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One can certainly wager that man would be erased, like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea...
Michel Foucault, The Order of Things
Although she has not seen the queen since she had arrived in Númenor and had been presented to the court, Mairen suspects that they will encounter one another soon. The palace may be a world of its own but it is a small one and their paths must cross one day or another, if only because Pharazôn will want to display his two most prized possessions to the court. He will not permit Míriel to hide long, and he will not allow her to hide at all.
She is proven right. Eight months after Pharazôn carted her through the streets of Armenlos, he hosts a reception for the island's nobility, and he demands the presence of his queen and his prisoner. She receives the summons with a courteous nod and directs the servant to lay the clothing the king has ordered her to wear on the bed. The clothes are not heavy but are delicate and well suited to the heat of a Numenorean summer. She touches the bodice of the elegant gown. It is white with gold embroidery and has a skirt that will fall in sharp pleats around her sandaled feet. A second servant holds a small chest, which he opens for her; it contains the jewelry the king has selected for her to wear. She instructs him to set it on the dressing table next to a much smaller chest.
She opens the king's gift and looks at the jewelry inside. The pieces are opulent and well made. Pharazôn is a proud man and he will not offer her less than the finest his craftsmen can fashion, and yet she is always satisfied to see that no piece made by these mortal hands compares to the work she has fashioned or those made by the Mírëtanor in Eregion. She examines several pieces; Pharazôn prefers ornate pieces of gold, thickly encrusted with jewels and intended to cow the populace with his wealth. She has never coveted those pieces. Instead, she prefers a subtler approach, one that reveals the skill of a true artist and that few can appreciate. She pushes the gold aside and selects several strands of fine pearls to be woven into her hair. She examines the gold again and then, remembering something else, she decides against it and opens instead the smaller chest Pharazôn had gifted to her when she first arrived in Númenor. It is made of ebony -- "Black wood for the Lady of the Black Land," he'd said when he'd given it to her. – and contains the few possession she would not leave behind in Mordor. They are the things she values most in the world, save for the Ring, which remains safe in the Barad-dûr.
Pharazôn had forced her to show him the pieces before he'd allowed her to keep them and before he'd offered her the chest for them. She'd been angry, irrationally, she knew since she could hardly fault him for failing to trust her. He had opened the small pouch and pulled three thin chains, each holding a different object, from it. The first held a delicate green jewel, the second held a brilliant white gem and the third a thin dagger.
She had been concerned and had questioned her decision to bring these things with her when he'd fingered the jewelry. His greed, his insatiable need to possess, was so very clear on his face that she had feared that he would take them from her, even as she had delighted in the knowledge that she had not misjudged this man.
She'd spoken then, softly, in order to prevent him from claiming that which was hers. "They are only small trinkets, my lord. Surely you will not begrudge me these mementos of Middle Earth. Besides, if I wished to harm you, I hardly need a knife."
He'd inclined his head in acceptance, replaced the gems in the small pouch, sheathed the dagger and returned them both to her.
She had attached the pouch to her belt and slipped the dagger around her neck. Pharazôn watched her closely, eyes frank and curious. "Did you make them?" he asked. "Is that why you brought them and wish to keep them?"
"I did not make them," she'd answered.
"Then I believe I know who did," he had responded. "Keep them, if you will, though I do not understand why you wish to have them. But I will not take them from you."
She carries the dagger with her as she had in Ost-in-Edhil. But she had yet to wear the jewelry. Pharazôn provides her with such jewelry as he wishes her to wear, and he has offered her the use of his smithies should she wish to craft her own. She makes use of his forges. But she crafts only tools, not ornaments.
She touches each piece, lifts them carefully and considers them, and then she removes the white jewel from the chest and sets it aside.
Several hours later, her body washed and perfumed, her hair elaborately styled and adorned with pearls, and the white jewel suspended from its chain around her neck, she sits at the king's right hand. The queen's seat at his left hand is empty. Míriel has not come and she has not sent word to excuse her absence. Pharazôn is livid. His eyes dart from side to side as he searches for his wife, and he orders a page in a voice he cannot quite control to fetch his queen.
Mairen watches and wishes she were able to laugh. Instead, she offers to fetch the queen. She is certain, she says mildly, eyes lowered to the ground, that something serious must have occurred to delay Ar-Zimraphel and that she might require assistance more substantial that a serving boy would be able to provide. Pharazôn hesitates, aware that his prisoner has her own agenda but unwilling to lose the opportunity to save face, so he nods as she knew he would and dismisses her with a wave of his hand. She sinks into a deep curtsy and then turns and glides through the crowd of nobles.
She catches the eye of Amandil as she passes, and she notices the young man -- little more than a boy -- standing next to him. He is young and handsome, fierce and angry like a bird of prey, and he refuses to hide the hatred and contempt he feels for her. She smiles coldly at the stripling, thinking he'll make good sport later, but nods gracefully in acknowledgment of the Lord of Andúnië and exits.
