Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Full Circle (#2776)
Author: Laurelin
Chapters: 126

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Crossovers
Description: Buffy and the gang decide to wage war on The First and close all the remaining Hellmouths. With the aid of the mystical amulet, Buffy is transported to the First Age of Middle-earth where she encounters the Elves and Dwarves of the Eldar Days. Buffy/Silmarillion crossover. Post Buffy & Angel series finales. Buffy & all related characters belong to Joss Whedon. All Silmarillion characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The ones you never heard of, they belong to me. Please read & review.
Published: 16 Jun 2006
Updated: 10 May 2010
Warnings: language & violence
Type: Action/adventure
Characters: Buffy; Thingol; Melian; Mablung; sons of F


Chapter 1 - CHAPTER ONE: REVELATIONS

The rain beat against the mullion windows of the library at Lindon Hall. Buffy looked up as the flash of lightning was followed by a rumbling crack of thunder that shook the castle down to its foundations.

Typical English weather, thought Buffy. She glanced back down at the amulet that she fingered in her hand as another flash lit up the English countryside.

Yes, the same amulet that Spike had worn three years ago to shut the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. Angel had sent it to her as a peace offering during his stint at Wolfram & Hart. It was a token of his good will towards her; she thought it was more like a bribe. He used it as a way to entice her to come to L.A. and aid him in his war with The Circle of the Black Thorn. And he desperately needed her help. They had all thought that Angel had gone to the dark side with his irrational behavior and being in charge of the L.A. offices of that evil law firm run by demons. It seemed so against the true nature of Angel. Nevertheless, Buffy kept a close eye on him and a safe distance.

Angel's Apocalypse, (that’s how the Council referred to it), was probably the worst battle that Buffy had ever fought in. It was greater than the one with Glory and much longer. Her blood alone would not shut those doors that had opened. And L.A. wasn’t even on a Hellmouth! The battle was devastating. Many Slayer lives were lost. But they had won! And that’s all that counts in the end, right?

Buffy’s life had changed so much since leaving California. She, the Scoobies, and Giles had immediately left the country for England. It only made sense since all their homes had been sucked into Hell. Furthermore, it was now up to Giles to take charge of the Council. None of the surviving Watchers dared to argue with him as he had an army of Slayers, led by Buffy, to back him up. And of course, our favorite witch as well.

They had jetted off to Giles’ estate first, which became their temporary headquarters. While there, Giles tried to contact all the surviving Watchers throughout the world. The Watchers were notified about Willow’s spell that had activated all the potential Slayers in the world. There were now eight hundred and thirty-seven of them, to be exact, all over the world, all needing training and guidance. Willow had tipped the scales in their favor so dramatically with that one spell. She had become more like a magically inclined Slayer, she fought with the Big Bads as much as the other girls. She could stand alone, and that was saying something.

With the aid of the other Slayers that the gang had already found, they began searching far and wide for the rest of the magically enhanced girls scattered throughout the world. A seemingly difficult task, but it wasn’t so. Whenever a potential Slayer was born, her name magically appeared in a book called Futurus de Librum (Book of Potentials). That was the tool that the Watchers had used in the past to find their girl. It now listed all the Slayers that had been activated, regardless of age. Buffy would soon discover what resources the Council had at its disposal, and when she got a clear reading on things – she was pissed.

First of all, the Council had so much money at their disposal that it nearly made Buffy vomit. She had no idea that their funding came from nearly every country on the planet; something like a demon fund. Whenever one of the contributing countries had a monster problem, they contacted the Council and the Slayer was dispatched to fix said problem. Yet for some reason, only the Watchers got any money. No Slayer received a paycheck. The thought of that really hit Buffy hard. She recalled, all too clearly, how she wasn’t able to pay her bills and had nearly lost her home. All the while, the Watchers lived in the lap of luxury. But no more. Buffy would see to that.

The reorganization was still under way and Buffy played a great role in that. Slayers now got paid for one thing. If one was going to put one’s ass on the line, one should be compensated well for it. There was plenty to go around. And the countries that did not contribute to the fund would not be without the aid of a Slayer if they had a demon problem; they were there to help everyone.

Buffy, Xander and Willow assisted Giles with setting up headquarters in London. The new building was finally completed and up and running. They all ended up taking positions at the Council. None of them wanted to be a Watcher, but the need for them was so great that they didn’t have much choice. They all had a lot of experience fighting the good fight, and that alone qualified them for their seats. Buffy became second in command to Giles since she was selected champion of their cause. She would see to it that the girls were protected.

But don’t think that everything was work, work, work with the Scoobies. No way! They had spent a few months with Giles after they had averted the Apocalypse and then left for Italy. Willow had no idea how precious a gift she had given Buffy by activating the Potentials. She had a life now; she could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Freedom; she hadn’t had that since she had been Called. She now had the opportunity to see the world and the whole of Europe was only a train ride away. The Slayer chose to go to Italy first because of the excellent food and the hot guys. Tall, dark and handsome - that’s how Buffy liked her men. And she had found him, too: Allandro. He was known throughout the underworld as The Immortal, and he was indeed a very interesting character. His commitment to fighting evil seemed ambiguous at times, according to Giles and the other Watchers, but he had always been incredibly sweet and helpful to Buffy since their first meeting at the Via della Croce in Rome.

Allandro was older than old. He was very perceptive, wise, caring, loving, strong and gorgeous. He had become one of Buffy’s closest allies as well as her lover. While the Slayer still shared a flat with her sister, she spent many a night at Allandro’s palazzo on the outskirts of Rome. Hell, she pretty much lived there. Dawn was now going to college in that infamous city, studying ancient languages, and demanded much quiet time at home. That was a little too much for Buffy, not that she was some wild party animal or something. Perhaps the demons that constantly smashed through their windows late at night had something to do with it. She really didn’t know. Regardless, she stayed away from the apartment for the most part, giving Dawnie the peace that she desired.

After three years in Europe, the time had arrived for the Slayer to devote herself to the consistent problem that had plagued Mankind prior to their creation - The First. The First had never left Buffy’s mind and he was ever in her thoughts. Recently, she developed a strong desire to resume the fight against him while they still had the upper hand. She was convinced that they could close all the remaining Hellmouths in the world and lock that son-of-a-bitch out of their dimension for good. With much effort, she convinced the others of that too.

Willow had done a spell to find the location of all the Hellmouths. There were twelve altogether yet with the closing of the one in Sunnydale that left eleven. There was one in North America, five in Europe, one in South America, two in Asia, one in Africa and one in Central America. They had dispatched recon squads to find the exact location of each one. Once they determined where the sites were, they could proceed on.

After nearly four months, there was still no word from the recon squads. As soon as they reported their findings to the Council, Buffy and the others would head back to England to finalize her plan. They still had some obstacles, though. The main one was that they only had the one amulet and eleven Hellmouths to close. The Council had all their best people working on deciphering the amulet’s mystical properties in hope of obtaining some type of solution.

In the mean time, Buffy continued her every day patrolling. Rome was indeed a hub of evil activity. While it wasn’t on a bocca inferno, there were still a lot of beastly creatures roaming about. One thing that Buffy had come to realize was that retirement was not an option for a Slayer. No matter how much one wants to avoid the Calling, you can’t turn away from it; it’s definitely a part of who you are. The need to hunt, to slay; its part of a Slayer’s essence. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t run away from your destiny.



As the days passed and the New Year rolled in, there was still no word from the recon squads. Winter had arrived in full force and the winds howled with a determined fury that cut you right to the bone. It was at that time when Buffy started experiencing weird dreams. One of them stood out most in her mind…

The Slayer was standing in a spectacular, deserted city carved into the side of a monstrous rock cliff overlooking a large bay. The smell of salt wafted in the air, the sun’s warm rays beamed down upon her. She was dressed in a white gossamer gown that billowed behind her as she descended the carved stairway. The stone steps felt cool beneath her bare feet.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she ambled towards the docks. It was dead quiet; even the water seemed to be abnormally still. Buffy sat at the edge of the pier, her legs dangled over the end of the platform. She sensed that she was waiting for someone, that she was expected.

“You made it, Bella,” she heard an all too familiar voice breaking the silence. She turned her head; Allandro was standing beside her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” It seemed odd to Buffy to see her lover wearing blue robes. She couldn’t help but notice that he was barefoot too.

“Just got here,” she replied, turning her eyes back to the water. “Where are we?”

“Ahh,” he responded with a sigh as he sat down next to her. “Yes, I expect you don’t remember.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t remember?’ I’ve never seen this place before. I would definitely remember.” Buffy had never seen a city like that before. She would most certainly remember visiting a place that she found so captivating.

Allandro laughed. She faced him, immediately she noticed the amulet hanging from his neck.

“Perhaps you don’t.” He started swinging his dangling legs. “It doesn’t matter. This is Lindon. Beautiful, isn’t it, Bella?” Allandro had never called her by her birth name; he always called her Bella since their first meeting.

“Yeah. But where’s all the people? Why is it deserted?”

“That doesn’t matter. There haven’t been people here in a long while.” He sighed before taking her hand in his. “It has been deserted for many ages, but that doesn’t matter.”

“You keep saying that!” retorted the Slayer, her annoyance quite obvious. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“You brought us here, did you not? It’s your dream, not mine.” Allandro shifted his gaze back to the still waters. “This, Bella, is where it all began.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Buffy, her confusion and irritation was growing by the moment.

“Your kin,” he answered.

“Slayers? I thought the first Slayer came from Africa?” asked a still confused Buffy.

“That is true. I’m not talking about the Slayer. I’m talking about the Watchers. The first Watcher came from Lindon long ago.”

“What has that got to do with me?” she asked, wishing that he would just get to the point.

“Everything!” replied Allandro as he locked eyes with her. “It has everything to do with you. You have been given false information about the origins of the Slayer. The Slayer wasn’t inflicted with the essence of a demon. Not by a long shot,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “The Slayer possesses great powers from the Gods themselves, powers to do good in such an evil and corrupt world. It’s important that you know that.”

“Why?”

“Because the time draws near.” He fell silent for a few moments. They both looked at the blue water again. “‘You think you know. What’s to come, what you are… You haven’t even begun’.”

A chill crept over Buffy when she heard those ominous words. She quickly faced her lover. “Okay, now you’ve given me the wiggins.” She couldn’t help but notice that he no longer wore the amulet, it was now resting on its silver chain around her neck. “What the hell does that mean, Allandro? Straight answer!”

“It’s simple; your time has now come. You are coming into your own. You are much greater than you think. Don’t you see that you’re no ordinary Slayer? For Christ’s sake, Bella, you’ve died twice! How many people can say that? Not too many, I deem.” His deep grey eyes searched hers; they expressed both his love and fascination of her. “Tomorrow you will receive the call from Giles saying that all the Hellmouths have been located… Your destiny awaits you.”

“See, that’s what I mean,” snapped Buffy before pulling her hand away and getting to her feet. “One simple question, that’s all I ask. And you give me a bunch of mumbo jumbo bullshit.” She glared at him. “What the hell am I? Can you answer that?”

Allandro rose to his feet as well. He towered over Buffy. “It’s not a simple question. Besides, I’m not in the position to answer that.”

“Then why are we here? And why is the amulet around my neck when you were wearing it when you got here?”

“Calm down, uccisora.” He very seldom called her Slayer in Italian. “As I was saying, the time has come. The amulet was made for you. It belongs to no other.”

“But Angel said… ”

“Ugh, Angelus,” sneered her lover. Allandro now wore a frown on his handsome face. “Angelus wants the glory for himself. He would alter your destiny if he had the chance.” Before she could voice her thoughts on the matter, he began again, “The amulet must be worn by a champion, and you are that champion... ”

She cut him off. “If that’s the case, then how am I supposed to shut all the Hellmouths with one amulet? I need ten more if we’re gonna do this thing right.”

“Ah, that is also true. I can help you there.” He smiled knowingly at her.

“So you just happen to have ten very powerful amulets lying around the palazzo?” Buffy asked sarcastically.

“Indeed. I knew at some point that you would ask me about them. I was hoping it would have been sooner. Nevertheless, I can help you. I will give you all the amulets in my possession. It is imperative that you must wear the amulet given to you by Angelus. That one… ” He took a deep breath. “That one was made especially for you. The others you may give to the Slayers who are willing to go on such an important mission.”

“That sounds kinda… cryptic,” replied the Slayer.

“It’s all about destiny, Bella. It’s all about destiny.”

Buffy looked intently at Allandro. A gentle breeze had picked up from the west. The sudden sound of a ringing telephone broke the silence.

“Do you hear that?” she asked. Allandro did not respond. She looked around to see where the sound was coming from. When her eyes fell upon Allandro again, he was covered in blood…



Buffy woke with a start, only to find herself back in bed. It was just a dream. The phone on the nightstand was still ringing. She glanced at Allandro who still slept soundly beside her. She picked up the receiver, “Ciao?”

“Good morning, Buffy,” greeted the voice of Giles. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Buffy glanced at the clock; it was five forty-six in the morning.

“It’s okay. What’s going on?”

“I’m happy to report that the recon squads have finally arrived back. They, um, have found the precise location of all eleven Hellmouths. We also believe that we’ll be able to take some of the mystical properties from the amulet in our possession and transfer it into the ten other… ”

“No!” injected Buffy, as she quickly sat upright in bed. “Don’t let them do that, Giles. We can’t alter that one... I think I may have found the solution to our dilemma.” She glanced down at the sleeping form of Allandro.

“But.. but Buffy… ” stammered Giles. “H-how? When did you get… ”

“I haven’t got it yet, but I will. Get in touch with the others. I’ll call you when I have them.” She hung up the receiver and glanced down at Allandro. She decided to let him sleep a while longer.

She crawled out of bed and pulled her robe over her flannel pajamas. Caffeine. That’s what the Slayer was craving. She slowly descended the stairs catching a whiff of freshly brewed coffee. Following the aroma towards the kitchen, she heard Giovanni singing to himself from behind the swinging door. She stopped and listened, as he had a beautiful voice, especially for a demon. He was singing Don’t Fear the Reaper, the song by Blue Oyster Cult. She chuckled to herself, finding that an odd song to hear at the moment.

Buffy swung open the door and Giovanni greeted her with a perky, “Buongiorno, uccisora.”

“Buongiorno,” she replied with a yawn. She made her way to the breakfast bar and climbed up on a barstool.

“You’re up awfully early,” he commented as he brought her over a cappuccino. “Did you not sleep well?”

She took a sip of the steaming coffee, inhaling the fumes that would soon bring her to life. “Um, yeah. I slept okay.”

“Hungry? I’ve got biscotti, cannoli’s… ”

Buffy raised her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “Just the coffee.” He seemed a little disappointed.

Giovanni was actually a most excellent cook, though a little… odd. He reminded Buffy of the Incredible Hulk except he wasn’t green; he was yellow. He looked like a big bulky guy with a real bad case of jaundice. His eyes were completely red except for his enormous pupils, which were black. It was as if someone beat the hell out of him and broke every blood vessel in both eyes. They looked quite creepy. His skin, (if you want to call it that), was similar to a lizards. Overall, he was a decent fellow.

“I take it that Signore is still sleeping,” he said, helping himself to a biscotti.

“Yeah,” answered Buffy with yet another yawn. She watched the demon for a few moments. She wondered if he knew about the amulets. “Let me ask you something, Giovanni,” began the Slayer. “You’ve been Allandro’s, um, man-servant for a while now.”

“Sì, for nearly seven hundred years,” he answered, nodding his head enthusiastically.

Buffy felt slightly uncomfortable, but continued, “Has Allandro ever mentioned anything to you about any amulets?”

“Sì. My Signore discusses many things with me,” answered Giovanni with a smile. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, clutching his mug full of coffee with both hands. The demon’s unusual eyes looked keenly into hers. He seemed to be relishing the moment, as though he had been waiting for Buffy to ask him that question. “He has many ancient artifacts from the day.”

“Hmm,” sounded Buffy before draining the contents of her cup. Giovanni quickly refilled it. Already, she could feel the effects of the caffeine. “Has he ever mentioned amulets in connection with me?”

“Sicuramente. He has said to me, ‘Why hasn’t Bella asked from me what she so desperately needs?’ And I say to him, ‘It’s a matter of time, Signore.’”

“Oh.” That little revelation left Buffy stunned. She wondered why Allandro didn’t just fess up and tell her that he had the missing piece of the puzzle.

“I hear Signore coming now,” remarked the demon. He hastily began pulling out pans and the smell of bacon and eggs soon permeated through the massive kitchen. He greeted his master affectionately before placing a cup of espresso in his hand.

“Good morning, Bella,” said Allandro; he kissed her on her forehead. “You’re up early.”

“Giles called. Recon squads are back,” she answered.

“Excellent,” replied her lover with a smile as he made his way to the table. “I take it that you will soon be leaving for London? I must confess that I’m disappointed that they have returned so soon. I was hoping we could take a trip to Morocco. The weather has been ghastly.”

“Allandro, do you have some amulets that will help me in my fight against The First?” she blurted out. She thought that question would surprise him, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest.

He chewed on his bacon while Buffy waited with nervous anticipation. It seemed like it was taking him forever to swallow his food.

“Why yes, I think that I have some trinkets lying around that may work for you.”

“You’ve had them all this time? Why didn’t you say anything?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Buffy had talked about that dilemma for several months now, and he had never said one word about having the amulets that would help her close the Hellmouths.

“You never asked,” replied Allandro matter-of-factly before shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Ask and you shall receive,” he added as he chewed his victuals. Giovanni then approached his master with a wooden box with several unusual symbols on it that Buffy didn’t recognize. “Come Bella, have a seat.” Buffy jumped off the barstool and sat in the chair next to Allandro. He put his fork down, took the box from Giovanni, and placed it on the table. “I knew at some point you would ask about these.”

“I figured you might volunteer the info,” she said disappointedly.

“Don’t be sad. You now have what you need for your war.” He opened the box, and for an instant Buffy could have sworn that she smelled sulfur. The odor quickly dissipated, the only scent was the cedar from the box. Ten amulets, similar to the one that Angel had given her, fit snugly in the little compartments inside the wooden case. Gold velvet cloth lined the interior of the box. “I’ll have Giovanni set them on silver chains for you. One might find it hard to fight while grasping this all the while.” He held an amulet in his hand, got up, and made some ridiculous fighting motions. Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. That seemed to be what Allandro was going for. “Let’s call this any early birthday gift.”

“Grazie,” she said softly as Allandro handed her the box. “I owe you one.”

He laughed heartily. “Famous last words.” Buffy looked at him oddly. “I’ll keep you at your word.” He gently lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “You are a true champion, Bella. I believe in you. But now, if you don’t mind,” he placed his hands on the box, “I’d like to get Giovanni to put these on those chains.” Buffy let him take the box from her. He handed it over to Giovanni who soon left the room.


Chapter 2 - CHAPTER TWO: FAMILY

CHAPTER TWO: FAMILY



It was only a week later when Buffy decided it was time to head back to England. She had been contemplating whether they should make their war before or after her birthday. It was approaching fast and she couldn’t make up her mind to act now or wait. She knew that was being selfish. It would be nice to have one more Buffy birthday blow out before the war, she thought. But then again, death and mayhem are pretty much typical for any of my parties. She chuckled to herself as many memorable birthdays from her past came to mind. Better not wait, she concluded. The First might catch wind of what we’re up to and that could destroy our chances of catching him off guard. Act now before it’s too late, she concluded.

After saying her farewells to Allandro and his staff, she took one of the Council’s private jets back to Heathrow. Everybody else had arrived a few days earlier and they were now anxiously awaiting Buffy’s return. Although the trip was not very long, it was a bumpy ride. The weather sucked in England too. Freezing and snowy. Buffy realized how much she took living in California for granted. A part of her was desperately yearning for home. The warm climate year round. Instead she was here in the motherland, home to her ancestors. She made a mental note to look into moving back to any city other than Los Angeles if she survives the upcoming battle.

She bypassed the Council’s headquarters and headed straight to Lindon Hall. As she was chauffeured up the long and winding drive she couldn’t help but think of how much this place reminded her of Hogwarts. It doesn’t look exactly like the castle in the movies, but very similar. Especially now with everything covered in snow. Linden Hall. It was a nice change of scenery from the city as it is situated on 1500 pristine acres. There are several lakes and beautiful woods and vast rolling pastureland that the Council used for grazing sheep, goats and cows. But most importantly; it was private. This is where the Slayers are trained and the castle houses the extensive library of the Councils as well as its treasury of many priceless artifacts.

The Watchers had used this as a retreat for centuries. There were many people who called this their home. Witches, sorcerers, prophets, scientists, healers and craftsmen of all trades were among those who dwelled in this ancient structure. It had been quite a while since Buffy had been here. She had mostly met with the gang in London.

As the car came to a halt, Buffy exited the vehicle, slightly disappointed that nobody was there to greet her. She pulled the collar up on her coat in an attempt to keep that bitter wind off her neck. Only a few more steps, she thought as she got closer to the large front doors. “Finally,” she said aloud and she wrenched open the heavy door. It was almost an immediate relief to step inside the massive vestibule. The heat of the building was delightful to anyone who had been outside only moments before. “Honey, I’m home,” she proclaimed in a cheery voice. No one answered. William followed her in with her luggage and then he too, disappeared. “Hello?” Buffy shouted, so that her voice echoed throughout the entrance hall. “Anybody home?”

Around the corner came Mabry. He was Lindon Hall’s resident butler. He knew what was going on around this place more than anybody. Very much like Argus Filch, but a helluva lot nicer. “Good afternoon, Miss. Summers. I hope you had a pleasant flight. Let me take your coat.”

“Thanks Mabry,” she replied. “A little bit too much turbulence for my liking. Where is everybody?” That was a stupid question to ask. As there were over three hundred occupants in this castle at any give time, Mabry began to name off people Buffy never heard of and their precise location. “Let me simplify that for you Mabry. Where’s Giles?”

“Oh, sorry miss. It’s my job to know what’s going on within these walls. Mr. Giles can be found in the drawing room on the fourth floor. Would you like for me to escort you there?”

“No thanks, I know the way.” Buffy began ascending the stairs.

“Perhaps some tea and biscuits?” He inquired below her.

“That’ll be great,” she answered back. “Oh Mabry, if you have any chocolate chip cookies…”

“Of course.” Mabry disappeared as Buffy climbed up to the fourth floor. It was quite easy to get lost in this place. She walked along the corridor following the worn out path on the hardwood floors that hundreds before her had tread. She glanced at some of the portraits on the wall not recognizing anyone in them. She really didn’t care, any way.

The doors to the drawing room were closed when Buffy got there. She knocked and waited for a response. “Come in,” she heard Giles say. She slid the pocket door open, entered and closed it behind her. “Oh, Buffy, you arrived. Excellent.” He got up from a winged back chair and made his way over to her. “You look well.” He gave her a hug. “It’s good to see that Allandro has been keeping you well fed…..”

A look of complete horror came upon Buffy’s face. “Well fed?! Do you mean I look fat?” Buffy glanced at her body to see if she was somehow much bigger than last time she had seen Giles. She had put on a few pounds, but not that much.

“Um, no. No, of course not. It’s just...it’s just good to see you put a little weight on. You looked under nourished the last time I saw you.” He pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them on a handkerchief he pulled out of his trouser pocket. “You look lovely.”

“Nice save,” she smirked as she plopped down onto the couch. “Giovanni’s a great cook. Not too pleasing on the eyes, but he’s got a good heart.” Giles sat back down into his chair. Several newspapers were scattered on the coffee table. “What’s this?” She began picking up various papers from different countries.

“Oh, yes. Well, since we discovered the locations of the Hellmouths I thought I would check on the demonic activities in those places….”

Buffy laughed. “Giles, you know that stuff’s not gonna be printed in the local paper.” She tried to muffle her laughter as a look of disappointment came upon Giles face. “The undergrounds the way to go. You know…the usual places.”

“Well, um, it doesn’t hurt to search all avenues when dealing with these creatures. Besides, take a look,” he showed her a newspaper that was written in some language that Buffy didn’t know. “It’s right here in black and white.” Buffy raised her eye brows. Was she supposed to know what this said? Or was old age finally catching up to Giles. Dawn was the master of languages, not Buffy. “It’s Arabic,” he continued after noticing her facial expression. “There has been a mass exodus from this region,” he pointed to the little map that was included in the article. “Something’s up….”

Buffy interrupted him. “Giles, there’s a war going on there. Of course people are going to be fleeing for their lives.”

Giles sighed as though Buffy brain was full of marbles or something. “Pay attention Buffy. The war is being fought here. That’s over two hundred miles away.”

“Don’t bite my head off!” she retorted. “What has this got to do with anything?”

“That,” he said pulling off his glasses and tossing them on the table. “That is where the Hellmouth is.”

“So,” she began. “It’s just like it was in Sunnydale, right? People are sensing that there’s some evil mo jo at work and leaving. That’s good, right?”

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh. “Perhaps it’s a good thing. It may mean there will be less casualties or it may mean that The First is already up to some mischief in those parts. Um, I don’t know Buffy…I’m afraid….” At that moment there was a knock on the door and Mabry entered carrying a silver tray laden with goodies. He sat the tray on the table. “That’s fine Mabry, you may go.” Giles picked up the tea pot and began filling their cups. He seemed to be waiting for Mabry to leave before continuing the conversation.

When Mabry was gone and Giles still didn’t say anything, Buffy broke the silence, “What is it Giles?” She could tell that there was something wrong.

He took a sip of his tea and continued, “I’m afraid that The First may know what we’re up to.”

“What?!” Buffy exclaimed, spilling tea down her blouse. “How’s that possible? We’ve only just found out about the Hellmouths a week ago. How the hell could he know what we’re up to?” She took the napkin that Giles offered her and began patting the soon to be stain on her blouse. She cursed under her breath.

“I’m afraid I may have something to do with that,” Giles began uneasily. “When we found out the location of the Hellmouths and, um, about you getting the amulets that we desperately needed, I, um, notified all the governments involved so that they could evacuate their people before the upcoming war.” Buffy opened her mouth, but Giles refused to let her speak. “Buffy, we’re talking millions of people here. We can’t ignore that fact. It is imperative that we get as many people out of the line of fire beforehand. You don’t understand politics. Especially when we’re dealing with some of these…leaders and dictators, we have to be very careful. We don’t want to cause a world wide incident.” He reached over and put his glasses back on. “I have called a meeting with the heads of the Anti-Demon League from the countries involved. They shall be here in two days time. We can go over our strategy at that time.”

Buffy stifled her true feelings on the matter. “How long before we can attack?” She asked as calmly as she could.

“Um, I would guess a matter of weeks…”

“Weeks?!” Buffy exclaimed. “We could loose the upper hand in that amount of time. The whole point was to go in quickly and quietly…”

“And leave millions of people to perish?” Giles asked exasperatedly. “I know you Buffy. You would not want that on your conscience. You couldn’t live with yourself knowing that….”

“I guess I just thought that the people would split like they did in Sunnydale. You know, sense some great evil and haul butt to the first town that didn’t give off any ominous vibes…”

“But The First isn’t as active in some places. Yes, we have noticed some activity around the Hellmouths, but nothing indicates that The First is preparing a war against us. We still have the upper hand,” added Giles with the emphasis on still. “Bear in mind, we’re the ones who are instigating this war, not The First. Those people may have no inclination that anything is amiss…as of yet.”

Buffy sighed and took another sip of tea. “I guess I just assumed Willow and The Coven could do some sort of spell to get everybody out of there.” She felt defeated. She knew that Giles was right, but she could not shake the feeling that this delay was going to cost them. She looked up at Giles, “Do you know these guys in that League thingy?”

“Some of them, yes, but not all. We’ll meet them soon. I expect you to be there.” He looked at her in a concerned lovingly fashion. “Things will work out Buffy. I promise.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Buffy drained the rest of her tea. Grabbing a cookie she decided to find her friends. They would make her feel better. She hoped so, any way.

After changing her top, she instinctively headed down to the second floor parlor. Opening the door she found the Scoobies watching a huge plasma screen TV. “Hey guys!” She was happy to see them.

“Hey, look gang! It’s the Buffster,” declared Xander. He got up as well as Willow, Dawn and Andrew. Kennedy was there also, but she remained in her seat. She really wasn’t a big fan of Buffy’s and she was still jealous of her relationship with Willow. Xander greeted her with a big bear hug. “Good to see ya, Buff.” The gang was watching Hellboy. “C’mon, have a seat.”

It had been a couple of weeks since she saw them. They caught up on what was going on and shared their concerns about the upcoming battle. The guys felt that Giles was right. Willow, who had gained a lot of confidence in the last few years regarding her magical abilities, wasn’t too anxious to go around the world casting spells to make people flee their homelands. “It could have disastrous results,” she had said. “I’d rather let the governments deal with that. But have no fear; we’re still gonna back you up. We’re behind you all the way.”

That made Buffy feel slightly better. But she still had that damn sense of foreboding since she found out about Giles’ disclosure to the ambassadors from the effected areas. No matter what she did, she couldn’t shake that thought. Hopefully in a couple of days, she could check out these people and see what kind of vibes she got off of them. The fact remained that most people in government or positions of power were rotten to the core.

Over the following twenty-four hours the snow stopped and was replaced by rain. Not a sweet gentle rain. But torrential down pours that made the castle gloomier than ever. Now that Buffy had settled in, she decided that it was time to select the final ten Slayers for her quest. There were two hundred and thirty two Slayers in residence. The others were scattered about the world. More would come once they were summoned, but Buffy felt it was better to keep the rest at a reasonably safe distance, just in case… All the Slayers currently at Linden Hall wanted to be one of the commanders of the upcoming war. It was Buffy’s job to choose which ones would get that honor (if you want to call it that).

All the girls were in one of the many conference halls. The one they were in was called The Needham Chamber, named after a deceased Watcher from long ago. Buffy climbed up onto the dais and faced her anxious audience. “Okay, guys,” she began attempting to get the girls to settle down. “QUIET!” She yelled and immediately all the girls shut up and faced her. “That’s more like it.” She could have sworn that he heard Kennedy mumble, ‘Kill me now. I hate Buffy’s pointless drawn out speeches.’ She also thought she heard Willow ‘Shh’ her.

Buffy ignored her comment. “As you all know we need ten more Slayers to lead the others into combat. I’m looking for those with experience, determination and leadership skills. Preferably those over the age of eighteen.” There were howls of protest from some of the younger Slayers after Buffy’s comment on age. “C’mon now,” she yelled trying to regain order once again. Once the girls quieted down, she continued, “You young girls don’t need to get so riled up. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you. We’re not talking about staking a few vamps here. This is a kamikaze mission. There’s no coming back! So, you need to consider that before you volunteer.” Buffy felt it was better to approach it that way as it might discourage some who weren’t totally committed to take on such a task.

The room broke out into anxious whispers. Jordan, a precocious sixteen year old, stood up. “Excuse me Buffy. But I’ve got something to say.” Buffy knew all too well that Jordan was going to argue about the age restriction. “I understand that you don’t want any of us younger girls to get…um, killed,” she said in her British accent. “But we’re Slayers first and foremost. It’s our destiny to fight…regardless of age. Were you not killed when you were my age?”

“Yeah, but that was different…” Buffy said solemnly.

“It’s always different when it comes to you,” shouted Kennedy. “The rules are always different when it comes to Buffy.” Buffy wanted to slap the shit out of Kennedy. Her deep love and respect for Willow prevented her from doing so.

Before Buffy could reply, Jordan looked sharply at Kennedy, “Shut it, you! If it wasn’t for Buffy you’d probably be dead! Don’t underestimate her abilities. She’s ten times the Slayer than you.” Buffy was grateful for Jordan’ comments, but Kennedy’s temper flared and so did many others. Buffy definitely thought it was ridiculous trying to reason with hundreds of teenage girls. She called off this “meeting” and decided that she would choose the ten herself. She would meet with each girl privately. The last thing she needed was a rebellion.

Jordan came up to Buffy later that morning pleading her case. She was an orphan. “I’d rather die a dignified death by closing a Hellmouth, Buffy. I have no family. I’ve worked hard and I’m really good at what I do. Please, give me a chance.” Jordan’s big brown eyes had begun to well with tears. She was just too adorable for words. Buffy hated the idea of sending her on such a mission.

“Listen Jordan,” Buffy spoke in a composed protective fashion. “You’re much too young to be sent out on this kind of mission. You’ve got your whole future ahead of you…And you’re not alone. We’re your family. All of us,” she saw the questionable expression on her face. “Yeah,” Buffy smirked. “Even Kennedy. She’s got some…issues.” She was now referring to Kennedy. “Don’t let her get under your skin.” She looked around, leaned forward and quietly said, “I always let what she says go in one ear and out the other. I find it’s the best way to deal with her. She’s accustomed to getting her own way.”

“Are you going to let her lead one of the teams?” Jordan asked straightforwardly.

Buffy looked at her for a moment. “Yes,” she replied. “She’s earned the right…”

“What about me, then? I deserve it as much as she.”

“Jordan, Kennedy was there last time. She helped…”

“I would’ve have helped…if I knew I was a Slayer, I mean. I’ve fought beside you. I’ve always listened to you. I never give you any lip. You’re…you’re my idol.” She looked down at the floor. Buffy felt horrible about the situation. If Jordan was eighteen, she would definitely be one of the commanders. She was awesome, no doubt about it.

“Let me think about it, okay?” Buffy said giving her a gentle pat on the back. “I just need to think a while.”

Jordan’s head shot up and Buffy could see the tears streaming down her face. “Okay,” she replied. “But keep in mind, Buffy, I’m better then Kennedy.” She turned around and walked off, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her shirt. Damn, thought Buffy. That girl’s determined.




After lunch, Buffy notified all ten Slayers who would be leading the teams. She wished she would have let Giles handle that. Now she was being confronted by so many pissed off girls. Buffy had relented and gave Jordan one of the coveted positions much to the dismay of the other young Slayers who were not chosen. But the fact remained that that girl could kick some demon butt. Buffy had seen her in action many times and had been impressed by her abilities. She fought better than Kennedy, too. Kennedy, of course, was also given a spot. Willow wasn’t too pleased, but Kennedy was determined. She is a Slayer after all.

Buffy did catch a bit of heat from Faith. She, too, wanted to lead a team. “Listen Faith,” Buffy had said to her. “Chances are I’m not coming back…this time. You need to stay. Take my place after…after it’s over.”

Faith actually was flattered that Buffy respected her enough to let her be in charge of the Slayers. Second in command was a great position to be in after all. “That’s cool, B,” she had told her. “I’m not one for gaudy pieces of … magical jewelry that sends you to hell or whatever. But I wanna fight. Let me fight with you. For old times sake.” Buffy laughed at that. She was more than happy to have Faith watching her back. Robin had been so good for Faith. Faith was amazed that they were still together.

We now fast forward back to Buffy in the library; fingering the amulet that Angel had given her. The storm was still raging outside and in a few hours time the meeting with the ambassadors would begin. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She felt cold and stiff. She caught so much hell from a number of Slayers in the past twenty four hours. She let them know that there was still a very good chance that they could have an “honorable death” just by showing up for battle. There were no guarantees in this business. The fact remains, no one wants to die. Even those who were selected don’t want to die. As long as there is life, there is hope. Death was not something that they could control. It’s was fate. Either you were meant to be here or not.

Buffy placed the amulet back into the black satin pouch and put it in her pocket. She picked up the book she had been reading for like the millionth time and walked over to the sofa. After getting into a comfortable position she began to peruse her book, The Origins of Evil. Allandro had given it to her about a year ago. She was interested in reading anything she could on The First. This ancient book was translated from Latin to English by Allandro hundreds of years ago. It was beautiful, really. Handwritten and all. She had been studying the text so much she nearly had it memorized. (Willow and Giles were so proud). In it, she discovered the name of The First; Bauglir. It told of him being thrown out of this dimension many millennia ago by The Powers That Be. But having such powers himself, he was able to punch holes into this dimension. In spirit form, he is able to come here and visit his emissaries and advise them on the corruption and destruction of mankind.

The Slayers’ job, if they could, was to close those windows or hellmouths so that his emissaries would be trapped in either this world or that one. The ones remaining here would be hunted down and destroyed. Their corrupted spirits would be sent to The Deeper Well where they would abide until the end of time. Those on the other side would be unable to come through and would remain in The Void as The Powers deemed fit long ago. That was Buffy’s plan any way.

“It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” asked Willow who had entered the room unbeknownst to Buffy. She was still engrossed in her book. “Buffy?”

Buffy finally realized Willow was sitting at the other end of the sofa. “Huh? Sorry Will. Just…”

“Reading about Bauglir, again” she said finishing Buffy’s sentence as her eyes glanced at the book.

“You know me so well,” replied Buffy with a slight grin, shutting the book.

“Well, it was pretty obvious, ya’know. I think that’s the only book I’ve seen you read more than once. As a matter of fact,” she pretended to be thinking hard. “That’s the only book I’ve seen you read since we’ve been out of school.” Willow followed her statement with suppressed giggles.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. You should be a comedian. And for your information, I have read many…magazines. I’m not the book worm type.” She shot back sarcastically.

“No, I guess you have other things to deal with,” said Willow. They sat there quietly for a few minutes. “Buffy, can I ask you something?” asked Willow breaking the silence. Buffy nodded in response. “Are you afraid…afraid of fighting The First? Um, I mean Bauglir.” Before Buffy could answer Willow continued, “You just seem so damn calm with all this craziness going on. I mean, you know, you…you might die.”

Buffy looked sympathetically at her friend. She knew this question was on Willows mind for some time. It didn’t faze Buffy at all. Cheerfully Buffy responded, “Sure I’m afraid. A little, any way. But if it works and we win then it’s definitely worth it. Besides, death doesn’t stop me now does it? Not when I’ve got friends like you and Xander around to bring me back…”

“But what if we can’t bring you back? There was only one Urn of Osiris!” Her voice was beginning to crack. The Urn was smashed by the demon biker gang at the time of Buffy’s resurrection. “And I think Osiris is still pretty pissed at me from last time…”

Buffy interrupted her this time. “Don’t worry Will. I don’t expect you to bring me back if I die. And I don’t want you to,” she added before Willow could interrupt. “I’m not afraid of death. Not at all. I know you guys aren’t too keen on…what’s going on. But it’s something that I have to do. I can’t explain it, but my gut has been telling me for a while now that this needs to be finished.” She smiled at Willow. “And I’d rather finish it on my terms, not his. I hope you understand that.”

“Well,” started Willow. “I know you have that intense Slayer intuition and all, but Dawnie seems to think that you still have that whole death wish thingy going on,” she added the emphasis on death wish thingy.

Buffy laughed loudly at that. So much so that Willow even smiled. “No, no, no. A definite no. Dawn’s an adult now. I fulfilled my obligation. That doesn’t mean that I don’t love her or that I don’t care about her.” She thought carefully about her next words, “It’s my destiny, Will. I know that I’m supposed to do this. We’re all supposed to do this. Let’s just say it’s all of our destinies. We were destined to meet in Sunnydale and look where it’s brought us today.”

“We’ve come a long way, too, haven’t we?” stated Willow. “I can’t believe all the stuff we’ve been through. It seems like it was only yesterday when I saw my first vamp…”

“And now look at you,” Buffy said with affection. “You can kick some major demon ass. Plus, we couldn’t have closed the Hellmouth without you. You’re a helluva witch to boot.”

“That’s my witchy Willow,” said another voice; it was Xander. He sauntered into the room and took a seat on the coffee table, facing the girls. “So, what are you guys talking about?”

“Just the impending Apocalypse,” answered Willow. “And,” she glanced at Buffy, “mortality.”

“The two go hand in hand,” said Xander. “Nothing says death like a good old fashioned Apocalypse.” He began rubbing his hand together excitedly. “I’m ready to kick some über-ass.”

“As long as you don’t get your über-ass kicked,” joked Buffy.

Xander rose to his feet, feinting that he was insulted. “What a thing to say and from Buffy Summers, no less. Just because I’m not the man I use to be, doesn’t mean that I can’t….”

“Oh Xander, sit down,” laughed Willow as she pulled him back down onto the table.

“Yeah, Xan. You know we’ve all got our butts kicked many times. We’ve just got to make sure that we take out more of them then us,” said Buffy. “Feeling up to the challenge, Mr. Harris?”

“You ladies know damn well that we’ll face whatever nasties are coming for us together,” he replied. “Just like old times.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” asked Willow. “I mean, we use to fight together in all the big battles and a lot of the smaller ones. Now, it’s like we’re sent on different missions by ourselves…or with a gaggle of teenage girls.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” interjected Xander. “Especially the training sessions! There’s nothing like taking a tumble with a pretty….”

“Xander!” Buffy exclaimed with an air of mocked disgust. “They’re too young for you. Besides, in some countries you can be castrated for rolling around with underage girls.”

“Thank God we live in a civilized country,” he replied.

“You can still go to jail,” added Willow.

“Ladies, ladies. There’s no need to be jealous. There’s plenty of me to go around. And FYI, I only fool around with the legal ones,” he answered.

“Demon ones is more like it,” murmured Willow under her breath. At that they all had a good laugh. Even living in Europe, Xander still somehow always ended up with some demon babe.

“I heard that Willow,” he shot back. “My hearing’s has become highly sensitive since the loss of my eye. Can’t miss anything now.”

“Hey, you know,” started Buffy. “You should see if the Council can make you one of those eyes like Mad Eye Moody has. That could definitely help the cause.”

“Yeah, then I could have X-ray vision to see underneath all those layers of clothes,” his one eye was becoming misty at the thought. “But,” he accepted the reality of the situation, “I really don’t like the whole false eye ball thing. My socket dries out. Nah. Just call me One Eye Harris.” Xander had been such a good sport about that. And Buffy thought that his other senses had become more acute since then, too.

“But,” started Xander again after they had a few laughs. “I must say Buff; it seems to take an Apocalypse before we see you nowadays. What gives? Is it Allandro? Is he more important than us?” he asked teasingly.

Buffy laughed. “Is that what you think it is? Cause I’ve been kicking some demon ass in Rome, thank you very much.”

“And Allandro has nothing to do with that?” asked Willow. “I mean we haven’t really seen you a lot recently.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” stated Buffy. “It’s just that…Allandro’s my first real grown up relationship. I mean, I never lived with anyone before. I might have spent the night or something, but never a day after day thing. You had Tara,” she said looking at Willow, then to Xander, “And you had Anya. I mean you guys lived together and got to find out each others quirks and stuff. It’s nice, you know. Waking up next to the one you love every day.”

“So you love him?” asked Xander. Buffy thought for a moment. “You have to think about it?”

“No,” answered Buffy. “I mean, no I don’t have to think about it. And yeah, yeah I do love him. It’s not that passionate love that I had with Angel, but I do love him.”

“What does he think about you being Hellmouth bound?” questioned Xander.

