CHAPTER 1

It came to pass that the ships of Númenor sailed towards Middle Earth. No ships so mighty had ever been seen there. They came to bring war.

Ar-Pharazôn the Golden gloried above all in his military strength and in his own power; he would allow none to rival him. The King of Númenor had come across the sea to see that the one who claimed the title of Lord of Middle Earth would never challenge his authority or his might. He came to overthrow that Lord, and his motive was pride.

The Lord of Middle Earth watched the ships approach. And he smiled.

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There are other ways than warfare to destroy an enemy. He knows that.

And there are ways of destruction that are more subtle and run deeper than mere death. The memory of what the Men of Númenor had cost him more than one and a half millennia before in Eregion was more than reason for the Lord of Middle Earth to take time and effort to craft a careful, most fulfilling path of destruction for all in that land. Before they died, the men of Númenor would be at his feet, and he would laugh at the grief of the Valar to see their fall. It would cost him greatly, of course, but he could endure the necessary humiliation, knowing that the sure way to assuage doubt and have victory was to play on the pride of the one who sailed against him. If military victory was uncertain against the might of Ar-Pharazon's army, he would achieve victory another way. In time his plans would bear fruit, and all Númenor would kneel to him, even the proud King. He smiled at that thought.

The fleet was coming. From the highest cliff he watched them, with his sight that saw further than mortal Man's. The Men of Númenor themselves were providing the opportunity he had so long sought, and he need do nothing but go along with them. That concept pleased him, and he laid his plans.

His army he summoned, arraying them as for war. Not even the closest of his lieutenants knew that war was not what he purposed. The army was a mere stratagem, to deceive his enemy into thinking him defeated; an army created that it could be destroyed or intimidated by his foes. The thought amused him as he watched them prepare for battle, heard them cry his name as they dreamed of victory. When the time came, he would see to it that those of his servants who he selected to die would know in their terror his true purpose; the taste of their despair in his mind would be pleasing to him, some reward for what he would have to do to gain the final victory.

From the headland he watched the fleet sail into the harbours of Umbar. He was ready. The men of Númenor had at last sealed their own fate.

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He prepared himself on the morning of their arrival. Not with armour or weapons; those would not avail him against the army that sailed from Númenor, as it had not availed him before. He had learned from his defeat, as the men of Númenor had not learned from their victory. Ar-Pharazôn 's weakness, he knew, was his pride and his longing for glory. And the King of Númenor was no fool. He would be wary of treating with a rival King; he would never listen to his councils, or permit him to set foot on the shores of Númenor. But a defeated enemy, broken and humiliated... Ar-Pharazôn would be unable to resist the joys of gloating over such a one, and so soft words might be directed in his ear. And he was already estranged from the Valar in his beliefs, and thus vulnerable to Melkor and those who served him.

Very well then. The Lord of Middle Earth would provide a stage show which would gladden the heart of his enemy. He crafted for himself robes of black and crimson, embroidered with gold and gems, even as the Valar were wont to wear. And he took gold and great rubies, and wrought for himself headdress and belt and bracelets and rings; heavy and intricate, and lovely beyond mortal conception. These he knew Ar-Pharazôn would covet; the King would take them, and be greatly pleased. But the Ring that he wished to keep he would conceal, held within in his hand, so that none knew that it was there.

When he had finished this work, he took thought for his own form. He crafted a body in many ways similar to the bodies of Men, but of such beauty that no mortal could have possessed even in his thoughts. It was like to the men of Númenor in height, strong and lithe, as Men admired. He created hair as golden as the flames which wreathed his throne in Lúgburz, thick and shining, and eyes of such deep grey that they seemed almost as black as the darkness of that throne. Mortals were easily influenced by appearance, and almost as easily swayed by a fair form as by the form of terror he preferred.

And he went forth to meet the Fleet and Armies of Ar-Pharazôn .

He watched the march from the coast by the men of Númenor, watched with sight and mind.

Once, long ago, his forces had in truth been overthrown by the men of Númenor, and he had fled, afraid and ashamed, burning with anger, before them. Now a counterfeit of that defeat was the mechanism by which he would achieve their destruction, and it was fitting. His will he put forth to his servants, and drove some few of them to hopeless skirmishes, but then when battle was joined he fed them instead despair and terror, so that they fled before their enemies, and many were destroyed in their flight, amusing Ar-Pharazôn and feeding his pride. Some died cursing their Lord, and others gloried in their destruction that it was in his service, even as he made his true purpose known to them in the instant of their deaths.