The queen's rooms are far from the audience chamber. She strides quickly through the corridors with her guards at her heels and does not pause to admire the fine carvings and rich tapestries decorating the walls. The guard knocks on the door to the queen's suite and announces her presence. A serving woman answers the door and informs her that the queen is ill. She raises an eyebrow and says "Then I had best attend to her." She turns to the guard and instructs him to inform the king that the queen is ill and that she will remain with her as she might require additional care. She does not wait for the servant to answer before she sweeps into the room.
Míriel sits beside an open window and stares into the courtyard. She is not ill and she does not pretend to be.
Mairen sweeps into a deep curtsey and says "Good evening, your highness. You are appearing remarkably well for a woman too ill to attend the king's assembly or to send a servant to make your excuses. He noticed that you were not present."
"Did he? Is he angry?" Míriel does not turn her head from the window. "He must be furious if he sent you."
"I offered to come." She steps closer to the queen. "But he is angry. Does that please you?"
"Little pleases me," Míriel replies. "I shall not come. Tell him whatever you like."
"Your servant said that you were ill," she responds. "I sent the message to Ar-Pharazôn and informed him that I would attend to your needs."
"Did you?" Míriel laughs and turns to face her. "You are an unusual woman, my lady. I am surprised my husband objected to my absence since he has you garbed and jeweled as if you were queen in my stead."
"Does that disturb you, your highness? Were I you, I would find it amusing that he seeks to prove his strength by parading a captive before the throne. I would be angry, however, that he took my scepter and ruled in my place."
"Are you a captive?" Míriel asks. "It seems to me that you are not. Show me the clothes and jewels he has chosen for you this evening. The last jewels he selected for you belonged to my mother. I would have been insulted but I doubt he remembers to whom they belonged."
She stands before the queen and turns slowly.
Míriel nods approvingly. "It suits you well. The pearls are a better choice than the jewelry he usually favors. The necklace is also lovely but it is not one I recognize. Is it your own?"
"Yes."
"One of your own making? It is very beautiful. It reminds me of the gifts my father and I would receive from the elves. But I doubt you wish to hear that."
"That does not surprise me. An elf crafted it in Ost-in-Edhil many years ago."
"An elf?" The queen raises an elegant eyebrow and pretends that both the question and its answer are less significant than they truly are. "And you wear it? May I see it?"
"I would prefer not to remove it, but I will come closer if you wish to examine it."
The queen beckons her forward and examines the jewel. She is careful not to touch it or the woman who wears it. But she leans close enough for the Maia to feel the warmth of her body and her breath brush across her skin.
"It is beautiful. Finer than Silmariën's fillet and that was made in Aman. It is finer than anything I have seen."
"I am not surprised. The maker was very gifted."
"The maker was very gifted." Míriel pronounces each word slowly and carefully. "Tyelperinquar was, wasn't he? Until you killed him. Why do you wear it? Do you seek to mock our foolishness by flaunting your crimes?"
"No, but I do not expect you to understand, Tar-Míriel."
"I would be willing to listen, Thû."
"Would you?" The Maia settles on the stool at her feet.
"If it means that I shall not have to attend the assembly of the man who usurped my throne with the woman who intends to usurp his at my side, I would be delighted to hear you explain why you wear a stone made by an elf you betrayed and killed."
Mairen tilts her head and considers the queen before she answers. She says simply, "He made it for me long ago."
"He made it for you," the queen shakes her head. "He must have cared deeply for you to have crafted such a gift."
"He did. For a time."
"Until he discovered what you are."
"Until I betrayed him. He guessed what I was, if not who I was, long before. He wanted to give me the opportunity to redeem myself. He said the stone would remind me of what I had been and what I might be."
"He was a fool."
"Perhaps. Perhaps we are all fools, your highness."
"Perhaps you are right. You likely are. You are such a clever woman. So clever that you need no army to defeat us. Only your subtle mind and your honeyed tongue. Perhaps I shouldn't call the elf a fool. He was less of one than my husband, if there was a time when he did not know what you are."
"It would be uncharitable to call Tyelperinquar a fool. By your reckoning, he paid for his mistake long ago."
"Why do you care what I call him? Or did you care for him too?"
"Yes. I did. I do."
"That was... is foolish, clever one. I am almost sorry for you."
"I do not seek your pity as I am sure you do not seek mine," the witch replies. "He wanted me to wear the stone to remember what I once was. I kept it to remember what I have chosen to become."
"I understand why you kept it. But why do you wear it now, if you hadn't before? I would have heard tell if you'd worn such a jewel. It wouldn't have escaped notice in this court."
"It was 2062 years this day that I arrived in Eregion, and he met me at the gates of Ost-in-Edhil. I do not think I should let that pass unmarked."
"Do you know what you have become? You have become a creature cunning and cruel enough to use our deepest fears against us. You prey upon the fears all Men have and use the doom Eru decreed for us against us. You taunt fools with a hope, which they cannot have and to which they cling in their despair. Would your elf be surprised to see what you have become?"
"I sacked his home, tortured him to death and carried his body before my army. I think little would surprise him, Tar-Míriel."