It had not been long since Ar-Pharazôn had himself crowned King of Numenor.  But that had made little change in the great harbor-city of Umbar.

For generations, Umbar had been essentially the capital of the Numenorian viceroyalty in the northwest of Middle-Earth.  The Faithful might flock to Pelargir on Anduin, but the King's Men ruled from Umbar.  And so, when Tar-Palantir King of Numenor had declared himself Faithful and banned sorcery and reopened the road to the Hallow of Illuvatar on the Holy Mountain - Gimilkhad his brother had decamped to Umbar and ruled as viceroy from there while winking at all the decrees from the King.  After Gimilkhad had died, his son Pharazôn had done the same.  

And then, Pharazôn had declared himself King.

At that, Tar-Palantir had finally bestirred himself to do something about Umbar (both Pharazôn and Míriel agreed on that phrasing).  But now, Tar-Palantir was dead in battle, and his daughter Míriel had offered her hand in marriage to Ar-Pharazôn in exchange for peace and unity.

The two armies still faced each other on the coast of Middle-Earth somewhere between Pelargir and Umbar, and the news still had not reached the Isle of Numenor itself.  At some point, the new King and Queen would return to Armenelos in Numenor for their formal coronation and wedding, but - everyone was sure - the uneasy truce needed to set better first.

It wasn't yet two weeks after their betrothal that Tar-Míriel and Ar-Pharazôn were walking by the seashore.  Pharazôn had proposed it, for a place midway between their armies; Míriel had gladly accepted.  After all, it was usual to go courting before getting married.  And they did want to to know each other better.

After some talk about their armies, and about Pharazôn's previous visits to Numenor, they fell silent for a minute.  Míriel paused to listen to the waves thumping on the shore.  "Osse is beautiful today," she said.

Pharazôn grunted.  "And to think we thwarted his schemes, and the Music of the World, and all that.  No war, but peace.  We're reigning together."

Míriel shook her head.  "I don't think that way.  We don't know what the Music is.  It moves at its own tempo, regardless of what we might do.  And if the Valar are planning something - we don't know that either."

Pharazôn looked at her with surprise.  "Your father never would've said that."

"I'm not my father."

After a moment, Pharazôn gave one brief nod.  "Then let's see what the tempo is from here, as we rule."