“Obviously, he supports her,” interjected Willow. “Why else would he had given her the amulets?” Willow had some ideas of her own, but she would never share them with Buffy. The thought was always looming in the back of her mind that Allandro was setting Buffy up. It was more than a coincidence that he just happened to have ten very powerful amulets that held the mystic cleansing energy to close the hellmouths. That’s why Willow wasn’t going to miss the chance to be at Buffy’s side when all hell breaks loose. If Allandro had something planned, she’d find out. So far her investigation of him turned up nil. He was clean.

“That’s right,” agreed Buffy. “I don’t know. Sometimes he seems determined for me to do it and then sometimes he seems like he doesn’t want me to. But I’m a big girl; I can make my own decisions. And my mind’s made up.”

“Well, you know we’re behind you a hundred and ten percent,” said Xander. “To the death,” he added. Willow immediately hit him in the arm hard. “Ow. Why did you do that for?” he asked as he rubbed his arm.

“You should have seen it coming,” retorted Willow, who was nudging her head in Buffy’s direction. Trying to be discrete, but failing miserably.

“My peripheral vision isn’t what it use to be,” he was still rubbing his arm. “And we’re all friends here. I don’t see what’s so offensive about….”

“I think its cause I’m probably gonna die, Xander,” said Buffy coolly. “It’s okay,” she continued. “We don’t have to beat around the bush. I’m comfortable about it.”

“Still…” whispered Willow. “It’s an odd conversation to be having.”

“We’ve had weirder ones,” added Xander.

“Enough of that talk,” said Buffy abruptly changing the subject. “Let me tell you what I’ve been thinking. Since this meeting with the ambassadors is going to cause us a delay, why don’t we have one more big party before the war? I mean, we could go to London or Milan or something. Just us…the family…”

“Hey,” interrupted Willow. “We can have a big Buffy birthday bash. It’s right around the corner any way. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” chimed in both Buffy and Xander at the same time. Since it was Buffy’s birthday, they wanted her to decide where to go. She didn’t want to stray too far from home in case they were summoned back to begin the war or something. But Willow had a solution to that (Buffy really wanted to go to Hawaii). She could open a portal to take them there instantaneously (this was a new skill that Willow had learned to master over the last couple of years). If they were needed back, she could get them back in a jiffy. Their plans were soon interrupted by Andrew, who informed them that the meeting would soon be starting and that they were needed in the Jaffe Conference Room.



Andrew led the way to the conference room that Buffy never heard of. The two large wooden doors were still open when they arrived. The room was massive. The entire chamber was constructed from marble; the floor, walls and ceiling. It was black with wavy white lines running through it that shimmered in the light. It was quite impressive. Seven enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling and emitted a rather dim light in relation to their size. A mahogany conference table that could comfortably seat one hundred people was situated in the center of the room. A large screen with a map of the world displayed on it was located against the far wall. Giles had a projector sitting on the table.

As Buffy, Xander, and Willow made their way in, Giles called out, “Buffy, over here, please.” Buffy noticed the various people from all over the world milling about the room. Some were picking up objects displayed on the assorted tables dispersed throughout the room. When they heard Buffy’s name, they immediately turned to get a look at the Slayer whose name was renowned throughout the world. Some of them began whispering to each other in their native tongues.

“Scary, isn’t it?” whispered Buffy to her friends. Despite the stares from the foreigners Buffy began making her way towards Giles.

“It’s like a mini-U.N.” added Willow who would smile nervously when she caught someone’s eye.

“Don’t make eye contact,” warned Xander. “Some of these guys look pretty damn evil. They might jinx us or something.” Poor Xander turned his head from side to side to get a good view of all the different people in the room. He gave one the impression of being a bird man.

“Chill out,” Buffy murmured. “Don’t draw attention to us.”

Willow laughed quietly. “Too late,” she glanced at Buffy. “You’re Buffy Summers; you draw attention to yourself just by existing.”

Once they reached Giles, he gave each one of them a name tag. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Buffy said with contemptuous tone. “Giles is this really necessary? I mean…name tags?!” Buffy looked at it with disgust.

“It is necessary,” began Giles with the slightest bit of annoyance in his voice. Buffy looked at him and could tell that he was already frustrated despite the fact that the meeting hadn’t even started. “Just be a good girl and put it on.” He pulled the sticker off and stuck it on her chest. “There you go. Take a seat.”

“Okay daddy,” she mockingly replied in a child’s voice. “But I’m not going to wear your stupid name tag.” That she said in her normal, I’m not going to take any of your shit voice. She peeled the sticker off her shirt, crumpled it up and threw it on the table. “Hello, everybody,” she shouted. “Just want to let you know that I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers. Slayer in charge.” She eyed Giles once again. “See, no need for a name tag. They all know who I am.” With that she smiled and found her a seat. Giles mumbled some very impolite words under his breath.

“Attention! Attention everyone,” shouted Giles. “Will everyone please take their seats?” Groups of people began ambling to available seats. There were representatives from all the countries involved. Some of them had empaths, people who translated English to their native tongues via telepathy. They each stood behind their respective leader. There were also many Slayers, Watchers and members of The Coven. In the end, all the seats were taken. “Very good,” Giles stated as he adjusted his glasses as the room began to settle down. “Distinguished guests,” he started again. Buffy heard Xander yawn loudly in anticipation of yet another one of Giles’s boring lectures. Buffy could empathize with Giles as she got the same reaction from her fellow Slayers all too often. “We have all been brought together by…um, circumstances in need our immediate attention. As you have all been made aware that there is a plague designed to wipe out humanity. This plague has a name, The First. The First has existed since before the making of our world. He was cast out thousands of years ago by his brethren for despoiling the newly made world and its occupants.” Giles picked up the apparatus for the projector. “Before leaving this dimension, in anticipation for the future, he made several Hellmouths in order to slip back into our world in spirit form. He is, at this time, a non-corporal being who can take any shape of the dead that he desires. Our goal is not to destroy The First as that is an impossible task that we cannot undertake just yet. Our objective is simple. We are going to take the war to him by closing the Hellmouths before he can attack us at unawares.” There was a great murmuring amongst the people in the room.

“He’s crazy,” Buffy heard the French ambassador say. He spoke louder, “We live in relatively peaceful times. Why would we want to make a war with something we cannot utterly destroy? It is ludicrous.” A couple of his neighbors nodded in agreement once his words were translated into their own native languages.

Giles cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Well…um, if we don’t take the fight to him, he will continue to destroy your people. We expect at some point in time that The First will open the remaining Hellmouths simultaneously, which will lead to the end of the world.” Once more there were rumblings from the spectators.

“What proof do you have of that?” asked Sandalio Velázquez, the ambassador from Alajuela Costa Rica. He spoke very good English.

“We have ancient texts that contain prophecies and many seers who have informed us….” Giles response was cut short.

“That is insane,” interrupted Jeannot de Lafayette, the French guy from Orléans. “You speak of tales from unreliable sources. We do not believe in such fairy tales as prophecies and such.” Giles frustration began to grow. “This is a complete waste of time.” He rose from his seat.

“Hey,” yelled Buffy. “Sit your ass back down.” She stood up and walked to the end of the table where Giles was. “It’s obvious that you don’t give a damn about your people. Do you really know what a Hellmouth is? What it does?” She looked around at all the strangers who remained silent. “Well, we do.” She said sternly. “The First created a dozen Hellmouths throughout the world,” Buffy decided that she would help Giles with this part of his lecture. “We closed the one in Sunnydale. Ever hear of it? Well, it doesn’t exist any more. It was sucked into hell.” She let her words sink in before continuing.

Picking up a pointer, she referred to the map on the screen. “Eleven remain,” she used her pointer as she spoke again, “The remaining Hellmouths are located in the following places; Cleveland, Ohio; Salzburg, Austria; Dz hul ‘fa, Armenia, Orléans, France; Rio De Janeiro, Brazil; Mosul, Iraq; Chengchow, China; Vologda and Yaroslavl in Russia; Luxor, Egypt and Alajuela, Costa Rica.” Giles clicked the apparatus that controlled the projector and the map was replaced by satellite photographs of the cities in question.

“We have determined the precise location of each and every Hellmouth in these areas,” Giles started this time. Buffy tried to look intimidating in order to keep everyone focused on Giles. Her arms were folded across her chest and if looks could kill, the French guy would be a goner. “Your task is to remove your people to safety by the quickest means possible. Our objective is to have the least amount of fatalities as possible.”

“Excuse me,” said the empath for the Russian ambassador of Vologda. “How are we to get our people to leave their homes without question? What did you do in Sunnydale?”

Buffy answered that question, “Sunnydale had a very active Hellmouth. The First had minions in place to open it at will. The people of Sunnydale sensed that evil and fled on their own.”

“It was rather remarkable,” continued Giles again. “All creatures in the area had a deep sense of foreboding and deserted the town in great numbers. We had very few fatalities with that Apocalypse…Um, but this time, this time we’re going to open the Hellmouths and end this once and for all.”

“That’s fine and all,” the empath Vladimir began again. “But how are we to get our people to leave their homes? We cannot surely disclose the truth of the matter.”

Xander spoke up this time. “Remember Chernobyl?” Everyone looked at him intently. “Most people still do. That would get me out of there faster than you can say ‘nuclear holocaust’.” The room broke out into rumblings once again.

It was the Brazilian ambassador, Epifanio Bolívar, who chimed in at once. “Rio is Brazil’s largest city and tourist attraction. Our economy would plummet. We cannot afford to let our city be destroyed by…some Slayer.” The Council members were disturbed by that statement.

Boutros Fahim, the ambassador from Luxor, agreed. “Quite right Epifanio, quite right. We will not willingly allow our ancient monuments to be destroyed because of you infidels from the west. War mongers I name you.” He spat on the polished floor. “We will have no part of this.”

“Let me tell you something,” said Buffy who now walked over to the Egyptian. She leaned down looking him directly in the eyes. “We’re gonna do this with or without you. This isn’t a matter for debate. You have the option to get your people out. If you choose not to, we will still proceed on with our plan. Got me?” She shouted in his face. Buffy could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“We will not let any of your people into our country. No Slayer or any of their associates will be allowed in Egypt. I will see to that,” he spat out.

Buffy glanced at Willow, smiled and continued to speak to Boutros, “And what are you gonna do? Take our passports away? We have means of coming and going that you can’t even fathom. It’s obvious that you don’t know what a Slayer is.”

It had now become apparent that Buffy’s gesture to Willow had more meaning than just a mere glance. Willow had confined the ambassador to his seat with invisible bonds. “What have you done to me?” He cried out as he twisted in his seat. “You are using magicks against me! Help! Help!” Buffy punched the guy across the face, knocking him unconscious.

“Dear Lord,” exclaimed Giles as he pulled off his glasses and wiped them on his handkerchief. “That’s wonderful Buffy. Just fantastic.” His temper was rising. “That’s most excellent for diplomatic relations,”

“I like him better this way,” said Buffy with a cheerful tone to her voice. She looked around the room and put her serious face on again. “Its war people. There’s no time to waste. Act now or die trying. We’re not asking for anyone to fight, we just want to keep the casualties as low as possible. Get your people out!”

Epifanio rose from his chair and said, “Listen to me amigos. It is crucial to our survival that we do not go along with these people. Do you not see their behavior? These Americans are nothing but barbarians. They are out to destroy our way of life and take over the world. They want it all their way. But no more,” he banged his fist on the table. “I say no more of this. We in Brazil are happy with the current state of affairs…”

“So, you’re quite content in having Rio as a breeding ground for demons?” asked Giles angrily. “How many of your people disappear in any given year, Senór Bolívar? Or is it Brazilian custom to offer helpless people to the demons that reside there?”

“How dare you!” retorted Epifanio. “How dare you make such accusations?”

Jordan, to everybody’s amazement, stood up. “You’re a soulless creature yourself,” she declared with an unwaveringly calm voice that meant business. “I could smell it on you when you first arrived here. A spawn of the devil, you are!” Her gaze was fixed upon him and her words were like daggers piercing her enemy’s heart. “I will see to it that the Rio Hellmouth is destroyed, personally! If that means taking millions of people with it, then so be it. Sacrifice is part of the job. My friends, the time has come. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And as for you…” her voice had become cold. “You shall get your just rewards.” In the next second, Jordan whipped out a knife and threw it across the table and it met its mark right in Epifanio’s throat. The people sitting nearest him quickly scampered from their seats as he made a funny gurgling sound. What shocked people further was that his appearance changed. No Brazilian gent sat in that seat clutching his throat, but a demonic looking beast howling in pain. Jordan flung herself across the table and grasped the knife that stuck from his throat and pulled it out. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. There were cries and gasps throughout the room. Even her fellow Slayers watched in amazement. She grabbed what lanky hair he had and pulled his head back. With one swift motion she severed his head from his body. His limp form fell to the floor as she continued to hold his bleeding severed head in one hand; the knife in the other. She stood on the table showing her trophy to all who were present. “Do you see?” she yelled. “Do you see how they are among us? Demons! They are all around us. They have attained high positions in government and business and are out to destroy us. All of us.” She walked up and down the table as she spoke. Thick gooey black blood was dripping down her arm as she walked. Blood splattered on the others when she would shake the head trying to add emphasis to a point. “This,” she continued, “is what we Slayers do. We have the natural ability to find these…”she looked at the gruesome head in her hand, “vile creatures and destroy them. Now is the time, friends, to rid this world of ours from these devils. This is our world. Let’s take it back.” With that said, she tossed the head across the room, it made a popping sound as it hit the wall. Bone and brain matter splattered onto the marble wall and floor.

Buffy started clapping her hands enthusiastically. Gradually, the entire room burst into applause. For a sixteen year old Jordan sure had a way with words. Giles was still pissed at Buffy for knocking out Boutros, but she didn’t care. This was Jordan’s moment and Buffy wanted it to last a long as possible. She always had a strong liking for the girl. Jordan was loyal in the fight against evil. As she had said to Buffy in the past, “I’ve got nothing to lose. That makes me more dangerous than anyone else.” She was an extraordinary Slayer. No doubt about that.

In a matter of minutes, Mabry with a couple of helpers, came in and hauled out the remains of the representative from Brazil. The Council had known for a while that demons were running the show down there. It was the ideal version of what the Mayor had always wanted for Sunnydale. A feeding ground for demons. It was decided that it was a perfect time to take a break as Mabry needed to clean up the mess. They all went down the hall to a large chamber where they could have a drink and take a breather. There was coffee, tea, soft drinks, booze and wine of all kinds. Everyone of age went straight for the alcohol. After that spectacle, they needed it.

Buffy had walked over to the window and saw that the rain had finally stopped. The wind was still howling and she watched the treetops dancing to and fro. A man approached her from behind, “Miss. Summers?” he asked quietly. Buffy turned around to face the American ambassador, Colonel Oliver North.

“Yes,” she replied.

“My name is North. My friends call me Ollie.” Buffy said nothing but shook his hand. He continued, “I must say that it is an honor to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. But then who hasn’t?” He chuckled. “You saved the N.S.A. a few years ago…”

“Yeah, well you know,” she took a sip of wine. “It’s kind of hard to forget that you guys were creating new species of demons. Especially Adam, the triborg.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” he interrupted. “We had nothing to do with The Initiative. That was Walsh who…”

“And where did she get her funding from? Hmm,” she asked.

“We did not allocate any funds for creating…monsters.” He shook his head. “My life’s mission has always been to track down HST’s and to destroy them. I’ve done that my whole career. Yet, when something goes amiss, it’s me who gets blamed.” His tone revealed his anger. “Just like in Nicaragua,” he said that more to himself than to Buffy.

“Whatever,” Buffy said as she started to walk off. She didn’t have much faith in her own government. She had already been down that road before and they treated her like crap. Hell, Walsh tried to have her killed. And she was poisoning Riley and all his military buddies. Screw ‘em, thought Buffy.

“Miss. Summers?” The Colonel followed after her and grabbed her arm. “Please, I’d like to talk to you.”

“I’ll only say this once,” she said through gritted teeth as she pulled her arm from his grasp. “Touch me again, and I’ll show you what a Slayer’s all about. I’m in no mood to deal with the likes of you.” Buffy could feel her temper rising. She was trying to be the perfect role model for the younger Slayers and was making her best attempt at keeping her cool.

“Please,” he began. “I meant no harm. Forgive me for being…”

“A brute?” She asked interrupting him.

He sighed. “Yes…Forgive me for being a brute. I know that you’re the one who’s going to Cleveland.” He noticed Buffy’s surprised reaction. “Rupert told me,” he replied in response to her facial expression. “I just want to let you know that the N.S.A. will cooperate with you a hundred percent. We don’t want these, er, Hellmouths in our country despite what some of the others here may say,” he glanced at the Egyptian and Frenchman who were hunched together in a quiet conversation. “I’ve fought the same type of creatures as you, Miss. Summers. I know they’re attempting to take over the world. “

“Your point being?” she asked exasperatedly.

“Miss. Summers, we have people who are anxious to help you. We have men and women who have trained for many years to deal with these types of, uh, situations. Let me put them at your disposal. They’re more than willing to…”

Buffy interrupted his pleading once again. “Listen, Ollie,” she began. “I don’t need the governments help. My girls…they’ve got more power than your commandos could ever dream of. Thanks, but no thanks. This mission is for us, not you. Go fight your global wars and leave the demon fighting for those who are destined to do it.” With that, Buffy turned on her heal and walked towards Giles, leaving Ollie feeling dejected and useless. His hopes of participating in this war in order to help elevate his status within the N.S.A. were beginning to crumble.

Buffy informed Giles that the meeting was pointless. “It’s over Giles. The Slayers are ready to go when we give the word. Two weeks. Whether these places are evacuated or not, we’re making our move then.” Before Giles could protest she continued, “As for me, I’ve got a birthday coming up. My twenty-fifth. Hard to believe that I may make it there after all.” Buffy knew that most Slayers died before that age. The oldest Slayer recorded in the Watchers Diaries made it to twenty-eight. She smiled, “We’re gonna have a fabulous Buffy bash…in Hawaii, no less. Start packing Giles, we’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”

As Buffy sauntered off with her fellow Slayers and friends, Giles could be heard distinctively mumbling, “The world is doomed!” He gathered the remaining ambassadors and told them that the meeting was over and that they should prepare for the upcoming war in ways that seemed befitting to them.



The gang made call after call attempting to get reservations at any ocean front resort in Hawaii that they could find. They unfortunately didn’t have much luck. Buffy went to her room and called the one person who always came through for her – Allandro. A couple of hours after speaking to him, he called to say that he indeed did find a resort that had room to accommodate the sixty people who would be going. Buffy was delighted and told Allandro to fly to London that evening. Of course he was raring to go and would be there as soon as he could make arrangements with his pilot.

Most of the people going were Buffy’s closest friends within the Council. All the Slayers who were going to be participating in the upcoming battle were there. Not all of them, mind you. Just The Select, as the Council now referred to them (including Buffy). She included those who she just liked to be around. All those who were going were quite excited.

The following morning everyone gathered in the entry hall. It was amazing to see how many suitcases a single girl took with her on a ten day excursion. They were not traveling by airplane or by ship. They were traveling via a portal. “I think,” started Willow as a hush came over the group, “uh, that we should go in groups of ten.” She explained to those who had never traveled by this ‘road’ the various sensations one would experience. “Your going to be moving through a vast amount of energy. It’s painless, but your hair might…get all staticy.”

Of course a few girls seemed horrified by the thought. “Leave it to you Will,” said Xander. “Upsetting all these poor girls like that.”

Dawn laughed at that statement. “All the more reason for you to comfort them Xander.”

“I hope none of you lovely ladies forgot your thongs!” announced Xander with a very cheerful grin on his face.

“Xander!” chastised Giles. “Will you please keep your undignified thoughts to yourself?” He looked at Willow who was attempting to suppress the fit of giggles that was overcoming her. “Whenever your ready Willow.” Giles was dressed like the perfect tourist. It was definitely the Hawaiian looking shirt that was pushing Willow over the edge.

In a few moments, Willow had uttered whatever Latin phase it was that made a sweeping portal appear in the middle of the hall. Buffy led the first group in. It is hard to describe the sensation of going into the portal other than…spine-tingling. Literally. Except you tingled all over. You could feel this intense electric sensation around you. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t cold. It was like being in the middle of swirling lights and then being spat out abruptly. Thank God for sod, thought Buffy as she was helped to her feet by Allandro after landing on the soft grass.

They had landed in a secluded grassy enclosure surrounded by huge native shrubs. The grass smelled as though it was freshly mowed and a cool breeze was felt despite the natural barrier. A wooden gate stood at one end of the enclosure and Buffy made her way towards it as the others kept arriving. It was a pleasant day; the sun was shining down upon them from a clear blue sky.

Buffy opened the gate and the others followed her. She hesitated, not sure of which way to go, when Allandro took charge. He led them into the massive structure and saw to it that everyone was well taken care of. He and Buffy shared the presidential suite. It had an entire wall of windows that overlooked the ocean. More importantly, was the private balcony. It was only seven days until Buffy’s birthday.

The gang basically did whatever they wanted over the next few days. Some went sightseeing but most stayed on the beach frolicking in the water. Buffy worked on her tan and enjoyed spending quality time with her family. Dawn, who was stilled a little pissed at Buffy, spent a lot of her time conversing with Allandro in Latin. She had become so fluent, it was scary. Even Willow only understood a few words here and there. It was during this trip that Dawn announced that she was transferring to Oxford. “Since there’s no reason to stay in Rome, I might as well go back to England,” she had announced. Stranger still, was the fact that Willow and Xander were going too. The realization that her friends had readily accepted her plight and death, made her feel quite solemn. But life goes on. Buffy knew that. But still…it was odd.

January 19th arrived all too soon for Buffy. Her twenty-fifth birthday! All her somber feelings had dissipated. Thoughts of the upcoming war were put out of her mind. Today was her special day. It wasn’t about presents (although she gladly accepted them); it was about being with the people you love. All she wished for was a birthday that lacked the usual death and mayhem that normally accompanied that day.

Her party was held later that evening in one of the ballrooms. It was awesome, even by Buffy’s standards. Lots of music and dancing with an open bar too! The gang even had Buffy’s birthday cake made in the shape of her scythe. It was very touching. One thing that seemed out of place was Willow’s behavior. Buffy could sense that something was not right. She was watching Kennedy telling some of the girls how she killed an Octo-demon (an eight tentacled beast that feasts on virgins). She was being very animated. Jumping around, kicking, etc. She seemed quite intoxicated. “C’mon Willow,” said Buffy as she pulled her up from her chair. “Let’s get some fresh air.” Willowed mumbled okay and they headed outside. “How ‘bout a walk on the beach?” suggested Buffy.

“Okay,” replied a despondent Willow. “But it’s your birthday Buffy,” started Willow. “You should be in there enjoying yourself.”

“Who says I’m not?” Buffy responded cheerfully. “Besides, my best friend has a case of the grumpies and needs cheering up. That’s more important, don’t you think?” Buffy was feeling a bit tipsy.

“I suppose,” answered Willow. They made their way down to the surf. Pulling off their shoes they walked along the shoreline letting the waves lap at their feet. It took a while for Willow to open up and tell Buffy what was bothering her. “It’s Kennedy,” she finally said. Buffy was glad that it was dark and Willow couldn’t see her roll her eyes. She wasn’t fond of Kennedy; she tolerated her for Willows sake. “I don’t think it’s working out. I mean, um…” she hesitated. “I just don’t feel it any more, ya’know? Kennedy’s a nice girl and all, but…” she stopped dead in her tracks.

“You want to break up with her?” asked Buffy.

Willow unleashed her tears. “But how can I? I mean, she’s about to go to war and… and…she could die Buffy…She probably will. I can’t desert her now…Oh God,” she moaned. “I don’t know what to do. Help me Buffy. Please!” The tears rolled down her cheeks and Buffy’s heart ached for Willow. She hugged her and tried to comfort her.

“Listen Will,” Buffy started as she pulled away from her, looking her straight in the eyes. “This is my advice to you. Wait. Don’t do anything now. In a few days, we’re going into battle. Don’t break up with her before then. Wait and see what happens after.”

Willow began to calm down. “You went through this with Angel, didn’t you? Right before the Mayors’ Ascension?”

“Yeah,” Buffy recalled all too clearly. “And it hurt like hell. Don’t do that to Kennedy. If you want to end it…fine. But wait until after the war. She needs to stay focused.” Buffy paused. She hated what she was about to say, but it needed to be said. “If she doesn’t come back, well…I’m sorry Will, but you won’t have to confront her about…your feelings. Let’s just see what happens, okay?”

“But wouldn’t that make the next few days a lie? I’d be deceiving her,” she said.

Buffy sighed. “Sometimes lies are necessary. Sometimes we don’t want to hurt the ones we love so it’s better to bend the truth a little.”

“Bend the truth? This is more than just bending the truth Buffy,” she whimpered. “She’s my girlfriend. And…and I’m living a lie.”

“Trust me Willow. Just wait.” Buffy said confidently. They continued walking until Willow felt a little better. She didn’t go back to the party, but went to bed instead. Three days later they departed Hawaii and went back to cold and dreary England.


Chapter 3 - CHAPTER THREE: WELCOME TO THE HELLMOUTH

CHAPTER THREE: WELCOME TO THE HELLMOUTH



The activity at Lindon Hall was crazy when the travelers returned. Watchers were eagerly working on their final preparations for the battle that was soon to take place. Many grumbled how stupid it was for the girls to take a “vacation” right before one of the most important battles of their time. Buffy heard it over and over. The BBC News had declared on TV that there were many meteors about to hit certain locations around the globe. Buffy was quite pleased to hear that news. At least those guys are getting off their asses and getting their people out, she thought. The Russians went with the old reliable nuclear holocaust to evacuate its people, much to Xander’s delight. “Hey,” he said. “They’re using my idea. Look at that. It’s all over the TV.” He was so proud of himself.

It was decided that Willow would use her mojo to send the Slayers to their destinations over the next three days. Opening eleven portals at once would be too draining on her, so they figured this would be the best way to conserve Willow’s powers. Kennedy was the first to be transported with her group. Buffy noticed that Willow wasn’t so apprehensive after Kennedy had left. It was like a huge weight was lifted from Willow’s shoulders. Her mood improved as well. Buffy’s team would be the last to depart. She offered encouragement to all the girls as they left.

The night before Buffy was to depart England, she had another strange dream. She was walking alone on a deserted beach or so she thought. It reminded her of Hawaii. Very beautiful and the weather was perfect. She was wearing a long silk gown that was light blue in color. One strap kept falling off her shoulder. She was walking along the shoreline just like she did day after day in Hawaii. Her feet were sinking into the sand with each step. The water gently splashed over her feet and the bottom of her gown was soaked. The sun was beginning to set.

She continued walking without a care in the world. She felt totally at ease. She wasn’t searching for anything or anyone, but felt compelled to go on with her leisurely stroll. As she rounded the corner she noticed someone sitting on the beach. She didn’t react at all when she spotted the stranger. She didn’t feel fear or excitement. It was a man. An old man. He reminded her of one of the Others from Lost. His clothing was tattered and he had long gray hair that billowed in the sea breeze. He also had a long beard and mustache that was tucked into his shirt. He was staring straight out to sea or the sunset, Buffy didn’t know which. He paid no attention to Buffy as she made her way to him. He continued looking straight ahead.

Buffy sat down next to the stranger. She had no idea why, but she did. She, too, then began staring straight ahead. Neither of them talked for several minutes. Buffy broke the silence. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said softly. It was a statement more than a question.

“As a matter of fact it is,” he said in a deep voice. “This happens to be my favorite time of day.”

“Not mine,” she whispered. “This is the time when the vampires wake.”

He continued looking straight ahead. “And do you fear these…vampires?”

“No. Not really. It means that it’s time to go to work, is all,” she replied.

“Work?” he finally said after a few moments. “I would deem that the Slayer works at all times of day. Not just in the evenings…You have a very impressive endeavor ahead of you. Closing all the Hellmouths at once. That is a bold move on your part…Yes, quite bold.”

Buffy looked at the stranger. “Who are you?” she asked as her curiosity got the better of her.

He remained still. Focused on whatever he happened to be looking at. His legs still in the lotus position with his hands resting on his knees. “I am the Lord of Waters,” he said in a commanding voice.

“Hmm,” Buffy thought for a moment. “So you’re like…Poseidon?”

A small grin came upon his face. “I am known by many names. Poseidon being one of them. Although, I must admit, I am not too fond of that name. Mankind has perverted it. I am not guilty of those… depravities that man has come to know as myth.”

“So your one of the good guys? One of The Powers That Be?” she asked.

“Yes. I know that you have many questions you would like to ask but now is not the time to address them. I summoned you here for a reason…”

“Summoned me?” Buffy interrupted. “Isn’t this just a dream?” she inquired.

“Yes…and no. Yes it is a dream, but it is I who controls the substance of this…dream.” His gaze had not changed. “Life is full of victories…and life is full of defeats,” he started again. “Not all of the Slayers will succeed in the upcoming campaign. Unfortunately, some of the men with authority will see to it that it does not succeed.”

“So, you’re saying that we shouldn’t go through with it?” Buffy asked apprehensively. “Are we supposed to just give up and let Bauglir have free reign over the world?”

“I did not say that,” he continued again. “Listen to what I have to say before you come to any conclusions.” Buffy felt ashamed by interrupting one of The Powers like that. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as the air was becoming cooler. She glanced in the same direction as the Lord of Waters and reminded herself to keep her mouth shut. “Do not postpone your fight. Things are already set in motion that cannot be undone. You must see it through to the bitter end, if bitter it be.” Buffy desperately wanted to interrupt him here, but she bit her bottom lip instead. “Not all the Slayers will be successful, but some will be. That alone makes the fight worth while. It is you, Buffy, that has preoccupied my thoughts of late. You will be successful in your attempt, but there will be a price to pay for such a venture.” He sighed and then declared in a booming voice that caught her off guard, “Expect the unexpected!”

Buffy turned towards him waiting for him to elaborate on that statement. When it did not come, she asked, “Will I die? Even if I’m successful. Is that the price that I’ll pay?”

“No,” he said after a few minutes. “You will not die.” Buffy smiled to herself. “Turbulent times await you. Be prepared. Expect the unexpected,” he added once again.

“Can you vague that up for me some more?” she shot back sarcastically. “Listen, can’t you just tell me what all this ‘expect the unexpected’ crap’s all about? Time’s ticking away here. And that’s something I don’t have much of.”

“That is true, but I am not permitted to say any more. My brethren would not be all too pleased to know that we have conversed in the first place. Remember what I said, that is what is important. For I am The Lord of Waters, and my essence runs throughout the entire world. When the time comes when your need for me is the greatest, I will give you the support you need. But you must keep in mind that you’re The Slayer…The Chosen One. The Slayer is to work alone. It is not the chosen two or three. Do not forget that.”

“Well, let me ask you something, uh, Lord.” She wasn’t sure how to address him. She didn’t want to piss him off by calling him Poseidon. He didn’t seem to like that name too much. “For the last few years, I’ve heard these words over and over again. Sometimes in my dreams, sometimes people I know say it to me…”She chuckled. “Hell, even my enemies have used the exact words that I heard many years ago. I don’t understand what it means. ‘You think you know. What’s to come, what you are…You haven’t even begun yet.’ What the hell does that mean? Can you tell me that?” Buffy waited with bated breath for his answer to those mysterious words.

After several minutes, he sighed, “That is the question that I was afraid that you would ask of me. My brethren feel that it is imperative that in time, you shall understand what those words mean.” He continued looking straight ahead. “But you only tell me a portion of the prophecy. There is more to it.”

“What?” Buffy was surprised by that statement. “What’s the rest of it?”

He paused once again. Buffy could tell by his facial expression that he was wrestling with his thoughts concerning her question. “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he finally announced in a defeated voice. “I cannot elaborate on that any further. It could be detrimental to you. It is important that, in time, things will be revealed to you…”

“That sucks, royally!” Buffy blurted out. “I’m tired of putting my ass on the line fighting all this evil while you guys…what? Sit around being hand fed grapes by the Muses or something. It’s total bullshit. Ya know I’d like to be able to sit around and not have to worry about what’s lurking around every corner. I’d like to live in peace. Instead I get to deal with all these Big Bads wanting a go at me. ‘Take out the Slayer,’ they say. I’m tired of it.”

His expression did not change. “Did you not activate all the Potentials? You’re not alone in your fight any more. I must say that you defied the whole balance of the world by that one spell that Willow did. Indeed, things are more advantageous for you at this moment, but it will not last.” He paused. “The world is changing. We are certainly living in the End of Days. You and you alone, are The Guardian. In time, things will be revealed to you. You will understand. In time. I, for one, will not forsake you. Despite what my brethren say. Be alert. Expect the unexpected. Wisdom comes with time. And that time will soon come upon you.” At that point, Buffy knew instinctively that the interview was over. He would not answer the many questions that were still running through her mind. She got to her feet and began to walk slowly away deep in thought. “Hey Slayer,” she heard him call. Glancing over her shoulder she noticed that he finally looked directly at her. A fire was now blazing before him and the flames were reflected on his face. His eyes were clear and a brilliant blue. “I thought you would be bigger,” he said with a sly grin on his face.

Buffy smiled back at him. “Yeah, yeah. The story of my life.” She turned around and then found herself wide awake in her bed.



Buffy stared up at the ceiling. What the hell was that? She thought to herself. Was it a dream or a premonition? Was she really going to succeed? And who was going to be foiled by the traitorous ambassadors? So many questions went through her mind. She looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was 4:06 am. In less than four hours they would open the portal to Cleveland. The war would begin precisely at 8:00 am. All the Slayers were scheduled to open the Hellmouths at that time, regardless of the time zone they were in. For some it would be night. And Buffy now knew that those who would face the enemy under the cover of darkness would be the ones whose chance for victory would be the poorest. But there was no turning back now. Even the Lord of Waters said that.

Knowing that she would be unable to go back to sleep, Buffy crawled out of bed. She walked over to her wardrobe looking for an outfit to wear to the Apocalypse. There was no need not to be stylish even when going to battle. She decided on a pair of khakis and a white turtleneck sweater. She knew it was going to be frigid in Cleveland. Might as well not freeze to death. She pulled on her black boots and then surveyed herself in the mirror. She clasped the crucifix that Angel gave her around her neck. Once she approved her clothing, she sat down and carefully put her make up on. Looks were very important to Buffy. Even if one is about to go to her death, doesn’t mean she should look like crap in the process.

It was nearly 5:00 am when Buffy finally left her room. Caffeine was a must at this point. Her mind was racing a million miles per second. She had this enormous amount of energy stored up inside of her just waiting to be unleashed on Bauglir’s minions. To Buffy’s amazement, the kitchen was already filled to capacity with Slayers and Watchers. The Scoobies were even there, too. “Look who’s finally wakey wakey girl,” exclaimed Willow over the noise of the crowd. Buffy gave her a wry smile.

“Name your poison Buff?” asked Xander.

“Espresso, black,” retorted Buffy. She wouldn’t feel her best until she had some caffeine in her. Xander handed Buffy her coffee a few minutes later.

Giles approached Buffy as she sipped her brew. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” she said matter of factly. “I had a strange dream or premonition or something,” she whispered to him.

“Oh,” he replied as he sipped his tea. He gestured to Buffy to follow him to the butlers’ pantry. The only place not occupied by overzealous Slayers. A dim light was on. “What is it Buffy? What did you see?”

Buffy looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Giles, too, looked over her shoulder. He shut the door as it seemed that Buffy had something she wanted to share with him and him alone. “Giles, this may sound crazy but I think…”she was having a hard time getting the words out. “I think that I was visited by one of The Powers last night…or was it this morning?” she was confused as to what time the actual dream took place.

Giles raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” he questioned. “You don’t think it was The First impersonating one of The Powers?”

“No way,” she whispered. “This was the real deal. Bauglir never came to me in dreams. He always appeared, well, as me, in front of me.” Buffy was bewildered again. “Does that make sense?” She began repeating that over and over again. It just didn’t sound right. She gulped down the rest of her coffee.

“Never mind that,” Giles whispered frantically. “What did he say? Or was it a she?” Giles was catching the same ailment as Buffy – caffeine deprived logic.

“It was a he. An old he, too. Very Dumbledory, if you get my drift.” The caffeine was beginning to take affect. “He told me that we weren’t all going to succeed.” Buffy thought hard. It seemed like the dream was fading before her very eyes. “But he did say some will succeed and that we should still do it nonetheless.” Buffy then remembered a key element. “Giles, he told me that I wasn’t going to die. He said that I would survive. That’s good, right?” Buffy knew there was more said but her mind was blank. She forgot nearly everything he said.

“Of course, of course.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Did he say anything else?”

“Sorry Giles. I can’t remember anything else.” Buffy was disappointed. She wished she could have shared the entire experience with Giles, but she just couldn’t remember. Dreams are like that sometimes. They come and they go.

“Well, at least we know that The Powers are behind us on this one,” replied Giles. Buffy knew that the old man said something about ‘his brethren’ and something about ‘time’, but damn, she couldn’t remember what. Giles realized that Buffy was attempting to regain the memory of the dream and decided not to question her any more. “Come, Buffy. Have some breakfast before we go.” Giles led her out of the pantry back into the throng of teenage girls.

After two more espressos and a hot meal, Buffy was ready for action. She went back to her room to collect her weapons. It was 7:00 am. They planned on leaving at 7:30. That would give them thirty minutes to open the Hellmouth. She opened her trunk and began culling through her weapons choosing the ones she felt were imperative to the mission. The scythe, without question, would be her primary weapon. It was a crucial tool last time and she knew it would be again. She knew that there were many Slayers who were envious that she possessed such a beautiful and mystical weapon. It was hers and it would remain in her keeping forever. Maybe that was selfish, but it was Buffy who King Arthured it in the first place.

Allandro had given Buffy a spada for her birthday. It was another one of his ‘most precious artifacts.’ Ages old, although it did not show it. It was a magnificent weapon. The sword was a little over five feet long. The blade was extremely sharp. There were seven stars and rune looking things etched into the blade. Buffy couldn’t remember what they said, she knew that he told her what it meant, but she was slightly intoxicated at the time and failed to remember. The hilt was inlaid with rubies, diamonds and silver. It was quite beautiful really.

“Hey Buffy,” she heard Willow say as she entered her room. Buffy had just put her sword back in its sheath and placed it on top of her bed.

Buffy looked over her shoulder, answered “hey,” and resumed digging through the contents of her trunk. “I know it’s in here somewhere,” she mumbled more to herself than to Willow.

“Looking for this?” asked Willow. Buffy turned and noticed that Willow was holding the knife that once belonged to Faith. Buffy smiled because that was exactly what she was looking for. “You left it in the training room,” said Willow as she walked over and handed it to Buffy. She noticed two weapons on the bed. “Still trying to decide which ones to bring?” she asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“Nope. I’m taking those two for sure. This baby is coming with me as well,” replied Buffy as she threw the knife on top of the bed. “I know I’ve got a sheath for that somewhere in here.” She continued digging through her trunk.

Willow picked up the sword, “Gosh, this thing is heavier than it looks.” She was wielding it with both hands. “I guess you need Slayer strength to use it properly.” Buffy looked up at her and smiled again. She now pulled her cross bow from the trunk and put that too on the bed. “Damn Buffy, how many weapons are you taking? It’s not like you’re that Octo-demon and can wield all these at one time.”

Buffy laughed at that. “I just wanna be prepared.” She knew she had a quiver of arrows in here. “Each weapon serves its purpose. My gut tells me to bring as many as I can carry.” She looked up at Willow. “I don’t know why, though. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“You mean the potential for the world ending this very day? Yeah, I guess it is.” She put the sword back down. “I know we’re doing the right thing, Buffy.”

“Thanks,” answered Buffy. It was her idea after all. “So, I guess that means you guys aren’t going to kick me out of Linden Hall then, huh?” she asked sarcastically.

Willows face flushed and she looked down at the hardwood floor. “I thought that was behind us,” she said with a hint of shame in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it, Will,” Buffy laughed. “I meant no offense. Just want to make sure we’re all in agreement here.” She pulled out the quiver of arrows and threw that on the bed. “Where the hell is that sheath?” Buffy was getting frustrated. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”

“I didn’t see it in the training room,” said Willow as she now picked up the scythe. “Do you want me to go have another look?”

“You don’t mind do you?” Buffy asked. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Willow put down the weapon and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Buffy stumbled upon Mr. Pointy, Kendra’s stake. She smiled as she remembered her late friend. She wasn’t going to be bringing any stakes with her. The hides of the über-vamps were like steel and Buffy didn’t want to damage Mr. Pointy. She made a mental note to give it to Giles. It deserved to be retired from service. Even though she was bringing several weapons, she decided not to bring any holy water or crosses. They weren’t going to be of any use to her any way.

In a few minutes, Willow returned with Xander in tow. “Looking for this?” asked Xander as he threw the sheath to Buffy. “A little birdie told me you needed it?”

“So now I’m a birdie, huh?” asked Willow.

“Isn’t that the English way? You chicks are referred to as birdies, ya’know,” he said in a chipper British accent. “Just trying to fit in, mate.”

“It’s bird, not birdie,” said Willow as she rolled her eyes. “Geez!” she added for effect.

Buffy was strapping the sheath to her leg. She wanted to have the knife handy. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go all Madonna on us and start talking with a fake British accent,” it was more of a statement than a question.

“Who me?” he asked, still doing a fake British accent. “I have no idea what you bloody birds are talking about,” he smiled. “Seriously, you guys about ready?” He asked that in his normal Xander voice.

“Not quite,” answered Buffy as she put the knife into the sheath. “Perfect.” She looked at the weapons on her bed.

“Ah, Buff?” Xander began. “You taking all these?”

“Yeah. Why?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see. Two hands, two weapons. Need I say more?” he asked.

“Buffy wants to be prepared,” responded Willow. “A Slayer can never have too many weapons when it comes to fighting the Apocalypse.”

“Here, here,” said Buffy. “I couldn’t agree with you more.” She reached under her bed and pulled out a duffel bag. “This should come in handy.”

“Aren’t you going to wear this?” asked Xander referring to the sword. Buffy laughed. She held it up to her waist. “Ahh, I see. Too long. Obviously it was made for someone bigger.”

“Obviously,” she replied as she placed it into the bag. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” Buffy said as she placed the strap over her shoulder.

“Um, Buffy?” Willow started as she looked at Buffy. “It’s like freezing in Cleveland. You gonna wear a coat or something?”

“Oh shit. I forgot.” Buffy said as she walked over to the wardrobe. She was so high on her caffeine buzz that she hadn’t given any thought to the weather. She pulled on her grey wool coat. She pulled the gloves out of the pockets and put them on as well.

“I would probably leave this,” said Xander referring to the scarf that she always wore with it. “Some über-vamp could come up behind you like this,” he looped it around her throat and attempted to choke her. Buffy quickly bent over hurling Xander to the floor. “And I guess you would do something like that.”

“Sorry Xan.” Buffy offered him her hand. “It’s good advice. I’ll leave it.” She pulled off her now stretched out scarf and placed it on a hook on the door of the wardrobe.

