Work Text:
December, he hated that month, even that time of year. Yet for several years, the end of the year had had no impact on his mood or his way of life. The kingdom of Arnor had been built and strengthened after decades of hard work, and Elendil could finally rest on his throne. Unfortunately for him, this period was anything but restful for his mind. For the first time in forty years, the new king had traveled to the three white towers at Emryn Beraid, drawn by the call of the sea. He had not returned there since the grand ceremony organized by Gil-Galad to offer him these three magnificent white towers overlooking his entire territory and far beyond. After devoting all his daily energy to organizing his kingdom of Arnor, as well as that of his sons, Gondor, he could finally relax for a moment. And that was a grave mistake.
It was at that moment that his brain brought back painful memories from the depths of his mind. Since then, Elendil had only one plan in mind: to return to Emryn Beraid, to catch a glimpse of the western sea, but also of what remained of Númenor, his home. He missed that vast blue expanse terribly, and much more...
Three more steps and he would reach the top of the highest of the three towers: Elostirion. Elendil climbed the eight hundred steps to the two-hundred-meter tower with pleasure and concentration. The higher the new king climbed, the more he could smell the faint scent of the sea. The climb became more and more difficult, memories began to assail him, and all the violence he had experienced on his island was hidden by the echoes of a single voice. A voice he had almost forgotten when he arrived in Middle Earth...
His queen, his beautiful and strong Tar-Míriel, came back to haunt him, as if to make him pay for not thinking about her enough during all those decades. And even more so when Elendil finally reached the top floor of the tower, the top of this magnificent white and pure tower, like a memorial to those who had perished far too soon in this deadly wave. For far too long, he had remained in denial, in absolute silence. The King of Arnor had even refused to create a place of remembrance to think of his queen. He had truly renounced all his memories of his beloved home and everything that came with it. His mind had protected him from suffering too much by immersing him body and soul in the creation of this new, developing kingdom, while respecting the natives of his lands who had offered him asylum and survival.
Finally, Amandil's son opened the door separating him from this breathtaking view of the immense west, of the blue immensity. His breath caught at such a marvel. He lost himself for a few moments in these turquoise reflections contrasting with the splendor of the tower's white marble. This was his second ascent, and yet the feeling was quite different from the first. Elendil was too mesmerized to dare move any closer to the railing to try to touch the seemingly calm salt water. How could he believe that this same sea had decimated a large part of a population, but also his second greatest love? How could he still believe in the phrase “the sea is always right,” especially after this tragedy?
He shivered at the sound of the waves, calm and soothing at first listen. And yet, it hid a deeper trauma. How could he forget the cacophony produced when Akâllabeth performed? Elendil could play that chaotic rhythm on any instrument or even find a melody in the rapid rhythms of the waves.
Thinking about music and waves brought back memories of the incredible Sea Organ of Númenor. Elendil loved to walk there and sit on the steps for hours on end. This gift from the elves remained one of the island's most beautiful technological gems.
The former captain never ceased to be amazed by its divine, almost unreal sound. The atmosphere there was special, but the melodies defined his few encounters with Míriel, when all was well, for all too brief a moment. With the rise of Pharazôn and his obsession with the Eldar, the organ had been destroyed by his men, the very first outrageous act of his reign, long before he sought to cut down Nimloth. Elendil concentrated and could still hear that crystal-clear sound, which he associated with the voice of Ulmo.
But his fondest memory remained that walk during a storm. His intuition had led him to that chaotic coastline, and he had seen her: Tar-Míriel. The image had taken his breath away: she stood before the high waves, confident, as if protected from the deluge. An ancient song, a chant, rang in his ears despite the terrible wind. The Queen of Númenor was addressing the Valar Marins, mourning the fate of her people. How could he not be captivated by such power emanating from his lover?
Elendil was accustomed, too accustomed to the violence of the water during storms aboard his ship to care or be disturbed in his admiration. Surely the blood of Eldar flowed in Míriel's veins, as well as a gift granted to the most virtuous of the elven people from whom they descended.
