This is just a WIP for my Futuristic Numenor AU (part of my Space Silmarillion AU). I’m still working on it, so things will definitely change :).
In the large hall, the soft murmurs of polite whispers was the only sound. Staying at an acceptable volume, the murmurings were enough to fill the room entirely, as high as the silver domed ceiling. Statues of men and women long dead lined the edges, very stately in their attire. Windows of colored glass cast rainbows onto the marble floor below. In them, had been depicted the great Numenorean deeds of the past. And, every few moments, the images in the the glass was set to shift, alternating the tinted fragments into another moving image. Ar-Pharazon loved to stare at the glass as he sat on his high seat, pretending that he was the one taking part in the valiant exploits of his forefathers. How easy it was to forget the truth. Lose oneself in such pretty rose-tinted tales. Intoxicating. Exhilarating. Addicting.
Ar-Pharazon didn’t mind, though. He was one of them in truth, an omnipotent and imposing figure destined to be written in myth. Great and powerful, a mighty iron-fisted emperor of Numenor. The planet of technological gift. Beautiful and fair in her polished majesty.
Which was why, Sauron, the Dark Commander of the Mordor, was now his slave. Prisoner, he reminded himself.
Standing around the raised chair, huddled a group of his usual fawning “yes men”. In Pharazon’s mind, they never seemed to leave, always clustered around him like a flock of puffed-up neon birds. As always, they all attempted to parade themselves wearing the latest fashion that Pharazon forced upon them (which now happened to be feathers from a rare bird on the nearby moon of Umbar). The emperor fancied himself to be an expert on the subject, coming up with the newest trend. Ever quick to please, the group would tolerate the ridiculous outfits, never objecting. Next phase, it might be outlandish headdresses. However, Pharazon would never be caught dead wearing his own creations. It gave him great happiness to see the uncomfortable expressions attempting to be hidden by the wide toothy grins.
Grasping with an outstretched ring-covered hand, Pharazon took a tiny handheld device from a table floating close. Speaking into it, he said in his booming voice:
“Get that slime up here now, Amandil!”
After receiving no response, he repeated his command in an even louder voice:
“Amandil, you idiot, are you deaf?!”
A responding voice finally crackled through:
“Just a minute, sir. Right away.”
He was about to throw the device back down, when he stopped himself, bring it back to his lips with a sneer:
“Make sure that he’s in cuffs. I won’t have him trying anything funny in my assembly room.”
Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Pharazon finally dropped the device to one side, not caring where it fell. One of his entourage would get it.
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