Chapter Text
Pharazôn liked to think himself a clever man. In many ways, he was. He managed to steal a throne, an army, a navy, and a whole continent out from under the hold of the Valar and their worshipers. An impressive stunt, to be sure. But he was still just a man.
Sauron knew well the weaknesses of men.
From the moment he was paraded into Númenor, he began raking his talons across the rule of the king. Ar-Pharazôn desired above all else, power and control. But it was not so simple as to give him everything he wanted. Sauron could have easily done that, but he knew better.
Pharazôn liked winning. He liked the presentation of a challenge and then besting it. And in that lay the strategy of Sauron.
The trick was to present himself to the king as dangerous, but not a threat. To never push his luck so far that he would fall, but just enough that the king had to make an effort to restrain him.
He would at all times make Pharazôn feel in control, and that his wits and strength would throw down any challenge Sauron would present. But as he was doing so, and reveling in the success, he would miss the seeds of Sauron's own words growing roots in his heart.
And so was the constant game. He was a prisoner, bound by chains and oath as a servant to the king. He would provide his Maiar-wisdom to the king and defer to him as an authority above himself. Sauron did not believe any of it, despite being at all times a lovely, obedient thing. Ar-Pharazôn believed it though and believed himself beyond all deceit.
Sauron had been thoroughly conquered and tamed in his eyes. And that was all that mattered.
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His captivity was largely performative, once he had gained the relative trust of most court advisors and faction leaders. He was permitted to wear fine clothes, made for him. His bonds were replaced with fine golden cuffs at his wrists and ankles, and around his neck was a carcanet of like beauty.
Sauron supposed it was meant to remind him that he was still a prisoner, despite the luxury. Though, looking in the floor length glass in his chamber, it was hard to care. He admired his unclothed hröa. His supple ivory skin was made to glisten with expensive oils. His hair in this form was bright copper, and reached down to his mid-back in silken waves. Freckles dotted his skin like dark, ominous stars. The collar and cuffs broke the sight, unlike anything he would have chosen for decoration. But the gold…the gold was nice.
Tonight was important. The king had all but ordered that Sauron appear. And so he would.
Sauron selected for himself a sheer dress, sand colored fading to white. Two long tails draped from the back and attached behind the ever present bracelets like wings. It was not wholly see-through, but the outline of his hips and legs were well defined. Delicate Sandals with gold and silver laces wrapped around his feet. He lined his eyes with turquoise powder and adorned his upper lip with gold paint. As a final addition, Sauron twisted back the hair at his temples and clasped them together in the back with a small red jeweled clip.
A final look into the mirror, and he walked to his chamber door. A quick breath and he knocked, alerting the ever present guards that he was ready to be escorted to the banquet.
Three guards flanked him, keeping a safe distance to his left, right, and behind him. The walk was silent, save for the sounds of their clanking ceremonial attire. They feared him. Wise. But tonight was not going to be of bloodshed…at least not due to him directly.
The sound of the merriment and drinking could be heard from a distance. It wasn't until they rounded the final corner that the smell of the food reached him. He breathed it in, the smell of wine and meats, and of spices. Without having even a drop, the intoxication was already making his cheeks flush.
Then, he was pulled from his musings abruptly, and reminded of the evening's true weight. His entourage was stopped in the hallway by another coming through the expansive doorway.
Surrounded by her ladies in waiting was Queen Tar-Miriel.
Instinctively, he froze when their eyes met. Some quality of hers always turned his blood to ice, and dragged his mind back to darker days where he and his own dark lord had to fear the Children of Iluvatar.
However, it did not escape his notice that, despite all her menace, her eyes were red and damp with tears. She had been crying.
“My Queen,” each guard said in turn as she slowly approached with her eagle-eyed handmaidens.
They each bowed deeply. Sauron, after a fashionable pause to free himself of her gaze, did the same. Feeling rebuked, and antagonistic, he addressed her cooly:
“Hail, Ar-Zimraphel.”
The queen stopped her procession standing next to Sauron. Dressed in oceanic blue so dark it almost looked black, she faced Sauron without fear. Silver beads and charms pinned up her hair, and silver wave embroidery encircled her gown.
Tar-Miriel, reduced to Ar-Zimraphel, was still as beautiful and terrible as the dawn, even in the depths of grief. As strong of soul and mind as the Meneltarma, and as treacherous as the sea on which she ruled. Sauron dared not break eye-contact first. Something deep and primordial within him sensed any weakness now would mean a dagger to his throat. His shoulders shook with rage, or fear… and he looked down.