Her white muslin dress floated around her like a shield, not a single drop of water reaching her. Her long black hair remained dry and perfectly styled with various pearls from Andunië Bay. A light seemed to emanate from her. Elendil did not know how many hours passed as he admired her in this powerful and divine form. That evening, Míriel had not heard or seen him, and it remained one of Elendil's fondest memories of his last moments with the queen. And how could he forget the chaotic sound of the sea organ during that terrible storm? The melody could have been deafening, horrible, yet the former captain found a certain beauty in it. In the midst of destruction and the most chaotic moments, a beauty emerged, becoming epic songs or embroidery filled with emotion. It was impossible to forget that beautiful, timeless moment.
In any case, his memories were too bitter, especially those concerning his beloved Númenor. He had wept that night with deep emotion, so full of feeling was Míriel's voice. He knew only too well the rage, fear, and incomprehension evoked in those verses, especially when mixed with the metallic notes of the sea. Elendil suddenly opened his eyes to the calm sea reflecting the sun, but he could still hear the orderly chaos of his memory...No more sea organ and divine songs from his queen, no more heart-wrenching lamentations from his beautiful Míriel... Their time together had definitely been far too short.
The waves continued to crash against the rocks below and even on the horizon. Although the water was calm, there was nothing calm in the mind of the King of Arnor. Soon, Elendil even smelled the scent of jasmine and vanilla from his beloved queen. He felt enormous remorse for not having been able to think of Tar-Míriel all these years; he had become a shadow of his former self, an emotionless puppet. But now, those emotions were flooding back, for the worse.
It was impossible to hold back the torrent of tears already streaming down his cheeks. His throat tightened even more with all this pain and indescribable sadness. He cried and cried, gradually moving closer to the railing so he could lean on it and admire the sea on this side. It called to him, and he could not resist its call, even though the mere sight of it could trigger many traumas.
And he was not disappointed by the magnificent view of the calm bay and its magnificent white cliffs, as well as the rocks scattered everywhere among the vast blue expanse. The sun shone brightly even during this winter period. Elendil thought it was a sign from his son, who was watching over him and supporting him in collusion with the sun. What a joy it was to know that his two sons, Anárion and Isildur, were happy in their new land, embracing their destiny and discovering true family life. Often, he did not consider himself part of this family; they saw him very little, as he did his grandchildren. The festive moments, especially those celebrating the return of light, warmed his heart, whether in Osgiliath or Annúminas.
Yet this year, he had declined all invitations to the end-of-year celebrations. Elendil had a visceral need to be alone with himself and, above all, with his bittersweet memories.
Soon, the waves and the landscape plunged him back into memories of his queen of his heart forever. He saw her appear in his mind, so beautiful and proud to be the true queen of Númenor. Her sparkling golden jewelry perfectly highlighted her determined face and her magnificent gaze. That gaze in which he had lost himself many times, dreaming of an ideal life far from the turmoil of the king's men and his friend Zîgur. How could he not also think of finally defeating Pharazôn, that worthless king, and freeing the people from the grip of darkness and profane cults? Yes, they had triumphed, but at what cost? At the cost of Elendil remaining a lonely king in his prime, refusing to take a new wife.
And her thick hair smelling of the freshness of the morning, the sea, and vanilla? Her long black hair cascading down her back, giving her a holy, almost divine crown.
Míriel was not only beauty incarnate, but also a woman who knew how to listen to her people and, above all, defend their interests with empathy and compassion. He remembered how she had masterfully managed the rebellion from within, while being Pharazôn's prisoner. How he sincerely regretted having coordinated operations far from the capital and having supported her from afar... It was now too late to change the past, or even to try to save her from the clutches of her infamous cousin.
Yet Elendil had to accept her desire to remain close to her people, especially to enable her to organize the uprising in the other regions of her beloved island. He opened his eyes to try to banish these images from his mind and, above all, to finally move a little and find the courage in this vast blue expanse to look through the Palantír.