“Glad I could help,” he moaned as he rubbed his lower back.

“That’s what you get for rough housing,” chastised Willow. Willow glanced down at her watch. “We really need to get a move on guys.”

With that, the gang left Buffy’s room for the entry hall where the others were already assembled. Fifty Slayers would accompany them on this mission. Dawn, Giles, Faith, Wood, Xander, Willow and the twin watchers Saul and Paul (they were hotties!) were also going. Every girl carried a weapon of some kind. Buffy’s short speech consisted of, “Don’t get yourselves killed,” and “Watch out for each other.” It was a little wordier than that, but that was the gist of it. Within minutes, Willow had the portal open and they went through it in pairs this time.



The city of Cleveland was deserted. Everyone was pleased that the meteor threat worked and nearly the entire populace was evacuated. Deep inside they knew that not all would leave. But that meant fatalities would be low. There was a blanket of snow on the ground and the wind howled through the trees. They were outside the wrought iron gates of the Eerie Street Cemetery. “Everybody here?” asked Giles as he did a head count. When everyone was accounted for he said, “Good. Let’s proceed on, shall we?”

Buffy led the way. She kicked open the gates which flung off their hinges and went sailing about twenty feet. “This is a lot smaller than the one in Sunnydale,” she commented. “Point the way Will.”

“Uh, let me see.” Willow had pulled a diagram of the cemetery out of her coat pocket. “Okay, we’re here,” she said as she pointed on the map. “We want to go here,” she traced the way with her finger. “The Malison Family Mausoleum.” She looked at her watch. “We’re still early. We’ve got half an hour before we open the Hellmouth.”

“Malison,” murmured Dawn. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

The gang had no answer. They started walking deeper into the cemetery. It was dead quiet except for the soft voices of the Slayers. That’s why they were so shocked when Xander exclaimed, “I don’t believe it!” Everyone turned to see what Xander was looking at. “Did you know about this?” He asked Giles.

“I had no idea,” said a stunned Giles. To everyone’s surprise the U.S. government has dispatched one of their monster squads to the cemetery. Apparently they had parked all the military vehicles along the back and sides of the cemetery. Buffy knew damn well that Ollie was behind this. She didn’t want the government involved in this war.

“Oh, look,” began Xander again. “It’s Buffy’s old beau.” And of course Riley was leading the commandos to the very spot where they stood.

“Shit,” Willow said. “Oh, I mean, damn it!”

Buffy sighed. “I can’t believe this.” She started walking towards Riley. “What the hell are you doing here?” she yelled to Riley.

Riley smiled and then said, “What a nice way to greet an old friend.” Buffy was quite furious about this situation. “Colonel North sent us. Said you could use our help.”

“I never asked him for help. I told him to evacuate the city. Period.” There were probably an equal amount of commandos to Slayers; both groups were curiously surveying each other. Regardless, Buffy didn’t want them here. “So you guys can just mosey on home like good little soldiers.” Some of them snickered at her.

“C’mon Buffy,” began Riley again. “You can never have too many soldiers…”

“We’ve got plenty, thank you. Now go away.” Buffy was ready to kick his ass all the way back to his hummer.

Giles made an attempt to intervene in this situation. “Listen Riley, it’s very good to see you after all this time, but we are in a bit of hurry. I’ve made myself very clear to your Colonel that this war is to be fought by us. No commandos!”

“We’re trained special forces….”

Buffy was so annoyed by this. “Willow, do something.” Buffy whispered to her in an agitated voice.

Willow stepped forward. “Hey Riley. Really good to see ya. Where’s Sam?” she asked much to Buffy’s horror. She had not intended for her to start a conversation and waste what precious time they had left. She was hoping she would do some type of spell to get rid of them.

“Oh,” said Riley. “Hey Willow. She’s at home on leave. We’re expecting a baby in May.” Everyone congratulated Riley.

A baby, thought Buffy. Just perfect. While Willow was making small talk with Riley, Buffy actually elbowed Willow to get her attention. “Do something,” Buffy mouthed to her.

“Oh, sorry.” She focused on Riley and the commandos again. “Give Sam my best and Riley…Sorry.” With that she waved her hand and the entire commando squad disappeared in a blink of the eye.

“Where have they gone?” asked Saul.

“I think I’ve sent them back to D.C. That should give us a few hours any way,” answered Willow. “In case they think about coming back. We should be long gone by then. Or dead,” she added in a cheery voice.

“You never cease to amaze me,” said an awed Xander.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side Will,” interjected Faith.

“C’mon,” said Buffy. “We’ve already lost too much time.” Buffy’s temper was beginning to abate after the commando’s departure. She had a funny feeling that Ollie was going to attempt something before the end. She hoped that was the last of it. “This way,” Buffy ordered as they headed due north.

“Hey there it is,” exclaimed Willow. About a hundred yards in front of them was the mausoleum.

“It looks so small,” uttered Dawn. “It looks like a play house or something.”

The group proceeded with caution. Buffy found herself saying, “Expect the unexpected.” The wind died down as flurries of snow began to fall from the sky. “Did you hear that?” asked Buffy.

“Hear what?” asked Giles.

“I thought I heard a twig breaking or something,” she answered.

“I didn’t hear it,” said Xander. “And I’ve got better hearing than you.”

Buffy pulled her scythe out of her bag and listened intently. Her feet were already freezing. They slowly advanced their position. Everyone was on guard. They broke off into smaller groups in order to surround the mausoleum. They didn’t want to risk any über-vamps catching them off guard. The Scoobies remained together. Now they were fifty yards from the building. It was at that precise moment that a black cat leapt from the top of one of the evergreen trees in front of Buffy. Buffy reacted too fast. She ginsued the kitty into two pieces before it fell with a flop into the snow covered ground which was quickly turning red. Willow whined when she saw what Buffy did. “Sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to…kill a cat.” She looked at the pool of blood that was steaming on the snow.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” said Willow in a heartbroken voice.

“You never know B,” said Faith as she lit up a cigarette. “He could have been a minion for The First.” She laughed at that.

“Accidents happen, ya’know,” defended Dawn.

“Well, just make sure it doesn’t bloody happen again,” said Giles.

“It was only a cat, Giles,” Buffy retorted.

“Yes, I know. At least your reflexes are in top shape.”

“It’s the caffeine,” argued Buffy. “I’ve got too much caffeine in my system and I …just reacted. It shouldn’t have jumped out at me.”

“Ever hear of decaf Buff? Well, I’m sure kitty learned his lesson,” said Xander. “Something tells me that was his ninth life.” Willow whined again.

They then heard Ashlyn yelling, “Hey, we’ve got one!” in a loud voice. The gang ran towards her. “Stay right there buddy.”

The gang gasped when they arrived. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” exclaimed Buffy. Ashlyn had her sword to the throat of Angel. Buffy was slightly amused to see him in this predicament. “It’s okay Ashlyn. He’s one of the good guys.” She brought her weapon down and released Angel.

“Hey Buffy,” said Angel. “I thought you could use some help.” He walked up to her. She hadn’t seen Angel in person for quite some time.

“Angel,” she said with an elated voice. The Slayers noticed immediately that her reaction to Angel was quite different than Riley. She greeted him affectionately, not caring what anyone had to say about it. She could hear some of the girls talking about him, ‘he’s the vampire with a soul,’ ‘we met him in L.A., remember?’ ‘He’s so good looking.’ Buffy looked up into Angels eyes. She had always loved the way he looked at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you. I’ve come to help.” He greeted the rest of the gang.

“What’s up with all of Buffy’s exes coming to the Hellmouth?” asked Xander.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Angel asked Buffy. Before she could respond, he took her hand and they walked a few paces from the others. Buffy was really happy to see Angel. She didn’t want him here, but it was still good to see him. “You look good,” he said.

“And you came all the way to Cleveland to tell me that?” she retorted.

“It’s a lot closer than Rome. How are things with…The Immortal?” He asked warily.

“You came all this way to ask me about Allandro?” she asked bluntly.

“No. I was just trying to make small talk,” he smirked. “You know why I’m here…Buffy, let me wear the amulet. You don’t need to…”

“Here we go,” Buffy interrupted. “Angel wants to come and save poor defenseless Buffy.” She let go of his hand. “This isn’t your fight Angel. I appreciate…”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he asked in an annoyed manner.

“Why do you always have to play the hero?” She retorted.

“Because that’s what I do,” he replied trying to keep his composure.

“Not this time. This is my fight.” She sighed and then added, “We’ve been through this before.” She looked into his dreamy eyes. “Please Angel. Go home.”

“Buffy?” He pleaded.

“Willow?!” She yelled over her shoulder. “A little help, please.” She looked at Angel and kissed him once more. “Take care of yourself.” With that, Willow did her spell again and Angel vanished.

“We could’ve used his help, B,” said Faith as she flicked her cigarette. “Angel’s one helluva champion.”

“I don’t want him to die,” said Buffy. “We need him alive.”

“How do you know he would have died?” asked Wood.

“Because,” Buffy started as she pulled the amulet out of the pocket of her pants. “This,” she held it up. “This would kill him. That’s why.” She put the amulet around her neck. “Let’s go.” They walked to the door of the mausoleum.

“I wonder if Spike’s gonna show up next,” commented Willow as she peered behind a tree.

“Yeah, Spike has a thing for hiding behind trees,” added Xander.

“Enough. Both of you,” reprimanded Giles.

“Hey, what are you yelling at me for?” asked Xander. “It’s Buffy’s former beaus that keep popping up around every corner.”

“Let it go, Xander,” chimed in Dawn.

Buffy kicked the door open. “If you guys are finished discussing my love life, we can get down to business.” Buffy’s mind was befuddled with the appearance of two former boyfriends. She didn’t want to admit it, but she too was on the look out for Spike. Trying to stay focused she noticed there was no way all fifty girls were going to get inside this small space. The chamber was maybe fifteen feet square. There was only one tomb in the center of the room. “Faith, help me.” Buffy and Faith pushed the concrete casket out of the way. There on the floor was the Seal of Danzathar. “Okay,” began Buffy. “How we doing on time Will?”

“Um, it’s 7:53. We’ve got seven minutes.”

“Okay. Slayers,” announced Buffy. “Come forward.” They tried to cram themselves into the small chamber.

“Bloody hell,” said Giles in a muffled voice. He was crammed between the girls and the door frame, his glasses askew. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Alright. Let me think,” Buffy instructed everyone to stop. “How about we have a dozen Slayers stay inside. The rest can go outside.” Dawn and Wood both seemed hurt by that. “It’s our blood that opens the Hellmouth.” They couldn’t argue with that fact. The girls made a circle around the Seal. Buffy slid her scythe back into her bag and pulled out the knife that hung on her leg. She noticed Faith glaring at her. Buffy tried to ignore that. She slid the blade along her palm and handed it to Faith. The knife made it’s way around the circle until it got back to Buffy. She wiped the blood off on her pants and put it back in it’s sheath. “Ready?” The girls nodded. They stretched their arms out over the Seal and their blood began dropping on top of the Seal. As each drop made contact, it emitted a white light and gradually it began to open.

The opening was no larger than a man hole cover. “After you, B,” said Faith as she wrapped a bandanna around her hand.

Buffy looked at the others. “You guys know what to do. If anything escapes, kill it. Will,” she looked at her intently. “You know what to do. I’m depending on you.”

“I know. I know. I’m in complete control.” She smiled. “Now go kick some über-ass.”

“Take care,” she said as she looked at her friends for a moment. “If anything goes wrong get the hell outta here.” She slowly walked down the steps that were carved into the stone. She could hear the others following her. It was dark and dank, but much warmer than it was only moments ago. Buffy’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She walked a few paces from the stairs and noticed that they were on an outcropping of the stone vault. Looking below she saw thousands upon thousands of über-vamps. “Damn,” she whispered to Faith.

“Looks like they’ve been breeding since last time,” Faith said softly. “Do you think someone gave ‘em the heads up?”

“I don’t know.” The girls gathered at the edge of the shelf. “Ladies, welcome to the hellmouth.” At that point someone’s foot kicked a stone about the size of a golf ball over the edge and it echoed as it clattered against the stone prison. Thousands of torches ignited at once in the cavity below them. The demons began their mad dash towards the Slayers. Buffy put her hand on the amulet. It gave her a confident feeling knowing that she was the possessor of such a powerful object. “Let’s rock n’roll,” she yelled to the others over the deafening roar of the über-vamps. “Kill ‘em all,” she said in a commanding voice.

From Buffy’s perspective the über-vamps reminded her of ants. Thousands upon thousands of little worker ants who were now quickly ascending the outcropping on which the Slayers stood. All the girls were in a fighting stance. The first few dozen of them hurdled themselves upon the ridge as the girls immediately launched into defensive combat. The sound of metal crashing upon metal resonated throughout the Hellmouth. Buffy was forced against the chamber wall by four of the über-vamps. She let her bag slide off her shoulder as she pounced on them with her scythe. She managed to behead two of them with one stroke. The third she did a spinning kick that sent him flying over the edge as she came face to face with the fourth. His rancid breath was as lethal as his strength. “Eww,” she had quipped. “Ever…hear…of…mouthwash?” She punched him in the mouth as she said each word. Her fist knocked all his visible teeth out of his mouth. His cries brought her even a greater satisfaction. “Oh, just forget it!” She exclaimed as she took off his head.

Buffy turned around to see that Gretchen was being overwhelmed by some vamps. She had stationed herself near the stairway and many were now fleeing into the mausoleum. Gretchen was thrown about twenty feet from the stairs; her weapon flung from her hands. She lay in a prone position on the rocky floor. “Gretchen?!” Buffy shouted to her. Her eyes had a glazed look about them. But only for a moment. Buffy threw her scythe to her. She thankfully caught it and quickly rolled over as a vamp was about to swoop down upon her. She was able to defend herself by using the scythe to block his blow. With her feet she kicked him sending him reeling into the wall. Jumping to her feet she delivered the death blow to her attacker.

“Thanks,” she had shouted to Buffy but before she could give her back the scythe she was once again under attack. Buffy, in the mean time, had pulled out her sword and began making mincemeat of the vamps that were around her. She used both the sword and her body. One she kicked so hard that he knocked down five of his comrades. Other Slayers took advantage of that situation by beheading those on their backs.

There was no doubt in her mind that The First was waiting for the girls to tire out. It was impossible to kill all of the vamps. The amulet had to work. Without it, they’d all die. Including those who Buffy knew were now battling above ground. The sun was hidden today and the vamps could easily flee into the deserted city. But Buffy tried not to give much thought to those above. Her concerns were for the ones down here. There were actually so many bodies on the shelf that you couldn’t help but collide into each other. Whether a good guy or a bad guy. It didn’t matter. You had to try to stay on your feet. Falling down could lead to your death. Buffy witnessed that very thing with Mattie. The teenager just had her throat ripped out. Buffy’s heart sank as she tried to hack her way towards her only to be thrown in the opposite direction.

“Buffy, watch out,” she heard Faith scream. Buffy turned just in time to meet another vamp whose blade was in mid motion coming towards her head. As she tossed her head back she felt his blade skim across the right side of her lip. She tasted blood followed by a stinging sensation as her sweat dripped into her cut. That really pissed her off. As he completed the motion Buffy took advantage of it by throwing him off balance. He landed on his side. She used her sword to sever the arm that held his weapon. He let out a wail and Buffy rammed her own sword through his chest. As she lifted her sword, his body was still impaled on it. He was not dead. He squirmed as she lifted him in the air. Faith came to her aid and completed the kill. He was dust and Buffy was free to continue the assault.

She noticed that several girls lay dead. All had their throats ripped out. It was a very gory scene. The surviving Slayers made the greatest effort to kill those with blood on their mouths. To avenge their sisters. There were heaps of corpses all over the outcropping. Buffy was drenched in sweat. She wished for a lapse in the fighting so she could take off her coat. It was stifling. And the smell of death saturated the entire chamber. She tried to defend the girls who seemed to be tiring quickest. When the hell is this damn thing gonna work, she thought to herself. It didn’t seem like it took this long when Spike wore the amulet.

And then He appeared. Just like last time. “Aw,” she heard in that familiar southern drawl of Caleb’s, the preacher man, Bauglir’s emissary that she killed. “Lookie there,” he said. “Looks like my boy nearly got you. What a shame. I was hoping he would take your head off.” He smiled. “Yeah, that would be a most welcoming sight.” He lazily leaned against the rock wall watching the action before him. “Ooh, there goes another,” he laughed as Fiona fell to the ground with her throat ripped out. Buffy tried to ignore Bauglir’s comments as she continued to slash away at the über-vamps around her. They had already been in the Hellmouth for nearly thirty minutes and still the amulet was not emitting its rays of death. “Listen girl,” The First began again. “I’ve come to the conclusion that activating all the Potentials ain’t such a bad thing.” He shook his head. “I mean, I’ve been lookin’ at this the wrong way.” At this point, the fighting around Buffy shifted in the opposite direction, so she had minute to breathe. She focused her attention on Caleb. He wore a sneer on his face as he continued, “How many Slayers are there now? Hundreds, I’m sure. And here I’ve been, sending my boys out to kill all those little whores.” He walked up to Buffy, looked her up and down and grinned widely. “No. Not any more. I’ve come to realize that they may be useful in other ways. Yes, darlin’, very useful. At this moment, most of your Slayers are being fed on by my boys. You see if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. What could be better than a legion of Slayers turned demons? Soulless warriors to do my bidding. Even as we speak your little protégé Jordan is dead. But not for good. No sir. She’ll be like Lazarus before her. She will rise from her grave and devote her immortal life to my service. Hallelujah!” Buffy knew that he was speaking the truth. She only hoped that Bauglir didn’t get all of them. Deep inside she was pleading with The Powers to help the Slayers who were battling the forces of darkness elsewhere. Give them strength, she begged in her mind. Buffy showed no emotion to Caleb’s proclamation. She didn’t want to show any weakness.

Buffy was hit from behind which sent her to her knees. Her attention shifted back to the task at hand. Killing as many of Bauglir’s minions as she could. She directed her anger at those demons around her. Slicing and dicing them with both of her weapons. It was becoming extremely difficult to maneuver due to all the bodies that lay on the ground. She yelled to the others to start rolling them over the ledge. It would help knock some of those down that were coming up and it would make it easier to maintain their footing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Caleb watching the action. He was no longer smiling. The frown on his face made Buffy even more determined that they were not going to fail. No matter what shit spewed out of his mouth, she wasn’t going to give up.

Bauglir realized that Caleb was getting no reaction from the Slayer, so he changed his appearance to that of Joyce. He indicated to his minions to break away from Buffy. He wanted a little one on one time with her. It was time for him to have a little fun. She was getting tired; he could sense it. “Listen Buffy,” her ‘mother’ began. “It’s impossible to defeat The First. He’s more powerful than you. You’re weak. But it’s not your fault. We women…well, we’re the weaker race. We’re supposed to be subservient to men. It’s in our nature, honey.” Buffy hated that Bauglir came as her mother. She could feel her anger rising even more. “You can’t defeat him.”

Buffy turned her back on Joyce and resumed the battle. She threw her sword in anger and it pierced three über-vamps at once. The force was so powerful that the blade became imbedded into the stone wall. With her right hand she used her scythe to take off all their heads. But still, Joyce was with her, mumbling criticisms in her ear. “You let me die,” Joyce said in a menacing voice. “And now I suffer because you never loved me enough to get me out of the hell I’m subjected to for the rest of eternity. It’s your fault. You think your so righteous. You never gave a damn about anyone except yourself.” Buffy tried to ignore her ‘mothers’ taunts as she continued battling the undead. She unfortunately had to kick Gretchen’s body over the edge of the shelf in order to keep her footing. “See!” began her mother again. “You have no regard even for those that you claim to love. Death is your gift, isn’t it? You killed me. You killed Angel. You killed William. Your responsible for every death here today. All that blood is on your hands. And what about poor Dawn? She was always my favorite daughter. She…”

Buffy couldn’t take it any more. “Shut up,” she yelled, much to the astonishment of those around her. “Your not my mother!” Buffy looked directly in the eye of her enemy. Of course, those around her could not see that she was speaking to The First in the guise of her dead mother. They only saw Buffy yelling at nothingness. Faith, alone of all the surviving Slayers, knew who Buffy was directing her rage at. Instinctively, Buffy swung her scythe through the phantom image of Joyce.

At that point, The First resumed his demonic form that she hadn’t seen since she confronted him long ago when he was tormenting Angel. A menacing black figure that spanned nearly the entire surface of the ridge on which they stood. Everyone saw him this time. His minions fell to their knees in terror and the Slayers were frozen on the spot, trembling. Only Buffy was not affected by his presence. “I am tiring of you little girl,” he said in a booming voice that resonated throughout the entire Hellmouth. “You have no comprehension of my power. I am Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last. I know everything that is, and was, and which is yet to come…”

Buffy’s mounting frustration could not be quelled any longer. “And your point is…what? You don’t belong here. This isn’t your world any more. It’s ours. We’re destined to defend it from the likes of you…”

“I am the Lord of the World. And I always will be. No one can take that from me. As for you, your time is up Slayer. You want pain, I’ll give you pain. You want sorrow, I’ll give you sorrow. I will teach you a lesson you shall never forget. There is no hope. Love does not conquer anything, but brings on even greater pain…”

“You’re wrong,” Buffy said through gritted teeth. She was witnessing the effects of his words on her fellow Slayers and she didn’t like what she saw. “As long as there is life in my body, I will hope. There is good in this world that you can’t poison with your lies and treachery. I’ve seen things that you can’t possibly understand. I’ve seen evil turn to good. Hate turn to love. Fear turn to hope.” At last, Buffy felt a growing energy come from within the amulet. Immediately Bauglir disappeared, and his minions were left alone and very confused. The Slayers were finally coming back to their senses and took advantage of the situation by easily killing the über-vamps that surrounded them. “It’s working,” she yelled to the others. “I can feel it.” A brilliant white light emanated from the amulet. It then burst into a dazzling shade of blue. Like a blue flame. The power concealed within the amulet was so intense that Buffy was forced against the wall for support. All the über-vamps were sizzling before them. All of them. Dead. The mass killing was followed by the rumblings of the earth. “Run!” Buffy yelled to the survivors. “Get outta here!” Buffy was frozen on the spot.

“Aren’t you coming, B?” Asked a stunned Faith.

“I can’t move,” Buffy stammered. “Go! There’s not much time left.” The walls were beginning to crumble.

“I can carry you,” Faith urgently suggested.

“NO! Go, Faith. Please.” Faith looked at her for a moment than over her shoulder as the Hellmouth was beginning to collapse. She looked into Buffy’s eyes once more. A tear rolled down Faith’s cheek as she grasped Buffy’s hand. “Take care of them,” Buffy said to her. Faith nodded and then ran like hell.

Once Faith was gone and Buffy was left alone in the deserted Hellmouth, the vibrant beams of the amulet ceased. Buffy was now having a hard time trying to keep her balance as the earth was shifting beneath her feet. She examined herself quickly and realized that she wasn’t dead. She still had a chance to get out alive. She ran towards the steps and swept her duffel bag off the ground with her sword, letting it slide down until it reached her shoulder. The steps were cracking as she ran up them. Unfortunately the mausoleum must have already crumbled as her escape route was now blocked. She lowered herself to get some leverage and used all her force to smash though the concrete barrier. The steps gave way and she was just able to hold on to the remnants of the floor above her. She utilized her Slayer strength to heave herself up. A couple of the walls were still up. It was the roof that had caved in on the small structure. She quickly made her way through the doorway and saw the last girls getting in Willows portal. Willow was still on this plane waiting for all the survivors to make their way through. “Willow?” she yelled to her friend.

“Buffy?” Willow said with an expression of relief and joy on her face. “C’mon. You gotta move faster. There’s not much time left.”

Buffy was running with all her might. She was nearly there. All of the sudden she felt something pulling her in the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder and saw a black shadow. “Willow!” she screamed as her feet left the ground. She didn’t see Willow’s expression after that. She was devoured by the shadow and pulled back into the Hellmouth. She tried to fight and wrestle with the ghostly apparition but to no avail. She was being pulled deeper and deeper into the pit. Then for a split second, the amulet activated itself once again. A bright white light illuminated around her. She even stopped falling in mid-air. She could feel an immense amount of energy encompassing every fiber of her being. But only for a moment.

No words could ever describe what she felt. As the light went out, Buffy felt herself falling again. Not for long. She soon hit the earth with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of her. Her weapons were still in her vice-like grip. And one of her weapons in her duffel bag hit her side painfully. She quickly regained her composure and got to her feet. She was surrounded by total darkness. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she could feel something…different about this place. The stench was greater than in the Hellmouth and Buffy, for the first time during this battle, was terrified. She was in her fighting stance as she looked around, piercing the shadows with her eyes. In an attempt to give herself confidence, she murmured, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.” And unlike Dorothy, Buffy was all alone.


Chapter 4 - CHAPTER FOUR: GONE

CHAPTER FOUR: GONE



A deep sense of foreboding encompassed the Slayer. “Show yourself,” she demanded. She could make out quick movements in the shadows. Large dark shapes were closing in around her. It took only a few seconds for Buffy to realize what these gargantuan shapes were: spiders! Not the itsy bitsy ones like at home, but monstrous forms that gave off a stench of foulness. She could not guess their number as she couldn’t see beyond the closest ones. She distinctively heard a voice say, “Tasty little morsel.” But that’s impossible; spiders don’t talk. Or maybe she was now in some bizarro world where these hideous beasts could communicate.

As the creatures made their move, Buffy quickly put her weapons to use. She was still wielding both her sword and her scythe with dead on precision. She hewed many legs off her enemies, which twitched momentarily before lying still. This made for an easy kill as her blades went through them like butter. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was greatly outnumbered by the beasts. Her thoughts soon turned to fleeing from this predicament she found herself in. She then noticed some spiders trying stealthily to approach her from the rear. She quickly spun around and leapt at these creatures and stabbed at their enormous forms. She could feel both weapons penetrating their flesh. The stench from their wounds was a hundred times worse then anything Buffy ever smelled before. Yet she kept on fighting, keeping her ground and trying to keep her wits. There was no one to bail her out of this situation that she now found herself in.

She decided it was best to flee. No matter how many she took down, there were more to take their place. Just like the über-vamps she fought only minutes earlier in the Hellmouth. Buffy wasn’t one to run from a fight, but she was already exhausted from her previous battle and had no rest between them. She decided to run in the direction that most of them came from, which was directly in front of her. Her adrenaline was running high and she continued to make mince meat out of everything that was in her path. Step by step she was beginning to make progress. She cursed the spiders as well as taunted them as she cleaved through their hides. She dove under one, stabbed it repeatedly and rolled out on the other side before it collapsed onto the ground. She could hear its howls of pain echoing in the gloominess that surrounded her. This method worked for a while as she was able to advance several yards until one caught on to her technique and soon had her within its grasp. Its pinchers squeezed the air from her lungs as it lifted her high off the ground. Despite the sweltering heat, she was ever grateful that she still had on her thick wool coat. While she did feel her skin tear, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.

She mustered her strength and pushed her sword through the top of its head. She followed this with puncturing several of its beady eyes. The spider dropped her to the ground and she proceeded to hack at anything within reach. Getting back on her feet, she stormed the spiders in front of her cleaving an escape route. There must have been at least a couple dozen dead spiders on the ground. Perhaps that was the reason that many of them got out of her way. She quickly ran as fast as her little feet would carry her thinking that she got past another set of Bauglir’s emissaries.

Unfortunately for the Slayer, she was being led into a trap. Within minutes she became enmeshed in the biggest webs she’s ever seen. She could feel them sticking in her eye lashes and even worse – her mouth. She tried to pull herself free, but this stuff was like super glue. She managed to pull her weapons out of the netting and soon began to tear at the webs that she was entangled in. Thank God it worked! Her head was beginning to throb and every part of her body ached. Fatigue was definitely kicking in. After managing to get free, Buffy picked up her pace again and ran. She knew that the spiders were still all around her, but they weren’t on top of her. She couldn’t ask for anything better than that unless it was being free from these monsters. Buffy gathered speed and noticed that the spiders were falling behind. Finally, she thought to herself. It was then that she lost her footing on some brambles and fell face first into the thorny bushes. “Damn it!” she mumbled under her breath. She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the stickers from her face. Her entire face was now burning, but thankfully none of the thorns got in her eyes. She imagined herself being horribly disfigured from these last two battles.

She attempted to get up when she noticed legs surrounding her. She was just able to roll over when she noticed a humongous spider straddling her. A stinger the size of a yard stick was there to greet her. Cursing to herself, she held up the blade of her scythe to use as a shield. At the same time, the spider was lowering itself and the sound of the stinger colliding with the blade echoed in the dimness. She had to use both arms to keep this thing at bay. Lower it still came. Her arms were trembling from fatigue and it didn’t help that she was still lying in a bed of thorns. The stinger made a screeching sound as it began to slide along the blade, heading directly for the Slayers already bloody face. Within seconds it would slide off. She had to do something…fast. Her arms were beginning to give and the feeling of hopelessness was starting to overcome her. Gathering her strength once again, she pushed up on the beast, angling her weapon so that the stinger would slide in the opposite direction. It was working. Suddenly she pulled her left hand free and drove her blade deep into the belly of the demonic creature. It wailed in pain as Buffy twisted the blade within its flesh and rammed it even deeper. Thick black blood began to ooze out of its wound when Buffy removed the blade. She quickly shoved it back in again until the spider retracted its weapon and stumbled backwards. Its blood burned her skin when it made contact and she desperately tried to rub it off on her pant leg. She did a forward roll and looked at the creature cowering on the ground. The other spiders were keenly watching the hurt one. The Slayer took advantage of this situation by running like hell. She didn’t bother to look back.

Buffy didn’t know how long it took her to escape the spiders’ lair. It was hours or so it seemed. But she could tell she found her way out because she could finally make out the night sky dotted with stars. The air seemed cleaner too. She could see that she was in the bottom of some valley. Its deep walls she wasn’t ready to scale just yet so she kept on the same course that she found herself walking. There was no way she was going to stop as she was still too close to danger. She did manage to wipe her weapons clean and put her sword back in her bag. This allowed her to use her wounded hand to pull out the remaining thorns that were still in her face. She could tell that it was swollen.

Her thoughts soon turned to Bauglir and Allandro. Allandro had told her the amulet was made for her. Did that mean that she was supposed to be here? And where exactly was here? It wasn’t Cleveland, that’s for sure. The Hellmouth definitely closed. She saw that much. And it wasn’t a cold wintry day either. Quite the opposite. In fact, to her it seemed like spring or summer. The evening air was cool, but not cold. And the grass beneath her feet was green. Was Bauglir here? He said her would bring her pain and well, check that one off, because she was certainly feeling it. Ever molecule of her body ached. And she was so thirsty. Looking around at the deserted land she knew she wouldn’t wander upon a 7 11 in which she could refresh herself with a super sized slurpy. At this point she would get on all fours and lap up water from a mud hole, if she could find one. But those thoughts she put behind her, for now. Her limbs were stiff and all she wanted to do was sleep. After what seemed to be an hour or so, she did just that.

Buffy didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but when she awoke again, it was still rather dark. She had no idea if it was dawn or dusk. Her thoughts soon turned to water. Her lips were chapped feeling and her mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Feeling the dampness on the ground, she determined that it was probably morning dew. She rolled over on her belly and actually licked the dew off the grass. What a sight it would be if someone came wandering up looking at a badly beaten woman licking the grass in order to wet her whistle! But desperate times call for desperate measures. Licking the dew was not very satisfying. If anything, it was more like a tease. After several minutes, she gave up on this idea. Perhaps if she followed the course she chose, she would stumble upon some type of water.

The Slayer walked in what she determined was a westerly direction. That is, if in this realm the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Angel had told her about the demonic world of Pylea where there were two suns in the sky during the day. There was only one here. When the sun finally did show its face, Buffy soon became overwhelmed by the heat. She pulled off her coat and sweater and felt much more comfortable in her bra. Her wounds from the spiders’ pinchers had already scabbed over and she still had dried blood all over her stomach and sides. Her khakis were also covered in a strange mixture of her enemies’ blood as well as her own. Without water, she couldn’t clean up.

She saw few signs of life. An occasional flock of birds would fly overhead once or twice a day. At night, bats could be seen fluttering about in the darkness. There was nothing worth noting until the second night of her ‘arrival’ in this world. She had once again, fallen asleep. According to her watch, (yes, it still worked. It was a Timex after all!), it was 1:27 A.M. when she had last looked at it before falling into her slumber. She was dreaming about swimming in a clear pool of water when she awakened all the sudden to find a beastly looking creature above her swinging his weapon down upon her. Quickly she rolled over with her scythe in hand. She was able to block the next blow with the handle. Kicking herself unto her feet she noticed that this demon was wearing armor. Something she didn’t run across very often in her usual everyday slaying. He was much bigger than her and for some reason, she kept thinking about Planet of the Apes even though he wasn’t one. His long, dark leathery arms protruded from his armor and he had a helmet on his head. This thing was definitely some type of warrior demon. She just hadn’t come across things like this before. Its teeth were like yellow daggers and he obviously never heard of the word deodorant or cologne. He smelled something fierce.

The Slayer immediately noticed his most vulnerable spot – his neck. This was not covered in iron and she was able to hew his head off. But he wasn’t alone. There must have been about thirty of these creatures. They growled and barked orders at one another. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?” said one in a deep grumbly voice. Another answered, “The sweeter she shall taste.”

“Taste this you son of a bitch,” she stammered. Her mouth was so dry and it was hard to get any words out. But her adrenaline was kicking in and she was soon attempting to duel with this thing despite not having her sword handy. She prayed that the wooden handle wouldn’t splinter or shatter from blocking his blows. But she managed to hew off his arm which left him howling in pain. At least that was enough for him to withdraw from the action, but there were more to take his place. Buffy soon managed to take out six more of these demons. She desperately wanted to get to her bag and get her sword as it would serve her better in this type of combat. Her blade would pierce through their armor, but she was worried that the scythe would become damaged. It was made for vampires not demons that wore armor. The sword on the other hand, was made exactly for this type of contest.

But Buffy’s body was also a weapon and she used that more than her scythe. It was more effective. She could somersault over one, turn around and hew off his head before he even knew where she went. Taking his headless corpse, she would use this as a shield as the others continued their attack. But like all demons, they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box. Instead of all of them attacking at once, maybe, one or two would. When they fell, they would be replaced by two more. She saw this before…many times over. The beastly creatures would curse every time one of their brethren fell. Yet they still fought in the same stupid fashion.

When she was down to the remaining ten (including one arm guy who sat wincing holding his stub), her luck seemed to change. It wasn’t exhaustion this time. Perhaps it was stupidity on her part. It was still dim and Buffy didn’t realize that one managed to get behind her. He grabbed her in a full nelson and pulled her off the ground. She was kicking wildly and tried to do a reverse head butt when she hit his iron clad head instead of his flesh. This left her momentarily dazed and she dropped her scythe. “Lishnâk,” he yelled. “I’ve got her now. Pretty little elf’s not going anywhere.” Elf? Thought Buffy. Who the hell is he calling an ‘elf’?

The one called Lishnâk approached Buffy. She was still squirming in the others hold. She could feel his hot putrid breath on the back of her neck. Her chin was almost touching her chest and it was very painful. “Don’t snap her neck, yet, Bâzdúsh,” he growled to the beast that was holding her. “Let’s have a little fun. Master would be pleased that we caught such a …”

Buffy wished she had enough saliva to spit in his face. Instead she interrupted him by saying, “You’re dead you ugly son of a bitch, I’m gonna…”

His claw-like hand gripped her face so that she was forced to look directly at his hideous face. His nails dug into her flesh. “You’re going to what?” He said with a laugh. The surviving members of his group also laughed at her statement.

“Let me have her. Let me have her,” shouted the one with the missing appendage.

“Not now, Bôrurk,” barked Lishnâk over his shoulder. Buffy could feel her own blood oozing from the wounds on her face. “Look at all my men you’ve taken out. I have not seen an elf maid do anything of this sort before…”

“I’m not an elf,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m the Slayer.”

“Slayer,” he repeated over and over again in a mocking tone. “Looks like your gonna get a taste of your own medicine.” With that he rammed a knife into Buffy’s stomach. Her body tightened up and she ceased flailing her legs. “How does that taste sweetness?” He withdrew the blade and moved within inches from her face. She was stunned that she had been stabbed. He licked the blade of the knife. “Tastes sweet to me,” he whispered to her. “It’s a feast tonight boys!” He exclaimed to his fiendish friends and they were soon walloping their weapons against their shields with delight.

Buffy mustered her strength once again. There was no way she was going to be kibbles and bits for these bastards. Before he could plunge the knife in again, she balled up her legs and kicked him with all her might. He must have gone flying a good twenty feet. Buffy used her fingernails as a weapon for the beast holding her. She moved her hand behind her head and raked her nails across his face. He let out a scream and loosened his grip. She managed to do a back flip over him just in time for him to be on the receiving end of another demons blade. Using him as a shield, she picked up her weapon again. She threw his wounded body at the one coming for her and they both fell to the ground, one on top of the other. She swung her blade through both of them. Only four remained. She noticed that the one arm demon called Bôrurk was running for it. The survivors seemed quite shocked that she was able to overwhelm them. They, too, started to run for it. Buffy pulled the knife out of its sheath that she wore on her leg and threw it at the one lagging behind. It made contact underneath his helmet. She sprinted over to where he fell, clutching her stomach as she ran. She pounced on top of his back and pulled out the blade. She flipped him over to see if he was still alive. He was. “Who are you working for?” she demanded as she held the blade to his throat piercing his flesh so he understood that she meant business.

“My Master,” he sputtered breathlessly. “My Master is Lord of All the World.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” she said. He winced as his blood began to trickle out of his wound. “Is it Bauglir? Is that his name? The First?”

“My Master is Lord of All the World,” he repeated again. “And soon, he’s going to destroy all of your kind,” he growled. Buffy saw that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this monster, so she pushed all of her weight down on the blade, severing his head from his body which immediately went into spasms. The force sent a jet of blood straight at her face. She jumped off of him, spitting out the blood that sprayed in her mouth and looked to see where the others went. The sun was beginning to rise and they were already like little dots in the distance. She pulled off her sweater (she wore it at night in order to keep warm, despite the stench of it), and used it to wipe the demons blood off her face. Her stomach still hurt and she then examined her own wound.

Blessed with healing powers, her injury would soon mend itself. She balled up her sweater and pressed it against her stomach hoping that would stop the flow of blood. She went to pick up her duffel bag and noticed that her sword was gone. “Damn it!” she said upon discovering its absence. It dawned on her that one of those freakishly ugly creatures must have taken it. As the sun beamed over the mountain tops in the east, Buffy decided to check all the enemies for her weapon, but more importantly – for water.

As Buffy rummaged through the bodies looking for her sword she noticed the arrival of buzzards. Lots of them pecking away at the corpses that lay on the ground. She also noticed whirls of smoke a short distance away. Picking up her belongings, she headed in the direction of the smoke. She soon came upon the demons camp. There were literally dozens and dozens of flasks littered about the campsite, much to Buffy’s relief. Opening up a flask, she sniffed the liquid inside. She could smell nothing. She wiped the opening the best that she could and took a swig. Her first conclusions were: A. it was definitely not water and tasted bitter; B. it felt warm going down; C. this stuff was incredibly invigorating and D. it actually quenched her thirst. It was like Popeye with his spinach. She gulped down more of the liquid and she could feel the weariness leaving her limbs instantaneously. She consumed three such flasks. Buffy was surprised that the demons possessed such a beverage. She began to gather all the flasks she could and stuff them into her duffel bag. She didn’t have room for all of them, but she felt she had enough to get by.

Another thing about slaying is that it makes you hungry. Buffy was leery about eating the ‘food’ that she found at their camp. It looked like some type of beef jerky or dehydrated turds. She couldn’t decide which. She concluded that since they were willing to eat her, she better not eat anything they had. Period. It might be some poor old soul or something. She wasn’t that hungry. Not yet, any way.

The Slayer then had to decide which way to travel. Since she felt re-energized, she decided that now was the best time to scale the hill facing south. The demons went north and Buffy felt that if she got to the top of the hill, she would be able to see the lay of the land better. This might indicate which direction she should go. Besides, watching the buzzards rip at the flesh of the demons wasn’t a pretty sight. It was time to go.

Climbing up the hillside was much easier with the aid of this miracle elixir she now possessed. She felt her strength returning as though she had been well rested. She still had a bad case of B.O., but hopefully she could remedy that as soon as she found some water. When Buffy was about half way up, she distinctly heard the sound of voices. Actually it was more like singing. She stopped suddenly and listened intently. It didn’t sound like the demons that she had just encountered. Their song was a celebratory tune. Buffy bit her still aching lip and decided she would see who was on top of the hill.

Buffy nearly fainted when she reached the top. Not from exhaustion, but by what she saw. There were two wagons, each harnessed to a pony. Sitting on the ground were, believe it or not, seven dwarves. Buffy laughed at the irony of that. Seven dwarves. Did that mean she was Show White? It was good for a momentary chuckle any way. “Hail, victorious lady,” began one as they all stood up to greet her. “We had been watching you battle with the enemy. Very impressive.” They all murmured in agreement and Buffy stood there absolutely stunned. “Oh,” he began again. “Where are my manners? Lady, my name is Drór and I am one of the lords of Belegost.”

“Did you say Drór?” asked Buffy. “And what’s a Belegost?”

The Dwarves laughed in a gruntingly fashion. “Yes, I said Drór. And Belegost are the halls where we dwell.” When he saw the confused look on the Slayer’s face he continued, pointing to the south east. “Our home is further south and to the east in the Blue Mountains.” None of this registered with Buffy. Drór introduced Buffy to the rest of his ‘kin’ and as he said their name (each sounding stranger and stranger); they would bow before Buffy and say, “at your service.” She found that to be really…weird. All the dwarves were about four to six inches shorter than her. All had wavy to curly brown hair with matching long beards and mustaches. Some of them actually braided their beards which was definitely not in fashion back home. But they were very polite and to Buffy’s eyes, could really only be distinguished by the color of their cloaks. For each one of them had a different color cloak on. “And whom might you be?” asked Drór, whom Buffy took to be the leader of the pack.

“My name’s Buffy,” she said. They looked at her rather oddly. When Buffy saw their reaction she added, “It’s not that strange. No stranger than Drór.” That last sentence she merely whispered to herself. She didn’t want to offend the dwarves.

“You must be weary from the battle. Sit. We will see to it that you are refreshed. Surely an enemy of the enemy is a friend to us dwarves.”

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have any water?” Buffy asked with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“Indeed we do,” responded the purple cloaked dwarf. Buffy had already forgotten their names, except for Drór. That one she could remember for some reason. “We dwarves are prepared when we travel.” He dug out a wooden bowl from a large sack and filled it with water from one of the barrels on the wagon. “We were traveling to the Falas to conduct a bit of business when we were waylaid by a band of yrch,” he continued as he handed her the bowl full of water. Buffy’s thirst was already quenched and all she really wanted was to clean up. She untied the sweater from around her waist, (she did that as she climbed up the hill), and the dwarves saw her injury.

