CHAPTER 2: The King's captive

Ar-Pharazôn, the Golden, was the mightiest King of Arda. None could stand before him. Of this he was now sure. Even a Maia could not withstand his might, he had proved this, not only to himself but to all the Men of Arda..

The King stood on the balcony of the palace of Governor of Umbar, a broad space inlaid with marble and with steel, and looked up at the towering headland above the city. There was a great pillar rising there, a pillar that his men has built. It was almost complete now, standing above all other structures that Men had yet made in Middle Earth, a monument to the glory of the latest King of Númenor and to the unending memory of his triumph.

His defeated enemy was still working, somewhere in the forges and workshops of Umbar, at Ar-Pharazôn's command, to create a lasting monument to stand upon that pillar, a permanent reminder to all of the humiliation he had been forced to submit to. That so mighty a Lord should be labouring in such places pleased the King. At the thought Ar-Pharazôn poured another glass of wine. He wondered for a moment why he found that memory so much sweeter than the memory of his other triumphs, but swiftly put the thought aside, and abandoned himself to the thoughts that he seemed, unaccountably, to be unable to put from his mind.

As he drank, images returned to him. The godly being who he ahd defeated arguing with him in parley, but being unable to hold his own against the arguments that Ar-Pharazôn, put forth. Zigur's riding with the King's train to Umbar in vain hope of treaty and forgiveness. The sight of him in the end kneeling in the dust, bowing his head to hide his face, clearly to hide his despair. And the the wonderful moment when Ar-Pharazôn had commanded his men to test the sworn loyalty of the one who knelt before him by casting him to the ground. That was the memory he prized above all others: the mighty Lord of Middle-Earth, who once had walked with the Valar beyond time, there on his belly before Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, pressing his face to the earth, begging that he not be taken from his kingdom as hostage. How clearly Ar-Pharazôn remembered the way Zigur's golden hair lay spread in the dust; how fascinating was the detail of his hand clawing at the soil in misery. For a second it occurred to Ar-Pharazôn to wonder why these thoughts so fascinated him, but his pride wiped away his caution in an instant. More wine, to celebrate his triumph. He had thought his enemy a threat, but saw now that he was not one. And he had never felt such joy from a victory before.

A footstep behind him roused him from the memories.

'Sire, the Lord Zigur reports that he has completed the work you ordered. He begs leave to come before you.' The messenger's voice was neutral; Ar-Pharazôn could not explain the surge of thrilling joy he felt at the words.

'Let him be brought to me.' Oh, yes, the King thought, let me taste again the joy of seeing him humbled on his knees before me; after all, why should I not enjoy this... something whispered to me tells me that it is my right, that which is due to me. His claimed Kingship was an insult to my position, and it is well that he is made to feel that. Another glass of wine is called for to celebrate the moment; I hold the mithril goblet that I forced him to give me in tribute carelessly in my hand as he enters.

Without a word from the King, the one known in Númenor as Zigur knelt before Ar-Pharazôn in a simple, fluid movement, graceful beyond words. Again his head was bowed, again he lowered his voice in respect as to one mightier than he. Ar-Pharazôn raised the goblet to his lips as he looked upon his sworn servant. It would amuse him to drive home more fully the realities of his surrender.

'I am told you have prepared the monument that I commanded you to create?'

'Sire, I have done so.' Again Ar-Pharazôn watched his enemy bowed in submission, and felt once more a joy that he had not experienced before he heard Zigur's voice.

Ar-Pharazôn forced his thoughts back to the present. 'What have you created for me?'

Zigur gestured over the balcony, and Ar-Pharazôn saw for the first time the great globe of imperishable crystal that the one who claimed to serve him had created. A Maia of Aulë, with all his craft, Zigur had created a great sphere of a substance like adamant, reflecting and showing to those that coveted it all the light of the world, imperishable save by the will of the one who created it. In future days, its destruction would be a luxury symbolising Umbar's submission to him, and the planned final erasure Númenor's power in Middle-Earth.

There was singing, and there was laughter, and there was joy, as that globe was set on the great pillar above the Haven of Umbar. In that hour Ar-Pharazôn declared that it was set there as a symbol of the power and glory of Númenor, and the apparently defeated one knelt before the monument, and Ar-Pharazôn told him ' This shall be a symbol of your eternal subjection to the men of Númenor, and never shall that memory fade while the power of Númenor itself remains.'

And the one who had wrought that globe smiled to himself as he thought of those words, but in their joy none there noted it.

The ship ploughed through the waves. Númenor was close now, and Ar-Pharazôn thought with joy of the pomp with which he would return to his land with the conquered Lord in chains behind him. They would cheer as Ar-Pharazôn had him dragged through the streets behind the chariot of the King, simply clad and in fetters, barefoot, alone. It would be Ar-Pharazôn's glory. The people would adore him.

The ship ploughed through the waves. Númenor was close now, and he who they called Zigur thought on the way he would bring the Land he hated to its destruction. He could feel already, from the little he had learned of them, the discontent and the jealousy of the life of the Eldar that poisoned the deeper thoughts of many of the mariners around him. Let the Valar's wisdom and their best intentions be the weapon that would destroy their chosen Men. And in that hour, alone in his cabin, he knelt, but not to Ar-Pharazôn . And beyond the Walls of Night he heard a voice which answered him, and contented his spirit. His actions were accepted, and right. His purpose would be fulfilled.

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Author's notes:

I'm not Tolkien. These characters are his, not mine. I'm not making any money out of this fic.

A great globe of crystal: Appendix B of LotR says that a monument of this form stood in Umbar for thousands of years, until in the Third Age Umbar became an ally of Mordor, and Sauron had the memorial thrown down.

A short Chapter, this one. Next week's will be very long, to make up for it.