At this, the queen seemed content enough to leave. “I hope you enjoy your evening, Zigûr.”
And with that, she and her handmaidens walked briskly down the hall and out of sight. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
One crisis averted, the guards moved forward to flank Sauron’s entrance into the great hall. He strode in with his renewed confidence, and delighted at the looks he received. Some of awe, some of surprise, but strangely none of distrust. The wine must have been flowing for quite awhile.
Free to wander, he coasted through the hall. The crowds parted delicately around him. A few members of the court with flushed faces and slurred voices greeted him. He nodded in acknowledgement, but saved his voice for the king’s ears first.
He approached the foremost part of the room, in which sat the large fire pit and the king's own throne. Many men were gathered there, laughing and shouting over each other. They were arranged in a semi circle, within which stood Ar-Pharazôn himself.
Sauron observed a moment before approaching. Ar-Pharazôn was living up to his name tonight. He wore a deep red tunic as the base, over which was laid a golden cloak with split sides that trailed to the floor. Upon his wrists were numerous golden bracelets, decorated with pearls, rubies, and garnets. Rings of similar make were upon each finger, and upon his head was the crown of Númenor sat in all its glory.
The king was smiling broadly and laughing hardily. But, Sauron could see that his cheeks did not bear the same hue as his compatriots, nor were his words stilted with drink. He caught the king’s eye for less than a second, and learned more: Ar-Pharazôn was distressed, nay, miserable. The banquet had been going on for hours, and yet, he had not the time to drink or enjoy anything for himself.
A perfect opportunity.
Sauron stepped forward and entered the circle, and immediately Ar-Pharazôn called him to his side. “Zigûr! Glad you decided to show yourself!”
“I am at your service, my king,” Sauron said prettily. The crowd around them gave an amused cheer, mimicking the king’s enjoyment of Sauron’s arrival. Ar-Pharazôn then did something Sauron was not expecting, and grabbed him by his upper arm. “I have been desiring to speak with you tonight, and gain your counsel-” he said and harshly pushed them both out of the crowd.
Sauron was obliged to follow, but could not help the look of confusion that crossed his face. Ar-Pharazôn swiftly guided them out of the main hall and onto a quiet balcony. Out here, only the king was allowed, and whoever he took with him.
The sun had since dipped below the horizon, and only the faint purple tinge of its light remained in the west. What few stars could be seen behind the scattered clouds were dull and small to Sauron’s eyes. He instead looked at Ar-Pharazôn who had taken to leaning on the marble railing.
It was undeniable now, he was socially exhausted. Sauron had merely been a timely excuse. He slowly approached to stand beside the king, looking out over the kingdom in the twilight. For a while they said nothing. It was the king who broke the silence first, not taking his eyes from the view.
“You were late. I was almost convinced you wouldn’t attend.”
“Forgive me, your highness,” Sauron replied. “I did not wish to disturb your evening with my presence.”
“You still showed up.” The king took a small sip from his goblet, perhaps the first of the night. “And you appeared just in time too. Those advisors had my ears near bleeding.”
“I am pleased to have assisted.” Sauron placed a hand out onto the rail, enjoying the cool stone on his skin.“Might I inquire as to why the queen is not present?” He disguised his voice in a pleasant and curious tone, thinking to disguise the fact he had seen her leave the hall.
“She had been present,” said the king looking into his goblet. “I would have had her run interference on those haughty nobles, but…” his voice trailed off. Sauron did not press him to elaborate.
“If I may say,” Sauron tested, “it is foolish of her. To have left such a gathering where all other royalty is present, chief among those being you, reflects poorly on her manners.”
“On that we agree,” Ar-Pharazôn replied, straightening up from the railing. “But now that you’re here, I’d say that festivities can properly begin.” Ar-Pharazôn raised his goblet in salute, then drank it down in a few mighty gulps. Sauron grinned.
The king took Sauron by the arm, this time more gingerly, and entwined them. “Come now, and we’ll go enjoy the banquet. They will be less likely to swarm me with you here.”
Sauron forced his arm to relax into Ar-Pharazôn, even applying a playful tug as they walked to the door.
“They're afraid of you, you know.”
“As they should be,” said Sauron without thinking. His voice caught in his throat at his blunder. But Ar-Pharazôn didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he paused a step behind Sauron, looking at his hair.
“Hm,” he chuckled. “You are wearing the hair piece I gave you. The ruby one, like an eye.”
“Yes, my king. I am quite fond of it.”
“As am I.” And with that, they entered back into the banquet hall.