“Oh my,” interrupted the yellow cloaked dwarf. “You’re hurt. Let me help you.” He began rummaging through another sack.

“Thanks,” said Buffy. “I suppose you guys wouldn’t happen to have a mirror in there?”

“Mirror?” questioned the yellow cloaked dwarf. “Indeed I do,” he replied as he pulled one out of a satchel. “Here you go, Lady.”

“Thanks. And you can call me Buffy.” Buffy took the small mirror and looked at her face. The gash across her lip was scabbed over and she had dried blood smeared all over her face. Her face was covered in little red dots from the thorns that reminded her of chicken pox. And she had two gashes on either side of her face from the demons claws. She took the piece of cloth that was offered to her, dabbed it in the water and began clean her face. “I look like crap,” she mumbled. She noticed that her blond hair was streaked with blood as well. She was a blood encrusted version of Carrie, without all the evil telekinetic powers.

“Please Lady, uh, I mean, Buffy, sit down and I will tend to your wound,” said the dwarf that Buffy now referred to as Yellow. “How is this possible? It is already closed up.” He shook his head as the other dwarves came in for a closer look. “This salve will help with all of your injuries.”

Another one then asked, “How did you learn to fight like that? In my one hundred and two years of life, I have never beheld anything like that before.”

Buffy then explained to the dwarves about being a Slayer, her battle with The First, the closing of the Hellmouth in Cleveland and being transported here via a portal. She also told them about fighting the spiders before she came across the demonic creatures that woke her from her pleasant sleep. As she told her story, the dwarves offered her food. This she willingly took. She couldn’t sense any evil vibe coming from them and they were so damn nice. At least she wasn’t alone. That brought her some comfort. They sat in amazement as she retold her story again leaving out no details. All the while, Yellow continued to apply his ointment on her cuts and abrasions that she had all over her body.

The dwarves even gave her a clean green tunic to wear. It was a little wrinkly, but that was okay. It didn’t stink and wasn’t covered in bodily fluids. They didn’t think it was such a great idea for her to go walking about showing so much skin. It wasn’t proper. She was just glad to have something cool to put on. She went around in her bra more out of necessity than anything else.

After telling her story, Buffy began to ask questions. Such as, where the hell was she? Does Bauglir reside in this world? And why the hell is she here? And what were those funky armored creatures? She discovered that she was in a land called Beleriand and the dwarves had never stumbled upon anyone like her before. Other than dwarves and the evil creatures of Bauglir, the elves lived in these lands. It was an elvish king that claimed the lordship of all Beleriand except for the Halls where the dwarves dwelt. The demons that she had fought were called yrch. Buffy found all this very interesting and strange. Elves. She remembered that those yrch called her an elf. Man did not exist in this reality. That was totally bizarre to Buffy. A world without men. She thought everything here might be super sized and then she learns of dwarves and elves. Was this a land of little people? And would that make Buffy the biggest non-evil being in this world?

The dwarves couldn’t or wouldn’t answer all of her questions. They were examining her weapons, clothing and jewelry that she wore. They were appalled to find that she took the drink of the enemy. They scolded her for that and tossed the flasks into the valley below them. “Poison. Never take anything from the enemy,” chastised Red. They would give her water and some provisions for the road. Buffy had kinda thought that she could go with the dwarves, but they immediately shot that down.

“We had more in our party while you were fighting the yrch,” said Drór. “We sent them ahead to alert the march wardens of Eglador.”

“Egla- what?” Asked a confused Buffy.

The dwarf shook his head. “Eglador,” he replied very slowly as if Buffy was retarded or something. “That is the name of the lands of Thingol, the Elven King. We have more important matters to deal with. The elves possess great wisdom and knowledge and may be able give you the aid you need. We are not permitted to bring strangers to our Halls. If all goes well with Thingol, than perhaps one day you will be welcomed.” He smiled reassuringly. “They are a good people. And the Queen has great powers from beyond the sea, or so they say. We will take you with us for awhile. As far as to the road to Eglador. Come now. We are already behind schedule.”

With that, Buffy climbed onto the back of the wagon. “I suppose there’s no…Holiday Inn or Amtrak station in these parts, huh?” She asked Blue as the wagon started forward.

“Lady?” he asked inquisitively. “I have heard of no such places. There is no town or village along this road on which we ride.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbled to herself. Buffy continued to talk with the dwarves as they rode down the stone road. It was dark again when her journey with the dwarves ended. They instructed her to head due south where she would enter the realm of Thingol. In appreciation, she gave her watch to Drór. He had been eyeing it for quite some time and she felt she wouldn’t need it any longer. Buffy stood on the side of the road as she heard the clippity clop of the pony’s hooves fade in the distance. And then they were gone.



Meanwhile, the surviving yrch reached their home in the north, Angband. They reported to the Dark Lord of those lands that an elf-maid had waylaid them and killed most of them. “She called herself the Slayer,” informed one arm orch. “Great skill she had in battle and did things that I have not seen before.”

Upon hearing this news Bauglir sat for several minutes in silence. Being the greatest of all the Powers, he searched his mind, looking backwards and forwards in time seeking out for one called The Slayer. Bauglir furrowed his eye brows once he discovered what the Slayer was. “And you did not kill her?” he exclaimed breaking the silence at last. “For that, you shall be punished!” His minions were ordered to drag off the survivors to the dungeons where they would be tormented and tortured. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined that the Slayer would arrive in Middle-earth so soon after him. His thoughts immediately turned to her destruction.


Chapter 5 - CHAPTER FIVE: INTO THE WOODS

CHAPTER FIVE: INTO THE WOODS



If it wasn’t for the moon, Buffy wouldn’t have been able to proceed on with her hike. The ‘road’ that the dwarves had told her about was more like a trail than anything else. It wasn’t like the stone one that they had just traveled on. Once into the woods, the moonlight was blocked out by the towering trees that encompassed her. But the path was smooth and free of debris, so she continued her march. After what seemed like several hours, she decided to stop for the night. She was hungry and tired. She wished she still had some of the yrch draught. That would have rejuvenated her enough to continue on. She sat with her back against a tree and ate the ‘salted pork’ and ‘dried fruit’ that the dwarves had given her. It wasn’t really her thing, but it was better than nothing. Buffy was very capable of hunting for ‘fresh’ food, but she had no way to make a fire. So she was grateful that she had something to put in her belly. The nightingales she now heard and their song soon lulled her to sleep.

Buffy was just coming out of her slumber when she heard voices. Thinking that the yrch had come back seeking vengeance, she immediately jumped to her feet. She began to kick and pummel at anyone in her vicinity. In the in the midst of confusion, Buffy realized these were not yrch, but something totally different. She unfortunately didn’t notice in time as she kicked one in the stomach, who then flew about fifteen feet before slamming into a tree. “Halt!” She soon heard. Several beings surrounded her and had the largest bows she had ever seen in her life. All had their weapons armed and pointed directly at the Slayer. These were no little people either. They were very tall. Well over six feet. These had to be the elves that the dwarves had told her about. The dwarves could have at least informed her that they were…what’s the word…gorgeous!

“Sorry,” she had said as she held her hands up. “I thought you were the yrch coming back for another round.” Several of the people got back to their feet (the unfortunate ones that got a taste of Buffy’s slayer strength). They appeared to be breathless and in pain. Buffy continued with her apologies.

The tallest one came forward (we’re talking about six foot six inches!), he wore a grim expression. “You would be the maiden that the Naugrim spoke of?” he inquired as he rubbed the back of his head. This was the guy that Buffy sent flying into the tree. The Slayer merely nodded her head. “How is it that you possess such strength yet you are so small?” He questioned.

“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy stated proudly. Their expressions were blank and Buffy continued, “In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.” Still there was no acknowledgment. “Well that’s me. I kick demon butt.”

“I would not have believed it had I not been on the receiving end,” said the tall dark haired elf. “I have never seen such strength from one so small.”

“You don’t say?” she shot back sarcastically. “Never heard that one before.”

He smiled, recognizing her sarcasm. “I am Beleg, the chief of the march wardens of Eglador.” With that said, the other people lowered their weapons. They were all looking her over. “You are not from these parts, are you?” he asked.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Buffy asked.

“Your garments are strange to us,” added another dark haired elf.

“Well, it’s actually very in vogue...back home any way.” She looked down at her dirty blood splattered pants. “Normally, I look much better than this. And smell better too,” she added as she caught a whiff of her own body odor. “I suppose you guys don’t have any facilities for bathing around here, do you?” She glanced around and saw nothing but woods. “A hot bath would be nice.”

The elves laughed. “Indeed you do smell like you have been in the wild for several days. How long have you been here…in these lands?” Beleg inquired.

“Well,” began the Slayer who was trying to recount how many days she had actually been here. “I guess it’s been three days. Seems longer though. Things are different here than in my world.” She looked at the elves closely.

“And where did you come from? The Naugrim say that you passed through Nan Dungortheb, is that true?” he inquired again.

“You mean the ‘Valley of Dreadful Death’? Yeah.” She sighed. “I was there. Got attacked by these monstrous spiders. It wasn’t pretty either. There’s fewer of them then before, but I take it they can breed like hell.”

The elves seemed impressed by that revelation. They asked her to tell her story. How she came to be here. How she survived the pass of Nan Dungortheb. How she battled the yrch. It had not yet dawned on Buffy that she would soon recount this story over and over again. They sat down on the ground as Buffy retold her story from the beginning once again. The elves were astonished by her tale. Beleg then said, “I could sense a great power about you the moment I laid eyes on you. You are no ordinary maiden that much I can tell. Perhaps our Lord will allow you to come to his halls and the Lady may revel more to us as yet.”

“The Lord?” Buffy inquired. “That would be Thingol, right?”

“Yes,” he began. “He is high Lord over all of Beleriand. He is both fair and wise. His wife is Melian, the Maia.” It was now Buffy who wore a blank look on her face. Beleg noticed this and continued, “She is one of the Powers who now dwell in the west.”

“One of the Powers?!” Buffy said with a tinge of excitement in her voice. “I’d really like to meet her. Maybe she could tell me why the hell I’m here.”

“Perhaps,” replied Beleg as he got to his feet. The others did the same including Buffy. “I have sent a messenger to alert the King of your arrival. Without his leave, you cannot go further into his realm.” Buffy was slightly disappointed. “But,” he began again. “I will take you to our encampment.” He picked up her duffel bag of weapons. “I shall carry these for you. We will see what we can do in order to get you…refreshed.”

“Thanks,” replied the Slayer. Buffy and Beleg continued down the same trail road that she had been on the previous day. Beleg talked about Middle-earth and the evil creatures that lurked about. Wolves, yrch, and yes, even vampires. Buffy concluded that she would definitely be an asset here. The elves didn’t even have a clue on how to kill a vamp. Buffy explained to him the various methods of killing them. She now wished that she had brought Mr. Pointy after all.

It did not take them long to reach the ‘encampment’. It consisted of twenty five wooden cottages nestled among the mammoth beech trees. There were some patches of grass here and there where the sunlight kissed the earth. Beyond the cottages there was a vast open space in which a garden was planted. Each cottage was landscaped with many different flowers. Some Buffy did not recognize. The air was fragrant and the birds chirped happily in the tree limbs above them.

“Here we are,” Beleg said as they reached the first cottage. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He opened the door and they went inside. The interior consisted of one large sparsely furnished room. There was what we would call, a living area, dining area and kitchen (complete with stove). There of course was no refrigerator. This main living area was probably around one thousand square feet, give or take. At the back of this space there was another door. This was Beleg’s private ‘sleeping chamber’. Buffy immediately noticed that there was no bathroom. As she now had to pee something fierce, this was a matter of utmost importance to her. She had peed outside numerous times (even before her arrival in this strange world), but now that there were quite a few people milling about, she was quite hesitant to drop her drawers in front of all of them. She expressed her concern to Beleg who let out a hardy laugh. “We can remedy that, dear maiden,” he said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Buffy was finding it difficult to even stay still. We’ve all been in that situation before. He opened a cupboard and removed a sponge looking thing that had a wooden stick in the middle of it. He explained to Buffy that this is what they used to ‘clean’ themselves after going to the…bathroom. He also gave her a wooden bucket filled with water. He led her back outside to a small wooden structure. This was their lavatory. To Buffy, it was an outhouse. She cringed to herself but had to go so bad she didn’t care.

Buffy realized that this whole experience was like going back in time. This was how the first people, even in her world, lived long ago. She soon disposed of her bucket water and made her way back into the cottage. A large tub had been placed in Beleg’s sleeping chamber and he had a couple of other elves busy filling it with hot water. Buffy was so excited at the prospect of being able to wash all the grime out of her hair. “I have sent for Lindír’s wife,” he said. “She should have some clean garments for you to wear. She has two small daughters that are about your size. I will also see if she can mend and clean your clothing.” Buffy was very grateful. Hygiene was something of great importance to her. And it was something that she had neglected for too many days (not by choice).

Beleg seemed to understand these things about the Slayer. He also produced the stuff required for ‘washing’ your teeth. This consisted of some type of abrasive cloth on a small stick. The elves concocted a type of ‘paste’ that was reminiscent to baking soda and water. He showed her how to use this device correctly. It wasn’t a toothbrush, but it basically served the same purpose. After washing her teeth, he handed her a small glass of clear liquid. It smelled like mint. In fact, it was the oils extracted from the leaves mixed with water. Buffy gargled the fluid and instantly her mouth felt refreshed.

Ten minutes later the tub was full. Beleg went out into the main living area and Buffy undressed, tossing her nasty clothes onto the floor. The water was too hot for her, so she smelled the various bottles that were set on a table beside it. She decided on one that smelled like lilac. After a few more minutes, Buffy was able to submerge herself into the clear steamy water. Another sponge (she sure hoped it was a different one!) was laid out for her use. She began scrubbing away, when the door flew open. In walked a tall woman dressed in a long light yellow dress. Her hair was silver and was braided down her back. Her hair was nearly as long as Crystal Gayle’s. She held a bundle of clothes in her arms and laid them on the bed. “You must be…Buffy,” she said not knowing whether she was pronouncing her name correctly.

“That’s me,” responded Buffy and she sank a little deeper into the water. She wasn’t use to having strangers walking in on her while naked.

“My name is Gweneth. I am Lindír’s wife. Beleg called upon me to assist you…” She pulled up a stool and immediately began rummaging through the various bottles on the table.

“Really, I don’t need any help,” interrupted the Slayer. “I’ve been bathing myself for a long time now.” Buffy never ever had anyone offer to bathe her before. That was insane!

“Now, now,” she began again as she poured out a floral scented liquid in her hands and began washing the Slayers hair. “No need to be modest. We are both women, after all.” Despite Buffy’s protests, she continued as though she didn’t hear her. “Beleg says that you are a mighty warrior that has journeyed a long way,” she prattled on. “He says that you killed many of the yrch and even made it through Nan Dungortheb.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Buffy could get out. She hated to admit it, but Gweneth’s technique was quite relaxing. It was like getting a massage.

“Well, it is good to see that a woman is capable of surviving the same trials as a man,” she quickly began again.

“I take it that you live in a very patriarchal society,” interjected Buffy. Buffy hated the fact that Gweneth agreed with that statement. “Well, where I come from, women are as powerful as men. We don’t answer to anyone but ourselves. We go to war. We can die for what we believe in, even if it’s foolish.”

Gweneth wholeheartedly agreed with her. “I’m not saying that I would willingly go to war. If our homes were being ravaged by the enemy, I would pick up the sword and stand beside Lindír and fight. It saddens me that the peace that we’ve enjoyed for so long is starting to diminish. We cannot go anywhere outside Eglador without an escort nowadays.” She picked up a bowl and filled it with water. “I’m going to rinse now, dear,” she prattled on as she poured the water over Buffy’s head. “There were times when one could wander ever so far and have nothing to fear.” She continued pouring water over Buffy’s head. “Walking and singing in bliss under the star speckled sky,” she added wistfully. “Tell me, is there peace in the lands where you dwell?”

Buffy chuckled. She didn’t really know how to answer that. “That’s a hard question to answer. For the most part, it’s somewhat safe. There’s a saying, ‘ignorance is bliss,’ and that’s how most of the people are, ignorant. I, on the other hand, I know what lurks in the darkness. I’ve seen it. I’ve fought it. And I suppose I’ll continue to until the day I die. That’s what I do. Some times I wish I could be like the ignorant ones and live in a world of bliss.”

With Buffy’s hair now rinsed, Gweneth grabbed the sponge and began to wash her back. “From these scars on your body, I take it you have fought in many battles.”

Buffy leaned forward a little to allow Gweneth to continue her scrubbing. “Unfortunately. That’s what I do.” When Gweneth made her way in front of Buffy, Buffy put a stop to her cleaning. “No offense,” Buffy started. “I appreciate your help and all, but I can finish myself.”

Gweneth looked slightly affronted, but only for a moment. “As you wish.” She got up and began to lay out the various dresses. She also carried a sack that had several pairs of sandals in them. She continued her ramblings as Buffy finished her bath. Gweneth was very nice, but way too talkative for Buffy. She was hoping for a ‘Calgon’ moment, but noticed it wasn’t going to happen today. So she got up and dried herself off and went to examine the various gowns that Gweneth had brought. This whole time, Gweneth continued her incessant talking. Buffy quickly settled on a silky lavender gown. It seemed to fit okay. It was perfect for the season any way and the sandals kept her feet a lot cooler than her boots. After combing out her hair (Buffy so wished she had a blow dryer), she surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked much better except for those damn cuts on her face. They were starting to itch and she knew they were going to leave scars. Gweneth handed her a small circular box which contained her “miracle” salve. It was special concoction devised by the green elves of Ossiriand. Whatever the hell that meant. At this point, Buffy was desperate. She really didn’t want to end up looking like Scarface. Most of her old battle wounds were concealed by her clothing. She more than happily applied the ointment to her wounds.

After Gweneth left, Buffy was able to relax again. No more ramblings! She joined Beleg in the main room and took a chair at the table. “I must say, you look more lady-like now,” he said as his eyes assessed her appearance.

“Thanks Beleg. You don’t know how good it feels to be clean after so many days of fighting and wandering.”

“Ahh,” he began as he offered her an apple. “Indeed I do. I have gone off hunting for long periods of time. I have been in similar situations.” He took a bite of apple. “At least you feel refreshed after much toiling.”

Buffy spent the rest of the day with Beleg. They talked a lot. She told him about Sunnydale and London. Rome and Paris. And of course Cleveland. He just could not fathom that Slayers were called at such a young age. In the elvish world, one is still considered a child until they’re fifty years old. Buffy explained to him that most mortals didn’t live past their eighties. Very few made it past one hundred. He also found that hard to believe.

Beleg was quite the gentleman and gave up his bed to Buffy. He slept in the living room on what Buffy would call a chaise lounge. After a few days sleeping on the hard ground, it was heaven to actually sleep on a bed with pillows and quilts. Maybe things weren’t going to be so bad after all.

The following morning Buffy awoke to birds singing on the window sill of the bed chamber. She lay there watching the two red birds (she thinks they were cardinals) sing away. Never before had she seen anything like that. They were only a couple of feet away and they didn’t seem frightened by her presence at all. She could hear footsteps in the adjoining room and knew that she needed to get up and face the day.

She dressed and was still combing her hair when she went into the other room. There was another elf there with Beleg. This one was as tall as Beleg but had long silver hair. He was examining her scythe very closely. Buffy wasn’t too keen on having others handling her weapons, especially that one. “Good morning, Buffy,” greeted Beleg as the other elf looked up. “I hope your rest was pleasant.”

“Yeah,” she replied. She gave the once over on the other elf and then said, “Who are you?” He was definitely not one of the elves she had met yesterday.

He put her weapon down on the table and took a couple of steps forward. “I am Mablung; I am chief captain of Thingol’s.” He bowed slightly. “Thingol has ordered me to bring you to Menegroth.” Buffy looked intensely at this new elf.

Beleg took that as some type of apprehensiveness on Buffy’s part. “He is a good man, Buffy.” He said to her. “He is very trustworthy and of decent moral character.”

Buffy laughed at that. “If you say so Beleg. Well, it’s nice to meet you Mablung.” Buffy tossed the comb onto the table. “I see you’ve been admiring my weapons.” They were all laid out on the table.

“Yes I have.” He picked up the scythe again. “This one especially. I can feel its power. Beautiful. Just beautiful.” His glance went from her weapon to her. She felt herself flush, though she didn’t know why.

“I’ve killed a lot of big nasties with it. It was made for me, ya’know.” For some reason Buffy avoided his glance and poured herself a glass of water instead.

“Who wrought this weapon? Or is that being too bold?” He inquired. Once again, Buffy felt her face flush. Damn it, she told herself. What the hell’s wrong with you?

“Uh, can’t really tell you that. I found it. It was made for the Slayer long ago.” She took the weapon from his hand. “It was encased in stone and only the true heir could pull it out.”

“And that was you I take it,” he stated with a slight grin on his face.

“Yep. Little ol’ me. There was a lady there…where I found it. Said she was some guardian or something. She said she had been there a long time waiting for the Slayer to retrieve it.” Buffy twirled the weapon in her hand.

“Did she create it?” He inquired again.

“I don’t know. She was killed before she could give me any more information.” A shocked expression was on both Mablung and Beleg’s faces. “Not by me!” She exclaimed off their looks. “She was killed by this preacher man called Caleb. An emissary of The First. Bauglir.”

Mablung looked keenly at her. This time, she did not look away. “You speak the truth. I see it in your eyes. Melian believes that you were brought here on some special errand. To aid us in the upcoming wars, perhaps.”

“Upcoming wars?” asked Buffy. “Are you guys about to go to war or something?”

“The Queen has great foresight and sees many things. She has not spoken much to me about such matters except for the fact that war is close at hand. For that is a matter of great importance to me.” He stated straightforwardly.

“Then maybe that’s why I’m here. To help you guys in the war. I’m pretty good at fighting.” Buffy said enthusiastically.

“Perhaps,” he said with a smile. “You are very small. I find it hard to believe that you could inflict much pain,” he shot out sarcastically.

Buffy replied in like manner, “Ask Beleg about how much pain I can inflict. He got a little taste of it yesterday.”

Mablung laughed at that. “So he tells me.”

“Mablung, this maiden has the strength of ten men. I do not say that in jest. If you find that difficult to believe, I suggest that you take her on and let her show you what she is capable of doing. I, for one, do not want to be on the receiving end of one of her blows again.”

“Yeah, how ‘bout it Mablung?” asked the Slayer with a grin on her face. “I could use the work out!”

Mablung considered this for a moment. “Another time. We have need for haste. If we leave soon, we shall reach Menegroth by nightfall.”

“Oh, Buffy,” started Beleg. “Gweneth has washed and darned your garments. You will need to wear your breeches as you will be traveling by horse.”

“Horse?!” Buffy exclaimed. “I don’t know how to ride a horse. Can’t we walk or something?”

“It will take too long to travel on foot,” replied Mablung. “Change quickly and I will give you a quick lesson. We must reach Menegroth by nightfall.”

Buffy mumbled under her breath as she took her clothes and went into Beleg’s bedchamber. She was most anxious to meet one of the Powers in person. Not just the dream thing she had with the Lord of Waters. Buffy changed back into her clean khakis and the green tunic the dwarves gave her. She held the amulet in her hand. She had taken it off for the first time when she bathed, but immediately put it back on afterwards. She was debating about wearing it or stowing it in her pocket. She decided to wear it under the tunic along with her crucifix. She concluded that it was the power of the amulet that brought her here. And maybe, just maybe, it would whisk her away again at any moment. There was no point in taking any chances. If this thing activated itself, she wanted to be ready.

A few minutes later she was outside with Mablung. First thing she noticed, these horse were like…huge. At least sixteen hands. Second, there was no saddle and no reins. How the hell is she suppose to ride a horse without the proper equipment? And lastly, she DOES’NT know how to ride one of these dreadful beasts. Oh God, now she was sounding like Giles! “Uh, Mablung,” she started as she looked over at the horses. “How do you ride without a bridle or saddle?”

“Elves do not require those devices. Our horses know the way.” He said as he patted the white horse that he would be riding.

“Uh, Mablung, maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not an elf. I don’t think riding a rocking horse when I was a kid qualifies me as any type of rider.” He looked at her strangely. “Never mind.”

He cupped his hands and Buffy looked at him. “Just put your left foot here,” he indicated to his cupped hands. “And heave yourself up.”

Buffy looked at him and then the horse. “I think I can get on by myself, thank you very much.” Buffy leapt up onto her brown horse and gently patted his neck. “Good horsy.”

“Hold on to his mane,” Mablung instructed. “Like this.” Buffy watched him.

“You know, I’m not stupid. I just prefer traveling by car or train. Hell, I would even settle for mass transit at this point.” Looking around, Buffy knew that there was no bus depot around the corner. She would have to make due.

“Farewell, Buffy,” said Beleg. “I hope we meet again.” Buffy thanked him for his hospitality. And soon her horse took off at a slight trot as it followed Mablungs horse down the ‘road’. The road turned to the east and they traveled that way for quite some time. At times they would get the horses galloping which Buffy found incredibly painful. Riding bareback was similar to falling on the bar of a boys bicycle. Girls and riding bare back did not go together. She was getting sore. And in the worst possible place too!

They stayed this course, going slightly south again until they reached a river. “This is the river Esgalduin,” proclaimed Mablung. “Menegroth is located on the east bank of this river further south. Here we shall rest for a while and eat a bit before continuing.”

“I have to say Mablung, that’s the best idea I’ve heard from you yet.” Buffy jumped off her horse and landed in a heap on the ground. Her legs were like jelly and felt numb. She started rubbing her thighs trying to get the blood flowing again. “Damn bizarro world!” She mumbled under her breath.

“You will be fine,” laughed Mablung. “It takes some time before one gets use to riding. With more experience you will feel no pain.” He offered her his hand. “You should walk a little. That will get your blood circulating again.” Buffy took his hand and got to her feet once again. While he was rummaging through his satchel, Buffy walked around, rubbing her butt which ached horribly. Mablung glanced at her and laughed. “We still have a way to go. I hope you survive the journey.”

“Yeah, well. Riding bareback hurts more than my ass. You guys should look into saddles. I’m sure they’re more comfortable, especially for women!”

She strolled to the bluff overlooking the river Esgalduin. Its waters were rushing in a southwardly direction. They had come upon many elves as they traveled further into Eglador but here it was quiet except for the chirping of the birds and the sound of various insects. When the feeling returned to her lower extremities she sat down on a rock overlooking the river. It was actually a really pretty spot.

Mablung sat down next to Buffy. He brought what was left of her pork, fresh bread and butter (courtesy of Beleg) and a couple of apples. “Will you continue your tale whilst we eat?” Mablung asked as he chewed on some pork.
“Where was I?” Buffy asked as she buttered them some bread.

“You were at the point where the child called The Anointed One met you outside the grounds of your learning center,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah.” While traveling, Mablung had asked about some of her previous battles. She had already told him about Merrick and how he blew his head off in order to prevent Lothos from turning him into a vampire. That conversation led to her move to Sunnydale where the mouth of Hell was located. She was nearing the climax of her story about The Master when Mablung decided they should take a break for food and rest. She continued on with her tale as they ate. She told him about misinterpreting the Prophecy in the Pergamum Codex concerning her role with The Master. That she was the one who set him free. It was her blood that he needed in order to break out of his mystical ‘prison’. “See,” she said. “I still have the scar.” She pulled her hair back and showed him the fang marks on her neck.

“I see more than just two bite marks,” he said as he gently touched the damaged area.

“Yeah,” she said as she took a bite of apple. “I’ve been bite by vampires a total of three times. The other ones came later. After The Master.”

Mablung was amazed by her story. “Yet you died. How is it that you came back to life?” He moved his hand away and Buffy let her hair fall back over her scars.

“My friend Xander. He’s the one I told you about…”

“The one who possessed no special powers, but had a great love for you,” he interrupted. “Yes, I can see why he would be devoted to you.”

Buffy never really looked at it that way. “He resuscitated me.” Mablung looked confused. “The bite didn’t kill me. After The Master fed off me, I fell into a pool of water and drowned. Xander performed CPR and…here I am, alive and kicking.” He was still confused about CPR and Buffy explained to him how one can be revived if they drowned. But that it needed to be done within a matter of minutes or else…that was it. Death.

“And what happened once The Master was released from his prison?” He inquired, anxiously awaiting the conclusion of her tale.

“Well,” she started again as she chomped on her apple. “He opened the Hellmouth and all these tentacle demons started coming out. It was crazy. I tracked him down to the roof of the building. Fought him. And killed him.”

“I expect he was stunned to see you once again. Living and breathing that is.”

“Oh, yeah. The Prophecy said that he was gonna kill me. He had no idea that it was only for a couple of minutes. And it never said anything about him dying,” she added with a smile.

“I must say,” Mablung began. “I have never heard a better tale told. And to survive such an ordeal. Your father’s seed must be powerful.”
“My father?” questioned the Slayer with a slight frown. “He has nothing to do with me being a Slayer. I told you that Mablung. It’s a mystical thing. Slayers don’t run from bloodlines. They’re chosen by The Powers That Be.”

“Do I sense some resentment towards your father?” he asked solemnly.

“Maybe. A little.” She threw her apple core into the river below them. “I mean, I love him, but he did leave me and my mom.” She looked at him. “We’re not really close any more.”

“That is a cowardly thing to do. A man is responsible for taking care of his family until the day he dies…” He voiced in an offended tone.

“That’s not how it works,” Buffy interrupted. “In my world, if you’re not happy with your mate, you get a divorce and move on to the next one. It happens every day. Don’t elves believe in divorce?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “We have no such thing. Elves mate for life. And since we are immortal, we take only one spouse. It is a queer thing to dispose of one whom you claim to love.”

“Maybe,” said Buffy as she wiped her hands on her pants and stretched out her legs. “So tell me Mablung. Is there are special someone in your life?” Buffy tried to change the conversation to something other than divorce. It seemed to strike a chord with Mablung.

He sat silent for a couple of moments looking at the river below. “Long ago. But she is lost,” he said in a low voice. “She was taken during the time when we elves dwelt beside Cuiviénen many ages ago. She had wandered far beneath the starlit sky, as was her wont, into the Wild Wood. Never to be seen again. We searched for a long while, but to no avail. She was lost. Lost to the darkness that lurked in those places.”

Buffy felt horrible for bringing up such a depressing topic. “I’m really sorry Mablung. I shouldn’t have…”

“What’s done is done.” He got to his feet. He held his hand out and Buffy took it. He pulled her to her feet. “Life goes on and I am content.” He forced a smile. “But now we should continue on with our journey.” He gathered up the ‘food cloths’ that were littered on the rocks and stowed them back in his bag. Mablungs attitude had become somber and Buffy tried her best to cheer him up. “Let me help you,” he offered his cupped hands, which this time Buffy used in order to get on her horse.

As they trotted along the shore of the river, Buffy attempted to cheer Mablung up by saying, “Did I tell you about the vampires attempt to resurrect The Master?” He seemed to like her other stories, so she thought this would help lighten the mood.

He looked at her with that ‘you’ve gotta be kidding’ expression on his face. “They tried to bring him back? How?” Buffy’s plan worked. Her new tale about The Master’s resurrection interested Mablung very much. As she told her story he would interrupt voicing opinions and asking questions. His mood greatly improved.


Chapter 6 - CHAPTER SIX: LESSONS

CHAPTER SIX: LESSONS



Despite the pace of the horses, they didn’t arrive at Menegroth until well after nightfall. After leaving the horses at the ‘barn’ on the west side of the river, they proceeded on by foot. Buffy was beginning to get nervous. Even though she was in a ‘strange’ land, she had never met any type of royalty before. How was she supposed to act? She didn’t want to piss off the King or Queen. Mablung laughed when Buffy told him of her dilemma. He instructed her on simple courtesies as they crossed the stone bridge.

The gates of Menegroth were still open. It appeared to be constructed from steel but it was hard to tell under the cover of darkness. That’s what Buffy guessed, any way. But nothing could compare to the awe on Buffy’s face as she glanced around the vestibule of the Halls of Thingol. Three columns stood on each side of the entry way. But these weren’t like the columns of the Romans or Greeks. Each column was carved in the shape of huge trees. The intricate details were mind boggling. There were squirrels carved running up or down that looked so life-like that Buffy touched them in order to see that it was only a replica of the real thing. Golden lamps were hung from the limbs that emitted a soft light. Real flowers somehow grew in the tops of the trees as well as real greenery that Buffy suspected was some type of ivy. It was like the living plants sprouted from the stone. The blossoms were multi-colored and it gave off a sweet-smelling scent. Many real birds lived in the tops of these trees. The floors meshed well with the flowers as the colors were multi-hued and very similar. Buffy had never seen anything like it. It would definitely qualify as the eighth wonder of the Buffy’s world.

As they made there way deeper into the ‘cave’, Buffy paid no attention to the various elves pointing and whispering as she walked by. She now saw the many tapestries of Melian that adorned the walls on either side of the passage way. Each depicted various events of the Gods as well as the elves. Buffy really didn’t get the chance to look at them as closely as she wanted to. Mablung was hurrying along explaining some of the images as they went by. One in particular caught her eye. She stopped in order to view it more closely. “Ah,” began Mablung. “You are interested in Ulmo, the Lord of Waters…”

“Ulmo,” Buffy whispered under her breath. Mablung looked at her closely. She recognized this guy from her dream. He was the one she referred to as Poseidon. Except he did not look nearly as old in this ‘portrait’ as he appeared in her dream.

“Is there something wrong?” Mablung questioned her. Buffy’s mind raced as she now remembered the entire dream that had left her a few days ago. Every single detail came flooding back to her mind. “Buffy? Are you alright?”

Buffy finally heard the words of Mablung. “Oh,” she said as she finally refocused her attention on him. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. It’s just…this Ulmo…I’ve seen him before. He came to me in a dream the night before went to Cleveland…” Buffy seemed hypnotized by his image.

“Ulmo appeared to you?” He asked in a flabbergasted tone.

“What’s the biggie?” She replied, now coming back to her senses.

“The Lord of Waters does not merely appear to one except in times of great need. You must truly be someone of great significance for him to come to you.” He linked her arm in his in order to continue down the passageway. Buffy was now considering Ulmo’s words carefully in her mind. Did he know that she was going to be transported to this world? And what did he mean by ‘not forsaking her’? Buffy was once again lost in thought and didn’t notice as Mablung turned right down another corridor. “We are about to enter the

Great Hall of Thingol,” he whispered.

“Huh?” Buffy was trying with all her might to close her mind to the words of Ulmo. “Oh, yeah. Thingol.”

“Are you sure you are feeling alright?” He questioned once again.

“Yeah. I just can’t stop thinking about…”

“Hail Mablung,” said one of the guards outside the wooden doors to Thingol’s Hall. “I see that you have brought the warrior maid with you.”

“Indeed I have, Nimros. I was instructed to bring her before Thingol.”

“You are expected.” He bowed his head slightly and opened the door. Mablung nodded in reply and they walked into the enormous chamber.

Once again this room had many of the huge stone trees for pillars and at the east end of the room was the dais on which the thrones of both Thingol and Melian sat. Buffy felt apprehensive the nearer they got to the King and Queen. Many elves were also in this room. All focused their attention on Buffy, whispering and pointing just like they did in the passageways.

“My Lord. Lady.” Mablung said as they reached the thrones, nodding his head slightly. “This is the maid that we were told about by the Naugrim, who defeated the roving band of yrch. This is Bellaseth Dagnir.”

Buffy wore a shocked expression. She quickly looked at Mablung and whispered, “Why are you calling me that?”

In a low voice he replied, “Buffy sounds too uncouth. The name I have chosen for you is more suitable to elven ears…Shh.”

Buffy eyes turned back to Thingol and Melian. Her eyes immediately centered on him. He was very tall. We’re talking Shaquille O’Neal tall with long silver hair. Melian on the other hand, had long black hair. She too was tall, but not as tall as him. Both of them had fair skin and gray eyes. They were both dressed in contrasting shades of blue – he light, she dark. “Come closer,” said the King. Buffy took a few more steps closer to the dais. A wide grin came upon the King’s face and he snickered. “Surely you jest Mablung. This cannot be a warrior-maiden.” He looked fixedly at Buffy, still sneering. “Are you akin to the Naugrim, for they are a small people?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. She was just insulted by the King of the Elves! “No,” she spat out. “Do I look like a short…stout…hairy…person?” She really didn’t want to insult the dwarves. “I am a woman. A human being. A mortal. And more importantly, I’m the Slayer!”

“A Slayer?” He questioned. “How can one so small be a Slayer? I think that the Naugrims’ eyesight has failed them or they were under some type of spell to have envisioned this mere maiden as the powerful warrior that they described.” Nearly all the elves in the chamber joined Thingol in his mirth, which was pissing Buffy off even more. But she kept her mouth shut. What the hell was she going to do? Attack the King in his own Halls in front of all these armed people? She wasn’t that stupid. “Come now,” the King started again. “Tell us your tale. For I deem that it will be worth hearing.”

Buffy looked up at Mablung, who nodded and smiled reassuringly. Buffy began her story once again. She told them of her birthright (of being a Slayer, that is), and about her battle with the non-corporal being The First, whom is called Bauglir, and about her arrival in Nan Dungortheb amongst the hugest spiders that she ever encountered. “…And I swear to God,” she was saying, “that I distinctively heard one of those spiders say ‘tasty little morsel.’ Can you believe that? They actually spoke English!”

“English?” Inquired Thingol. “What is this English you speak of?”

Buffy seemed puzzled by that. “English is the language that I’m speaking to you in right now. E-N-G-L-I-S-H.” She spoke that last word very slowly.

It was now the Lady who spoke up. “Child,” she began in a melodious voice. “You speak the language of the Elves. You are speaking Sindarin, not this language called English.”

Buffy was shocked by that. “That’s impossible,” she stammered. “I don’t know any elvish languages. I can speak a few words of French or Italian, but…it’s impossible. My sister Dawn is the one who’s a wiz at languages. Not me!” She turned to Mablung. “How can I speak a foreign language and not even know it?” He simply shrugged his shoulders.

Melian began again. “There are great powers about you. And I do not see any evil in your eyes. Perhaps you were sent here for some special purpose but I cannot clearly see all things that have not yet unfolded within this world. You are indeed an elf-friend and we welcome you to our Halls. For I believe that we can learn from each other in ways that with benefit both the King and yourself.”

Buffy immediately warmed up the Melian. She was, in Buffy’s eye, much nicer than the King and didn’t ridicule her like he did. That scored points with the Slayer. Buffy continued recounting her story. Thingol and the other elves admired the weapons that she had in her possession – especially her scythe. After what seemed like hours, she and Mablung were free to go. He led her first to the kitchens where they could finally eat their evening meal. Buffy was, by this time, ravenous. After three helpings of what appeared to be pheasant and some type of turnips, it was time to turn in.

Mablung led her to her chambers which were actually really nice. The stone floor had a few blue throw rugs on them and the room was rather large and tastefully decorated wholly in blue and white. Before Mablung left, she asked him “Why did you choose to call me Bellaseth Dagnir?”

He smiled at her. “Do you not know? Bellaseth has to do with your strength and Dagnir means Slayer. You know that, for you have been calling yourself Dagnir since I’ve met you.”

Buffy had already forgotten that she was speaking Elvish. “Oh,” she said softly. “I only asked because I had a …friend who always called me Bella…back home, I mean. It’s just strange that you would call me a name that is similar.”

“And what does ‘Bella’ mean in your world?” he asked.

“My friend, Allandro, he said its meaning was two-fold. In Italian, it means ‘beautiful’ and in Latin it means ‘warrior’.”

Mablung looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Beautiful warrior,” he said as he nodded his head. “I like it. It is very befitting of you. Yes, I shall call you Bella as your friend did. Good-night Bella.” He put is hand on her shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze and left the room. Buffy was exhausted. Without even changing her clothes, she crawled up on her bed and fell fast asleep.



Over the next few days, Buffy was learning the ways of the elves. They were a very beautiful people and all had the ability to see into the future. Not all things were revealed to them (like Buffy), but they accepted Buffy due to the words of Melian. “Expect great things from that maiden. Although she accounts herself to be only a child in the reckoning of elves, she is greater than she even knows,” she had said to them after Buffy left the Kings chamber that first night. “A veil of concealment lays on her. And in time when it is removed, she will be revealed in all her glory and majesty. She possesses great strength, comparable to that of Tulkas, the Vala in the West, and I deem she has mightier powers yet hidden from her, though I do not know why. She shall be my pupil and I, her teacher.” And so it was.

It must have been a week after Buffy’s arrival in Menegroth that she would begin her first ‘lesson’ with Melian. It was after the evening meal when a great number of elves were gathered in the Kings hall for song and storytelling. No TV. No radio. It was almost like being on Gilligan’s Island. The songs of the elves were extremely powerful and very beautiful, especially that of Daeron, the loremaster and minstrel of Thingol. It was not like the music she listened to at home (she doubted the elves would have liked that kind any way), nor was it like the classic rock music that Allandro blared day and night back home in Rome. They played with harps, for God’s sakes! Harps aren’t cool in the real world. Despite the melodious sound of the fair elvish voices, Buffy always seemed to find herself drifting asleep during these songs. They soothed the soul, but were very long. One song could be sung for hours. And they sang about weird things like these two blessed trees in Valinor (that’s the land of the Powers whom are called the Valar by the elves). Buffy had drifted asleep during one of these songs when Melian gently shook her awake. “Come Bellaseth. It is time for your first lesson.” By now all the elves referred to her as Bellaseth Dagnir.

Buffy rubbed her eyes and followed Melian out of the massive chamber. She was surprised that Melian led her outside Menegroth as opposed to some chamber hidden deeper within the cavern system. Exiting the front gates, they proceeded over the great bridge and followed a path into the Forest of Neldoreth. Buffy knew that it was late, yet it was not completely dark outside – only dimness surrounded them and the moon was nowhere to be seen. There were a number of nightingales that followed them; these were the birds of Melian and it was she who taught them their song. She could communicate with these birds and they were very useful for gathering information for her from outside this realm. Melian said that she would also teach Buffy the nightingale’s language. But not now.

They continued walking until they came to a clearing that was probably a few acres in size. The entire area was blanketed by soft green grass and white flowers which bloomed over the entire area. The flowers were called niphredil and were beloved to both Melian and Lúthien, her daughter. A small brook babbled through the edge of the clearing and in the center was a great white marble basin that sat atop a marble pillar carved in the likeness of the beech trees that now surrounded them. A large silver ewer rested in the center of the basin. “This,” began Melian as she picked up the pitcher and began to fill it with water from the stream, “is what I call the ‘Mirror of Melian.’ The powers of Ulmo are great and I use the water as a conduit to see things that have happened in the past, present and future.” She continued to fill up the basin. “I deem that it is of the utmost importance that you learn this skill. It will aid you in the trials that await you. And perhaps you will find some comfort from them…”

“I don’t have any magical powers, Melian,” Buffy interjected. “I’m the muscles of the operation. It was my friend Willow that had all the super magical powers, not me.”

