…Fun?
Why, Ar-Pharazôn, of course.
That is the difference between upholding a facade for many years, sensitive to every detail lest it betray your intentions, and performing a version of yourself that your enemies expect, while letting them do the tedious work of engineering their fate.
More was at stake in Eregion. I had to make myself quite vulnerable to infiltrate the elven kingdoms; my foothold was tenuous, my goals uncertain. Securing power in the west required the cooperation of at least one ruler, and depending on whose ear I gained, the method of influence would change to match. My plans had to remain flexible, my disguise absolute.
…I was very lucky to have gained the trust of the greatest smith of the Second Age. Of all the rulers of elfindom, wooing the grandson of Fëanor was more than I had dared to hope. If everything had gone as I desired, I could have formed a powerful alliance; our kingdom could have been iron-fast, a seat of industry and ingenuity. I admired Tyelpë very much. It was less a ‘seduction’ than a slow-formed bond. Many times I regretted the deception that lay between us; like a pane of clear glass… easy to forget, until one stretches out a hand.
“Annatar” was less a lie than an omission; he was comprised of truths, leaving out only what would compromise. What was built on those truths was genuine– but it was not enough. And I learned that too late.
…But the lesson I remembered. I will never again allow myself to become so close to my enemies that I feel sympathy on their behalf– not that this was very difficult. I despised Tar Calion. Only his grandfather was a more despicable despot, and he a less lustful conqueror.
This may surprise you, but the East is dear to me.
Men, as a race, I do not love, but the people of Umbar, Harad, Khand, and Nurn are different from the Edain; they are less stuffed full of the presumption and arrogance of the Valar. They are rich with gods and heroes unheard of in the West; they have built temples to science and art, they reject no ideas for being too full of what fools call “Melkor’s influence”– as if my Master gave any thought to the taxonomy of nature, or mathematics, or industry. I find this refreshing. The country too is as rich and varied as its people. I have tried to be a good ruler; preserving the existing kingships and systems of governance and religion wherever I could.
The Sea Kings ran rough-shod over every foreign land they came across. Though the Numenorian influence has long since been integrated into the local milieu, most continue to begrudge the hierarchies brought with it. Their ships and dignitaries are no welcome sight.
Ar-Pharazôn came with armies and slave galleons. He routed my armies throughout Harad and where he did he left garrisons and exacted tribute, burnt heresies and forbade teachings. …I am no stranger to many of these practices. I have known ages of war, presided over a kingdom’s worth of prisoners. Yet this was a systematic purging of history and culture I have never seen before. I have come to loathe it.
Calion was an arrogant, brutal little man. It became clear to me that the easiest way to manipulate him was to give him the semblance of victory wherever he sought it. My attacks became feints, my retreats led him farther and farther inland, until he came to my very gates. The sea of tents and banners that stretched into the desert was a glorious, chilling sight indeed… but if it had come to battle, that bloated army would have sunk under its own weight crossing the Mountains of Shadow.
But I came to him like a tame horse, and stretched out my neck for him, and let him parade me through the streets of Armenelos; a vanquished god, an exotic beast. He would have me perform transformations for his amusements, sing songs for his court like a minstrel or a trained bird. I obliged his every whim, and the more he was reminded of the power he had conquered, the more besotted with he became. I was his private wishing-well, a genie at his command. Calion was a man of many violent passions; he considered himself a great lover of women and, occasionally, young men of certain castes (there was little distinction made in the laws of the land). I do not believe he was ever attracted to me, as I was… but the thought of a powerful warlord on his knees was a potent drug to him; enough to bring him panting and fumbling at his laces– at least, until old age withered such impulses at the root.
I took a long-steeped and subtle pleasure in the reversal of power; sweet as Umbarim tea. Each submission was a victory, every humiliation I endured became a knot around his soul. He was a clever man, a cautious, paranoid, ambitious man… but precious easy to bind, if one had a little patience. Even while he thought me his toy, I had his ear. How tame he was, how easy to steer once the hooks were in.
It was his wife that was the true obstacle to my designs. Lucky was I, that time and the chains of propriety had done their work long before I came to power. Her rebellions were toothless, lacking the support or structure necessary to supplant me. Still, she worried me more than Calion and his armies ever did. What an empress she would have been…
But as I said, no enemy since has come close to my heart. Tormenting her with my victories was part of a daily game that brought me great amusement.
Sending that whole hateful island to hell almost made my loss worthwhile.
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