And he knew how much worse he would feel once he looked into the Palantír. Would he even be able to do it? Elendil had a vital need to see one last time what had become of Númenor. Yes, his home had been engulfed by Eru's wrath, but rumors had been circulating more and more in recent decades. Many merchants and former sailors, especially those who had served under his command, claimed that a tiny island remained, but it was only two square kilometers in size. He had to be convinced by the vision he could see from the Palantír in Tol Eressëa in the Tower of Avallonë.
Sheltered from wind and weather stood the great stone of vision given by the elves to his beloved father, Amandil, the last lord of Andúnië. For a brief moment, his melancholy left him and was replaced by an obsession to look into the stone to find a little hope, a remnant of his home that remained against all odds, a small glimmer of hope. The only possibility was that the top of Mount Meneltarma would be visible, the last place where Míriel stood proud, as she had during their nocturnal encounter during a storm. It was impossible to forget the memory of Míriel standing there in blue, shouting, chanting, and chanting High Elven to try to stave off the fateful moment. It was one of the worst images of his existence.
A sailor should never look back, especially when setting sail, as it could bring him bad luck, yet he wanted to see Míriel, his beloved, one last time, even if it meant having nightmares about that moment every day. His clairvoyant eyes had witnessed the submersion of the island in every detail, especially the last moments of their rightful queen. She had not screamed or shown fear, but had kept her head high, facing her fate with resolve and without hatred, entrusting herself solely to the sea and the will of the Valar. They had never abandoned them and had remained true to their beliefs and values. What a woman...
I miss you, Tar-Miriel, my queen.
In addition to his throat, his chest tightened with all this rekindled pain, but the wound, the gaping hole caused by the fire, had to be healed. He was in a pitiful state, full of snot and tears wetting his thick blue velvet clothes, forever his favorite color to pay homage to his queen.
Before settling down comfortably, the high king removed the sheath containing Narsil, his sword given to him by his queen. Even unconsciously, Míriel's will and determination, as well as her love, never left him, even during battles. He could repeat to himself the words spoken during that timeless moment, which squeezed his heart a little tighter. He tenderly caressed the dark leather bearing the coat of arms of the royalty of Númenor and the lords of Andunië. Elendil opened his mouth to find the courage to speak to her, to apologize for not having a single thought for her, except in his dreams. Shame overwhelmed him. But no sound came out. No coherent thoughts came either. He was truly in a pitiful state, his brain functioning only to remind him of painful moments, yet at the same time so precious...
Elendil placed Narsil on the floor beside him before finally sitting down in the chair in front of the palantír; he knew he would remain there for hours, mainly to revisit that part of Belegaer, or to find anything that could momentarily ease his thoughts reminding him of forgotten pains. The King of Arnor and Gondor touched the cold stone of the vision before he could access the vision he had been hoping for from the tower of the Eldar.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to better connect with the vision of the palantír. Several minutes passed before he summoned up the courage to finally look at what had become of his home. His heart sped up at the thought of the impending revelation, a certain anxiety. Finally, Elendil opened his eyes to discover a vast blue expanse with a rock in the middle, big enough to be considered an island. The sailors were right; a tiny piece of Númenor had survived: the summit of Mount Meneltana. A bird landed on the small piece of land; a magnificent albatross. Elendil held his breath at the sight of this majestic animal, which brought with it so many omens. How could he not think of this messenger between worlds? Between realities, between the Valar and humans? He tried to get closer, as if to touch it or observe it better, but he had forgotten that all this was just a vision through a glass…
How frustrating! Especially to see the albatross in the distance and not try to communicate with it to better understand its appearance! But it was impossible for him to look away, too captivated by the majesty of the animal, which was also very rare to see in this way. The sight both soothed and hurt him, a truly strange feeling. Elendil cried and even wanted to scream for this intense pain to disappear as quickly as it had arrived. Impossible, however, he was paying for the feelings he had held back for nearly forty years, forever agreeing to stop, to take a break, a mode of survival but also an immense fear of his emotions that were far too strong. Now, guilt overwhelmed him in addition to this deep sadness. He refused to leave the view offered by the palantír, clinging to whatever he could to avoid suffering.