Melian had just poured the last bit of water into the bowl. “Then you do not know yourself or what you are capable of. I see magic in you. You just need to be taught on how to use it and to use it wisely.” Buffy stood on the opposite side from Melian. Melian pursed her lips together and blew out her breath over the contents of the bowl. Wisps of steam came forth but soon dissipated. “What is it you would like to see?” Asked Melian.

Buffy knew she should have said what Bauglir was up to, but instead her instincts turned to her friends. “Can you show me my friends? The ones who didn’t follow me here. I’d like to know that they’re alright.”

“Blow on the water, but do not touch it.” She instructed the Slayer. Buffy did as she was told and stared back into the pool. As of now she saw only her face surrounded by many stars reflected in the contents. “Watch the Mirror.” Melian said in a soft voice.

All of the sudden an image began to form in the water. A perfect image. It reminded Buffy of watching a movie on TV or on a computer screen. It was very realistic. Buffy gasped as she noticed that this wasn’t Willow, Xander, Dawn or Giles. She was now witnessing the events in Brazil where Jordan led The Select into battle. She saw the actual portal that Willow opened close and the Slayers turning on their flashlights studying a map. She could see their lips moving, but no noise came from them. The mute button was on! “Can’t I hear them?” she asked as she looked up at Melian. She simply shook her head and her eyes once again turned to the basin.

She saw the girls walking through the near empty streets. They turned down an alleyway when a bunch of Bringers in brown robes jumped them from behind. The girls fought valiantly, killing many of them. But soon, many über-vamps joined in the foray. Their throats weren’t ripped out like the girls who fought with Buffy. And just like Bauglir stated, they began to feed on the Slayers. Taking them to the brink of death, before offering their own blood, which unfortunately the girls willingly took. Buffy could feel her heart beating a mile per minute and soon her eyes were brimming with tears. Jordan was still fighting…alone. She wasn’t fed upon. She was actually causing some serious damage. Several über-vamps were dusted. Yet there were still more to take their place. Buffy witnessed the eventual fatigue setting in on Jordan and finally her being overcome by one of the vamps. She saw her die. She saw them all die. One of Buffy’s tears hit the water and the picture disappeared. She looked up at Melian and softly said, “It’s my fault. I killed them. All of them. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…”

“Look,” Melian said as another image appeared. This time she saw Willow, hysterical. She had Giles by the lapels of his tweed coat and seemed to be screaming at him. She only wished she had an idea of what she was saying. Soon she saw all of her friends looking despairingly at one another. Tears streamed down their faces. Giles raced up the stairway at Lindon Hall to the library. He began pulling book after book off various shelves. Many people appeared in the room and then the image faded. Buffy stood there, stunned, waiting for the next image to appear. “That is all for tonight,” Melian finally said. “We will continue this practice every evening until you are able to master it on your own.”

Buffy looked up at Melian. “Why are showing me this?” It’s one thing to know that your friends died a horrific death; it’s another to witness it. Especially from afar. When you can’t do a damn thing about it.

“It is my will that you are to learn of these things.” She said in a soft voice. “I cannot see all things in the future, but I deem that you must learn this skill. Perhaps it will help you at some point. That I do not know.” She waved her hand over the basin and all the water disappeared. Buffy followed Melian out of the clearing feeling worse than ever before. “Do not feel despair for the things that you cannot change.” She said as they entered Menegroth once again. “One can only gain strength and wisdom by understanding both pain and joy. Sleep well Bellaseth.” And with that Melian descended down the passageway leaving Buffy utterly alone.

Night after night Buffy was subjected to the visions of the Mirror. Not all were bad. She did witness some successful closings of the Hellmouth. While Kennedy was one of the successful ones, she did in fact die fleeing the city of Salzburg in Austria. And it wasn’t from a vampire either. She was shot down by what appeared to be a man. His face was hidden by the hood of a black cloak. But one thing that she saw was an emblem on the cloak that resembled a sun and three stars. She remembered that symbol from years ago; the Order of Aurelius. But what the hell could they have to do with this? The Master was dead and so was the Anointed One, who took his place. Surely they couldn’t be a threat any more.

After many weeks of these lessons with Melian, Buffy needed a break. It was getting to be too much. Seeing things that you can’t change leaves you with a horrible guilty feeling. And seeing the people that she loves, it made her even more homesick. Melian could never explain why Buffy was transported here, but said that since she possessed the type of powers that she had bestowed upon her, she probably had some type of mission to complete here. But what that was, she couldn’t tell.

Buffy took her mind off of the visions she saw in Melian’s Mirror by increasing the length of her training sessions. The elves loved to partake in these exercises. They were very eager and very disciplined. Thingol himself would come to these sessions occasionally. His first duel with Buffy convinced him that she was an extraordinary asset to his Guard. Of course Buffy kicked his butt. That’s always the best way to win someone’s respect. She taught the elves about gorilla warfare, her favorite means of fighting. Sneaking up on the enemy and killing all of them without drawing attention to yourself was a brilliant skill to possess. And that was her greatest lesson to the elves. They would then go out on patrols and kill many wild wolves and roaming bands of yrch that dared to enter the eastern borders of Eglador. Each patrol sent them from Menegroth for a few days but it wasn’t a nightly ritual. There just wasn’t that much evil lurking around there. At least, not at this point.

One thing that Thingol wanted Buffy to learn was fighting on horseback in the manner of the elves. No saddle, no bridle, no reins. Thingol’s Guard was more or less a cavalry. While they hadn’t had to fight in any major wars to date, he still wanted his ‘men’ trained for this type of combat. Buffy understood the concept all too well and gave the King credit for his foresight. She never dealt with anyone fighting on horseback except for the Knights of Byzantium. And that’s been some time ago. But it wouldn’t hurt for Buffy to learn a new skill that may be advantageous in Middle-earth.

These training sessions were conducted by Galadhon, who was a nephew of Thingol. He had a great ability with horses. It was he and his father, Elmo, who tamed the wild horses of Middle-earth. Buffy absolutely abhorred these training sessions. Galadhon was able to knock her off her horse…a lot. She got more cuts and bruises in her attempt to fight on horseback than any training session in her life! Not to mention the pains and aches one is subjected to while riding a horse bareback in the first place. She would spend nearly six hours a day practicing. Sometimes Mablung would join them or some of the other folks of Menegroth. They were determined that Buffy would master this skill. And in time she did. It just took a few months.



That’s how Buffy spent the first six months of her time in Beleriand. She didn’t actually see much of the land outside of Eglador. She had learned to master the Mirror on her own, and mostly did this unaccompanied by Melian. She was totally blown away by the fact that she did possess magical powers. She could summon her weapon from across the room, which she thought was really cool.

Winter had set in and Menegroth seemed colder than ever before. The desire to go traipsing about outside was something that didn’t interest her in the slightest. Most of her time was spent with Lúthien, Mablung or Melian. The women helped her with magic and Mablung was her favorite partner in contests of strength or dueling. He wasn’t called the ‘heavy-hand’ for nothing.

What Mablung really enjoyed was martial arts. One-on-one combat with no weapons. Since mats didn’t exist in this world, they would lay several large thick rugs on top of each other in order to cushion their falls. Magic insured that they stayed in place. It must have been about the seventh month after Buffy’s arrival in Middle-earth when one of these training sessions took a different turn. She had been practicing with Mablung nearly every day and he had become accustomed to her fighting style. She did a forward somersault in order to get behind him, when he caught her in mid-air and body slammed her to the floor. He got on top of her and held her arms down over her head. Buffy was breathless and thinking about her counter maneuver when he leaned in closer, “I have you now Dagnir. You cannot escape from my clutches.” Buffy smiled as she thrust her hips upwards causing him to lose balance and hurl off her onto the rugs. He still had her arms within his grasp and he tried to wrap his legs around her. This she managed to counter by putting him in ‘the guard’. Her legs were wrapped around his back and she held him close so that he was unable to move. Buffy laughed as his attempt to out maneuver her failed miserably. She was in complete control. It was then as she looked into his bright green eyes that he kissed her. That caught her off guard. It wasn’t one of those sloppy wet French-tongue kisses. Just a soft sweet peck on the lips. But it was enough to give her chill bumps and awake the butterflies in her stomach that had long been asleep.

Breaking the momentary silence Buffy asked, “What did you do that for?” He was still under Buffy’s control.

“Did you find it offensive?” He asked with a slight grin on his face. They released each other from their grips and Buffy sat up. He seemed disappointed. “You did find it offensive.’

“I didn’t say that.” She wasn’t expecting anything like that. She wasn’t freaked. Okay, well, maybe a little.

“Then what is wrong?” He asked as he continued to lay on his stomach looking up at her. “Do you not have feelings for me? I sense that you do.”

“Well, uh, maybe. I don’t know. I just haven’t really thought about, ya know, having a relationship with anyone,” she stammered back.

“Is it Allandro? Your man friend that you left behind?” He asked.

“No.” She replied. Allandro seemed a long time ago. Buffy wasn’t sure what to make of Allandro. She had decided months ago that Allandro knew that the amulet was going to transport her to some other dimension. The reasoning behind it she didn’t know…yet. But whatever feelings she had for him had dissipated since coming to Beleriand. But she never gave a thought to starting a relationship with any of the elves. Not that Mablung wasn’t a hottie, her most definitely was. “I mean,” she started again. “What do you want from me Mablung? A relationship? That perfect little cottage with a garden out back and a bunch of little half-elves running about? I can’t give you that.” She got to her feet. She knew that’s what Mablung had always desired - a family. He was one of the elves that awoke at Nen Echui. He had no father nor mother. He was the only one of his bloodline though close in kinship to Thingol.

He quickly got to his feet as well. “I am not saying that I do not long to have a wife and children. I am not asking you to be my wife! But if you feel the same way that I do, I believe that this is something that we should pursue…together. Let us see if it develops into something more.”

“And what happens if things…progress and then all the sudden I disappear? That’s something that can’t be ruled out. I came here like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And I could leave just like that.” She snapped them again.

“I am willing to take that chance. You possess great magics, Melian said so. Perhaps you enjoy your life here better than back in your world and that’s why you refuse to depart our lands. Your own powers may be keeping you here. Have you given that any thought?”

“That’s impossible.” The conversation was becoming heated. “I’d never choose to live in this world. Much less stay here by choice!” She turned her back on him and left him standing alone in the chamber. Mablung was frustrated. He had the foresight to see that they belonged together. But he didn’t understand why she was being so difficult. He concluded that perhaps her young age had something to do with it. She was only twenty-five after all.



Buffy found herself walking up the passageways leading to the huge front doors which were kept closed due to the weather. Mumbling the password, the doors swung open and she proceeded over the stone bridge and down the path that led to the Mirror. She cursed under her breath wishing she had at least grabbed her wool coat or her cloak even. It was frigid!

She felt bad by talking to Mablung the way she did. He was one of the nicest people she had ever met in her life, (here in Beleriand or back home). But she came here for reasons unknown. She assumed it was to kick Bauglir’s ass, but Melian shot that one down real quick. Only a Vala could kill another Vala. Even the powers that Melian possessed were not enough to take him down. She seriously doubted that her great mission in this world was to find an elven lover! That was just ludicrous.

Buffy’s teeth were chattering by the time she reached the Mirror. The small brook was nearly frozen over; only a small trickle seemed to be flowing gently over the cold and stony bed. She couldn’t get the ewer positioned just so in order to fill it up. Thinking to herself she began to sing. A lot of the spells and enchantments that she learned from Melian were voiced in song. She sang about her desire to have the brook flowing again. As she sang the ice broke into chunks and soon the stream was flowing like it did when she first came here months ago. After she filled the basin, she blew over the water and waited. She rubbed her arms in an attempt to keep them warm.

A mist began to form over the basin and Buffy looked closer into the Mirror. What she saw caught her off guard and she would never disclose the full details, ever! Let’s just say that she saw herself with a certain elf in a very intimate situation. “So we are supposed to be together,” she mumbled to herself. “Never saw that coming.” But soon the image swirled and changed. This time she saw Bauglir’s face staring back at her. She was so taken aback by that image that she took a step back in order to regain her composure. Can he see me? She wondered to herself. Like a movie camera the angle widened and she saw a vast army of yrch – all in armor and well-armed. Oh my God, she thought to herself. The war’s about to start. She watched the image for several minutes before it faded. The basin then showed nothing but Buffy’s reflection.

She waved her hand over the basin and the contents disappeared. A small bird then flew down and landed on the rim of the bowl. “Greetings to you Bellaseth Dagnir,” the nightingale chirped to Buffy in a sing-song voice. Buffy always felt a twinge of excitement whenever one of Melian’s birds spoke to her. It was just too cool for words. “It is awfully cold to be without a cloak in this weather. What would cause you to make such haste, if you do not mind me inquiring so?” The little bird asked.

“Is that you Elmor?” Buffy queried to the bird. It flew in a circle and landed again. That meant yes. “Oh… well it’s good to see you, too.” She commented as she continued to rub her arms feverishly. “I had to check something out in the Mirror…But that’s beside the point. Would you do me a favor Elmor?”

“Most certainly kind maiden.” Responded the nightingale. “What services would you require of me?”

“Well,” she looked all around to make sure that they were alone in the clearing. She didn’t want anyone overhearing her request. “I looked in the Mirror and I saw Bauglir…” The bird once again began circling above her singing a shrill song.

“Say it is not so,” he repeated over and over.

“Shh,” Buffy chastised Elmor. “We don’t want everyone is Eglador to hear. This is a top secret mission, Elmor. I know I can count on you.” Elmor fluttered back down to the edge of the bowl. “I need for you to fly north and see if you see the Dark Lord’s armies departing from Angband,” Buffy instructed. “You can take any of your friends with you that you believe are bold and valiant enough to go on such a journey.” Yes, flattery does get you what you want, if you know how to do it correctly. Even with a nightingale.

“Lady,” Elmor began as he proudly stuck out his chest. Despite the severity of the situation, Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle. “It would be an honor to go on such an important errand.” He then flew up on Buffy’s shoulder. “But Bella,” he whispered in her ear. “Do you require that we should go to the Dark Land itself?”

Buffy turned her head to face the bird perched on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t so important. If Bauglir is unleashing his armies, I wanna to know about. We don’t want to be caught off guard in case those yrch coming crashing through Neldoreth or Region. If they’re coming, I say we go and meet ‘em and take ‘em out before they can do any damage in Eglador. Can you do that for me Elmor?”

“With honor.” He replied proudly.

“Good. Report back to me, okay? Let’s keep this little secret between us until we get the facts.”

“Yes, good Lady. I shan’t be long.” And he flew off whistling to his friends. Soon the entire woods were filled with the calls of the nightingales. Buffy watched as dozens of birds took flight towards the Hell that is Angband. She called out to them wishing them luck and a safe return. Quickly she ran back to Menegroth where the bells were ringing which indicated that the evening meal was ready.



Over the next few days things were awkward between Buffy and Mablung. She continued her work outs, but with Celeborn instead of Mablung. She just couldn’t face him at this point. Her mind was focused on what she witnessed in the Mirror – more specifically Bauglir. Any time Elmor would be returning. Buffy actually spent a lot more time outside. Her nerves were on edge and she was most anxious to see her little winged friend again.

Buffy was sitting on the crags of the hillside beside the three trunked beech tree just south of the main gates to Menegroth when Elmor found her. He had startled her out of her reverie despite the fact that she was expecting him at any time. “My good Lady,” he began. “Long was the journey that you sent me on, however I have some valuable information for you. It does indeed seem that the Dark Lord is planning his long awaited war. At first, all was quiet and my friends were most anxious to depart those wicked lands. But I reminded them that Bella understood the danger of our mission and only those who were of valiant and bold stock were to come henceforth. Thus we heard a great beating of drums that echoed in those mountainous regions. And soon many thousands of yrch began to emerge from the depths of those hidden places. They are well-armed and wear mail and helm wrought of iron.”

“Good work, Elmor. How far are they?” Buffy inquired as see stroked the bird affectionately.

“They were still far from the gates of that fortress when we departed. I would assume that they have passed through them by this time.”

“Elmor, I need you to come with me. We need to report this information to Thingol and Melian. We need to prepare for war.”

“As you like Bellaseth.” He flew close to Buffy. “Do you think, most noble and valiant Lady that this could be the mission you were sent here for?”

“Maybe,” she answered Elmor. “Maybe.” Quickly they made their way down the passageways that led to Thingol’s chamber. Buffy ignored the many elves that greeted her in passing. When they entered the King’s chamber, Thingol was already deep in conversation with Mablung. Many of his household were already assembled in this room talking amongst themselves. Buffy hurriedly made her way to the dais; Elmor was now perched on her shoulder. Melian was nowhere to be seen.

Her feet echoed through the chamber alerting both the King and Mablung of her arrival. They turned to face her. “Are you ill, Bellaseth?” Asked Thingol. “You are as pale as an elf!”

“My Lord,” began Buffy who was now accustomed to the protocol of Thingol’s Halls. “I have news for you that I believe is of the utmost importance.” She panted. The King sat down so that he could look more intently at the much shorter Slayer. Mablung remained standing next to Buffy looking at her with a very concerned look on his face. Before anyone could say another word, Buffy told the King about what she saw in the Mirror and about sending the nightingales to the north to see if that vision was genuine. And yes, it was. “The armies of Bauglir are on the move. Elmor says there are thousands of them. We need to take the fight to them. Let’s show them that the mighty Thingol doesn’t hide in his caves waiting on the enemy to attack. Let’s annihilate them.”

Thingol sat there for a few moments in silent. Apparently everyone in the room heard Buffy’s words. Many of his most trusted councilors were shocked by this revelation. But it was something that they had been expecting for quite a while. Just like Melian foretold long ago. “What say you, Mablung?” His attention was now focused on Mablung.

Mablung looked down at Buffy. “I deem that the time has arrived, my Lord. War is upon us. Let us do as Bellaseth has instructed. Let us take the battle to them.”

Thingol had a resolved look on his face. He summoned all those of his household to his chambers. Word of impending war spread through Menegroth like wildfire. Soon Thingol’s Hall was full to near capacity with all his most trusted people including Buffy. “War is close at hand my dear friends,” began the King. “I have been informed that the armies of Bauglir, the Dark Lord, are on the move. And they are making their way south through Beleriand. We are fortunate enough to have been warned about their approach much sooner than even the enemy expects.” He glanced at Buffy. “How many yrch have been dispatched Bellaseth?”

Buffy looked at Elmor waiting for his response. “I cannot say with the utmost certainty Lady, but I would estimate that there are around thirty thousand yrch marching this way.”

Buffy looked up at the King. He stared at her blankly. Apparently he didn’t understand the tongue of Elmor. Something that Buffy found rather odd since Melian was the one who taught them their language. “Elmor reckons that there are thirty thousand yrch that have departed Angband.”

“Thirty thousand?!” Thingol exclaimed in shocked disbelief. Thingol called Pédacar forth. “We need to gather all the men of Region and Neldoreth. Send them to my Halls where they shall be outfitted for battle. Thirty thousand.” He said again. “We must alert Denethor of Ossiriand. Tell him that war is coming and that Elu Thingol calls for what strength he and his men can provide…”

“And what of Beleg?” Interjected Buffy. “He and his people live closest to the northern border. He should be warned as soon as possible.”

“I have not forgotten Beleg, child. Send out messengers’ straight away Pédacar. As soon as we muster our strength we shall make war.” Immediately Pédacar pulled aside certain men who would deliver the message of the King. He was also sending messengers to Círdan the Shipwright at the Falas and also to the Naugrim at Belegost, their allies.

This reminded Buffy of her own battle with The First in Cleveland. Instead of going out in full force, they had to muster it first. How much of a delay this was going to cause remained to be seen. Buffy volunteered to ride with Galadhon to the northern borders where Beleg was stationed. “Swift we must ride Bellaseth,” he said to her as they mounted their steeds. “For this is your greatest test as far as your riding abilities are concerned.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she replied back. “We gotta get word to Beleg before it’s too late. I consider him a good friend even though I haven’t seen much of him lately. Let’s go Galadhon. I can’t just sit here and wait any longer.” And off they went at great speed.


Chapter 7 - CHAPTER SEVEN: THIS YEAR'S GIRL

CHAPTER SEVEN: THIS YEAR’S GIRL



Buffy, Galadhon and Beleg arrived back at Menegroth just before dawn, utterly exhausted. They had ridden all through the night with only very brief breaks. The passageways were swelled by many new people who sought refuge here due to the growing rumor of war. Buffy ignored the masses and went straight to her chambers where she collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

“Bellaseth. Bellaseth.” Buffy heard her name being called. “It is time to wake. Bellaseth.”

“Go away,” she protested as she rolled over facing the opposite direction of the voice.

“Come now. Thingol has summoned his entire Household for a counsel. That includes you.” Buffy could feel someone tugging at her quilt. She was still in the stage of sleep where she could easily fall back into a deep slumber if only she were left alone. It seemed to her that she had only gone to sleep a few minutes ago. “Well,” said the voice. “You leave me no choice.” Buffy felt the bed clothes being pulled off of her.

“Damn it,” shouted Buffy as she sat up in bed and for the first time realized that it was Melian who had pulled said stunt. “Oh,” Buffy said once she realized the Queen was staring down at her. “Sorry Melian. It’s just that… I’m so tired.” Buffy felt slightly embarrassed by her conduct.

“I know child,” she replied as she rolled up the linens and placed them on the trunk at the foot of the bed. “I did not desire to wake you so, but you did not answer when I knocked. I had no alternative.” She added that last part with a mischievous smile.

“What’s the counsel about?” Asked Buffy as she got out of bed and went to her wardrobe to choose what she would wear.

“That seems a silly question to ask, do you not agree?” asked the Queen with the same sardonic tone she used before.

“You’re all with the comedy this morning. What gives?” Buffy asked as she pulled on a velvet navy blue dress.

Melian sat on the edge of the bed. “I do not know. War is coming Bellaseth. I know what Melkor is capable of. Our last war with him, which was ages ago, required the strength of all the Ainur. It was a terrible battle in which the lands were broken and changed.” Buffy glanced at Melian and could tell that she was frightened by the prospect of the upcoming war. “I do not want to experience that again.”

“Who’s Melkor? And what’s the Ainur?” asked Buffy as she sat beside Melian, pulling on her boots.

Melian looked at her with that ‘disappointed’ expression that she had witnessed many times before with Giles and her own mother. “It is obvious that you have paid little attention to my teachings of Valinor. Melkor is the one that we call Bauglir in the Sindarin tongue. Your First. Melkor was his given name. The name given to him by Eru Ilúvatar, the All-Father, the creator of both the Maiar and the Valar, including me. The Ainur you call the ‘Powers That Be.’”

“Oh.” Buffy replied. “So are you saying that we don’t have a chance without the Ainur?”

“No. Not specifically. I have had no communications with any from the Blessed Realm, Valinor. That troubles me deeply for I have always sent and received messages from those whom I love that dwell in the West. My attempts have been fruitless. And the Mirror shows me naught of what may be taking place in those regions.”

Buffy patted Melian on the leg attempting to comfort her. “You never know Melian, maybe the Powers sent me here instead. I’m beginning to think that it’s no mere coincidence that I happened to have…fallen into this world by chance. I think I was sent here for some reason; maybe to help with the war. Slayers don’t come around every day.”

Melian faced Buffy. Her eyes were welled with tears. “Protect him, Bellaseth. Protect my beloved Elu. He is both valiant and wise, but he has no experience in warfare. None of the elves do. You are the only experienced warrior who resides in these lands. Fight by his side…See to it that…”

“It’s okay, Melian.” Buffy said as she pulled her into her arms. “I’ll protect him. Don’t worry. I’m a knight in his Household. I can’t leave him. And I wouldn’t. I swore an oath of allegiance to him and I’m not about to break that.” She pulled Melian away from her and looked into her deep gray eyes. “Besides, your old man is one hell of a warrior. I’ve sparred with him. He’s pretty damn good.”

Melian laughed as she wiped her tears away. “Speak not of this to the King. He would liken my behavior to that of some child.”

“Your secrets safe with me. Now we better get a move on before Thingol throws me in the dungeons for my tardiness.” She got to her feet and quickly ran a comb through her hair. “You know,” Buffy started as they headed towards the door. “Some times I think that your husband can’t stand me. What’s up with that?”

“I think Bellaseth, that he sees a lot of himself in you.” With that, they headed off to Thingol’s chamber, making a pit stop at the lavatory along the way. Melian had chided Buffy for her not paying attention to the history of the world. “It is of the utmost importance that you learn from history; otherwise you will be doomed to repeat it.”

Buffy laughed heartedly at that. “You’re very wise Melian. Ya know, in my world, you could be a college professor or something. I, on the other hand, am not a great fan of history. All those weird people, with weird names living in weird places…” She glanced at Melian who was shooting her a reproachful look. “Not saying that you guys are weird or strange or…”

“Yes,” responded Melian in a dignified voice. “And the name Buffy is such a sophisticated…beautiful…elegant…”

“There you go with the sarcasm again! Okay, okay.” They both fell into a fit of giggles. “I get the point. I promise to pay closer attention to your history lessons from now on. Deal?” Buffy held out her hand. Melian looked at her strangely. “You take my hand, like so.” Buffy clasped her hand and shook it. “This is a pledge that we make in my world that we call ‘shake on it.’ Sort of like an oath. But with a whole lot less ceremony.”

They finally reached Thingol’s chamber and the room was full with many people. Melian made her way to the dais as Buffy took a seat between Elmo and Beleg. “You arrive at last Bellaseth,” began Thingol. He was not pleased. “Why is it that I have summoned all my Household to a counsel and you, once again, are the last to arrive?”

Buffy looked around as all eyes were on her. “That’s obvious. I’m a woman! Women take longer to get dressed and stuff…”

“That is no excuse!” retorted the King. “Next time I will put you in fetters and lock you in the dungeons. I loathe tardiness. There is no excuse for it. Understand?” Thingol was obviously in a touchy mood. Melian gently patted his hand, which seemed to have a somewhat calming effect on him.

Buffy stood up. “I apologize for my tardiness, my Lord.” She said in her most dignified voice. “I will see to it that it never happens again.” She bowed slightly and then took her seat. She muttered ‘asshole’ under her breath but when Elmo looked at her she quickly started coughing. “Something in my throat,” she uttered as Elmo immediately refocused his attention back on his brother.

While the King had pulled out a large map and went over every minute detail of his strategy, Buffy was desperately trying to fight off sleep. One thing about elves is they have very little reckoning of time. They are an immortal folk, so time means very little to them. He explained his whole stratagem which went on through the morning until one o’clock in the afternoon. Boring. When they were heading to the afternoon meal, Buffy was speaking to Beleg and Celeborn. “…All I would have said was kill anything that moves…as long as it’s not an elf, a dwarf or me! It’s pretty easy to get straight to the point. There’s no need for all that bla...bla…bla…”

“Is that so?” Buffy immediately recognized Thingol’s voice behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment dreading another confrontation with the King who was already quite testy nowadays. Slowly she turned around and faced the enormous elf. “I was just…jesting with…”

“War is not a matter of jest! I am amazed that you were ever able to defeat any of your foes with that attitude of yours.” That was all he said as he began to walk on.

“Well,” started Buffy defensively. “You people still consider me a child don’t you? I’m only twenty-five for god’s sakes! Gimme a break.”



The following morning, Thingol’s troops would be departing Menegroth. Buffy had gone to bed right after the evening meal and slept until 5:00 am. She pulled on her breeches and a tunic with a sweater over that. It was still pretty cold outside especially when the sun wasn’t out. She heard a knock on her door as she pulled her hair into a pony tail. “Come in.”

Mablung was standing there, his arms laden with gear. “I hope you slept well, Bella.” He said as he came into her chamber. “The King has asked me to bring you your gear.”

“I didn’t ask for anything. He already gave me an axe. So I’m all set.”

He laid the items on the bed. “Thingol requires all members of his Household to wear armor. This was wrought especially for you. Here is your body armor, shield and helm.” Buffy looked at the items. The body armor was actually made in the form of a woman’s figure. It was shiny and silver and looked brand new. It reminded her of something a dominatrix would wear, not Buffy. At least not in public!

“That armor has breasts Mablung. I’m not wearing that.” She said in a disgusted tone.

Mablung smiled at her. “Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand commands you to wear it. I advise you, my friend, to follow his orders as his patience with you runs thin. He does not jest when he says he will lock you in the dungeons. Prove to him that you are the mighty warrior that you claim to be.”

Buffy picked up the armor. “But it has boobies.” It really looked freaking weird.

“It was made to fit your…body. Let me help you.” The armor had straps at the side, very much like a belt. Mablung slid it over her head and began to tighten the clasps on either side. “No weapon can penetrate this for it was wrought by the dwarves of Nogrod.” It felt uncomfortable. Buffy had never rode her horse with this robot gear on.

“What’s this?” She asked as she pulled on some blue material.

“Do not pull on that.” He slapped her hand aside. “The armor had a cloak made into it.” Before Buffy could make some comment he continued, “It serves no purpose other than adding to its beauty. Of the armor, I mean.” He added as his face turned a deep shade of red. Mablung placed the helm on her head. It, too, was very uncomfortable. She had to undo her pony tail in order to wear it more comfortably. On the top was a tassel of white silk. The shield was nearly the size of Buffy (it must not have been customized for her) and etched into it was the device of Thingol; a winged moon with four stars with a sable background.

Buffy stepped in front of the mirror in order to survey her new duds. She liked the way that the cloak and tassel billowed behind her when she moved around. It made her look more important than she was. But the helm was going to take some getting use to. Even though it had a beauty all its own, she couldn’t help but think of the Coneheads when she looked at herself. “I don’t know about this,” she finally said to Mablung. “I look like…a robot. Oh my god, I’m the prototype of the Buffybot!” Buffy exclaimed.

“What is a robot or this Buffybot you speak of?” inquired Mablung.

“That…” she began as she pulled the helm off her head. “Is a story that I’ll share with you at another time.”

“Since your armor seems adequate, I daresay that we should hastily join the others.” Mablung said in an anxious voice. Buffy grabbed a satchel containing an extra set of clothes before following Mablung out the door.

The armies of Thingol congregated on the western bank of the river Esgalduin. He would send out three troops of men. One to the north (that included the Kings Household), one to the west and one to the east. Since the forces of Bauglir would come from the north that made the most sense. Buffy kept her promise and stayed close to Thingol as they made their way on horseback. Their train consisted of the strongest warriors upfront with the wagons loaded with gear and food in the middle and additional warriors at the rear. This was the first war for the elves, but it was also the first ‘real’ war that Buffy fought in. She never went to war with wagons laden with food, tents and other provisions. This was the real deal. Like the real wars fought in her world today.

Thingol had sent several scouts that went further ahead of the caravan. Buffy desperately wanted to be among them but the King forbade her from doing so. She was to remain with him and his Household. It seemed to take forever to advance through the forest of Neldoreth. With so many people, the pace was quite slow. They made their encampment close to the dwellings of Beleg and his men. That was the first bit of civilization in the northern parts of the woods. Buffy had hoped that she could enjoy the comfort of Beleg’s bed, but that too was shot down by the King. She would sleep on the ground in her own tent like the rest of the men. No favoritism allowed! Now the King on the other hand, got to sleep on a soft mattress and had many comforts of home. That’s what Buffy called ‘crappy!’

It was nearly 3:00 in the morning when the scouts reported that the yrch had entered the forest and were quickly heading south. The King called forth his men and soon the woods were filled with hundreds of elves. Some took positions in the trees, others behind them on the ground. One could distinctively hear the rumblings of the earth as the yrch iron shod feet beat against it. The first assault happened nearly an hour later. The elves advanced on the yrch and soon the forest was filled with the noise of arrows flying from all directions. Many of these met there mark; others merely bounced off the shields or armor of Bauglir’s beastly minions. This was quickly followed up by sword play. In a matter of a couple of hours all the yrch were killed.

But something wasn’t right. Buffy saw a lot more yrch in the Mirror than what they actually encountered in Neldoreth. They had only dealt with maybe a thousand of these demons when they were expecting thirty times that. It was something that the elves picked up on too. Thingol called for all his chieftains to a counsel in his tent after what they deemed was a minor victory. He was sitting upon his exquisite chair when Buffy entered his tent. She made sure she wasn’t the last. “It seems to me that Bauglir has given much forethought to this war than we anticipated. We elves assumed that he would send his armies due south as that would be the shortest road for the enemy to take. My heart tells me that we have been deceived. I believe that the greater force has been sent further east. East of Menegroth…”

“They may have crossed the ford at the river Celon,” interjected Mablung. “Which means that they have entered Nan Elmoth or…”

“No,” replied the King. “They would not dare enter Nan Elmoth. Melian’s spells from long ago would deter them from entering that Forest…”

“But Thingol,” interrupted Buffy. “If these yrch shun the sunlight, wouldn’t that be the perfect place for them to go? I mean, I hear those trees are so tall that sunlight can’t pierce through their boughs.”

“Perhaps,” answered Thingol. “I believe that we have been foiled by the enemy. His intentions it seems to me are to attack from the south where we have not reinforced our borders. We must break down camp and depart the northern marches at once.”

Immediately everyone got to work dismantling the camp. Buffy knew that Thingol was right. They had anticipated Bauglir’s armies attacking from the north. No one thought that he would send them so far to the east and then south again. But if you look at it through Bauglir’s eyes it made perfect sense. Expect the unexpected. The words of Ulmo reverberated in Buffy’s mind. She could kick herself for not seeing that coming!

It would be a couple days journey to reach the southern marches of Thingol’s realm. Apparently Bauglir’s emissaries were quite aware of the existence of Denethor and the green elves of Ossiriand. With one stroke he could eradicate either force if positioned just right.

The company finally reached their destination after two days and made their encampment along the southern borders of Region, just south of the river Celon. With very little rest, the scouts came back informing Thingol that the armies of Bauglir were heading towards Amon Ereb (The Lonely Hill) which was just east of the area called Ramdal and slightly north-west of Ossiriand. Unbeknownst to Thingol at the time, that was the precise location that Denethor chose to make his stand against the enemy. A great number of the green elves were already assembled there.

It was already night when the armies of Thingol were finally fed and ready to march southwards. Some were on horseback, some on foot. The Calvary were at the forefront of the expedition. The sounds of the yrch were heard long before they were actually seen. The earth shook from their feet and the sounding of their drums could be heard throughout all of eastern Beleriand. This region was hilly and rocky and consisted of lots of huge stone formations which could actually work in their favor. It was Buffy who approached the King with her plan. “Let’s use the topography of the land to our advantage, Thingol. We can conceal ourselves behind the stone formations and hills and utilize the guerrilla warfare techniques that we’ve been practicing. Once their train passes, we can attack from the rear. They won’t see us coming until it’s too late.”

Thingol was in agreement as were the other chieftains of his regime. It was decided that the Calvary should hold back in case the horses neighed – that would be a dead giveaway to the enemy. In order to apply the rule of stealth, one should be on foot not horseback. Thingol and many of his Household dismounted off their steeds. The elves had extraordinary eyesight and hearing; and no one could be any stealthier than an elf. Quietly they crept closer and closer to the hosts of Bauglir. The hills and rocks formed a natural shield and barrier from the enemies’ eyes.

Buffy and the elves were in a most excellent position. They were only about one hundred yards from the horde of demons as they watched them pass their concealed position. Great was the number of yrch that Buffy saw marching pass them. She had never encountered forces so great before (except for the über-vamps and the amulet was key to their defeat.) The legion of yrch had nearly passed them by when all of the sudden Thingol had Pédacar sound his horn and the marching of the enemy stopped. Buffy gave the King a look of disgust as the captain of the yrch began shouting out instructions to his forces. “No where in guerilla warfare does it say sound your horn so the enemy can find you!” She whispered through gritted teeth. “What part of stealthy do you not understand?” she added with an air of disdain.

“No more,” said the King loudly. “The time has come for us to face our bitter foes…and fears as well. It is time to engage the enemy. No more stealth. The time has come for bloodshed and death.” With that, he ordered Pédacar to once again sound his trumpet. Soon many of the other elf captains sounded theirs as well. The sounds of the elven trumpets reverberated from stone to stone. And their challenge was answered by the drumming of the yrch.

At the Kings command all the elves emerged from their hiding places. The torches of the yrch were moving closer and closer. The whizzing sound of arrows could be heard coming to and fro. Buffy heard one collide with her helm which made her very grateful that she was ordered to wear it. The lines of the elves were quickly formed as they quickly advanced towards the yrch. The elves adrenaline was running high and they screamed as they met the forces of Bauglir.

Buffy thought how weird it was to fight in such a manner. It reminded her of the battles throughout early history when the bad guys lined up on one side and the good guys on the other. Each running towards each other until the inevitable clashing one hears as weapons meet weapons or shields. And that’s exactly what happened in this instance. Buffy too, felt compelled to yell as she ran at their adversaries. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Wielding her axe like an old pro she broke through the enemy lines along with the elves and slashed at every orch that was within reach. She made a point to stay close to Thingol, who towered over the yrch considerably. That definitely gave him the upper hand.

It did not take long for the hordes of demons to notice the onslaught that was taking place on their rear guard. Soon swarms of the yrch did an about face and came hurriedly in the direction of the conflict. Thingol ordered the Calvary to move in and he was once again upon his mail covered steed. Buffy wasn’t as lucky and was unable to leave the fracas she now found herself in. She stood her ground and hewed at every orch that her weapon could reach. Soon the rocky ground was slick from the blood of the enemy and Buffy slipped onto the ground, landing on a mutilated leg, which grossed her out. While on the ground, another orch swung his scimitar towards her neck. Quickly she picked up the dismembered leg and the blade of her enemy collided with the iron boot it wore. Getting back onto her feet she smashed the leg into the face of the orch. Blood soon spurted from its nose. Buffy kicked his knee which sent him to the ground. Now on his knees, he came face to face with the Slayer. She easily took off his head and he fell onto the ground in a heap.

Buffy resumed fighting. She had lost sight of Thingol and was cursing herself for allowing that to happen. She could see many of the Calvary’s horses colliding with the minions of Bauglir. Long were the spears and swords of the elves enabling them to stab them from their horses. The smell of death and sweat wafted in the air. Many torches lay on the ground still burning; their former possessors lay dead next to them. Buffy was soon surrounded by many yrch and was having a hard time fighting them all. It was Mablung who came to her rescue. Galloping on his steed, he swept by pulling her up onto his horse. “Thanks,” she stammered as an arrow became embedded in the leather strap of her armor. She pulled it out and threw it at an orch; hitting him in the eye.

Buffy was determined to kill as many of these nasties as she could. “They cannot all be killed in a single day,” Mablung said to her as he rode to where her horse was. “It will take many days or weeks even before we can overcome the enemy. Thingol wants you to continue fighting on horseback as you were trained. There in no need for stealth.”

Mablung sure called it right. This was the first war that Buffy fought in that actually required breaks. Breaks to eat. Breaks to sleep. And the thing that amazed Buffy the most was that the battle never ceased in all that time. The yrch definitely preferred fighting at night while the elves didn’t give a damn what time of day it was. They were out to eliminate every single orch they could lay their hands on.

The battle raged on for two weeks. That’s two weeks of non-stop action. On the final day of the battle, Thingol’s men were even further south. They had literally fought all the rear guard and were working their way to the remaining front line of the yrch. They were nearly at the foot of Amon Ereb. Denethor and his men were besieged by the enemy at this point. Although the hillside was steep, there was a path the meandered its way up to the apex of the hill. The top was not fortified by walls or any other natural barriers. The hill itself was what Denethor hoped would be enough to dissuade the enemy from approaching. The green elves were most proficient with their bows and arrows, but had no spears, swords or axes. Other than their bows, they carried small knives, weapons that are rarely effective in major warfare. Nothing could have prepared them for the slaughter that was about to take place.

From the bottom of the hill, Buffy utilized her cross bow. She had the elven smiths modify the weapon so that it held many arrows that could be fired much like a pistol does in our modern world. It automatically reloaded itself after an arrow was fired. Apparently the yrch realized that their doom was soon at hand as many attempted to flee towards Ered Luin (The Blue Mountains) and escape back to Angband. It was a futile endeavor as the dwarves from Belegost were there to greet them with their axes. Although the dwarves are a short and stout people, they are ever aggressive in their ability to fight. Not a single orch got by the dwarves.

Screams of pain and agony could be heard from the top of Amon Ereb. Those cries drove Thingol and his Household on feverishly in their attempt to master the hill. Many of the yrch were using the large rocky formations as cover. It was only when their heads popped up that the elves were given a chance to shoot them with their arrows. The yrch had the advantage by their positions, but the cries from Denethor’s people motivated the elves to fight harder and more effectively than the yrch.

Buffy never let Thingol out of her sight since that first night. She was on his left while Mablung was on his right. They had dismounted from their horses at the base of the hill and were making their way up on foot, cleaving the yrch along the way. As they made progress and were half way up the hill, the yrch began hurling dismembered body parts from the top of the hill. Buffy got creamed in her left shoulder by a severed head of a blond haired elf. It really freaked her out as it was a fresh kill and the mouth was still moving and one of his eyes was dangling from its socket. It was at the moment that Buffy realized that although the elves are an immortal people, they could still die, especially by weapons. And knowing how much pain and agony this elf must have gone through. There was no way any of the yrch were going to escape.

Slowly they reached the top of the hill. The ground was littered with bodies of elves and yrch, but mostly elves. The yrch had literally killed every single elf on the hill. They were in the process of mutilating all the bodies when Thingol’s Household arrived. They say ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ and it was this sight that made it all too true for the Slayer. Screaming like a banshee, she quickly began hacking at every orch within close vicinity. There was no escape. Thingol’s men now had the entire hill surrounded and many of his men were still climbing the stony trail to the top. And if you thought Buffy was angry, you should have seen the elves. Denethor was a part of Thingol’s people – the Teleri elves. That’s the ‘sea elves’ to you and me. And nothing says retaliation more than annihilating all of the enemy who took pleasure in dismembering those whom you love.

Thingol and his men made mincemeat of the last yrch. All were now dead. But at a great price. All of Denethor’s Household perished in that battle. To see all those beautiful elves killed so cruelly. Buffy was at Thingol’s side when they found the remains of Denethor. He literally had all his appendages cut off and he was mounted on a spear. It was so horrific that Buffy ran from the gory seen and vomited. While she did not know Denethor, she came to realize that he and his people were not any type of warriors. None had on any mail or armor. They were unaware on how to fight a war of this magnitude. Mablung was soon at Buffy’s side. He handed her his water skin once she finished retching. They soon heard Thingol himself sing a song of lamentation for the fallen King.

