17. Palantír: Númenor

Yes, that was the memory Aragorn was looking for, and it seemed it was not that hot in the room anymore. Somehow, he sensed that Sauron did not try to fight him anymore, not in the moment at least. He wasn't even sure if he summoned the next picture willingly, for it seemed too revealing and vulnerable…

Tar-Míriel, Nimriyê - Queen of Númenor. She had a necklace of red coral, like drops of blood against her marble skin. Izrê - beloved. So did the king call her, but the word sounded cold from his lips. Never did he call he that when they were alone, it was a name for those who were looking at the royal couple, to was away the bitter taste of the fact that she was his cousin. To himself, Sauron called her Zimra - Jewel, for she was hard in her beauty and multi-faceted, a jewel set into Ar-Pharazôn's golden crown like a bird in a golden cage.

She stood on the slopes of Minul-Tarîk - Meneltarma, from where she could watch the coves and inlets of the sea near the horizon. From the western cape of Nûmenor a cold wind blew and played with her silk dress. The smell of pine trees was in the air, and a crane flew high in the sky. She stood like a marble statue, a picture of frail endurance. She turned as he approached her, sensing his presence.

"He will not return, will he?" she asked calmly.

He did not answer.

"You sent my husband to death!" she accused him, but he merely smiled, knowing there was no love between her and her husband.

"He went to war against Ilúvatar to make him take back his 'Gift', as the Valar call it. I didn't send him anywhere."

"The gift of death… or the gift of life?" she looked at him sharply.

Sauron remained silent. He thought of the underwater caves concealed beneath the island of Númenor. Such were the thoughts and feelings of Tar-Míriel, as well. Hidden before the eyes of mortals under the layers of sea-weed and dangerous to venture into, full of treacherous and dark currents, and yet concealing unsuspected beauty: pearls like no human eye has seen.

"Men are such a riddle…" he muttered, following her gaze to the west, where in the distance the towers of Avallónë could be seen in a clear day, the haven and city of the Eldar on Tol Eressëa. But the day was not clear not – heavy clouds lay over the West, stretching above Númenor like dark, grasping fingers.

He thought it an hour of his triumph when the army of Ar-Pharazôn embarked the mighty ships, their swords sharp, armour glistening in the sun. In his mind, he could clearly imagine the confusion and helplessness upon the faces of the Valar - Manwë looking from his high throne on Taníquetil, asking Eru for advice, for such a things he would never even imagine: the Children of Eru turning against the Valar, the Children they should protect and guide. Eruhíni dubdam Ugru-galad: the Children of Eru fell under the Shadow…

Sauron smiled at the deviousness of his plan, and looked to the west, curious himself what will happen, and what the Valar will do.

Never in his schemes would he imagine what they really did: nothing. Nothing at all. They did not punish the Children. Someone else did, and the punishment was terrible, unimaginable. They surrendered their rule of Arda for that moment. He felt it - felt a change in the very foundations of earth as the hand of Ilúvatar touched it, seized it, torn it! In that moment, Sauron knew fear, fear like never before. He saw it in his mind even before he could see it in real, but he couldn't do anything. He played with fire, and water came in answer - a dark, roaring wave under the wings of a storm, a crushing wall of water swallowing the cities and meadows of Númenor.

Númenor was no more. The Ulumúri sounded in the distance. And Ulmo wept.

She stood at the top of Meneltarma, and faced the dark wave. She breathed in. She breathed out. Pûh – breath. Life. She breathed in. And with her last breath, she cursed Sauron. She breathed out. And then – she breathed in the dark water as the wave pulled her into the depths in and threw her against the rocks. She never knew it, but she was pregnant - expecting miyât, twins, just like Elrond and Elros were. Sauron had great plans for them. Plants that will never be fulfilled.

Love, madness, death. Númenor was no more.

Then everything silenced. Night fell over the sea. The stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears. Númenor was no more.

Êphalak îdôn Yôzâyan. Êphal êphalak îdôn hi-Akallabêth…

Far away now the Land of Gift. Far far away now She-that-hath-fallen…

His fair body drowned there, broke on the underwater rocks. But his spirit lingered there, in the destruction. The wave crushed the lands, but once it ran over and the dark currents calmed, it looked almost like before, almost peaceful. He saw the white palaces and temples, the green gardens now under the surface. He saw the people in their watery grave, captured in the moment of their death. There was some minor noble, spasmodically embracing a pillar of the temple, and an old woman with a calm face as she was facing the end.

He knew the expression of his former physical form resembles more the horror in the face of the noble than the calm resignation of the woman. He has been a nîph - fool - when he expected the Valar to let Númenor to him after Ar-Pharazôn's insult. Now his fair form was lost. He could not be fair anymore, he knew it. His inner self now formed his appearance, and he had no illusions of it. But he did not want to rise from the watery grave of the once proud land. Not yet… He lingered there. It was so quiet under the dark surface. Almost as if nothing happened…

One midwinter day off the coast of Umbar, the crew of a fishermen's ship spotted a bottle with a note in it. The sailors managed to fish it out of the water with their nets. The note was simple, yet it caused a shiver in the men. There were only two words written in it : "Remember Númenor".