But fate had other plans... The albatross quickly transformed into his sublime queen, gazing into the distance in her white muslin dress, like that sweet memory of the storm and the sea organ, but this time in front of a calm sea, finally calm... The wind quickly picked up and the waves grew bigger and bigger, becoming more and more threatening. Memories mingled and soon everything around her changed: Míriel was no longer on an island but on top of Mount Númenor. Memories collided and mingled.
“Míriel! Míriel!”
Elendil approached Míriel, like a ghost trying in vain to warn a living person, but unfortunately she could not hear him. What could he do at that moment? Was this how the last moments of his queen had unfolded? Strong, dignified, and with a hint of fear in her eyes despite her other senses being alert? Once again, he wanted to confess everything that was in his heart, but no sound came out of his mouth. What was this scene? A vision of ancient times, a hidden power of the palantír, or a bad dream and his unconsciousness tormenting him even more?
Míriel continued the same litany he had heard on that famous evening by the sea. Unable to resist, he wept and even collapsed at his queen's feet as his muscles and reflexes failed him. With his face pressed against the ground, Elendil refused to get up and face the inevitable. The rain continued to fall heavily and the waves grew increasingly violent. The feeling of the water on his skin soothed his heart somewhat, even though Míriel's voice reflected all her pain and her determination to fight one last time for her people.
“Forgive me, Míriel. I should have insisted on freeing you from the capital and the clutches of Pharazôn. You could have ruled here by my side and seen all the greatness my sons are capable of. Forgive me, Míriel.”
He burst into tears once more, nothing could stop his tears from flowing. He even accompanied his weeping with desperate pleas.
“Make this nightmare end... Make this nightmare end...”
Then the deluge ceased, giving way to a ray of sunlight illuminating Elendil, transported out of time from this memory of the stone of vision. A hand rested on his shoulder, encouraging him to get up, and lifted his chin: Míriel stood before him once more, resplendent in a blue dress with golden stars. She smiled at him before kneeling down to his level.
"Elendil, my captain, the man I have always been able to count on in this storm, please forgive yourself. I am at peace with my convictions and my willingness to fight at the eye of the storm. Flight was not an option for me, for our people who remained on Númenor until the very end. Calm your heart and your soul. I will always remain with you, in your heart, in your thoughts, and in all your actions and decisions for your kingdom, our kingdom. I have made you my heir, and by extension, Anárion and Isildur are also my heirs. Arnor and Gondor mean so much, Elendil. I live every day close to you, do not forget that. My love will follow you eternally, no matter what choices you make, I am present. Narsil, the white flame, accompanies you every day, a precious gift, or even the sun of Númenor, the most precious gift of all. Go in peace, Elendil, calm your heart and move forward. Middle-earth awaits you, the sea will not forget you. My love will follow you until the end of your days, High King of Arnor and Gondor.”
Elendil dried his tears and touched his golden pendant representing the sun of Númenor, the coat of arms. It was one of the oldest pieces of jewelry belonging to the royal family, to his distant ancestor Elros. The king was honored to wear it, especially such a precious gift from his queen, like his sword Narsil, which never left his left side. He took his time to imprint every detail of Míriel's beauty before trying to answer her, but he was interrupted by a loud chirping.
He sat up from his seat, realizing he had dozed off.
That explains a lot... How long have I been like this?
Another complaint and incessant beak clicking.
