with delight, and a triumphant smile appeared on his face. "It is done!"