Arda, The Borders of Harad, The Grand Numenor city of Umbar: T.A. 3000
Khand had fallen.
That was what the adults were saying anyway – but Akallabêth didn't really understand what they meant. She knew what Khand was of course, you couldn't exactly be the daughter of a high lord of Umbar and not know a little about the lands to the East. But she didn't really understand how it could fall, after all weren't countries flat on the ground? Towers could fall, and maybe on a bad day a ship might fall over and crush someone…maybe that's what they meant. She didn't know whether there were lots of towers or ships in Khand, but she supposed there must be if so many had fallen it was like the country itself had done so.
She would have to ask her mother about this, but later, for now she had a brother to find. For a boy so young Ar-Pharazôn was surprisingly nimble on his tottering baby feet. She'd only meant to make a game of it, for them to chase each other round the high chambers of Father's tower instead of just sitting growing gradually more and more bored as the hours ticked on. She hadn't meant to lose him. She had to find him and soon, before their absence was noticed and Akallabêth was beaten for her folly.
Except she'd stumbled too far in search of her fool babe of a brother, and now she was trapped. Trapped within her hiding place, under her own father's council chair. So, intent had been her search for Little Ar-Pharazôn that she hadn't even noticed the men filing into the chamber. Thank goodness she had been under the table at the time and they had not seen her, but now she had to sit here and wait for them to finish talking, a great feat indeed considering how much they seemed to love the sound of their own voices.
'We cannot let them pass our shores so freely my lord.'
'You think I do not know that, you, insipid fool.' Snarled her father, in far greater temper than Akallabêth had ever beheld him. 'If it were in my power, I would send all our forces, both land and sea against him. I would ride out front and I would claim his head in the name of all the Corsairs that had come before me…but we all know where that kind of thinking gets us when we tangle with the Blue Wizard. Don't we gentlemen?'
There was a reluctant murmur of agreement, until a voice that sounded faintly familiar to her rose above the chatter.
'What about the Turtle-Fish, sir? Surely it would be too dangerous to break our oath and lay down our weapons there.'
'Whoever said I was laying down any of our weapons, you young upstart?'
The bickering seemed to quiet down after that. Akallabêth lost interest and let their deep croaky voices wash past her as she curled into a ball and fell asleep – pictures of strange creatures, part fish and part turtle swimming within in her dreams.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar, The Mighty Harbour: T.A. 3002
The siege had lasted too long, there was no food, or water and even their weapons were as drained and broken as they were. Yet still the High Lords of Umbar would not open the city gates, would not unbar the passage to their harbour. All they could do was wait, wait for back up to appear.
'My High Lords, we have received a message from the Land of Mordor, the servants and low folk believe it must be His Mightiness, Lord Sauron…'
'Are we really calling him His Mightiness, now? That feels a bit redundant.' Muttered one of the younger looking nobles.
'Shut up, boy and let my herald speak while he still has a tongue to do so.' Said the High Lord of the Tower.
The Herald blinked. 'Sorry…what did you say?'
'I said read the damn letter before I cut your tongue out and feed it to my starving children…that's what I said, ignorant child.'
So, in a rush of terror, which admittedly would have warmed the fierily heart of the Lord of the Rings, the Herald began reading the message.
'My Dear Loyal Lords of Umbar
'You have served me and my dark lord Morgoth for many centuries now, and you should be rewarded.'
Around the room the ragged lords of Umbar breathed a collective sigh of relief…after two long years, help was on the way.
'But unfortunately for your situation now is not that time. My power grows, but it is not complete yet and I have neither the patience nor the want to waste it on rescuing servants who cannot defend themselves from an old broken Wizard.
'I will use your bodies to light the flames of my Empire when I return to my full power.
'Regretful Yours,
'The True Lord of the Rings'
Screams of rage filled the chamber, yells of 'Death to the Ring Lord', or 'Morgoth is a dead god' or of course 'My faith is somewhat shaken in him now'. It sounds more menacing in the tongue of Umbar.
'Daddy?' A small voice came from the doorway.
'Akallabêth…what are you, go hide with your mother and the others down in the dungeon.' Said the Highest of Lords of Umbar, but his daughter's eyes were too full of tears to properly hear his words.
'Ar-Pharazôn, is so small now, I can see his ribs…and he was crying so much that Mother just put him down for a minute and he stopped. But now he won't cry anymore, he won't do anything he just lies there with his eyes closed.'
'My lord,' said the Herald stepping out of the girl's way as she flung herself into her father's arms. 'What are we going to do, we cannot hold them back anymore.'
And suddenly like a knife to the skin there came a noise from outside – perhaps one might have described it as a scream, but to do so would be laying too high a criterion over all other screams. For this was like the earth and the sea had split open and screamed their frustration at the race of men, elf, Halfling and dwarf alike.
But it was a scream none the less…just not of a creature you might see in today's world.
And the Greatest Lord in all of Umbar, smiled when he heard it.
'I do not think, at least for the moment, that will be necessary.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar, The Mighty Harbour: T.A. 3002
This is how Fëanor will die…at least today anyway. The Umbar Lords had held their precious seaside city for the better part of two years against Fëanor's men. Perhaps Fëanor would have even admired them for it, if he wasn't so angry.
The Silmaril was so close, so close now…he could taste it, feel its warmth on his skin, beckoning him forward…but still the men of Umbar would not say where they hid it and now, they had brought about their own ruin by that silence. For the Elf's soldiers had finally done it, it may have taken two years and more than a little of their own supplies but they had finally broken the gates of Umbar. They strode through that city now, with not so much as a guard with the strength stop them. These people had been starving, dying and yet still their Lords and Masters had refused to yield to Fëanor's quite reasonable request. After all, the Silmarils were his anyway…he didn't have to stop at the gate and ask politely for them, or at least what counted as polite in Fëanor's mind.
The city was theirs, or it would have been if it wasn't for the scream. That terrifying bellow that roared across the city's streets and avenues as if it had always been there. Fëanor walked, like a ghost to its master's call towards the sound of the scream, the bellow, the roar. He walked through the city unmolested, he walked until he reached the edge of the stone wall that separated the Harbour and the city beyond from the sea.
It was like nothing the Elf had ever seen before – it was a reptile of such colossal size that it made the mighty tower of Umbar, greatest of the structures of the Numenor bloodline, look like a matchstick. The creature's eyes were as large as the great lakes in his birth land, and it moved its great head – green as the ocean floor – in such a way that Fëanor knew he was being watched by the beast. Now that he stood so close, he could see the resemblance to smaller beasts of the sea, particularly the turtle…but no turtle had ever grown so great, or looked at an elf with such contempt before. Yet it was not truly the size that drew Fëanor towards the beast, nor the island that seemed to take the place of the creature's shell upon its back. No, it was the light that glowed from within the monster's open gullet.
And it was this sight, more than anything else that caused the great Fëanor to laugh. Laugh and scream at the creature as he snatched his sword from the scabbard on his hip.
'Come on you overgrown Frog, I am here…I awaited you, have at me why don't you.'
And with that, Fëanor ran forward into the creature's mouth.
And the beast? Well, it snapped it's jaws shut, and swallowed the Maker of the Silmarils whole.