Buffy couldn’t help it, but tears streamed down her cheeks as she heard Thingol’s song. It seemed to reverberate throughout the entire region. A mass burial was soon to take place. Buffy didn’t want any part of that. The elves of Thingol’s Household soon left Ereb Amon and congregated at the bottom. There were other elves around who were dealing with the bodies of the elves. Thingol didn’t give a damn about the yrch. “Let the carrion fowl have them,” he had declared through gritted teeth. “I care only for those of my kindred.”

Since the green elves were utterly slaughtered, it was decided that Thingol would deliver the news to those who were still in Ossiriand. As they were mounting their horses a messenger came from Círdan. “My lord,” he began as he spoke to Thingol. “My name is Baraon son of Baron, and I have been sent by my lord, Círdan. Our people are besieged and can only hold off the enemy for so long. If you have men to spare, my lord, Círdan would be ever grateful for any aid you could give us.”

Buffy wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of going into yet another battle so quickly, but volunteered nevertheless. The King wasn’t about to send her or any of his Household at that time. “Baraon, my men are weary from battling the yrch for two weeks straight, but I will not forget my alliance with Círdan, the Shipwright. None of my Household will I send at this time, but many other men I will command to go with you. Of these, Beleg shall be appointed the leader…” And so it was that many of the elves from Region and Neldoreth left with Baraon to go to the Falas and help with their war.

The Kings Household continued on their trek to Ossiriand. Although they had the victory, it was a very great price. And none of the elves sang any songs of victory. Their train was more like a funeral procession than anything else. Denethor was buried on the summit of Amon Ereb. Thingol decided that was better than bringing him home in pieces. It would be way too much for the green elves to bear.

Despite the sorrowful trip, Buffy was amazed by the land of the seven rivers that is called Ossiriand in the elvish tongue. The temperature was much more pleasant (even though it was still winter) and the air was very fragrant and the grass was green. It was such a beautiful place. Even more so, was how the green elves lived. They didn’t build their houses on the ground like the elves of Eglador. Instead, they built them high in the treetops. There were rope ladders that one used to reach their dwelling places or in the Kings case, a make shift elevator. Swiss Family Robinson is nothing when compared to Ossir.

Buffy knew that many of the elves would soon learn of the slaughter of Denethor, but she couldn’t help but smile when she reached the boardwalks in the tree tops. These boardwalks were used very much like we would use a normal road on the ground. Each going in different directions throughout their country. It was phenomenal. Buffy could never have even conceived of such a place. In some places along the boardwalk, one could see for a long way. The trees were actual living towers to these elves. Since they have impeccable eyesight, many of the green elves were aware of the loss of their King before Thingol arrived.

Thingol and his men were being taken to Orchal, who was left as regent for Denethor when he went to battle. They were taken to the house of Denethor, which was a magnificent place. It was a huge wooden mansion that was built in and around at least a dozen mammoth trees. The boughs of the trees actually held the house up. Not one dowel was set within the tree itself. The green elves were masters of wood craft and their attention to detail was superb. Buffy hated the fact that she found this place so intriguing especially since they were delivering such tragic news.

They were taken to a porch where Orchal was. It overlooked the river Gelion and from this perspective one can clearly see Amon Ereb. Orchal who was sitting on a magnificently carved chair and his eyes were red and puffy. It was quite obvious that he had heard the news. Other than Thingol, there were only twelve members of his Household who came to deliver the news (Buffy included). They were bidden to take seats and Orchal actually gave his seat to Thingol. Buffy was surprised by Thingol’s reluctance, but Orchal insisted any way. As Thingol recounted the tale of the battle, Orchal sat there in silence, tears streaming down his face.

When Thingol finished his story, Orchal sat quietly for a few minutes. There were other members of Denethor’s Household present; councilors and healers mostly. Unfortunately for Denethor, there were no mighty warriors counted among them. Orchal raised his head and looked at each individual of Thingol’s Household. His eyes stayed on Buffy for several minutes. “Alas!” he finally said. “That we have come to such times where even maidens of the mighty Thingol must go to war.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Bellaseth Dagnir is no mere maiden,” stated Thingol. “She has journeyed far from her home to aid us in our battles with the enemy. It is by the grace of the Valar that she is with us. She is the only maiden among my company. She possesses great skills.” He looked at Buffy proudly. “And has a great mind for warfare. Many yrch lay dead by her hands.”

Orchal and his men looked at Buffy in a different light. “Indeed, I see that you speak the truth, my friend. One would not expect such a great warrior to be so…small.” Orchal quickly changed the subject much to the relief of Buffy. Recounting her story yet again was not on the top of her list of priorities. More like a hot bath and decent food. Yes, Buffy Summers had gone nearly three weeks without a bath. Nothing more than a sponge bath any way. Her hair felt greasy and was streaked with a combination of blood and orch guts.

Orchal ordered one of the servants to bring them wine. “Let us drink to our fallen King.” he had said once his servant returned. The amber fluid was poured into wooden bowls, not cups or goblets like in the Halls of Thingol. They all raised their bowls in honor of Denethor and drank in his memory. After that Orchal continued, “We have already discussed the fate of Ossir. We all followed Denethor…for ages he was our leader through many perilous journeys. Though I was to be his successor, I forfeit any claim that I may have had. No other lord can replace him.” He looked keenly at Thingol. “You will always be a friend to us Thingol but we will no longer fight in any of your wars. Ill equipped were we when…well, you understand our situation. We will trust in Ulmo to protect our borders,” Buffy ears perked up at the mention of the Vala. “as he has done for us thus far.” Orchal’s voice was beginning to crack again.

Buffy carefully watched Thingol’s reaction to that statement. Losing an ally is a big deal. But Thingol took it gracefully. Thingol was upset by the slaughter as well. “I too account you as friends, my kin. But I must make you aware that we have only seen the beginning of these wars. Bauglir has been released from his prison and will continue waging his war against us until we are all dead and pass to the Halls of Mandos or are his thralls. Neither option appeals to me nor my people. I can only pray that the powers of Ulmo protect you and your people.”

With that said, Orchal proposed that Thingol and company go ‘refresh’ themselves and rest. A word that brought tears of relief to Buffy. The green elves bathed in hot springs scattered all over this region. They had designated spots for the men and women, each were separated by great stands of trees. The spring in which Buffy was led was unoccupied. She had the whole spring to herself much to her delight. The women of the House offered her clean clothing which was nice since her clothes smelled terrible and were filthy.

After scrubbing herself raw, Buffy found a flat rock to sit upon and the hot water bubbled around her. It was like being in an outdoor spa. Now she could relax and reflect on the war she just fought in. When people think of immortality they tend to think that one will never die. Just like the elves. But this battle showed her that the elves could perish as well. And even worse, was that once they die they are sent to the Halls of Mandos (sort of like a holding place for spirits) where they must abide for a certain amount of time. Once they are given life again, they are to remain in Valinor. They can’t come back here and enjoy the freedoms that they once had. Not saying that one isn’t free in Valinor, but they can’t come back to Middle-earth. Buffy looked at the elves in whole new light. Time was as precious to them as it is to mortal beings. Although they viewed time somewhat differently because of their immortality.

The Household of Thingol were to stay in Ossiriand for a couple of days before beginning the march home. It was later that night after reflecting on mortality for most of the day that Buffy found that she couldn’t sleep. Many elves were still singing their songs of lamentation under the starlit sky. Buffy’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt…alone. She was different from the elves yet not so much. She was mortal, yet here she was still living and breathing even after dying twice.

Buffy found herself climbing out of her bed and staring out the window. The moon wasn’t out tonight and she could see the thousands of stars overhead. She pulled a robe over her white nightgown and left her chamber. She walked down the two flights of stairs until she was standing outside the door to Mablung’s chamber. She bit her bottom lip and hesitated. She then knocked on the door. “Mablung. It’s me, Bella. Open the door.” She whispered.

After a few moments, the door swung open. Mablung had pulled on a pair of breeches and nothing else. That sight almost took her breath away. “Is something wrong? Do you not feel well?” Mablung always showed concern for her well being.

“I need to talk to you.” She said as she looked into his green eyes. He opened the door even wider allowing her entry. “Thanks,” she said as she entered his bedroom.

“I would offer you a seat, but…” Looking around the room there was none. Only the bed. Buffy instinctively sat on the edge of it. “You’re more than welcome to sit on my bed,” he now completed his sentence.

Mablung took a seat next to her. He was about to speak when Buffy held her hand up. “No. Let me speak.” She got up and began to pace. “You know I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today.” She was nervous and was wringing her hands as she spoke. “I guess I assumed you guys were like immortal immortal. You know, that you can’t die. Period. These last couple of weeks, well they showed me otherwise. You guys can die. Just like me…”

“Please Bella,” he said as he grabbed her arm. “You are making me dizzy from all that pacing.”

“Sorry.” Buffy stood before Mablung. They were at eye level with one another. His hand still grasped her forearm. “I know I’ve been avoiding you since…since…”

“Since I kissed you,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied. “It just really freaked me out at the time. And I think some of the points you made were valid. I’ve been to Hell and I’ve been to Heaven and everywhere in between,” she said with a slight chuckle. “But there’s something about this place that I really like. Maybe it’s because the weight of the world doesn’t rest solely on my shoulders. I don’t know. I’m still confused by everything that’s going on. But there’s one thing that I know for sure. And that’s you. You have been my friend since day one. And yes, I do have feelings for you. I tried to pretend that I didn’t but I can’t make you any promises Mablung. I can’t even say for sure how long I’ll be in this world. But I know one thing: I don’t want to live in this world without you. No one makes me feel the way you do…”

Mablung now took both of her hands into his. “We are destined to be together, Bella. I knew that the moment that I set eyes upon you when you were staying with Beleg.” He smiled. “Perhaps it is your youth that prevented you from seeing the obvious.” They both laughed. Mablung pulled her into a close embrace. “But as you see, I am a patient man.” He kissed her softly on the lips like before. Looking into his eyes, Buffy’s passion was now awakening. She kissed him hungrily falling into his strong arms. He pulled her into his bed. “No more waiting,” he said as he blew out the flickering flame of the candle….


Chapter 8 - WHO ARE YOU?

CHAPTER EIGHT: WHO ARE YOU?



Buffy awoke the following morning feeling completely well rested and content despite the previous night’s activities. Mablung, who was already wide awake, had been watching her sleep. “You are awake at last,” he said. “I hope that you slept well.”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied as she shifted her position. “Have you been watching me sleep?” she asked with a yawn. “Cause I’m not much to look at in the morning.”

“You are beautiful despite your disheveled appearance,” answered Mablung teasingly.

“You really know how to woo a girl, don’t you Mablung?” she said with a snicker.

“Are you complaining? As I do not recall any complaints last night.”

“Nope,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss. “You won’t get any complaints from me.” The sound of rain began beating upon the rooftop of the house. “Oh goody. Rain.” Said a dejected Slayer. “I was hoping we could explore Ossiriand today,” she whined.

“Shall we let a little rain stop us? I think not. If my Bella wishes to explore, then explore is what we shall do.”

“Sounds good to me,” she sighed. “But now I don’t know if I even want to get out of bed…Rainy mornings make me want to stay in bed longer. Doesn’t it do the same for you?”

“No. We will not stay in Ossir long. If you wish to see the land then we should start the day, rain or not.”

“Okay, okay.”

Buffy and Mablung got dressed and made their way to the lower level of the House. There they met with other members of their company and the green elves. After breakfasting, they headed down the various boardwalks throughout the land. The rain had stopped and the sun was now beaming down upon them. They had explored the north-west area between the rivers Gelion and Ascar. Buffy had fallen in love with this place. It was a place of peace and great beauty. As she and Mablung walked along the rivers, she sensed a great power about them. Perhaps it was the power of Ulmo who protected the land. Buffy was hoping to get a glance of the Vala. She’d like to see him face-to-face.

It was during their expedition that Thingol met with the leaders of the green elves. “We have already seen the might of Bauglir,” he had said at the council. “I foresee many more battles are yet to come. Any of your people who wish, may enter my realm in Eglador. For when I return to my land, we shall secure our borders more than before. There you may live in peace and will not be called to battle, if that is your desire.” Word of Thingol’s offer spread quickly through Ossiriand. Surprisingly, many of the green elves took Thingol up on his offer including many people in positions of power within that realm. He had made this offer because of the sorrow within his heart. The green elves had suffered bitterly and he wanted to atone for their loss.

So it was on the following day that Thingol with his ever expanding train of people left the beautiful woods of Ossir and headed back north to his realm. Before departing Orchal had pulled Buffy aside. “I must say that it was a pleasure to meet you Bellaseth Dagnir. I have seen many peoples in my long years yet I have never met one as intriguing as you.” He smiled at her and put his hand on her shoulder. “My heart tells me that we shall meet again…and under more desirable circumstances, I hope. You will always be welcome.”

“Thanks Orchal. But why don’t you come with us. Come to Menegroth. You know that you’re welcome there.”

“My place is here,” he said softly. “We only wish to live in peace.” Buffy noticed that his gaze shifted towards Amon Ereb. “Must we be subjected to death? Is that what the world is coming to?” He looked back at Buffy. “Forgive me. The loss of Denethor still grieves me so.”

“I understand. I’ve lost many loved ones to war. It’s never pretty. And I’m afraid, Orchal, that it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. It always does.” Buffy understood the reality of big bads more than anybody else except maybe Melian. And Bauglir was the biggest and baddest of them all.

Pédacar sounded his trumpet signaling that it was time to depart. “It is time for you to go. Farewell Bellaseth.”

“Take care,” she replied as she mounted her black steed and joined the others. Buffy couldn’t help but look over her shoulder and watch as the beautiful woods of Ossir became smaller and smaller in the distance. The train by-passed the area where the battle took place as the rocky ground was still littered with the decomposing bodies of the enemy. Even though they had gone out of their way to avoid them, the stench of their mutilated corpses was thick in the air as was the cawing of the crows and ravens. And the buzzards were having a field day too.

It took nearly a week for them to arrive back at Menegroth. There was much celebrating upon their return. It was at this time, after a lengthy council, that it was decided that Melian would cast a spell of enchantment around the borders of Eglador. Messengers were quickly dispatched to notify the wandering elves outside of the forests of Region and Neldoreth to relocate to those woods. There they would be safe from the evils of Bauglir. When this was done to the Kings satisfaction, Melian performed her spell of protection which prevented anyone from entering their borders without their leave. Meaning no one could enter their realm unless they had powers greater than Melian. It was more or less a force field of bewilderment. When this was done, their country was renamed Doriath ‘the land of the girdle’ in the elvish tongue.



Now at this point it must be mentioned that while Thingol and his men were leading their people back to Menegroth, yet another war was being fought in Beleriand. Not the one involving Círdan and the people of the Falas. This war was with Fëanor and the returning Noldor. Their ships had come ashore at the north-western seaboard at the Firth of Drengist. The newcomers were attacked by both the yrch from Angband and the survivors of the assault on the Falas. The Noldor battled with the yrch for ten days before achieving their victory. But it came at a price, as was later discovered, that Fëanor, eldest son of Finwë, perished at the hands of Bauglir’s mighty demons of fire, the balrogs.



A few days after Buffy returned to Menegroth she came down with that tormenting ailment known as insomnia. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get any sleep. Neither the healer’s potions or tonics worked nor the elves magical wine that normally puts one into a deep slumber. Even Melian’s attempts at curing her were to no avail. Nothing is worse than not sleeping as the Slayer soon found out. She became lethargic and sullen. One minute she was laughing and the next she was bawling her eyes out for no apparent reason. She couldn’t think clearly or make any sound decisions. She was a mess.

It was Mablung who was most disturbed by this malady that overtook his beloved. He spent many nights trying to soothe her to sleep by playing his harp and singing to her softly. Normally this would work but it surely didn’t this time. He took his concerns to Thingol and Melian who were also his closest confidents in Beleriand. “It troubles me to see her suffering so,” he had said to them in their private chambers. “My heart tells me that this is being done to her.”

“Do you believe that this is some new device of Bauglir’s?” asked Thingol with growing concern. “A form of torment that one can do from afar?”

“That I do not know,” replied Mablung as he looked to the Queen. “You are the only one here who knows him. The enemy. What say you, my Lady?”

Melian sat there for a moment. “I cannot answer that question. I will say that I deem that there is some higher power at work here. Yes, my friend, even stronger than me. Bear in mind that not even the Draught of Melian could cure her illness…As far as who is harnessing that power over her, it is unbeknownst to me. The Valar most surely possess those types of power…including Melkor Bauglir.”

“That is what I fear,” responded Mablung with a sigh. “She must find some relief or I am afraid of what may happen to her. I cannot stand to see her in such deep despair, I fear that she may…” he stopped.

“Fear that she may…what, Mablung? What is it?” queried Thingol.

“I fear that she may take her own life.” Thingol and Melian were aghast by those words.

“Surely you jest, Mablung,” said the Queen anxiously. “It is not in Bellaseth’s nature to do something so extreme no matter what ails her…”

“Hope fades from her with each passing day. I see that. When one loses hope, what is left? She has died before as you know well. There she found peace. I worry that she may look for an escape…even death.”

Melian shook her head as Thingol began speaking again. “What can we do, my friend? We have tried all the remedies in Menegroth but they were ineffective. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes, my Lord,” responded Mablung. “I would like to take her to the healers in Ossir. It is said that the green elves are truly masters of the art of herbs. Not even our people can surpass them. I would like to take her down there and see if we can find a cure…With your leave, of course,” he added.

“Our borders are now well protected. Take Bellaseth to Ossir. Take an extended holiday if it is needed. You have my leave,” stated Thingol.

“And mine as well,” added Melian. “Do not delay, Mablung. I suggest that you and Bellaseth leave at once. Good luck.”

And with that Mablung quickly returned to his chambers where he packed his satchel with spare clothing. He continued on to the kitchens in order to get provisions for the trip before seeking out Buffy. He found Buffy sitting on her bed in the lotus position, her arms were folded about her, staring into space and rocking back and forth. Not a good sign! Mablung thought to himself. He spoke to her about going to Ossiriand as he began rummaging through her bureau pulling out various garments for her to wear. The Slayer merely babbled incoherently. It was heartbreaking. She had been suffering from this ailment for thirteen days straight.

Mablung led Buffy to the stables and as she sat on an overturned barrel he got their horses. He placed all the bags on her horse as he didn’t think she was capable of riding by herself at this point. He decided it would be much safer for her to ride with him. He picked her up and put her atop Nínim, his white steed, before heading south. It was already late afternoon when they departed Region and they rode well into the night.

It was just after sunrise on the third day of their journey when they entered the great woods of Ossiriand. They headed east after crossing the ford at the river Ascar and could immediately hear the fair elvish voices singing in the treetops. The green elves were still lamenting their fallen king. Unlike a few weeks ago, the elves kept themselves hidden until Buffy and Mablung approached the Great House. There they were met by several elves of the House of Denethor. “Orchal awaits you, my friends,” said a tall dark haired elf. There was no way Buffy could ascend the rope ladder that led up to the House, so the elves lowered their ‘lift’ as they had done for Thingol on their last trip. Buffy’s strength was depleting more day by day. It left her in an incredibly vulnerable state. And if Melkor Bauglir caught wind of her condition it could be catastrophic.

Mablung held on to Buffy tightly as they ambled down the boardwalk that led to the House. They were taken into a great chamber where many elves were waiting. Orchal was sitting on a divan at the far end of the room. He rose when they entered. “Mablung…Bellaseth…” He gasped when he saw her appearance. By now, Buffy had dark circles under her eyes, her face was pale and she looked sickly. “My dear Bellaseth,” he began again as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Her tear filled eyes met his. “It pains me to see you in this state. But we knew that you were coming and Nestor here,” he pointed to a golden haired elf dressed in green robes, “is a most exceptional healer. He foresaw your ailment at the time of your last visit and has been brewing his potion since that time…”

Nestor took a few paces forward and interrupted Orchal. “My Lord, we have need for haste. Let us take Bellaseth to her chamber, so I may begin. We do not have much time…”

“What do you mean by ‘we do not have much time?’” interjected Mablung.

“Forgive me Lord,” replied Nestor. “I can stand here and debate that issue with you until the stars come out or I may attend to the Lady and cure her ailment. Shall I let it be your call?”

Mablung glared at Nestor. He didn’t want to get into a knock down drag out fight with Buffy’s potential healer although the temptation was there. “Work your charms, Nestor. All I care about is Bella getting the rest that she needs.”

Nestor bowed his head and led them to Buffy’s chambers. The room was quite impressive and much larger than the one she stayed in on her previous visit. The room was decorated in green, gold and white. A large bed was situated at the far end of the room with a canopy that resembled the green leaves of the mighty elm trees. If Buffy wasn’t so exhausted she would have loved to have taken a closer look at the intricate details of the canopy. A few feet from the bed was a screen for her to change behind; the elves had provided her with a white nightgown to wear. Mablung assisted the Slayer into her nightclothes. Shortly afterward, she climbed into the bed awaiting Nestor’s instructions. Mablung sat on the edge of the bed caressing her hand and speaking words of encouragement. Nestor had his back turned to her as he prepared his tonic. “What is it that you will be giving to her?” asked a troubled Mablung.

“It is a concoction of herbs, roots and berries. The process is most difficult as it must be brewed, stewed and cooled three times a day for fifteen days. I am afraid that it is not the tastiest of draughts but it should provide Bellaseth with the relief she so desperately needs.” At this point, Buffy would have drunk orch piss if it would make her sleep. Nestor soon turned around with a wooden bowl in hand. He sat on the edge of her bed. “Drink this up,” he ordered. He put the bowl to her lips and turned it up as she drank the magical liquid. It tasted very…earthy. If there were berries in there, Buffy couldn’t taste it. It was bitter, but no more bitter than black coffee.

When Buffy emptied the bowl, she asked in a faint voice, “How long before it takes effect?”

“It should not be long…” Buffy didn’t hear anything else after those words. She had immediately drifted off into a deep sleep.

How many hours Buffy slept, she couldn’t tell you. But she awoke in the wee hours of the night; all was quiet except for the rhythmic breathing of Mablung who was still sleeping soundly. The room was dark except for a lone candle faintly burning across the room. She felt totally awake. Invigorated is actually the word that described how she felt. As she lay there staring at the ceiling, she heard a faint sound in the distance. Gradually it was becoming louder and louder. She looked at Mablung, who still lay there, unaffected by the music that was becoming clearer and more pronounced by the minute. She was compelled to find its source.

She climbed out of bed and went quietly out the door. She made her way down the staircase and out the massive front doors onto the wide boardwalk. She headed in the direction of the music and was surprised that none of the elves were wakened by the boisterous notes. When she realized that the sounds came from below, she jumped from the walkway some two hundred feet to the earth below. She landed with ease and hastily made her way into the dense forest.

After ten minutes of walking she finally reached a clearing with a pool in the midst of the woods. The pool was maybe twenty feet in diameter. The music was coming from a man who was sitting on a flat stone overlooking the water; from her position she could see the back of his head which was covered with long silvery hair. It looked like a light was emanating from him. When the last note faded, he spoke, “Hail Bellaseth. Won’t you come and join me?” He never turned in her direction but patted the large stone next to him. Buffy’s heart was racing as she approached the stranger. She took a seat next to him and noticed that in his hand was a strange instrument made from conch shells. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that he resembled Ulmo. He had that same long beard and mustache and the most magnificent blue eyes.

“Who are you?” she inquired as he sat the instrument to the side.

“I am called Salmar by the elves in the West,” he answered in a powerful voice. “I am a trusted servant of Ulmo.”

“Oh,” Buffy replied. “I guess I don’t warrant a visit from Ulmo himself. At least, not in real life.”

He looked at her with a scornful expression. “That is not true. You are very worthy of a visit from Ulmo, but he is elsewhere at this time. He sent me in his stead.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Things are changing…this world…everything. Some of it will be good, some not so good. I was sent here to take you on a journey.”

“What kind of journey?” she inquired.

“Do you know why you are here, Dagnir?” She shook her head. “I did not think so. You see, dear Bella, you are confused as to why you were brought here.” Salmar noticed her facial expression, “Yes, I said brought here. It was the Valar that brought you here by means of the amulet that you wore. Melkor was extremely troubled by that and attempted to destroy you whilst you were on your journey to Middle-earth.” Buffy recalled that black foggy thing that ensnared her as she was fleeing the Hellmouth. Before Buffy could ask why, he continued, “Your life that you led before…I believe you understand that you were living in the End of Days.” He now looked thoughtfully at the pool. “Two of the Valar foresaw what was to happen to you, other than Melkor that is; Námo and Ulmo. You think that you have been sucked through some portal into another dimension, but that is far from reality, my friend. You have gone back in time…to the beginning of time…before man…”

“You mean there are men in this world?” she asked excitedly.

“I said before man. Man has yet to be wakened, but soon will be. The war you have waged with Melkor cannot be won unless you know more about the enemy. You cannot find that information in any of those books in your modern world. The only way to defeat him in the future is to understand the beginning. To relive the past…”

Buffy interrupted him. “What do mean ‘relive the past’? I’ve never been here before. I’m only twenty-five, ya know.”

Salmar chuckled. “Twenty-five,” he uttered. “Yes, indeed!” His look turned serious. “None know Melkor better than you. You understand evil…You are drawn to it.” Before Buffy could protest, he motioned for her to be quiet and continued. “None know his weaknesses like you do. In time you will discover these things for yourself. But now I must insist on taking you on that journey. And no, we will not be traveling by foot or by steed. I will take you to the Dark Lands where your greatest adversary dwells.”

“Mablung would probably like to come along.” She got to her feet. “Let me go and get him.”

“No!” Salmar bellowed as he too got to his feet. “This journey is not for your elven lover. It is for you to take…alone. Have you already forgotten that you are still the Chosen One? No matter what age of the Earth you dwell in, as long as you are living and breathing, you are The Slayer.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbled wistfully. “I do a spell to activate all the Potential Slayers, but I’m still the Chosen One.” She looked up at Salmar. “How come I always get the shaft? All I ever wanted was to be normal like everyone else…”

“You are unlike everybody else in this world or any other. ‘You think you know…what’s to come…what you are…you haven’t even begun’.”

Buffy folded her arms across her chest attempting to stifle the fury that was growing within her. “Why do you people have to constantly taunt me with those words? I’m sick and tired of everyone knowing more about me than me! When the hell is someone gonna tell me what that means? Huh? What the hell am I? Can you answer that question?”

“Calm down, Bellaseth. In time…”

“I’m tired of that ‘in time’ or that…that ‘as you get more wisdom’ crap. Can’t you people just give me a straight answer?”

Salmar seemed to be enjoying Buffy’s little tirade. “I am sorry my little friend. All that I can say, and do not attack me in the process, is that you will discover things…in time. I am not in the position to say any more… Do not take your rage out on me!”

“Whatever.” Buffy’s mounting frustration was becoming more difficult to quell. She took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

“Let us go on that journey,” Salmar said boldly.

“Fine. So how are we gonna do this if we’re not walking or riding? You’re a servant of Ulmo’s. Does that mean we’re going by boat?”

“Not quite.” With that Salmar shoved Buffy into the icy water. She sure wasn’t expecting that. But what frightened her even more was that she was quickly sinking to the bottom. She was a good swimmer being a California girl and all, but here she was desperately flailing her arms and legs yet she continued to sink to the bottom like a heavy anchor. Her slayer strength did not help in the slightest. Buffy could see Salmar peering into the water from above beckoning her to come. As she hit the bottom, she could feel the air being squeezed from her lungs. She frantically tried to hold what air she had in but it was rapidly escaping. She saw the final bubbles rise in the water above her. She was out of air.

Buffy then felt her spirit leave her body. She shot straight out of the water and landed next to Salmar. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?” she screamed at him. “You freakin’ killed me!” She took a swing at him but it merely went through him. Without her body she was powerless to inflict some serious pain on Salmar. She looked into the depths of the pool only to see her physical body lying motionless on the bottom. Wisps of her blonde hair were swirling about her expressionless face. Salmar laughed, backing away from the Slayer and then he dove into the pool. Buffy cursed him as she examined herself. She looked totally normal except for the fact that she was an apparition. And a very pissed off one at that!!

Within a few seconds, Salmar was beside Buffy again. His body now rested on the floor of the pool next to hers. A wide grin was on his face. Buffy continued to hurl curses at him. “Compose yourself, Bellaseth.” He said between fits of laughter. “You are not dead. Your fey has left its house, but only temporarily. I promise. You will return to your body shortly and all will be fine.” Buffy began to regain her composure.

“You could warn a girl, ya know. It’s not every day something like this happens to me.”

“I much prefer the element of surprise,” Salmar replied. “And I must say this means of traveling is by far quicker than any mortal means…”

“So, is this like astral projection or something?” she asked as her nerves finally settled down.

He pondered her words for a few moments. “Yes. There are those who have the ability to leave their physical abodes for a period of time. You possess that ability, Bellaseth. Our bodies lay in the bottom of this mystical pool as a means of protection.” She looked up at him curiously. “There are some houseless feys roaming about that would be delighted to possess our forms. As long as we are immersed in its depths, none can make any claim to our bodies. We are protected by the power of Ulmo.”

Buffy looked back into the water. “Do the elves know about this place?”

“No. There are enchantments about this place. No one may approach it nor enter it without the blessing of Ulmo, and that he does not give to any… other than his kin…and you.”

“Why?” she asked, not understanding this strange thing that was happening to her.

“Because you need to know. You need to see this world as it is. Or in your case, as it was before it was changed and…shall be changed again.”

“What do you mean by ‘change’?” she inquired.

“Let us speak as we travel. There is no point in staying here wasting time.” Salmar’s spirit began to rise from the ground. Buffy stood there like an idiot not knowing what to do. “All you need to do is will it. Think about what you’re attempting to do and your fey will comply.” A moment later, Buffy felt herself lift off the ground.

“Cool,” she said as she rose higher and higher. “Can we scare people? I mean, we’re like ghosts, right?” Buffy was really enjoying the experience.

“Now why would you want to do that?” he asked in an appalled tone.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s just the mortal in me wanting to have a little fun.” She began doing flips in the air as they began heading north. Despite the initial shock of being thrown into an ice cold spring, Buffy was really enjoying her newfound astral projecting self. She felt free…liberated. She flew towards a flock of birds that broke formation and bypassed her spirit. “Can they see me?” she asked Salmar.

“Animals have an acute ability to visualize a fey when others cannot. Most of the times they may sense them, but as a …

Buffy interrupted him. “Yes would have sufficed! There’s no need to be long winded about it.”

Salmar kept quiet for a while after that. When he finally spoke again he asked Buffy numerous questions. “What are your intentions now that you are in Middle-earth? Are you now a follower of the elven king?” He cast a glance in her direction. “I would think that the great Buffy Summers would continue with her normal routine in this world. What happened to the daily patrols and the hunting of the lairs of the evil ones? Are you stepping down from your life’s mission in order to have a more peaceful existence?”

The Slayer didn’t like the tone that Salmar spoke in. “What do you expect me to do?” she shot back. “I don’t know anything about this place. It’s not like Rome or London or even Sunnydale. Evil doesn’t walk as freely here as it does in my world. Isn’t it pretty much confined to Angband?”

Salmar scowled at her. “Is that what you think? You have fought the monstrous spiders and the yrch before setting foot in Eglador and you ask me if the evil ones are confined to Angband! That is a foolish question. Evil abounds. Melian may cast her spells to keep their land protected, but outside…outside their lands, oh my dear Bellaseth, evil lurks around every corner…and in more ways than one. Melkor has many emissaries.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?” she asked angrily. “You want me to leave Mablung and the elves and wander aimlessly about in this world when I don’t know a damn thing about it? Sounds more like suicide to me.”

“Your standing in this world is greater than being accounted amongst the mighty knights of Thingol. You are a hero with unspeakable abilities. You can perceive evil that others cannot. That is a quality that even many of the Valar do not possess. It is a gift from Eru Ilúvatar. But it is up to you to use that gift and to use it wisely.”

“I’m sorry Salmar,” Buffy replied. “But there’s no way that I’m gonna walk away from the life that I have made here. I’m not the Messiah. I’m just Buffy…or Bellaseth. It doesn’t matter what name you wanna call me - it’s all the same. The Slayer works differently in my world. Evil has infiltrated it. You can’t go anywhere without running into some demony creature. You find them in the local hang outs and stuff. That just doesn’t happen here. Evil may be lurking but it hasn’t truly invaded this world. Not yet, any way.”

A look of disappointment came over the apparition of Salmar. “So that is it. You choose to avoid your Calling in hope that you may live in peace. Then this is truly a very sad day.” He sighed.

“I’m not saying that I’ll never slay a demon or something. If some bad ass gets in my way – I’ll take him out. But to expect me to be some lone demon hunter – forget it. That’s not my style.”

Once again their conversation ceased as the massive snow covered peaks of Ered Engrin (the Iron Mountains) came into view. A deep sense of foreboding encompassed the Slayer. She could not turn her eyes from the mighty fortress of Melkor Bauglir. All the while, Salmar watched Buffy intently. As they proceeded on she noticed three huge mountains in the foreground – Thangorodrim in the elvish tongue (translated literally into our modern language as ‘oppression-mountain-group’ or more commonly known as ‘The Mountains of Tyranny’). It didn’t take a brain surgeon to notice that Thangorodrim were actually volcanoes. Buffy had seen many in her life time and knew instinctively that these peaks would play a major role in upcoming battles. Buffy looked upon this fortress and was very much in awe of it as she was with Menegroth. While Menegroth was a place of great beauty and happiness, Melkor’s home gave one the feeling of terror and dread. She had this overwhelming sense that they were being watched. Melkor knew they were there. That thought would have given her mortal body the shivers. She recalled her battle with Glory, the hell god, and knew that without Giles intervening on her behalf she would not have defeated her. While her blood shut the gates to hell, Giles was the one responsible for Glory’s demise. “Why did you bring me here?” she finally asked Salmar.

“Should you not know where the enemy dwells? All evil originated in this very place. Your vampires and demons in modern times - this was their birthplace ages ago.” He replied in a solemn voice.

“And what am I suppose to do about it? Melian said that only The Powers can defeat him. There’s nothing I can do…”

“Perhaps,” answered Salmar. “Perhaps that is true. The Ainur cannot foresee all future events clearly. And some can see more than others. I want you to see where it all began. It is important that you know this. It may help you in the future.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she finally said. “I don’t wanna see any more.” She faced Salmar who seemed frightened at the sight of Angband and its fortress. “Ya know Salmar, I was really enjoying this whole fey traveling thing, but now…You’re a real buzz kill!”

For the first time since their meeting, Salmar laughed heartily. “I have completed my task. Let us go back.”

“Your task?” questioned Buffy as they turned and headed south again. “What do you mean ‘your task’?”

“I was instructed to show you Melkor’s fortress. He has brought much sorrow into Valinor. Now that he has returned to his fortress, he shall once again cause much sorrow here.” Salmar didn’t offer any more details about the havoc that Melkor instigated in the Blessed Realm. Instead he made small talk that really had no relevance in the telling of this tale.

When they reached the pool in Ossir, he did share his final thoughts with her before diving into the icy water. “Soon Mablung will ask you to be his wife.” His tone and facial expression were grim. “You will accept his proposal. All I ask of you is to wait. Do not bind yourself to him too hastily no matter how much you claim to love him. Tell him he must wait until you reach your fiftieth year in Middle-earth. At that point, I deem you shall be ready…Farewell, my dear Bellaseth and good luck!” Before Buffy could ask more questions he dove into the water.

She called after him, “What do you mean my fiftieth year? Salmar…Salmar that would make me seventy-five years old.” Not only did he enter his body, but it somehow disappeared from the depths of the pool altogether. He was gone. Buffy’s fey remained motionless as she pondered his last words to her. She was completely baffled. She, too, then dove into the cold water. The cold water took her breath away and she gasped for air.

Buffy found herself wide awake in her bed at the House. She was still gasping for air as Mablung looked up at her utterly shocked by her mannerisms. “Bella, oh Bella,” he cried as he got up from his chair where he had been eating his meal. “You are awake at last. Do you not feel well?”

Buffy caught her breath at last. The coldness left her and she was once again warm and content. She was amazed that she was in her bed. Was the journey just another vision? It seemed so real too her. It couldn’t have been. “I’m fine,” she finally said. “Have I been here the whole time?” she asked calmly.

“You have not left your bed for over six months…”

“Six months!” Buffy exclaimed in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“Nestor deems that his draught was too potent. Yet its sustenance must have kept you alive all that time. Did you experience another one of those prophetic dreams?” he asked as he held her hand tightly in his.

“You can’t imagine what I saw…” Buffy then described her ‘dream’ to him in every vivid detail except for the proposal part. That was just too weird. “I wanna take you there Mablung. I know I’m not crazy or imagining that mystical pool I was in. I don’t think I’ll have any peace of mind until you see it.”

“But,” he began. “Salmar says that the elves are not meant to see it. If I go with you, the ramifications could be disastrous.”

“I say we take our chances.” Buffy climbed out of bed and immediately changed her clothes. “I’ve gotta see that place. I know it exists.” Once she was dressed they made their way outside to the boardwalk. Instead of leaping off it like she did in her dream, they descended down the rope ladder. Buffy noticed that the leaves on the trees were changing color indicating that fall had arrived. “Can you believe that?” she said to Mablung. “I’ve been looking forward to spending spring and summer here and now it’s gone. Now I have to contend with the cold! What a raw deal!”

No one paid any attention to them as they went deeper into the forest. As they got closer Mablung said, “I forgot something. I need to go back…”

“What could you have possibly forgotten?” asked Buffy.

“Uh, I need my…sword. Yes, I must get my sword.” replied a confused Mablung.

It took Buffy a couple of minutes to realize that the enchantments of Ulmo were at work here. She laughed. “Well that tells me that that pool does exist. Your coming Mablung even if I have to carry you.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “It’s not much further.” It didn’t take long for them to stumble upon that mystical place. They literally stumbled upon it. Buffy’s foot got snagged on a root and she fell dragging Mablung to the ground with her. But when they looked up, they were there. “This is it!” she exclaimed with an air of excitement in her voice. Mablung was still hesitant but Buffy continued to pull him closer to the pool.

“I do not think I should be here,” countered an apprehensive Mablung. “If Salmar said that none are permitted to be here save for Ulmo’s kin…Wait a minute…Bella, if only Ulmo’s kin are permitted to be at this place, wouldn’t that make you a Maia like Salmar and Melian?”
Buffy chuckled at the suggestion. “That’s crazy talk. I’m just a super-enhanced mortal. A Slayer. Nothing more, nothing less. To even insinuate that I’m one of the Maiar is blasphemous.”

“It makes sense to me,” he replied. “That is why Melian has been teaching you her magics. For some reason you were not taught how to use magics. You relied on others to do your bidding…”

“That’s insane,” the Slayer said somberly. “I’m not one of the Powers so just drop it.” They sat there for a few moments in silence. Don’t think for one second that that same thought did not occur to the Slayer. It did. But how could she determine if it were true? None of the Ainur that she met in dreams or otherwise would reveal anything about who she truly was…or is. They keep saying those same words that she’s heard over and over again. ‘You think you know…what’s to come…what you are…you haven’t even begun…’ Maybe it was time to put that theory to the test.

Buffy stared intently into the depths of the pool as she still clung onto Mablungs hand. “Maybe I need to see what kind of powers I possess…” she began in a faint voice. She turned and faced Mablung. “I’m going in.” She kicked off her sandals. “I’ve gotta see once and for all if this was just some weird dream or if I can actually do this astral projection traveling thingy.” Mablung didn’t want her to do it, but he knew that she would have no peace until she at least attempted it. “I don’t know how long this will take… Just don’t leave me.”

“I would never leave you.” Buffy smiled and kissed him before leaping into the pool. She experienced the same sensations as in her dream. Her body plummeted to the bottom and the air was squeezed from her lungs. She felt her spirit leave her body. When she resurfaced, Mablung was gone. Since she no longer had him in her grasp, he fled as soon as she dove in. The enchantments of Ulmo were much too strong for him to overcome.


Chapter 9 - DEAD MAN'S PARTY

CHAPTER NINE: DEAD MAN’S PARTY



Buffy decided that she wanted to verify what she had seen in her vision, so she immediately headed north towards Angband. If Willow could only see me now, thought the Slayer as she began her journey. Willow had learned the art of astral projection while living in England but she didn’t protect her body from any creepy crawlers that might invade it like Buffy had done. All and all, this was the quickest means of traveling that Buffy was able to do on her own. Nothing compared to it.

In no time at all Buffy saw the Engrin Mountains looming before her. In the foreground stood the three peaks of Thangorodrim. It was exactly as she had seen it in her dream. A feeling of satisfaction encompassed her. She wasn’t crazy. She found herself exploring that region more thoroughly than when she was with Salmar. Not Angband per se but the entire northern region that she had never seen before. She did recognize Nan Dungortheb from the air and the great road that was built by the dwarves long ago. The same one on which she had met Drór and the other dwarves a year ago. She went as far as Ered Luin before turning and heading west towards the shores of Middle-earth.

As she passed Thangorodrim she descended even lower and noticed a great many people about a large elongated lake out of which four streams sprang. She knew that had to be Lake Mithrim from the looks of it as she had studied the maps of Thingol’s numerous times. She had never seen it before with her own two eyes. That entire area seemed to be covered in mist or fog. Very much like London in modern times. Buffy descended even lower so that she was level with the tree tops. She could make out every minute detail of their homes, livestock and people. It was amazing. Even stranger was the fact that some of these people seemed to notice her. A few of them were pointing up in her direction making Buffy turn to see if someone was behind her. There wasn’t anybody in sight. This made her slightly uncomfortable so she once again soared higher above the ground.

She increased her speed and continued west. When she reached the shores of Middle-earth she felt compelled to continue on. She decided that she wanted to see if she could find the Blessed Realm Valinor that the elves went on and on about in Doriath. Maybe she could even see the Valar themselves. She had no idea of how far that place was; only that it was due west of Beleriand.

Buffy’s journey continued even as night fall came and went. She felt neither exhaustion nor hunger. Despite the frigid temperatures of that region, she felt no cold. She was content…and determined. It was many days into her trip when she noticed a mass exodus of people wandering through the wickedly cold region of Helcaraxë. These pilgrims seemed quite miserable and the conditions of the road were horrible to say the least. Even though the area was still shrouded in mists, she could clearly see the people attempting to fight off the bitter winds from the north; trudging along with their belongings on the very dangerous and icy road. Buffy wondered what would make these people go to such lengths to apparently reach Middle-earth. And were these people from Valinor or some other land that the elves of Menegroth didn’t know about? These were questions that Buffy wondered about as she continued west.

