Work Text:
After the wedding, the coronation. Ar-Pharazôn's advisors had designed the ceremony: a compromise between the Valar-worship of the Elf-friends and the ancient rituals of his own people. It struck Ar-Pharazôn as nothing but spineless atheism, possessing none of the moral character, none of the power of either sect. But it was inoffensive, and for the moment, Ar-Pharazôn needed to be inoffensive.
Ar-Pharazôn received the crown. It was large, ornate, clumsy. He sat with head straight, eyes forward, expression blank. The crown was heavy. The crown became the way he moved. The significance was not lost on him.
Stiff-backed, Ar-Pharazôn watched the men of Númenor cheer. Scepter in hand, the preordained and immutable sign of power... hand closed. Hand, like neck, stiff and motionless. Ar-Pharazôn's body ached from being frozen in place.
For the purposes of the coronation, the traditional names of the Valar were replaced with those of the natural world: our King, the flow of the tide. Our King, the hand of the heavens. Our King, the rising of the sun. Always of. Belonging to. As unchanging as the forces of nature. As servile as a body part.
Ar-Pharazôn gazed on the hall, the great stone vaults, the gold and silk. Arrayed along the walls were stone statues of kings past. Ar-Pharazôn's own likeness, last in line, stared back at him... carved, already, in unmoving stone.
At this point, the people of Númenor bowed before their King. In a practiced, tedious move, Ar-Pharazôn stood from his throne... then, all his concentration on the straightness of his back, he took a knee before his people. Onlookers gasped. This had never happened in the history of the coronations of Númenor. It said this is different; it said, I will serve you like Tar-Palantir never could.
Our King, the descendant of Ar-Gimilzôr. Our King, the servant of the Adûnâi.
Ar-Pharazôn's robes were so hot as to make him dizzy. But he maintained composure. He stood, carefully, and thanked whatever gods would listen that his crown remained in place.
You meant to teach me a lesson, did you? he addressed his ancestors. Well, I have learned this much: you are dead. I still live.