Elendil turned his head to see a large albatross at his side, more precisely with Narsil in its beak. How had the bird managed to grab it? The king remained seated in his chair, refusing to make any sudden movements. He was convinced that this was the same albatross from his dreams. This was the first time he had encountered this species in Middle-earth, and especially several miles from the coast. Was it carrying a message of hope for him from Míriel? Or was it a reincarnation of his queen's spirit through this bird? He held out his hand, waiting for some sign from the animal before approaching it to pay homage as the king of the skies and freedom.
Still dazed from his sleep, Elendil was overcome with emotion, tears welling up in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes. The albatross slowly approached the Dunedain before seeking a caress.
“May I entrust you with a message that you will deliver to the marine halls of our ancestors? For my queen, Tar-Míriel?”
He removed the golden chain from around his neck before gently kissing the sun and placing it at the bird's feet. The albatross watched the king's every move intently, very curious about this ritual. It nudged Elendil's hand with its beak to signify its agreement to the latter's question. The Númenórean took a long breath before finally finding the courage to speak:
"I know I shouldn't feel guilty, but this feeling refuses to leave me, especially when I know that I haven't spent a single moment mourning you. It was as if I refused to admit my weakness, my pain, and to move forward because our people needed us, needed me to guide Isildur and Anárion. Forty years without taking a moment... I am pitiful, and I have no excuse... Now the pain is even worse. If only I had torn off that bandage right away. My heart has become gangrenous again without my knowing it, or in my total ignorance.
He sighed, trying to push the pain away and, above all, to muster the courage to continue his speech and avoid crying hysterically during it.
“Forty years of emotions are not easy to bring out... Everything is jumbled up in my head between feelings of guilt and our sweet memories, but also the painful last years of the war... Everything mixes together to make me feel what I had been repressing for far too long. I was only surviving during those decades... Will I ever know the meaning of the word “live” again? I don't know, especially in such troubled times with the constant threat looming over Middle-earth. Sauron is in hiding again, but we are making sure that the atrocities committed on our beloved island never happen again...”
"By Uinen, my heart bleeds and remains an empty shell, without the love of our two souls for each other... I miss you, my queen, my light in the storms. I am but a puppet, empty of all feelings and emotions. Although it is over, the pain resurfaces from the deepest abyss... I am paying the price for not having paid tribute to you, and I am quite content with that. Another loss to bear, my destiny is marked only by the loss of those I love, especially my beloved ones. Am I destined only to love until the end of my long life without paying the price afterwards? How merciless the Valar are with our poor lives.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks once more. Elendil had failed to remain dignified before the albatross and pay tribute to his magnificent queen, who had passed away far too soon. He ran a hand over his face to regain some composure and continued:
“I can no longer even control my body's reactions. What kind of ruler am I...?”
He laughed for a moment.
"I know what you would say to me, that a ruler must show his sadness to his people and, above all, sympathize with them. I have never attended memorial ceremonies for our people, for you or for Eärien... I suppose we all experience death differently. But the denial is over for me, and I feel terrible about it. Recognizing that you are no longer by my side will allow me to heal and perhaps even regain my zest for life. I have not even appreciated the beauty of Middle Earth since I landed northwest of Lindon.
I must sing of all the love I have for you, so that I never forget it, my dear queen. I have taken so much pleasure in serving you and sharing the rest of your life. May your memory never fade, and may future generations never forget how much the last true queen of Númenor sacrificed for their lives. My beautiful Queen Miriel, the loss is terrible and even more painful than a sword piercing flesh. And yet, your love transcends this pain, I feel your light surrounding me at this moment. You are with me every day.
I love you, Miriel.
Námarië.
Sweet night beneath the most divine of stars.”
He finally stood up and kissed the pendant again before getting up. Elendil stroked the albatross one last time.
“Safe Travel, soul bearer.”
The king picked up Narsil before leaning on the tower's railing and admiring the albatross as it flew away into the horizon, dressed in the beautiful warm pink and amber colors of the sunset. One day had come to an end, as had his denial, and a new one would soon begin with a solemn vow not to forget the magnificence of Queen Tar-Míriel, the last queen of Númenor.