Her days and nights ran together, but at last she came upon a mystical region that she believed to be Valinor. She could sense great magics about that place and was reluctant to proceed any further. The entire area seemed to be enmeshed in shadows of bewilderment. Instinctively, she knew that if she continued on some alarm system would be activated by The Powers. She didn’t know if she was allowed to enter that place so she remained where she was. Her eyes were able to pierce through the shadows and she saw many islands set out before the largest mountain that she had ever seen in her life. Much greater in elevation than even the Alps. As she lowered her eyes she could make out the smooth, steep black walls of rock that rose from the depths of the sea to form the foundation of that magnificent land. The land of perpetual spring. In Valinor the grass stays green year round and the weather is perfect at all times. No illness visits that place which is cloaked in deep magics.

The longer that Buffy stayed there, the more she yearned to break through The Powers mystical barrier. She had no idea of what the ramifications of that would be so she reluctantly turned around and proceeded back the way she had come. After several days of traveling she came upon those elves again. It was snowing and very cold when she passed over them during the night. Many fires were lit and there were thousands of small tents erected on the icy plain. Under the cover of darkness, Buffy descended lower than ever before wanting to get a good look at these people and maybe, just maybe she could overhear what they were up to.

Many men stood guard throughout the night. She wasn’t going to burst through anyone’s tent so she figured she would check out the guards. She thought that the mists would help to conceal her fey. What did she know? She was now at ground level. She was startled when she came face to face with a golden haired elf wearing a black fur cloak. It was quite obvious that he could see her. They both remained there for a moment in shocked disbelief. He was trembling from the cold and Buffy’s heart was filled with pity for him and his people. She experienced this weird sense of déjà vu. Buffy was mesmerized by his deep gray eyes. They spoke not one word to each other. When she heard someone coming from behind the elf, she decided to make a hasty retreat.

Instead of traversing through Beleriand, Buffy decided to follow the coastline south. She wanted to see the Falas where the people of Círdan dwelt. While Buffy did not physically experience the variation in climate as she traveled, she had a good sense of the weather being much warmer at the Falas than, say, Helcaraxë. Actually, it looked like spring was in the air. Great fields of wild flowers could be seen and even though she was in spirit form her senses still worked. She could smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers bursting in a myriad of colors.

Soon she was back at the mystical pool. She was anxious to find Mablung and tell him about her little adventure and the newcomers who were approaching Middle-earth. Newly embodied, she crawled out of the pool drenched to the bone. She twisted the water out of her clothing the best she could before slipping on her sandals and made a bee line back to The House.

Many of the people looked at Buffy with wonderment in their eyes. Apparently Mablung had told them about her newfound abilities. Buffy didn’t think it was such a big deal, but evidently it was to the elves. Unfortunately Mablung was not there when she arrived. He had been invited on a hunting trip and would not be back for a couple of days. Instead she passed the time with Orchal. “Long you have been gone, Bellaseth,” he had said to her after she had changed her clothes.

“Long?” queried the Slayer. “How long?” she asked apprehensively.

“You have been gone for over one year,” he replied.

“What? A year?” she exclaimed. “How’s that possible? I mean, it didn’t seem that long to me. Maybe a couple of weeks or something, but a whole year?!”

“Perhaps your fey travels more slowly than perceived,” suggested Orchal. “That is an ability that I do not possess so I can speculate no further.”

Buffy began calculating the time in her mind. “A year plus the six months that I slept from Nestor’s Draught…That means that…wait a minute…” Buffy wasn’t the greatest at doing math problems in her head, but by all accounts, she was now twenty-seven years old. She had missed two birthdays! To her, it seemed like yesterday when she arrived in Middle-earth and now it was two years later.

Mablung returned three days later. He had explained to her about his inability to wait for her by the pool due to the magics of Ulmo. After several months, he had returned to Menegroth to explain to Thingol and Melian about Buffy’s newfound skill. For some reason Buffy wished that he hadn’t shared the news of her new ability with anyone. But what was done was done. They remained in Ossir exploring that land until the following spring. Spring coincided with winter in Buffy’s time, meaning she now celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday as well.

By the time they returned to Menegroth, everyone treated Buffy differently and she hated that. Her new powers suggested that she was indeed one of the Ainur but Buffy blew that off. In her modern world, mortals have learned many great skills that one could easily confuse for being works of someone with a higher power. Take Willow for example. She was someone who had the ability to open portals and cast very powerful spells. And she was far from being some type of god.

As the days turned into weeks Buffy became more and more restless. She concluded that this was one of the side-effects from astral projection. She was no longer content living within the Halls of Thingol. It seemed that it was closing in on her, becoming smaller and smaller in spite of its size. Even though it was a place of great beauty, it seemed to her to become more like a tomb with every passing day. A tomb that was squelching all happiness from her soul. More and more of her time was spent in the woods of Neldoreth or Region. She yearned for a more normal existence. And living under Thingol’s roof wasn’t cutting it any more.

It was during one summer day while wandering along the bank of the Esgalduin with Mablung that the Slayer heard a familiar tune being sung. “Do you hear that?” she asked Mablung. Mablung nodded as they went to investigate. Much to Buffy’s surprise she saw a cart being pulled by a pony. It was the Dwarves! Buffy hadn’t seen them since the war. “Hail Buffy,” greeted Drór as his wagon came to a halt.

“Hey Drór,” she said as she approached his wagon. “It’s good to see you again.” She introduced Mablung to the dwarf and his companions. She still referred to the others by the color of their cloaks much to their delight. “The elves call me Bellaseth now,” she informed them.

“It is good to see that you have made a home for yourself here,” remarked purple cloaked dwarf.

“Well, kinda.” Buffy then revealed that she was no longer content living underground. She longed for her own space. A home to call her own.

Drór laughed in a gruntingly fashion. “It is funny you should say that. You have been in my thoughts of late,” he began as the sound of more ponies could be heard going clippity-clop down the stone road. Drór held up his wrist and showed that he was still wearing the watch Buffy gave him. “I have never repaid you for your kind gift.”

“You don’t owe me anything Drór. You guys gave me a ride to Eglador. That was my payment to you.” She said with a chuckle.

“No. We dwarves have learned much from studying this instrument that you call a ‘watch’. We have labored unceasingly in duplicating this device and have finally mastered the craft of time-keeping. We owe much gratitude to you Buff…ah, Bellaseth. We have come to Eglador to repay our debt to you.” Buffy attempted to protest, but Drór would hear none of it. “So you desire a house then. We dwarves will see to it that it is the most worthy house in Beleriand.” They were joined by six additional carts of dwarves who brought along a lot of supplies.

Buffy looked at Mablung. They were both totally stunned. “What do you think?” she asked her beloved.

He smiled. “It should be close to Thingol in case we are needed. I know your fondness for Neldoreth, but I think that our home should be located in Region. There is that spot where you like to bathe in the sun…”

“That’s perfect,” she interjected. “Do we need to get Thingol’s permission or something? I don’t know how this works.”

“No. Let us show the Naugrim where we wish to dwell.” Mablung grabbed her hand and they led the dwarves to one of their favorite spots in the forest. They discussed certain features that they would like to have in their home. Every girl has in her minds eye what her dream home would be like and Buffy was no exception. At first she thought maybe something small. Like her home in Sunnydale. But the dwarves insisted that it should be large; something worthy of two powerful warriors.

They walked through the woods until it opened up to a great meadow that covered about five acres. It was a beautiful sight and very private. Buffy was specific about one thing – she didn’t want the house made from stone. Instead she wanted it to be constructed from brick. Everyone agreed to accommodate her. A few hours later the dwarves began their work. Many of the elves volunteered to help in the building of Buffy and Mablung’s dream house.



It was a few days later when Buffy and Mablung received yet another pleasant surprise – a visit from Beleg from the north marches. It had been quite a while since they had last seen each other. “Hey Beleg,” said Buffy as she gave him a hug. “It’s been a long while,” she said. “What brings you to our soon to be humble abode?”

Beleg cast a glance at the foundation of the soon to be mansion. “Humble?” he queried with a chuckle. “I daresay it is anything but…”

“Only the best for my Bella,” chimed in Mablung as he put his arm around the Slayer. “What news do you bring my friend? For my heart tells me that something troubles you.”

“Alas! You speak truly Mablung. The strangest thing happened to me about a fortnight ago. I was out on patrol when I came upon Dúros, son of Mudol, an old friend of mine.” Buffy looked at Mablung, who nodded his head indicating that he recognized the person that Beleg was speaking about. “He seemed rather anomalous to me. I knew that something was not right with him. Before I knew it, his face became distorted, his eyes turned yellow, he sprouted fangs and leapt at me whilst atop my steed. He tried to bite me!”

“You mean he’s a vampire?” asked Buffy.

“What else could he be? I have seen them when we have patrolled before Bellaseth. But I have never encountered someone I know with this ailment,” stated Beleg.

“It is no ailment,” said Mablung. Dúros is most certainly dead. You have encountered the demon that has taken his body. Do not forget that.”

“Did you stake him?” asked Buffy.

“Alas! No,” he replied in a sorrowful tone. “I beat him off me and when I pulled out my bow, he fled. Dúros could not forget how accurate I am with my weapon.”

“Does he still dwell within the forest of Brethil?” questioned Mablung.

“Indeed. I recall when Thingol asked us to have our people remove themselves within the confines of the Great Wood that Dúros refused the summons. He told me that he did not fear the creatures of Bauglir…There are many people in that village. I was reluctant to attack them without Bella. This is definitely a task that requires the skill of the Slayer. For all I know, all of them could be vampires.”

“Chances are he left a few unharmed.” Beleg looked at Buffy with a doubtful expression. “Vamps gotta feed, don’t they? They’re gonna keep some alive for that purpose.”

“Let us inform the King about this situation,” stated Mablung. “With his leave, we will hunt Dúros and any other of his kin that have been turned.” Immediately the threesome headed to Menegroth where they informed Thingol of the situation in Brethil. He gave his consent for them to hunt down this newly discovered menace.

Buffy went to her chambers to collect some weapons. She brought her scythe, crossbow and a handful of stakes which she had whittled soon after her arrival in Middle-earth. She placed her tools of the trade into her duffel bag along with a spare set of clothes. Mablung soon entered her room. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Almost.” Buffy pulled out a small wooden box that Galadhon had made for her a while back. She opened the box and pulled out the crucifix that Angel gave her. She turned to Mablung. “I want you to have this,” she said as she clasped it about his neck. “This has saved my butt a few times. But now I want you to have it. It’ll protect you. If any vamp gets too close, this will stop ‘em. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.” She placed her hand on the cross and softly said a prayer of protection.

Mablung placed his hand over hers. “That is a priceless gift, my love. Are you sure you wish to part with it?”

“Oh yeah.” She smiled at him. “I don’t think I’ll need it any more.”

“I will cherish it always.” He kissed her softly on the lips before departing the Halls of Thingol.

They met with Beleg at the corral where their horses were and soon began their trek to Brethil. They headed south-west following the flow of the Esgalduin. Just south of the convergence of Esgalduin and the River Sirion there was a bridge that crossed the Great River (Sirion) leading into Western Beleriand. Brethil was still somewhat north from this area, but the bridge was the only place where they could safely cross the river on horseback. They were very close to the borders of Doriath. The western border of Doriath was Nivrim, the great oak forest; where the trees made the redwoods of California look like toothpicks. It was a narrow land that was under the domain of Túreb, the chief marchwarden of western Doriath.

Túreb’s camp was located just south of the River Teiglin which ran in an easterly direction until it met Sirion. It was impossible to cross Teiglin at this point as its banks were too steep. Buffy was delighted to meet yet another warrior of Doriath. He did not fight with her in the war but led a separate troop to attack the forces of Bauglir in the vicinity of his home. Túreb was a kind fellow very much like all the other elves Buffy had met. He was not as tall as Beleg or Mablung and he had this flaming red hair that made him look absolutely stunning. Buffy had never seen hair like that before. He detested evil more than anything else in this world and had a reputation for his fiery temper. Once he was angered, you better watch out.

Túreb and his people named their dwelling place Taurost (forest-town). There were a lot more homes here than on the northern marches of Doriath where Beleg lived. Just outside of Taurost were the fields in which livestock grazed and wheat and other food products were grown. It was a nice set up. Very…normal. Here the children played and music and dancing were prevalent. The aroma of cooking meat and fresh baked bread reminded Buffy of home like never before. It was a happy place. And safe. Buffy was glad that she had finally come here. The people happily welcomed them and fed them until they thought they would burst. A hot bath was the perfect ending to that perfect day.

The trio got up before dawn the following morning. Túreb and some of his men wanted to join them in hunting down the vampires. After saying farewell to the others, they made their way west along Teiglin until they reached the fords that allowed them passage into Brethil. Brethil was still claimed as part of Thingol’s lands but it was not under the Girdle of Enchantment. A dirt road meandered through the towering birch trees leading to the village that once was and hopefully still is the home of Dúros.

It was late afternoon when they arrived outside the village. There were about one hundred homes of various shapes and sizes scattered throughout that region. The sun, which was already beginning to set in the west gave one the illusion that nightfall had come early to this place. The group discussed their plan of attack. “We must determine how many vampires actually reside here,” said Mablung. “There are only ten of us versus how many of them, I wonder…”

“Let me scout out the village, Mablung,” suggested Túreb. “If Beleg goes Dúros will surely know that we are on to him. If Bellaseth goes, well, let us face the facts, she is a Vampire Slayer. That would be a dead give away…”

“No pun intended, huh Túreb?” joked Buffy. “He’s right though.”

“I have been to these parts many times. Dúros will not suspect that I know about his…transformation.” It seemed quite clear that Túreb was the best man for the job. He would also take his number two man, Sador, who was extremely loyal to his chief.

“Do not engage the enemy,” instructed Mablung. “You are to scout out his location and then report back to me. Sound your horn, Sador, if you find yourselves in a perilous situation. We will wait here. If you are not back in twenty minutes we will all enter the village and search for you. Be very careful.”

“Do not say or do anything that may indicate that you are aware of their plight,” added Beleg. “Tread carefully.”

Everyone looked at Buffy waiting for her instructions. “Oh,” she said as all eyes were on her. “Wait a minute.” She reached in her duffel bag and pulled out two stakes. “Take these. Just in case.” She tossed a stake to each of them. “Nail ‘em in the heart with that or cut off their head; that the easiest way to kill ‘em.” Mablung and Beleg looked aghast that she would encourage them to start a fight. “It’s for defensive purposes only,” she replied off their looks. “Just be careful and don’t get bit…or die.” Buffy was anxious to engage the enemy. It had been a while since she had had a good old fashioned brawl. Just like the old days.

A few minutes later, Túreb and Sador disappeared. Buffy and the others led their horses further away from the village and off the beaten path, tethering them to some trees. And then they waited. Time seemed to be moving so slowly. It always does when you’re on the cusp of a battle. Buffy nervously twirled her stake through her fingers. Her scythe hung from her waist by means of a belt that was wrought by Elmo. It was similar to a scabbard yet not really as the shape was quite unique. One clasp needed to be undone for her to access the weapon. It was actually a very clever design.

They continued waiting. After twenty minutes had passed they decided that they would move on to Plan B: separate into pairs and enter the village from the north, west, south and east. That way they would hopefully come across their missing friends. Plan B was about to be set in motion when Túreb and Sador returned with a woman who was in near hysterics. They explained to the rest of the group how the woman’s baby was taken from her as an offering to Daehir, the head honcho of the vampires in their little community. The woman herself had not been bitten. She told them that many of the people were turned to vampires and others were taken captive at Daehir’s fortress on the north side of town. Tonight they would be performing the annual Transformation Ritual. The ‘feasts’ were something that they had started two years ago. This would be the third one to take place in Brethil. There were several elves that were eagerly waiting to be turned. “I do not understand why an elf would willingly want to become a demon.” said Túreb. “We have already been given the gift of immortality.”

“It’s about power, Túreb.” Buffy answered. “When they come back as a vampire, they’re much stronger than they were before. And more wicked. They may have the memories of their former self, but believe me, they’re not the same person any more…Did you guys find their lair?”

“Yes.” Replied Sador. “One cannot miss it. It is the only dwelling that is fortified with a fence of sharp poles.”

“Tell me you’re joking Sador!” exclaimed Buffy with a laugh. “Cause that’s only gonna make it easier to kill them.”

“I jest you not, Dagnir,” he responded. “You will soon see for yourself.”

“So when is this Ritual supposed to take place?” Buffy queried the woman.

“At midnight, as they always do,” answered the woman.

“Handel, may we go back to your home and discuss our strategy there?” asked Túreb. “I do not think it is wise for us to be out in the open where the enemy can set their eyes upon us.”

“Of course. All that I ask is that you bring my baby back to me…in one piece…and not as a vampire,” she answered as she blew her nose into a handkerchief.

“We will do our best, lady,” he replied solemnly. The group made their way to Handel’s house which was situated a couple of blocks south east of Daehir’s compound. They walked as casually as they could through the near empty streets. Those that were still outdoors were hastily retreating into their homes before the darkness could completely overtake them. Buffy looked from house to house and noticed that the occupants had their curtains drawn. Their silhouettes could faintly be seen by the illumination of the oil lamps that burned within.

They asked numerous questions regarding The Ritual. Handel told them that the Ritual lasts three days. Daehir starts the festivities off by a Blood-Letting ceremony in which they feed on all the young children that their minions were able to capture. Daehir himself had a preference for infants. He called them his ‘delicate morsels’. According to Handel, Daehir and his emissaries had entered their town over two years ago. At first, they did not recognize the demons true nature. That came in time. Daehir established friendships with the villagers and was soon invited to most of their homes for various feasts and celebrations. Then began the disappearances. First it was a person here or there and then whole families would disappear. Gradually, more and more people vanished and some returned but were…different. Other elves were brought into town from other places and given the homes that were vacated by the previous owners. Some of these were in league with Daehir, some were not. A lot of men were taken into captivity as slaves but many were allowed to go free in order to breed; in return they had to give up their first born child to the emissaries of Daehir.

“Should we wait until this…Blood-Letting Ceremony begins or shall we strike before then?” inquired Beleg.

“That is a good question, Beleg,” replied Mablung. “Tell me Handel, where exactly do they perform this Ritual?”

“Oh,” she answered weakly. “The actual Blood-Letting ceremony is done in the courtyard of that main house of Daehir’s. One can hear the pleas for help from the captives.” Her eyes welled with tears once again. Handel tried to distract herself by making some tea for the people now congregated in her kitchen. “It is a warning, you see. The cries of the victims are a way of cowering those that have not yet been changed.” Handel paused as she poured tea into the many cups that adorned her table top. “All the victims are bound together and brought before Daehir in the courtyard,” she continued. “Daehir allows his minions to choose the captive of their choice. Some are immediately attacked while others are taken away…what atrocities the evil ones commit…” she shuddered. “I cannot even imagine.”

“Waiting could have disastrous results,” answered Túreb. “My heart tells me that we should attack swiftly.”

“I disagree,” replied Mablung. “You are at times hasty in your decisions, Túreb. If we attack the demons whilst in their fortress, they may slaughter all the prisoners. I feel it is best to wait until they are brought outdoors. That shall make it easier for us to save them…”

“I agree with Mablung,” added Beleg. “It will be much easier to retrieve the prisoners while outside. What say you Bella?”

“I agree.” She cast a glance at Mablung and winked. “We’ll wait.” She took sip of tea. “But something tells me that this is gonna be a long night.”

After many long hours of waiting, Buffy’s restlessness could not be quelled any longer. She departed Handel’s house with her party, all wearing their cloaks with their hoods drawn up. They made every attempt to conceal their weapons and identities, especially Buffy’s. They broke apart into teams of two; each heading in a different direction. Buffy had obviously teamed up with Mablung. They took their positions on the east side of the wooden spike fence. There were many oil lamps hung from tree limbs within the compound as well as torches that were lit in the courtyard. This they could make out by peering through the cracks in the fence.

“How stupid can they be?” Buffy whispered to Mablung. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of vampires using wooden stakes for security purposes before. And all those torches…they’re just asking for it.”

“Keep in mind that none of us knew how to kill a vampire until you came along,” said Mablung. “Perhaps they think that we have no idea of what they are and how to kill them.”

“You make a good point.” Buffy said softly. “Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to you – you’re not only handsome but smart too.” Mablung laughed quietly and kissed her on the hand. Buffy had to stay focused. They were in surveillance mode not romantic mode. It was nearly midnight and Buffy’s patience was reaching its limit. A moment later they heard the sound of a horn being blown followed by the rhythmic beating of drums. “It looks like the party’s starting,” she whispered. The front doors of the main house opened and many of Daehir’s minions exited the fortress with the prisoner’s in tow. “There’s no sense in waiting any more, Mablung.” She eyed the wall which was about twenty feet tall. “I can jump their fence easily enough. Let’s teach these bastards a lesson about using sharp pointy poles for fortification purposes. If any try to escape, throw them on their own stakes.”

“What shall I do? I cannot scale that wall,” asked Mablung.

“Wait for my sign,” she answered as she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. She easily leapt over the wall and was now inside the compound. Peering from behind a tree, Buffy surveyed the positions of the guards. She noticed that there were only two gate keepers and ten vampires that oversaw the captives. The captive’s hands and feet were bound by ropes and all were tethered together. But there were no little children or babies among them. Buffy counted thirty prisoners. She was shocked that the vampire’s numbers were so small, but than again they weren’t expecting any type of attack.

The house resembled a lodge in Buffy’s eyes. It had what the elves referred to as the main house with two wings on either side. The entire structure was constructed from wood and stood two stories high. The windows were covered by thick black drapes which prevented her from seeing inside. Not even the glow from the lamps could be seen through that fabric. The courtyard was positioned between the wings and was covered in grass with some scattered bare patches of earth. There was no concrete or brick. In the center of the courtyard was a large stone statue of a vampire (Buffy assumed it was Daehir) feeding on a young female elf. It was the only thing made from stone that Buffy could see. The minions and prisoners were gathered in front of the statue facing the house with their backs toward the main gate. It was time for her to make her move.

She pulled her stake out of the back of her breeches and stealthily approached the vampire guards at the gate. Mablung waited anxiously for some sign that Buffy was alright. It came only moments later. She got behind one, covered his mouth and twisted his neck. A loud cracking sound indicated that she broke it. She clung to his limp form as she rammed a stake through his heart. Poof! He was dusted. The second one turned to face her and before he could shout a warning to his brethren, Buffy pounced on top of him, covered his mouth and rammed her stake through his heart.

With the two gate keepers dead, Buffy went to the wall where Mablung was on the other side. “Hey,” she whispered. “Get the others and meet me at the front gate. And hurry.” Buffy went back to the front gate and waited fretfully for the others. She was thankful that there were so many trees as it obscured the view from the windows and the courtyard. As she waited, the temptation to set the whole damn place on fire came to mind but she knew that there were innocent lives at stake. The children had to be imprisoned somewhere within the walls of the house itself.

After several minutes the guys were finally assembled at the main gate. Buffy undid the latch and let them in and carefully locked it back up. “Is it wise to lock us in this place with all those vampires?” asked Sador with much concern.

“We don’t want to make it obvious that we breached their wall. I can’t believe they don’t know we’re here yet. Only two guards…” Buffy was interrupted by the sound of a loud blast from a horn.

“It looks like our presence has been discovered,” chimed in Beleg as he armed his bow.

“Weapons out,” barked Mablung as everyone complied. The vampires charged at them. The front doors of the main house sprung open and out came another dozen or so of the enemy. Some of them were clad in mail making it even more difficult to slay them.

“Free the prisoners and kill all the vamps.” spat out Buffy as she swung her scythe with such force that the vampire that rushed at her was sliced into two before exploding into dust. “I’m going in. Cover me,” the Slayer uttered to Beleg. Beleg pulled one of the oil lamps from a branch of one of the trees with his sword. He speedily removed the top, dunked his arrow in the burning oil, and sent a flaming projectile at an approaching vamp. The string of Beleg’s bow was humming as he continued to launch his flaming projectiles at the enemy. He was killing the vampires faster than anyone. Beleg killed nine of them himself. He was very proficient with his weapon. “Way to go Cúthalion!” remarked Buffy as she was flung to the ground by a silver-haired vampire. Mablung extracted his revenge on that vamp by putting a stake through his heart.

“Are you alright?” Beleg asked as he helped her to her feet. She nodded as she picked up her scythe that fell from her hand. “Now you see how I have earned my surname,” he added with a wink. Cúthalion meant Strongbow in the elvish tongue.

Mablung quickly pulled out his sword and began hacking at the vampires that surrounded the hostages. A couple of Túreb’s men had joined him. They were cutting the ropes that bound the prisoner’s. Buffy was unable to get near the front doors of the house which was now protected by a number of additional guards.

Some of the prisoners escaped through the main gate which was now thrown wide open. Some of them joined the elves and Buffy in the sortie. It didn’t take them long to realize how to kill the enemy. They used branches from the trees as stakes and torches and burning oil lamps as well. But what she loved to see the most was the elves using Daehir’s own sharp poles as a weapon. Seeing them impaled on their own device seemed just in Buffy’s eyes. Some of them went a bit extreme and foolishly threw some of the lamps through the windows of Daehir’s lair much to Buffy’s displeasure. They did not give much thought to those who were still trapped inside. The prisoners were seeking vengeance against their tormentors.

Buffy noticed that Túreb was now engaged in a one on one fight with the elven vampire named Dúros; they were dueling with swords. Dúros mocked Túreb with his words attempting to throw him off his game. It was having the opposite effect. Túreb was on the offensive and kept making Duros back step until he was close to the fortified wall. Dúros was highly skilled at the art of dueling and Túreb never really got a chance to go in for the kill. Túreb mustered his strength and kicked out Dúros left knee sending his reeling to the ground in pain. With his sword, Túreb swept a lamp off of a bough and as it dangled from the tip of his sword he laughed heartily as he smashed the flaming oil lamp into the side of Dúros’ head. Dúros, still on his knees, let out a cry as the burning liquid trickled down his face before he exploded into a pile of dust.

When the situation seemed to be somewhat under control, Buffy attempted to get into the front doors of the house. There she was greeted by seven vamps. She began sparring with the guys. “Is that any way to treat a guest?” she asked as she gave one a roundhouse kick which sent him flying into the wall. “You really should have Daehir teach you some manners. It’ll take you far in life…NOT.” She swung her scythe and took off his head. One of the vamps jumped on her back and tried to choke her. Buffy merely fell backwards on top of the demon. She could feel him pulling out her own stake out of the back of her breeches. “Hey,” she yelled. “Get your filthy hands outta my pants!” She did a reverse head butt on the beast beneath her, leaving them both momentarily stunned. With his hands clinging to her loosely, she was able to do a backwards roll, grabbing her stake from his hand in the process. “Party’s over!” she declared as she thrust her stake into his chest.

“I shall make you into mincemeat warrior-maiden,” another vamp exclaimed as he raised his sword over his head.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said condescendingly. He cried out angrily as he came at her. Buffy used the handle of her scythe to block the blow. She was able to block it and force her opponent against the outside wall of the house. She had him pinned. She followed that up with a knee to the groin which weakened her enemy considerably. She pulled her weapon away from him as he slid down the wall. “Sleep tight!” she said as she dusted him too.

Buffy was now getting assistance from Mablung and Beleg who were vehemently fighting the vampires with her. This little diversion gave her the opportunity to slip through the front doors unnoticed. There she was met by elves, not vampires. These had to be the ones who wanted to be turned. Buffy wasn’t about to kill an elf. As far as she was concerned, she was going to follow the same protocol she does with humans – no killing. But that doesn’t mean she won’t kick their butts. The Slayer began fighting with the handful of elves that were blocking her way.

“Kill her,” one of them yelled out. Buffy used her scythe only as a means of blocking their blows. Her fists were her weapons of choice in this scenario. It did not take her long to incapacitate the evil elves. Only one was not knocked out cold. After witnessing how quickly she was able to take out the others, he surrendered.

“I do not want to die,” he pleaded. “Please! I beg for mercy.” He tossed his weapon aside and got down on his knees. “I now see the folly of my choice to join with the vampire Daehir. Please, do not kill me. I will make amends for the evil I have wrought.”

Buffy looked at the elf for a moment contemplating what to do. She wasn’t going to kill him. That thought never crossed her mind. But he was the only elf that she hadn’t knock out and he gave her the impression that he might help her. “What’s your name?” she finally asked.

“I am called Úrion,” he stammered.

“Okay Úrion. Let me tell you what I’m gonna do.” Buffy didn’t have much time as the smoke from the fires were beginning to fill the hallway. “I’ll spare you death if you can get all the prisoners out of here, alive and unharmed. I know there are children hidden somewhere within this fortress. Get them to my friends outside. All of them…”

“I will mistress. I will,” he groveled at her feet. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“And Úrion, if you play me…I’ll kill you.” She would never back that last part up. They were merely words but she wanted him to think that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he didn’t follow her orders.

“Yes, mistress…I know where they are,” he replied.

“Then I suggest that you move quickly before this place burns to the ground.” He retreated down the hallway and disappeared into the thickening smoke. Buffy turned down hallway after hallway attempting to locate Daehir or any other hostages. She explored the entire first floor and discovered nobody hidden within the chambers so she climbed up the staircase to the second floor.

She hit pay dirt! Off the corridor on the second floor were a series of rooms that were known by the inhabitants as the Quarters. This was Daehir’s sanctuary where he plotted his evil deeds on the people of the village. Buffy entered the first room, then the second. When she kicked in the third door she beheld Daehir in all his malicious glory. He had been peeping through the window watching the melee that was transpiring in the courtyard below. Without looking at her he said, “What gives you the right to enter my domain and take what is rightfully mine?”

“This isn’t your domain,” she shot out. “Brethil is part of Thingol’s realm, not yours or Melkor Bauglir’s. You have no claim to any of its people, property…anything.”

He turned around and was still in the form of an elf, not a vampire much to Buffy’s surprise. His lips were a deep red indicating to Buffy that he had recently fed. He scowled at her. “How dare you interrupt my Tribute…” he sneered.

Buffy interrupted him. “Tribute? Looks more like a dead man’s party to me. I assumed I was invited but the invitation must have got lost in the mail.” she snickered back. “You know, you can’t really trust the postal system around here…”

“Silence!” he bellowed. “How dare you come into my halls and attempt to disparage me, Daehir, Lord of Shadow.” He narrowed his menacing eyes at her. “You shall pay for your insolence, girl.”

“So what are you gonna do? Tear out my entrails? Beat me to a bloody pulp?” she asked in a taunting manner.

His ire grew with her words of mockery. “I am going to kill you.”

“If I could only count the number times I’ve been told that by some stupid creature of the night.” She said continuing to taunt him. “Yet here I am. Talk is cheap Daehir. You can talk the talk, but it’s all about walking the walk.” She tossed her scythe and stake to the floor. “I’ll even make it easier for you,” she continued holding up her empty hands. “No weapons. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

He continued to sneer at her as his face distorted and his incisors lengthened. He was armed. “I am going to tear you limb from limb.” With that he leapt at her and they began their skirmish as clouds of smoke began to roll into the room. Daehir got a lucky strike in which sent Buffy flying across the room into a table which broke upon impact. Her lower back throbbed from the collision. As she lay on the floor, Daehir swept down on her and punched her several times in the face, shouting, “You are weak, girl. You are no match for me…”

Buffy regained her composure and jumped back to her feet. “Let’s see about that,” she said breathlessly as she kicked him across the room. The smoke was becoming denser and it was starting to effect her ability to breath. Daehir quickly got back to his feet and raced towards her again. Buffy threw a punch at him but he somersaulted over her and landed with a thud behind her. He grabbed her in a choke-hold. Buffy instinctively grabbed at his powerful arms gasping for air. She opened her mouth and sunk her own teeth into his flesh drawing blood. He let out an ear piercing scream and threw Buffy across the room. As she wiped her mouth she sarcastically shouted, “You can dish it out, but you sure can’t take it.”

“You bitch!” he winced. “You will pay…”

“Well c’mon then…Collect your tribute.” Buffy jumped across the room in one swift motion. She began pummeling him once again when she heard her name being called over and over. It was Mablung. She could hear him coughing as he neared the chamber. “Your time’s almost up,” she spat out as she gave him a round house kick which sent him sailing across the room, hitting a wooden box on the floor. When the box was jarred the cries of a baby were aroused from within it. The baby’s been in the room the whole time, thought Buffy.

Daehir saw Buffy’s reaction to the cries and immediately snatched the infant from the confines of the box. “One more step and the child dies,” he threatened as he held the infant before his chest. Buffy remained frozen. Mablung had now made his way into the room. “Stop right there elf,” demanded Daehir as he edged closer to one of the windows. “Drop your weapon.” Mablung looked at Buffy who nodded, and he placed his weapon on the floor. Unbeknownst to Daehir, Mablung still had his stake concealed beneath his cloak. “Get back,” Daehir instructed. They complied. “This is not over by any means, girl,” he spat out as he tossed the infant across the room and leapt through the glass plane window. Buffy jumped across the room catching the child gently in her arms.

“Take him and get out of here,” she said through the thickening haze.

“What about you?” asked Mablung.

“I’m gonna kill me a vampire lord.” She hurriedly picked her weapons off the floor and jumped out of the second story window. She immediately picked up Daehir’s trail from the courtyard. He was already running through the gate of the fortress when Buffy caught up with him. She leapt through the air and landed squarely on his back, sending them both to the ground. She rolled him over wanting to see the fear in his eyes because his time was now up. “It’s over,” she said as she sat on him and pinned his arms down with her folded legs. “Now I’m gonna give you your Tribute…”

“It will never be over,” he laughed as he struggled to free himself. “You will pay, girl. Mark my words. This is only the beginning…”

“You know what Daehir?” She mocked him with a beaming smile. “You bore me.” With that said, she stuck her stake deep into his heart. His countenance was one of pain in that split moment before turning to dust. But the strangest thing happened after he was slain. His spirit lingered above Buffy. She could clearly see every aspect of his being. She immediately got to her feet. He spoke not one word, but glared at her for a few moments before soaring off the ground and heading north towards Angband.

“That was astounding,” said Túreb enthusiastically as he approached Buffy who still stood there absolutely taken aback by what she had just witnessed. “Bella? Bella?” he shook her until she came back to her senses. “What is troubling you Bella? You should be rejoicing now that all of the vampires are vanquished.”

“Did you see him?” she asked as the others began to assemble around her. “Did any of you see him?”

“Who do you speak of?” asked Mablung.

“Daehir. I saw him…”

“Yes,” cut in Túreb. “I saw you kill him only a few moments ago…”

Buffy’s frustration was mounting. “No Túreb. His fey lingered here before taking off north…” She pointed towards the north indicating the direction in which she had seen his spirit departing.

“What are you saying?” asked Mablung who was still clutching the baby in his arms.

“I’m saying that Daehir isn’t your ordinary blood-sucking fiend....He’s one of the Ainur,” she said uneasily.


Chapter 10 - GET IT DONE

CHAPTER TEN: GET IT DONE



The others stood there for a few moments, in silence. “Are you sure, Bella?” asked Beleg. “Are you sure that Daehir is one of the Ainur?”

“What else can he be?” she replied. “All the other vamps…when they were dusted, they were just…I don’t know, gone. I didn’t see their fey at all. But Daehir…I saw his fey as plainly as I see you.” She turned to Mablung who was now rocking the babe in his arms. “What happens to the Ainur when they die? Do they go to the Halls of Mandos?”

Mablung shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea what happens to them. I do not know if any of them have been killed before.” He paused. “But I do believe that we can find that answer from Melian.” Buffy nodded in agreement. She didn’t understand wholly what powers the Ainur possessed. Nor what happens to them after their body is destroyed. Hopefully Mablung was right and Melian could provide her with some answers.

Handel came running up as the house of Daehir was engulfed in flames. “Galuion, Galuion,” she cried as she took the infant from Mablung’s arms. Tears streamed down her face as she planted many wet kisses on her child. “How can I ever thank you?” she asked between sobs. “You have saved my only son.”

“It’s all in a days work,” replied Buffy with a forced smile. “This is what we do.” By now, many of the former captives and townspeople were gathered around the warriors, each thanking them for delivering them from the evil that invaded their town. A great feast was held in their honor even though it was the middle of the night. Buffy was still feeling ill at ease. Daehir was invited into most of these people’s homes. The possibility that he may return to seek revenge was weighing heavy on Buffy’s mind. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to recant the invite. That was Willows forte, not hers.

They remained there for a couple of days teaching the elves about the various methods of killing a vampire. When it came to inviting people into their homes, Buffy instructed them to allow no strangers inside their home after sun down. “Be wary of those feigning friendship after dark,” she said to them as she mounted her steed. “Invite no one in. If they’re a good elf, they can enter your home without an invitation.” She patted her horse. “I’ll see what I can do about reversing the invite. If I can figure that out…I’ll be back.”

The group headed back to Taurost. Everyone was quite delighted by the success of their little venture except Buffy. Retribution by the evil ones haunted her every waking moment. She would have no peace until she spoke with Melian about this situation.

Mablung, Beleg and Buffy hurriedly rode back to Menegroth. Fall was in the air and the ground was now littered with leaves of various shapes, sizes and colors. The air was becoming more brisk indicating that winter was just around the corner. When the trio arrived at the Great Bridge of Doriath, they parted ways. Mablung and Beleg went to check out the progress of the mansion as they had been gone for many weeks and Buffy was most anxious to speak with Melian. Buffy first reported to Thingol at Mablung’s request. She told him and his councilors of the eradication of the vampires out of Brethil much to the Kings delight.

Buffy found Melian in one of the many kitchens in Menegroth. As Buffy entered the chamber, Melian whose back was facing her said, “It is with great joy in my heart that you have returned to Menegroth unscathed, Bellaseth.” Buffy was always amazed when Melian could sense her presence. She turned and faced Buffy. “It has been long since you have sought my advice…or my teachings. But today, we shall talk whilst I teach you a new skill…”

“Involving food?” queried the Slayer with a smile.

“Indeed. The time draws near when you shall leave these Halls…permanently. It saddens me that Menegroth has not captivated your heart as it has mine.” She sighed. “It is like that saying that you have spoken before…how does it go?”

“Different strokes for different folks?” suggested Buffy.

“Yes, that is the one.” She mumbled the phrase under her breath and chuckled. “Today I am going to teach you how to make lembas, the elvish way-bread…”

“I thought only a Queen is supposed to know how to make that stuff,” interrupted Buffy.

“And you are no Queen, eh?” stated Melian. “Perhaps not, but in days to come, you will be revered as one.”

“Queen Bella…” Buffy muttered. “I can live with that.” She laughed. “But I really don’t see that happening unless you see Mablung becoming a king in the future of something…” commented Buffy.

Melian smiled, “No. I do not foresee that, my child.”

“Bummer. Oh well,” started Buffy again. “I’m actually content with being the Slayer or the Chosen One…” Melian then began showing Buffy how to make lembas. The secret ingredient? Magic. As with most things with Melian, that’s the secret to most anything she does. Regardless, the Queen felt it was important for Buffy to learn this skill and that was enough for the Slayer to comply. “I’ve got some questions for you,” Buffy said as she rolled the dough out on the floured surface. “What happens to the fey of an Ainur that has died? Do they pass to the Halls of Mandos like the elves?”

Melian immediately stopped what she was doing. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked keenly at the Slayer. “Why do you ask such a question? Did you…” the words trailed off.

“Yeah, I think so.” Buffy replied as she continued rolling while Melian scrutinized her very closely. “This vampire, Daehir…I staked him and he turned to dust, which is what’s supposed to happen, but then I saw his fey lingering above the ground. Let me tell you Melian that wigged me out!”

“Wigged you out?” Melian questioned as Buffy explained what the expression meant. Melian went over to a cupboard, pulled out a bottle of wine and two goblets and brought them over to the counter where Buffy was now placing the dough in pans. “That is a most unusual question that you ask of me,” she finally said after taking a long swig from her goblet. “The Ainur are not commanded to go to Mandos,” she spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “Mandos is meant for the children of Eru, not the Ainur. Melkor was condemned there as part of his punishment because that fortress is impenetrable. The Ainur, if their body is broken or destroyed, have the ability to make their flesh anew.” Buffy looked at her with a confused expression on her face. “It is very much how you would change your garments after a battle or when you get up in the morning. This…” she made a gesture indicating her body “is but a garment that we choose to wear. Long ago, before the elves awoke, many of the Ainur went in spirit form. The form we chose to house our spirits was left to us. As you see, I chose to take the form of an elf…”

“So, any of the Ainur can choose whatever they want to house their spirits?” asked Buffy.

“Absolutely,” she replied. “There are some who choose to be like the many animals that roam in the wild. Some choose to be a towering tree…”

“A tree?” Buffy interjected with a smirk. “Who would ever want to be a tree?”

Melian chuckled. “Many. They are mostly Maiar of Yavanna or Oromë to whom all trees are held dear. Manwë has many servants that prefer the shape of an eagle or…”

“I think I get the point,” Buffy replied. “How long does it take to make one’s flesh anew?” she queried again.

“That depends on the Maia. There are several factors…” she started as Buffy once again interrupted her.

“What about an evil one? Quite honestly Melian, I’m not too worried about you or Salmar…its Daehir that worries me. I’m afraid he’s going to seek a little revenge on the people of Brethil. I want to know how long it’ll take him to remake himself….”

“Child,” she interrupted this time. “It is not a simple question that you ask. I cannot clearly perceive how long it would take him to make his flesh anew. It depends on how much of his magics he has used and if he has bred with another – that requires giving up some power…”

“So your saying that if a Maia breeds and has children, it takes away some of their power.”

“Exactly. Do you not see why I have only one child? Have you not found yourself wondering why Thingol has no son? No heir to his throne?” Melian questioned Buffy. “It is because it would require both of us to give up some more of our powers. We lose a little bit more of our magical ability with each birth. That power goes into our children once it leaves us. But it leaves us nonetheless.”

“Well,” began Buffy as she began placing pans in the oven, “that explains a lot. I really can’t say whether Daehir has fathered any offspring or not, but my gut tells me that he’s already in his new body.”

“Perhaps,” answered Melian. “Your instincts have not let you down as of yet.”

“I just love how you add the word yet to that,” Buffy smirked.

“All good things must come to an end at some point in time,” replied Melian solemnly.

“That’s pretty ominous. Do you know something that I don’t?” questioned Buffy.

“In time, dear child. You will see in time.” With that, Melian excused herself. Buffy remained in the kitchen sipping her wine and pondering the words of Melian. Once again she was hit with that ‘in time’ remark. How long would it actually be until she discovered all the secrets of Middle-earth? In time. Those two words were the most annoying to Buffy’s ears.

As the aroma of the baking bread permeated the kitchen Mablung entered looking slightly perturbed. “Something smells good.”

Buffy looked up at her lover, she had been staring into her empty goblet. “How goes the construction?” she asked.

“It is going well.” He sighed as he refilled her goblet and took a long drink of the rose colored liquid. “Tell me Bella. What is your relationship with the Naugrim?” Buffy looked at him peculiarly. “I mean…” he began again with a frustrated tone. “They will not listen to me. The Dwarves insist on making modifications to our original plans. They will only heed the words of ‘the Lady of the House’.” He took another drink.