Both reactions pleased him.

But for the most part, in the seven days that the host of Númenor marched over the land, they encountered few of his servants, and fewer withstood them. The lands were largely empty, as the true King of Middle-Earth prepared his trap.

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At length Ar-Pharazôn came to a hill, close to the Southern borders of Mordor, and his pavilions he erected, and had his heralds call forth his challenge, that the one who named himself Zigur, the Wizard, who was Lord of that Land, come forth and submit to the power of Númenor, or else be destroyed by the mighty army that Ar-Pharazôn believed none could withstand.

And the Lord of Middle Earth came.

So great was the glory of his appearance that even the servants of Ar-Pharazôn were amazed. He began by offering treaties of peace, on various terms, with a dignity and regal attitude which astounded them. These Ar-Pharazôn rejected with scorn, and was pleased to discover that he was not easily swayed even by so powerful a one as Zigur. He enjoyed this discovery so much that when Zigur asked that at least he be allowed to depart with dignity, and pay tribute as a subject ruler, this too Ar-Pharazôn rejected, being already swayed unawares by the subtleties of that Lord's speech, and tempted by that subtlety to amuse himself by humiliating his supposed rival.

He demanded that the Lord of Middle Earth return with him behind his train to his fortress of Umbar, and there swear allegiance to him in the court of his own great stronghold and palace before a great assembly of his subjects. Behind the armies of Ar-Pharazôn that swarmed over the land like ants, rode the bodyguard and heralds of the Lord of Middle Earth. Their banners were dwarfed by the banners of Númenor, and the small bodyguard that Ar-Pharazôn had allowed to ride with their Lord seemed pitiful beside that force. As he watched them, it seemed to Ar-Pharazôn that his foe sought to retain some last part of his dignity, and he smiled as he rode to think that soon he would tear it from him.

On the first night of their journey to Umbar, as they camped, the Lord he had captured came to him in secret, less haughty now than he had been before his men, and sought for ways in which he might make peace and go free; he asked above all that he not be humiliated before the Men of Middle Earth. Ar-Pharazôn made no answer and several times more that Lord came to him in secret to try to win release, revealing in the end to him even his status as a Maia. And with each night, Ar-Pharazôn 's desire to see that humiliation grew, and in his anticipation he never wondered why that was so, nor who manipulated him to desire it.

So it was that at length his army, and his citizens in his colony of Umbar were arrayed around the Great Square of that city in their thousands, the heralds gave out a great trumpet blast, the sun shone on the weapons of his host, and Ar-Pharazôn commanded the Maia who stood before him to kneel and swear to serve, never stopping to think that the one he spoke to could obliterate him in an instant if he wished it, or wondering why he would obey such a command.

Then the mightiest being in Middle-Earth knelt before Ar-Pharazôn, and bowed his head, and he begged for mercy. And Ar-Pharazôn smiled, and commanded that the gems and gold that his victim wore be brought to him, thinking to humiliate him further. Then the base hands of mortals stripped the jewels from the glorious one who knelt there, unresisting, and the King arrayed himself in them, and was pleased. The defeated one knelt there, his head bowed, and so in seemed misery he swore to serve Ar-Pharazôn . But his hand yet concealed One piece of gold that the King knew not of, and behind the curtain of his hair, he smiled, knowing that the King had taken the bait that he had devised for his undoing. And further he smiled as the King gave in to the carefully planted desire and had the hands of his servants throw Zigur on his face in the dirt. For Zigur knew that the King believed such thoughts came from his own mind, and it was not so. The King believed his enemy powerless; he would not be wary of one so utterly defeated.

Ar-Pharazôn was his to destroy.

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Disclaimer. Not my characters. Not making any money out of this

This fanfic is dedicated to the true Lord of Arda, Mighty and Radiant.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This fic is based on information from the Akallabệth, the account of the Downfall of Númenor written by Elendil, and printed in the back of the Silmarillion.But with a slightly different slant.

Zigur: According to the Notion Club Papers (in Volume IX of HoME), this is the name Sauron used in Númenor. (only with an accent on th 'u' that this site can't handle, so I've omitted it!)

Umbar: according to the Appendices of LotR, Umbar was one of the principal colonies of the Númenoreans in Middle Earth at this time, and it was here that Sauron submitted to them and was taken hostage.