Chapter 63
Ar-Pharazon sat upon his jeweled throne, his knuckles white with exertion. The long table before him was strewn with countless files, laboratory reports, and eerily shimmering jars. For decades, lured by Sauron, the Faithful had exhausted their imaginations and cruel methods in pursuit of the elusive promise of immortality. They had dissected countless creatures, experimented with bizarre potions, and sacrificed countless lives to Melkor, beseeching the Dark Lord's favor. Yet, death struck every mortal equally. The wrinkles of age crept across the king's once-robust face, and the sense of fading strength coiled like a cold snake around his heart. No matter how much effort he expended, no matter how much blood he shed, the secret of immortality, like the Blessed Land itself, remained elusive, a mockery of his ambition.
Ar-Pharazon pinned his last twisted hope on Meereen's voluntary surrender. The core members of the King's Faction exchanged worried glances, but no one dared to refute the king's increasingly paranoid delusion. They could not imagine, or rather, dared not imagine, that the target of their desire was lurking right under their noses like the most dangerous ghost - in Númenor.
Elrond returned to Middle-earth to help the Faithful establish a rudimentary order there, and Meereen remained. He was a messenger sent by the Valar, possessing unique power and near-immortality. He was better suited than Elrond to maneuver under Sauron's watch and more familiar with Númenor's underground networks. Like the wind moving through the shadows, he used disguises and the cover of Faithful warriors to repeatedly transport families on the verge of exposure onto secret boats.
Not all loyalists were willing to leave. In Andúníi, the secret stronghold of the House of Elendil, the atmosphere was suffocatingly oppressive. Amendil, the loyalist leader who was once the king's best friend, had eyes filled with irreconcilable grief. He looked at the deep dusk outside the window, his voice hoarse and desperate: "Leave? No... I can't leave like this. This is my home, Pharazon... He used to be my brother. This kingdom embodies the efforts of countless generations and the grace of the Valar, it can't... It can't be destroyed like this! There must be a way, there must be room for redemption..." He refused to believe, or refused to accept, that his beloved homeland had completely slid into an irreversible abyss.
Even more worrying was Isildur. The young prince, gravely wounded from stealing the fruit of Nimloth, was slowly but steadily recovering, thanks to Amandil's blessing and the constant care of Meereen. He remained frail and bedridden, unable to travel long distances. Ar-Pharazon resented Isildur's theft of the sacred fruit, and royal spies and guards, like hounds, searched frantically for him throughout Andúníë and the entire island. If he were found, he would be tortured and publicly executed, a sacrifice to Sauron's final destruction of the symbolic spirit of the Faithful.
Andúní, the once peaceful and prosperous port city, now serves as a prison for House Amandil and its last followers. Like moths trapped in a spider's web, they lurk in the shadows, carefully maintaining a facade of calm. Every knock on the door is a chilling thought, and every passing patrol makes them hold their breath. All they can do is wait—wait for the loyalists to relax, for a storm strong enough to shield them from flight. Meereen, like the most patient hunter, weaves its final web of escape from the shadows, every link taut and ready to break.
Yet, the new flames of Middle-earth were not without their shadows. Not all who arrived from Númenor were loyalists. The early governors sent to govern the colonies, and their descendants, carried within them the arrogance of the Kings and contempt for the faith of the Valar. Even far removed from the political turmoil of Númenor, they stubbornly carried the hatred of their ancestors, transferring this hatred to the newly formed lands of the loyalists.
Fuinur and Hrumer were representatives of these corrupted ones. They had secretly sworn allegiance to Sauron at the height of his power and were willing to become his minions and spies in Middle-earth. They ruled Umbar and the surrounding areas with harsh methods and were hostile to the loyal exiles.
The residents of the loyalist territory were also wary of and disdainful of the corrupted people of Umbar. The two strongholds built by the blood of Numenor were facing each other across the sea, but were as opposite as night and day.
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