“I see,” Buffy replied trying to muffle her laughter. “As soon as my lembas is finished baking, I’ll go out there and scold them for you,” she added impishly.

Once the bread was finished, Mablung assisted Buffy is packaging the tasty cakes into its leaf wrappings. The wrappings were sealed with the wax and stamp that Melian had left. When this task was completed, they stacked the goodies in the pantry and made their way outside to the construction site.

Mablung was correct in his assessment of the dwarf’s modifications. The home that they had originally envisioned had now doubled in size once again. The foundation now encompassed nearly one acre of the five acre homesite. Based on her calculations, the mansion would roughly be forty thousand square feet upon completion. The dwarves were insistent about the increase in size and now that the foundation had been laid there was no turning back.

Buffy marveled at the dwarves workmanship. They were already working on framing the walls on this massive three story structure. She spoke with Grundin about the changes. “We can’t do that yet,” she had said to him regarding the walls. “I told you guys that I want copper pipes installed throughout the entire house. They are to be located within the walls themselves…”

“But Lady,” he retorted. “Did you not say that you wanted the roof constructed from copper and the ceilings within the home?”

“Yes. But the roof is to be finished in copper, not constructed totally from copper. And I do want the ceilings in the main rooms to be hammered copper. But right now, I want copper pipes within the walls,” she explained.

“I do not understand these pipes you speak of. What purpose do they serve?” he questioned.

“Listen Grundin, I’ve gone over this with Drór several times now. These pipes,” she pulled out her diagram from the sheets of parchment that lay on the wagon. “Is for the flowing of water. I want the water to be accessible in the house…”

“That is a very strange thing indeed!” Grundin replied as he stroked his beard. “But Drór has instructed us to do as you wish. No matter how queer it may be.” Buffy smiled. The word queer certainly had a different connotation back home! And to hear a dwarf telling her that her idea was ‘queer’ made Buffy chuckle to herself.

With that minor snafu straightened out, Buffy returned to her chambers in Thingol’s Halls. The weariness of the trip finally hit her and she crawled into her bed and fell fast asleep. Once again, Buffy received a visit from Salmar. This time they were not by the mystical pool but at the homesite which was totally deserted. Salmar was dressed in green robes and his long silver hair wafted in the cool breeze. “This shall be a very grand home once it is completed.” He looked down at her small form. “Quite worthy of the Slayer.”

Buffy folded her arms and grinned. “So this is a social visit?” she queried.

He looked at her with a surprised expression on his face. “You are not one for small talk are you?”

“Not when you invade my mind like you do. It’s…creepy. Get on with it…”

He bowed slightly. “Yes, Lady,” he responded courteously. Buffy chided him for his formal behavior. “Do not forget your friends in Brethil, Bellaseth. There is a great need to have their homes protected and you are the only one who is capable of doing that…”

Buffy interrupted him. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t have any holy water…nor the spell for that matter…”

“That is why I am here,” he said as he stood straighter. “You need to collect water from the mystical pool. Ulmo has already blessed it himself. It wouldn’t hurt for you to say a prayer over it as well. Take that water and use it to bless the homes of the occupants…”

“It takes more than just some blessed water Salmar,” Buffy replied in a tone that indicated that she was getting agitated. “There’s a spell…”

“You know the spell, Bellaseth. The words will come to you when you are ready to perform it. But there is need for haste…”

“I just got back today,” she whined. He looked sternly at her. “Fine. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. If you don’t mind Salmar, I’d like to wake up now.”

“Farewell Dagnir and may the blessings of the Valar be with you,” he said as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Buffy woke up from her encounter with Salmar. Pulling out her satchel, she began packing a few items for the trip.

Mablung soon entered her chamber. “Where are you going?” he asked, totally shocked that she was repacking. “We have only just returned.”

“I know,” Buffy answered, feeling totally defeated by the words of Salmar. “Duty calls. Salmar just visited me and I’ve got to deal with the situation in Brethil. Apparently it can’t wait any longer.” She grabbed her cloak off of her trunk and put it on.

“But you cannot go at this time. Thingol wishes to discuss some matters at the evening meal and has requested your presence. That is why I am here. I do not think he will allow you to depart…”

“Allow me?” she questioned. “I don’t think Elu Thingol can stop me. If the Powers feel that I’ve got to take care of business elsewhere, then I’ve gotta do it. It’s no fun having one of the Maiar invade your dreams, believe me. And if I don’t go, I’m afraid Salmar might take up residency there…permanently.”

Mablung looked at her anxiously. “Please speak with Thingol before you leave.” Buffy agreed and they left her chambers for the Hall of Feasts. When they arrived, the aroma of many delicious foods permeated throughout the massive chamber causing Buffy’s stomach to growl. The King was already seated at the head of the main table. Melian sat on his right and Lúthien on his left. “Lord, I have brought Bellaseth as you ordered.”

“Thank you Mablung. You may sit.” Mablung cast a glance at Buffy before taking his seat at the Kings table. “Are you leaving us, Bellaseth, for you have only arrived back at Menegroth today.”

“I’m afraid so, sire,” she replied. “Salmar visited me again today and I’ve been instructed to go back to Brethil by way of Ossiriand…”

“Why is there this need for haste?” he asked.

“Apparently he’s worried about the vampires returning. I have to go to Ossir and get some water from that mystical pool of Ulmo’s and take it to Brethil as part…”

Thingol turned to Melian. “Have you heard from Salmar or any of your kindred regarding this matter?”

Melian glanced up at Buffy before answering her husband. “I have not heard from anyone in quite some time,” she stated.

Thingol returned his glance to Buffy. “How is it that Melian’s kindred communicate with you but not her?” He asked contemptuously.

Buffy could tell that Thingol’s temper was rising, but she had done nothing wrong. “I can’t answer that. Believe me, I’d rather they talk to Melian than me. I’d be quite content to stay here, but it’s not my call.” She was not going to let Thingol daunt her despite his icy stare. “Brethil is not under the Girdle of Enchantment. Those people don’t have the protection like…”

“And you blame that on me?” he queried as his tone grew louder. “It is now Elu Thingol’s fault,” he announced even louder to everyone in the chamber, “I have done my people wrong you say…”

“I didn’t say that. All I’m saying is that I’ve got to stop the vamps from invading your peoples homes. While your sitting here feasting on your roasted meats, your kin folk might be dinner for the emissaries of Bauglir…”

Thingol slammed his fist on the table. “I will not tolerate your impudence, Bellaseth. How dare you speak to me in that tone of yours? I have welcomed you into my Halls and have endowed you with the title of Knight and now…”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy replied calmly. “If you want to chew me out, that’s fine. But it’s gonna have to wait. I have to go.” Buffy started walking off.

Thingol got to his feet. “You stop right there young lady.” The entire chamber became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “Do you desire to visit my dungeons this eve? You are well on your way…”

Buffy’s temper had now been flamed by his words. “If you think I deserve to be thrown in the dungeons then I wanna see you try,” she shot back at him. Even though Thingol was considerable taller than Buffy, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by him. “You think I want to do this? You think this is my choice?” She yelled back at him. “Well, for your information it’s not. It’s what I do. It’s part of being the Slayer. If you think that I deserve to be punished, it’ll have to wait until I get back!” Buffy stormed across the chamber. Thingol was shocked. Nobody ever talked to him like that before. Nobody! When Buffy got to the doors, the guards were blocking her from the exit. “If you guys don’t get out of my way…” she said through gritted teeth. “The people of Brethil’s blood will be on your hands.” For whatever reason the guards let Buffy pass. She went straight to the kitchen where she had stored the lembas, grabbed a handful and went to the stables. Mablung did not follow.

Buffy was absolutely livid as she mounted her steed and galloped down the road leading south. Did Thingol think she was enjoying this stuff? That she delighted in having the Powers invading her brain while she slept…And for Salmar to walk into her dreams like he does…It’s a very frightening thought. She only wished it could be done to Thingol instead.

The further that Buffy got away from Menegroth, the more content she became. It took her four days to reach the beautiful woods of Ossir. It was only beginning to show the early signs of fall unlike Doriath where winter could be felt in the air. She was welcomed by the elves once again. Orchal made the comment that Buffy should just remain there since her visits were becoming more and more frequent. Buffy had visited Ossir more in the last few years than Thingol ever did since it had been occupied by the green elves. But once again, duty calls. This wasn’t a social visit. After only two days, Buffy left Ossir with a barrel of mystical water strapped to her horse.

It was a horrendously long trip to Brethil especially without any companions. She wasn’t fearful of being attacked but she felt lonelier than every before. She wished Mablung had come with her. But she understood his loyalty to Thingol. She respected that. When she reached Taurost she invited Túreb to join her on her little adventure. He was very reluctant; Buffy assumed that Thingol had sent word to him about their row, but it wasn’t so. His reluctance was due to the fact that the two of them would be alone. It wasn’t appropriate for a single man and single woman to travel together. Buffy shook her head at that. “Túreb, do you actually think I give a damn what anyone thinks? I assume everyone knows I’m with Mablung.” Buffy continued shaking her head in disgust. “I guess I’ll hunt down the vampire myself.”

Túreb’s ears perked up. “Did you say ‘hunt down the vampire’?”

“I don’t think I stuttered,” she answered straightforwardly. “I have to confirm that the spell worked don’t I? How am I supposed to do that unless I test it out on a vamp?”

“Did we not kill all the vampires that had been invited?” he queried.

“I hope so.” She paused. “We’re gonna have to invite one in, recant his invite and then see if he can enter. Either way, he’ll have to be dusted.”

“I will join you in the hunting of that creature,” he finally said eagerly. “The hell with what anyone thinks!”

Buffy smiled. She loved the fact that her vocabulary was influencing his choice of words. “You’re the man, Túreb.”

Túreb and Buffy were once again joined by Sador who refused to be left behind. They began their journey to Brethil against the frigid northern winds. Winter was definitely on its way. When they reached Brethil Buffy had dozens and dozens of bottles filled with Ulmo’s mystical water. Like Salmar said, the words for the spell seemed to just flow from her lips. She found it strange and unsettling. A number of elves followed her as she did this ritual over and over again. It was of the utmost importance that they should learn how to perform this rite as it may be needed sometime in the future.

When the blessing of all the homes was completed, it became imperative that they had to find a vampire to ensure that the spell was done correctly. Since the vamps had been run out of Brethil, they would have to search for another lair. Many of the brave men of Brethil volunteered to help in the search. Buffy would have preferred to have stayed with Handel, but she was the one who had the ability to sense them, not the elves. It was decided that they would break up into several search parties. They would search the vast woodland for ten days before returning to Brethil to see if any of the teams discovered a lair. Buffy went on this quest with Túreb, Sador and Úrion, who was most anxious to aid them in any way he could.

Those ten days were probably the worst in Buffy’s life. It rained nearly the whole time and it was so cold. There wasn’t one moment on that trip when she felt remotely warm. She was wet and cold and very miserable. And to make matters even worse, they didn’t find a single vamp. But hope wasn’t totally lost. When they met up with the others in Brethil, Geldur had indeed found a possible lair.

“There is a cave located by the river Celebros about fifteen leagues from here,” began the dark haired elf. “We did not enter that place which seemed foul to me. There were many animal carcasses lying around that area…”

“Are you sure that you didn’t stumble upon the remains of animals that some elves had killed?” asked Buffy.

“No elf inflicts such wounds on any creature – good or bad. Some of the beasts had their throats ripped out; others had two distinctive puncture marks located on their bodies…All of them had their blood drained. Is that not a tell tale sign of a vampire kill?” he queried.

Buffy smiled at Geldur. “Good work, my friend,” she replied cheerfully. “It looks like you have the skills to track a vamp…We’ll head out at first light tomorrow.” Buffy wanted nothing more than a hot steamy bath. When she immersed herself into that tub of hot water, the chill that had swathed every molecule in her body finally dissipated. She found relief at last.

Buffy was awakened before sunlight the following morning. Geldur would join Buffy’s team on this mission as he was the one who discovered this possible lair. If they were to discover a number of vampires, then they would use guerrilla warfare as a means of bringing an end to the enemy. As they rode the many miles to Celebros Buffy explained to the others that she would be bait for the vampire. They would have to lure him out of his den as opposed to delving into his secret fortress.

The trip took much longer than expected. Even though they were deep in the woods, the cold wind still ripped through the trees as though they weren’t even there in the first place. It was awful to say the least. It was late afternoon when they set up their camp approximately one furlong from the lair. “What do we do now?” asked Geldur as they assembled around the small campfire. He had no experience with vampires.

It was Sador who answered his question. “The vampires do not come out until the sun sets, my friend.” Geldur had been visiting his kinfolk by the shores of Middle-earth when Daehir arrived in Brethil. He had only just returned and wasn’t familiar with their modus operandi. “As with all the creatures of Melkor Bauglir, they shun the sunlight. Unlike the yrch, it can kill them. They are truly creatures of the night who feed on the blood of those weaker than themselves. They need blood for survival. Is that a correct assessment Bellaseth?”

“I couldn’t have said it much better myself.” She looked at Geldur. “They’re much stronger than your average elf. So you need to take care when you approach one. But we’re here to bag one, not kill it.”

“What if there are many dwelling within the cave?” asked Úrion. “Surely we will take one as a hostage and kill those that remain.”

“Of course we will,” answered Túreb. “We will not allow any of that race to dwell in our lands.” Buffy concurred.

As the sun set, the group prepared themselves for the last leg of the trip. In addition to the stakes that they carried with them a couple of the guys brought their bows and quivers of arrows. They were ready. They quietly made their way through the dense forest. In some areas the trees thinned out which made it easier to navigate their way through the woods. It did not take them long to find the entrance. There was brush and fallen limbs that covered the entry way. Buffy assumed it was an easy way to keep the sunlight from penetrating their halls.

“Okay,” Buffy began. “Túreb and Sador, you go on that side,” Buffy indicated the north side of the entrance. “Úrion, Geldur, you guys stay here…I’ll see if I can tempt ‘em to leave their hidey hole.” The only way to access the entrance was to get to the bottom of the embankment along the river. The ground became level again at the bottom. The shore line was a mixture of pebbles and sand. Buffy grabbed hold of a branch of a small bush to keep her balance as she descended the slope. The bush had no true root system and easily came out of the ground once Buffy shifted her weight. She slid down the clay embankment some fifteen feet before hitting the bottom. “Damn it!” she mumbled. Inspecting her backside, she noticed that she now had clay caked on her breeches from her butt to her boots. “Just perfect.” She continued uttering curses under her breath.

Buffy now stood looking at the course of the river. It was then that she heard the rustling of dry leaves. Someone was coming out of the cave. She remained in her position; her ears focused on the sounds coming from behind her. “Had a horrible fall I see,” said a voice from behind her. For some reason Buffy was surprised that the voice was that of a woman. She turned around to see a tall golden haired vampire standing before the door of her lair. “One must use care when descending that slope,” she chortled. She took a few steps forward coming face to face with Buffy. “I take it you are the Slayer. I have heard others whispering your name.” She looked Buffy over. “You are very small to be this mighty warrior…I take it that you have come to kill me.”

“Pretty much,” the Slayer answered. “But actually, I intend on taking you with me. Got a little job to do that requires one of your kind. You alone here sister or is there more of you hiding in there?”

“I am alone. I am always alone,” she replied somberly. “I did not choose this…to become a demon that is. I was quite content with my life before…”

Her words trailed off. In fact, Buffy could relate to what she heard that vampire saying about being alone. “Before you started killing your kind in order to survive.” Buffy finished her sentence.

She looked at Buffy with a shocked expression. “I have never killed anyone. No elf, that is. I cannot stop this craving for blood. I have mostly fed off the animals in the wild and occasionally I will feast on the wolves of Angband…if they dare approach my lair.” She smiled. “I am not evil…”

“Oh, right. Tell me another one,” Buffy smirked. “I’ve been dealing with your kind for a long time and you know what? You’re all evil. You have no soul. Don’t think that you can fool me.”

“But I speak the truth,” she protested. “I have harmed no elf in all my years of torment. I do not dwell with others that suffer from this…malady. I do not wish to be a creature of the night.”

“A little too late for that,” Buffy retorted. “But, like I said, I’m in need of your assistance, uh, what’s your name?”

“I was called Randiel,” she replied softly. “I loved to wander the vast lands in my youth. Especially the forests of Middle-earth.”

“That’s nice,” Buffy didn’t understand why she was still listening to this vampire. A part of her wanted to believe that this was a vampire that didn’t have evil intentions, but the fact remained Buffy’s spider senses tingled around her. Buffy pulled some rope out of the pocket of her cloak. “I gotta tie you up Randiel. We’re going on a little trip.”

“I will come freely, if that is your will,” she replied.

“Well, it’s not. I don’t trust vampires.” Randiel allowed herself to be bound by the rope. Buffy whistled for the others who were soon standing at the top of the embankment. “Got one,” she said. Túreb refused to leave until he inspected the lair of Randiel. When he determined that no one else was occupying that cave, they departed back to Brethil.

Once they arrived back in town, they tested the invite spell on Randiel. It worked! Úrion was most anxious to kill the vampire after their task was completed, but Buffy hesitated. There was something about this vamp that made Buffy pity her. She couldn’t explain it. She recalled all too well how Spike had changed from his demony ways. Of course he was also in love with Buffy and that had the greatest impact on his change. Nevertheless, Buffy was a firm believer in ‘love can conquer all.’ She thought that maybe this Randiel wasn’t quite as evil as the rest of her kin. She decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Pulling the vamp aside, Buffy spoke with her privately for several minutes. Maybe she could be useful to the Slayer. She seemed willing enough. Buffy released her. The elves were furious with her decision, but Buffy didn’t care. It was one of those gut instinct things. She made Randiel promise never to set foot in these parts or else she would be dusted.

“I will trust your judgment, Bellaseth,” Túreb finally said. “Although I do not agree with it. You know these creatures better than any and if you have seen evil turn to good before, then perhaps it will again with this…one.” Buffy informed Úrion that when her home was completed, she would call for him to enter her services. She reminded him that he still needed to make amends for his earlier actions.

As the first flecks of snow began to fall, Buffy quickly made her way…to Beleg’s. She desperately wanted to speak with him before going back to Menegroth. The weather got worse and worse as she made her way to the north marches of Doriath. Winter had indeed come early!

Beleg was delighted to see Buffy, but she didn’t stay long. She had only one question for her friend. “Tell me Beleg, between you and me, what was the name of Mablung’s first love?”

“Oh, that has been ages ago.” He was quiet for a moment and then said, “I believe her name was Randiel.” Buffy’s suspicions about the vampire had now been confirmed.


Chapter 11 - THE HOMECOMING

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE HOMECOMING



Buffy decided not to say a word to Mablung about Randiel. What could she possibly say any way? Instead she immersed herself into the construction of their home. The dwarves continued working despite the detrimental weather. It was a process that took over three years to complete. Buffy’s greatest accomplishment in regards to construction was the installation of the Archimedes Screw. This was a contraption that she had learned about while attending UC Sunnydale. It was a device that pulled water from the spring and carried it through a pipe to holding tanks on the roof of the house. It was powered by a windmill that was also located on the roof of the building. The first of its kind in Middle-earth. This device provided water throughout the entire mansion. One of the tanks provided very warm water when a fire was lit beneath it. It was by means no ‘hot water heater’ but it was better than bathing in ice cold water especially in the winter. There was no need to carry bucket after bucket any more. She had also devised the first septic tank. Buffy was adamant that her home would be as ‘normal’ as possible. And bathrooms with toilets were a necessity to her.

When the mansion was completed, Buffy and Mablung decided they would throw a huge party in celebration. They sent out invites to all their friends in far away places including the elves of Ossir. The great warriors from the northern and western marches were summoned as well as those who dwelled within Menegroth including Thingol. It was spring time and the weather was perfect. The gardens were blooming with flowers in a plethora
of colors and fragrances. There were numerous birds of all varieties that sang sweetly in the mammoth trees. Buffy had created her very own sanctuary. A place that she had conceived in her mind but never thought would become a reality. At the age of thirty-one, Buffy had finally achieved the ‘American Dream’.

There were literally hundreds and hundreds of people in attendance. Mablung had taken Galadhon hunting and they had killed four large boars which provided more than enough food for the guests. When Thingol and his courtiers arrived, they were in awe by the magnificence of this brick structure. Thingol himself requested Buffy to give him a tour of the house and grounds. His temperament changed with the seasons in Buffy’s eyes. When she had first returned from Brethil after their heated exchange of words, Thingol had become more complacent towards her.

Their conversation was amicable and Thingol’s words would stay with her for the rest of her life. It was actually the most enlightening conversation she ever had with the King. “I know that we have had our…differences,” he had said. “I do not understand how you are able to vex me the way that you do. From the moment you entered my Halls many years ago, I could sense your power.” Buffy looked up at him inquisitively. “Oh, yes,” he continued. “I knew you were someone who possessed innate abilities that made me envious. Yes, I, Elu Thingol was envious of the little warrior-maiden who possessed powers greater than my own. My people loved you from that moment on. They would follow you to death without your saying a single word. That is a sign of a true leader. Melian and all the women of my House have voiced their disapproval of me for being too harsh with you. They have come to your defense numerous times…”

“We women have got to stick together,” Buffy replied. The King laughed at that comment. “You know, it’s really good to hear you laugh. It seems like your rarely do anymore. At least, in my presence.”

“As I have said, you are able to affect my emotions in ways that have never been done before. That, my dear friend, is a rare quality. I hope that our quarrels are now a thing of the past,” he stated as they made their way out onto the balcony off the master suite on the third floor. They watched the many people on the grounds dancing to the tunes of Daeron and his companions.

“Me too,” Buffy added as she leaned on the wrought iron railing watching the festivities below.

“There are a few things that I would like to discuss with you.” Buffy glanced sideways at the King.

“Fire away,” Buffy replied.

Buffy had to explain that expression to Thingol. “Tell me of your feelings for Mablung.” Buffy looked at him with a totally shocked expression. The King wanted to discuss her personal life. Scary! “I do not mean to pry, but I love Mablung greatly and I would not want to see him hurt.”

“What makes you think that I would hurt him? I’d never do that…At least, not intentionally.” The Slayer didn’t understand where he was going with this.

“I would hope not.” He sighed. “Do you remember when Mablung named you Bellaseth at our first meeting?” Buffy nodded and chuckled.

“Yeah, I didn’t know what the hell he was doing.”

“I would have thought that Muilwen would have suited you better. In my eyes, it fits you perfectly.”

“Secret maiden?” questioned Buffy. “Why would you say that?”

“You harbor many secrets, do you not?” Buffy shook her head. “You often speak of being accounted as one of the second born…a daughter of mankind. Do you not see that that is a false assessment? You are no more a Follower than I am.”

“What makes you think that? Did Melian say something to you?” she inquired insistently.

“My wife keeps no secrets from me. Whilst we have rarely discussed man yet unborn until you arrived in our land, we have since discussed them numerous times. You have died twice Bella! My heart tells me that is not a trait to be found in the Aftercomers. Keep in mind Melian is not the only one with the gift of foresight. How much have you changed…physically since you arrived in Middle-Earth?” Buffy didn’t answer. “Clearly you have seen with your own two eyes that your appearance is much the same as it was when you first turned up. I cannot understand why you do not come to terms with your immortality and rejoice…”

“I’m not immortal,” she said firmly. “Quite honestly Thingol, I resent the suggestion.”

“I do not understand that. It is a blessing. A blessing from Eru Ilúvatar. What is it you fear?”

“What is it I fear?” Buffy repeated his words. She continued in a gloomy tone, “I fear spending the rest of my life fighting evil. If what you say is true, then why am I being punished? What in God’s name did I do to deserve that? Why would The Powers subject me to… years of horror…and dread…and death?” Buffy couldn’t stop herself. “Haven’t I earned some peace? This is one gig that I really don’t want.”

“Perhaps the choice is not yours to make,” he said.

“If that’s the case, then The Powers are screwing me over once again. I don’t fear death but I fear everything else up to that point.” She looked at him with tear filled eyes. “I’ve done their bidding. I always have. I’ve done the right thing even when I thought I’d die from heartbreak. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve saved the world. I’m starting to lose count.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Am I evil?” she asked softly.

Thingol felt the Slayers anguish and it brought tears to his eyes. He embraced the Slayer in an attempt to ease her sorrow. “No child,” he said quietly as he stroked her long blonde hair. “You are not evil…You are filled with love…We elves can perceive that…It is like a bright and brilliant flame that burns of blue and white. Those are your colors Bellaseth.” He took a step backwards leaving his hands resting on her shoulders. “When I look at you I see a maiden who is truly good…and loyal who seeks only peace and tranquility. A maiden who is pure in heart…who believes in second chances.” He paused. “You believe in redemption when others do not. My dear Bellaseth,” he cupped her cheek in his hand. “You are holy as your eternal brethren, the Ainur. Do not flee from your destiny. Embrace it. Let it provide you with strength in times of mounting sorrow and pain, child.”

Buffy smiled meekly. Can you answer something for me?” she asked the King whose reply was a simple nod of his head. “I’ve been told…before I came to Middle-earth that death was my gift. Do you know what that means?”

He closed his eyes and stood silently for a few minutes. When his eyes opened he sighed, “I cannot clearly say with certainty, Bellaseth. But I deem that it has to do with your battles with the creatures of Melkor Bauglir. You have been bestowed with extraordinary abilities to slay evil...that is your destiny. Do not fret over words you have heard long ago. They will fade, in time.” She stood there quietly and motionless. “What is it that still troubles you?”

“If I’m one of the Ainur, like you suggest…how come I have no memory of it? How come I don’t have all those phenomenal powers like they do?” she asked bluntly.

“Not all is revealed to any including the Ainur themselves. There are some in Valinor that know more than others, but none can truly know Eru Ilúvatar’s mind in the great scheme of things.” Buffy looked at him with a surprised expression. “Yes, you have heard me correctly. In time, all shall be revealed even to the Ainur themselves.” He smiled. “They chose you as their instrument in this great scheme. Look at that as an honor not a burden. The doors have been closed to Melian yet they have opened for you. Perhaps it is your destiny to rid the world of evil.”

“That’ll never happen. Believe me.” She said in a somber tone. “I guess I’m the only one who has ever traveled in time from the End of Days, so I can surely vouch for that. Evil runs rampant in more ways than one.” She thought about the words of Salmar. “Salmar said I would be reliving my past in order to understand the current state of affairs in the End of Days. So, if that’s the case, I really don’t have any free will to make any changes that should have been made in the first place. Does that make sense?”

“Your words sound strange to my ears but I understand what it is you are saying nonetheless,” he replied grimly. “Do not despair over things that you have no power over. The fact remains that you are supposed to be here – for good or for ill.” A look of horror came over Buffy’s face. “That does not mean you are evil. You are on a quest for knowledge and the people of Middle-earth shall be your teachers. I deem that you will find many along the way.”

“I guess I’ve just been on the receiving end of the wisdom of Thingol,” she replied.

He dropped his arms to his side. “Indeed you have. And as you age, you too shall acquire even greater wisdom…Now let us rejoin the festivities before people get suspicious about our whereabouts. We have lingered in your bedchamber for far too long.” They both laughed. “There are those in my own Household who are known to delight in rumor mongering…” With that they left the balcony, descended the spiral staircase to the first floor and rejoined the merrymaking.

After a while and lots of wine and ale, the elves began delivering speeches of appreciation for this get-together. Mablung, being the patriarch of the house reciprocated with the following, “Thank you my dear friends. Thank you all for coming to celebrate the completion of our new home.” Buffy noticed that Mablung was a little tipsy but extremely happy. “It is an honor to be in the presence of so many noble and valiant people.” He bowed slightly to the King and Queen and their closest kin. “This is but a beginning of a new phase in our lives,” he began again as he put his arm around Buffy. “I hope that you all find the same joy and happiness that I have found with my beloved Bella…” He was interrupted by the sound of thundering applause. “And to mark this occasion…” he pivoted Buffy around so she now faced him. “I would like to say a few words to my Bella…I have loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. My heart told me that our fates were to be intertwined some day. And now that day has come. You are the only woman for me. I ask you, in witness of our many friends, to be my wife…” A hushed silence fell over the crowd. All stared at a misty eyed Buffy.

“I will,” Buffy said breathlessly. A deafening roar echoed through the house as Mablung embraced Buffy. Many people came up to them congratulating them on their betrothal. Buffy was so excited about this new chapter in her life. Her chance for a new beginning. She had grown to love Mablung dearly and found him to be the perfect mate for her.

The festivities finally wound down at dawn. At that time, Buffy and Mablung proceeded to their private quarters. After getting undressed, Buffy stood in front of the mirror studying her naked body. She noticed that she didn’t appear to be aging. She looked exactly the same as she did when she arrived in Middle-earth nearly seven years ago. She would be celebrating her thirty-second birthday in a few weeks. She examined the numerous scars located all over her body. The bite marks from The Master, Angelus and Dracula could still be seen. They were faint yet they were still there. Just like the stab wounds to her belly; she had three of those. Plus dozens of scars from slashings she had in past skirmishes of a beastly kind. Buffy recalled how she received every mark in vivid detail. Mablung came up behind Buffy catching her off guard. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. Looking into the mirror he said, “Nestor’s salve can easily take these away.” His gently traced the wounds on her belly with his finger tip. “You need not be reminded of them ever again.”

“They’re a part of me,” she responded sadly. “It’s the only thing I really have that reminds me of home…or my old home I should say.”

“You still possess your crossbow…and that splendid knife of yours…the amulet and I believe that you still have three rings.” He picked up her left hand and softly kissed it. “Those remind you of home, do they not?”

“I guess I mean to say, they’re reminders of being the Slayer. Tokens left behind from my old life…like I actually existed before coming here…you know what I mean?”

“I do.” He dropped her hand and tenderly kissed a scar on her right shoulder. “I love you with or without your scars. I will not speak of it again, but it is late…we have had a very long night.” He yawned.

“Yeah, let’s go to bed,” she yawned back.



In the following weeks Buffy celebrated her thirty-second birthday. She didn’t have a huge bash like their housewarming party. It was a small affair with about fifty people, which is what she always preferred. She still had her houseguests from Ossir and Úrion had now joined her Household on a permanent basis. She was instructing him on fighting techniques and…well, life. That was definitely ironic as he was a good three hundred years older than she. But when it came to knowing about good and evil, Buffy had him beat to some degree. He absolutely loved their sparring sessions and they spent many hours confined to the training room.

She had become more or less a homebody. She had learned a great deal about weaving and sewing – especially from Galadhon’s wife, Nathril. She was a charming and gifted woman who basically was responsible for designing all the furnishings within Buffy’s home; from the draperies and bedspreads to the carpeting and upholstery. She spent a lot of time at Buffy’s so it wasn’t too surprising when she came running in with some big news. “Bella, Bella,” she said as she attempted to catch her breath.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy queried excitedly. “Is there trouble brewing? War? Vamps?”

“No, No. Nothing like that.” She took a seat across from Buffy. “I thought I would let you know…The King’s nephews have just arrived from Valinor!” She was still breathing heavily as she continued to deliver the news. “They say that they have been sent by the Valar as their emissaries to aid us in our fight with…Bauglir…” Nathril continued talking, but Buffy didn’t hear what she said after that. She was now deep in thought. She was processing the whole ‘emissaries sent by the Valar’ thing. If that’s the case, did that mean that Buffy failed at her mission? That The Powers didn’t believe she could be successful in defeating the First. This news put Buffy in a melancholy state of mind. She heard Nathril’s last words, “Come with me and meet these men from the West. They are in Thingol’s Halls as we speak.”

“Nah,” she replied wistfully. “Let Thingol enjoy his little family reunion. I’ve got stuff to do.” With that, she got up and headed back to the training room. She needed to vent those feelings of inadequacy that were beginning to overwhelm her. Buffy made a bee line to her punching bag. She was feeling angry, hurt and confused. She didn’t know what her purpose in Middle-earth was any more.

Buffy had been pummeling the bag over an hour working when Orchal walked in. He had a tray with a couple of goblets and a bottle of wine. “Has that helped abate your feeling of frustration?” he asked after he poured them each a drink.

Buffy did a roundhouse kick which split the bag in two. Sand poured out all over the beautiful stone floor. “It helped…a little,” she replied as she grabbed a towel and wiped her face and neck. “I see that you’ve got some ‘happiness in a bottle’.” She was referring to the wine.

Orchal smiled and handed her a drink. “I figured it would be better than water. Do you want to talk about it?” He sat atop a table. “I am all ears,” he said lightheartedly as he exposed his pointy elvish ears from beneath his locks.

Buffy couldn’t help but smile. She sat on the table across from him. “So,” she said as she took a sip. “You wanna play shrink?”

Orchal who was becoming more familiar with Buffy’s vernacular laughed, “Would you rather lie down? Is that not what a shrink is supposed to say? Lie down and tell me what is on your mind…”

“Nah,” she said as she drained her cup. After refilling it she sighed, “What am I supposed to do Orchal? If the Valar have sent these people to do their bidding, why am I here?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps your errand is not the same as theirs. My heart tells me that you have an important role to play in this world. They may have been sent here to aid you. Have you given that any thought?” He didn’t let Buffy reply. “I have spoken with the eldest one, Findaráto Ingoldo is his name in the tongue of the West.”

“Can you say ‘weird’? What the hell kind of name is that?” she asked with a chuckle.

“I cannot rightly say. It translates into our tongue as Finrod,” answered Orchal. “He is very wise Bella. They have journeyed far under ghastly conditions, or so he says. It has taken them seven years to reach these lands…”

“Hey wait a minute,” Buffy interrupted. “They have to be those people I saw when I was doing that astral projection thingy a few years ago. Remember?”

“I most surely do. And I do not doubt that you are correct in your conclusion. These are the people you witnessed walking through the harsh cold region of Helcaraxë. You must meet with them. If you consult with one another, I am sure both sides with profit from it. They may have messages for you from The Powers. Surely it is worth investigating?”

“Maybe,” said Buffy coolly. “I’m still not gonna go barging into Thingol’s little reunion. I think its best that we wait. Maybe they’ll seek me. Who knows?” Orchal refilled their goblets once again. Buffy was already getting a little buzzy. They spoke for about a half an hour more before Buffy got up to take a bath. Her workout gave her a pretty bad case of B.O.

After bathing she rejoined Orchal and the others in what she called her ‘music room’. Over the last couple of years Buffy had designed many instruments from her day. These were mostly things one would find in an orchestra: violins, violas, cellos. Instruments mostly of the stringed variety. There were no electric guitars obviously nor were there any massive drum sets that one would normally find in modern times. She had just gotten so sick and tired of listening to harps. At least now she could hear ‘elevator’ music whenever she so desired. She had taught the green-elves many of her favorite songs from her time. “What song do you want to hear?” queried Orchal, who had a beautiful voice.

“Freebird,” she chanted. The guys then did a mellow version of the classic Lynyrd Skynyrd song. She had taught them the lyrics in English. They had no idea of what the words meant, but Buffy refused to hear any of those songs in elvish. As the night wore on the many tables in the chamber were laden with food. When Buffy had a lot of people staying with her, she preferred serving them buffet style. The many doors and windows were thrown wide open allowing fresh air to circulate throughout the many rooms. Elves were coming in and out by the hordes which was becoming custom in these halls.

It was nearly ten o’clock when Orchal finally played one of Buffy’s favorite songs of all time. She was feeling pretty good as were the dozens of people who were scattered about the massive room. “This next song I dedicate to the mistress of these halls,” said a drunken Orchal. And this is what he sang:

“I’m sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea
I’ve got to be free, free to face the life that’s ahead of me
On board, I’m the captain, so climb aboard
We’ll search for tomorrow on every shore
And I’ll try, oh Lord, I’ll try to carry on.

I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory
Some happy, some sad
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had
We live happily forever, so the story goes
But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold
But we’ll try best that we can to carry on.

A gathering of angels appeared above my head
They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said
They said come sail away, come sail away
Come said away with me.
Come sail away, come said away
Come sail away with me.

I thought that they were angels, but to my surprise
They climbed aboard their starship and headed for the skies
Singing come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me.
Come said away, come sail away
Come sail away with me.” *

Buffy stood on the divan applauding loudly when the elves rendition of that classic Styx song was over. The other people wanted to hear it again. That’s how the elves were. They liked to hear the same songs over and over again especially if it was about the sea. When they started all over, Buffy noticed someone whom she had never seen before in Doriath. He was quite different than the other elves she had encountered and she had a weird sense of déjà vu when her eyes fell upon him. He was tall and had long golden hair with intense gray eyes. When their eyes locked, they stared at each other for several minutes. Buffy then waved him over. The stranger made his way through the throng of people to where Buffy was sitting. It was he that spoke first. “Hail Lady, my name is Finrod, son of Arphin. I am kin of Elu Thingol’s. You must be Bellaseth Dagnir.” he said with a smile.

“The one and only,” she replied. “Have a seat.” Buffy slid over and allowed him to sit next to her. Mablung was busy playing with ‘the band’. She summoned one of her friends to bring a drink to the newcomer. “So your Thingol’s nephew,” she began again as she intensely studied him. “Have we met before?” she asked as Nestor came over with a glass of wine for Finrod.

“It is odd that you should say that,” he replied after taking a sip. “You look very familiar to me as well. Have you been to Valinor before? Perhaps we have met there long ago.”

“Can’t say that I have. I’ve seen it from afar, but…I don’t think I’m welcome there.” She had this weird feeling about this elf.

“Why would you not be welcome in Valinor?” he asked.

It was at that time that the song finished and Mablung walked up. “I see that you have met my beloved,” he said to Finrod. Úrion had now approached them as well, handing a drink to Mablung. “Ah, thank you, my friend,” he said to Úrion as he gave him a pat on the back. “You have saved me a trip to the bar. Have you met Finrod, Thingol’s kin from over sea?”

“I do not believe that I have had the privilege,” Úrion replied. After the introductions, a small group pulled up some chairs and joined in the conversation. Finrod had told them of the deeds of Melkor Bauglir whom they called Morgoth which means ‘black foe’ in the elvish tongue. He told them how Morgoth caused unrest in the House of Finwë, who was king of the Golodhrim (Noldor in the Western tongue of Valinor) and also Finrod’s forefather. They learned that after Morgoth’s release from Mandos, he was commanded to stay in Valinor until Manwë decreed otherwise. In that time he plotted the downfall of the House of Finwë by having brother turn on brother. He was so successful that Fëanor, eldest son of Finwë was banished from their city for twelve years. He was Finwë’s favorite son, so the King went into exile with him. During one of their great festivals, Morgoth with an accomplice went to Formenos, the home of the exiles, and killed Finwë and stole all the treasures from the Noldorin vaults including the Silmarils. The Silmarils were three jewels made by Fëanor that contained the essence from the Two Trees. They gave off the most brilliant light imaginable. But now, the Two Trees are dead being destroyed by the wrath of Morgoth, and the Silmarils he took to his fortress in Angband. The Noldorin elves were out to avenge their forefather and to aid their long lost kin in the upcoming battles with Morgoth.

Buffy was horrified by the Finrod’s tale. How could the Valar allow something like that to happen in their own land? thought Buffy. But before she could question Finrod further the conversation turned to the first war fought in Middle-earth by the Teleri elves. That’s the war Buffy fought in. More and more elves gathered around as that story led to the incident in Brethil with Daehir and the vampires. It was quite unfortunate that Úrion’s lips became looser as he drank. He was talking about Buffy’s spell to recant invites when he said, “The spell worked splendidly. But Dagnir decided to let the vampire-maid walk free. Told her she was forbidden to enter Brethil again…” He looked up at her. “I still do not understand why you let her go free. Was it because she was a woman?” Buffy had been pleading with her eyes for him to shut up. Mablung was sitting right there with them and he didn’t know anything about Randiel.

“You let a vampire go free? Yes, Bella, tell us why you would do that?” asked Mablung, who was very much sober.

“It was my call,” she finally said. “Let’s drop it.”

Finrod definitely caught on and attempted to change the subject. But it was once again Úrion who brought it up. “What was her name again?” He asked as he tried to recall the name. Buffy was becoming more and more uncomfortable and it was showing. “Oh yes, Randiel,” he blurted out. “I thought I would never remember that maiden’s name.”

Mablung’s jaw dropped. All those elves who knew of his past looked stunned. Their eyes darted from Mablung to Buffy and then back again. “Randiel?” Mablung asked as he got to his feet. “Is that the same Randiel that I…that I…”

Buffy looked up at him. “I’m afraid so.”

“And you felt there was no need to tell me?” Mablung had a hurtful expression on his face. “How could you keep this from me? I cannot believe you would do something like that…to me. After all we have been through.” He quickly left the room.

Buffy stood up and cast a dirty look at Úrion. “Thanks a lot!” she sneered as she ran after Mablung.


*lyrics by Dennis DeYoung


Chapter 12 - BEWITCHED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED

CHAPTER TWELVE: BEWITCHED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED



Buffy hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber. There she found Mablung busily packing his satchel. “Where are you going?” she demanded. Mablung ignored her and continued packing. “Talk to me…” she said as she pulled the satchel away.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he replied coolly.

“Where are you going?” she asked again.

“It is not obvious to you?” he said angrily. “I am going to kill Randiel. Something you should have done…”

“Mablung, listen to me,” she pleaded. “You don’t understand…”

“Understand, what?” He paused. “I understand that you are a Vampire Slayer yet you set one free. How could you do that?”

“It’s not that simple,” she replied. “Randiel isn’t like other vamps. She’s different. I could sense that about her. That’s why I let her go. She loves you…”

“How can she love me when she has no soul?” he yelled. “She is a monster.” He snatched the bag from Buffy. “And you, of all people…” His tone became somber. “You never thought to tell me about her. You have taken it upon yourself to keep secrets from me. You have betrayed…”

“No I haven’t,” she pleaded. “Randiel is different from other vampires,” she continued calmly. “I’ve had vampires help me in the past…”

“Why have you never spoken of this before?” he queried.

Buffy never told him about Angel or Spike. When she told him of her battles before Middle-earth, she conveniently glossed over their participation. How do you tell someone that you love about having vampires as past lovers? She decided it was best not to mention them at all. And now it seemed like it was coming back to bite her on the ass. “It never came up,” she quietly answered.

“It is apparent that you are keeping things from me. You claim to love me yet…” He sighed. “I understand this Calling of yours. It is indeed very noble. But your duty is to kill vampires and demons; not set them free!” Buffy tried to interrupt him but he wouldn’t let her. “I’m not finished…It is not your call to set one free upon the people in this world. Yes, that is what you have done. You have set a demon loose…”

“That’s not what I did,” she retorted. “She has never fed on any people; only animals and the wolves of Bauglir. It’s because of her love for you that she doesn’t…”

“Stop saying that!” He threw the last few items in his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Now let me finish what you should have done.”
“Let me go with you,” Buffy said as she went over to the closet to get her bag.

“No. I will take Úrion with me. He knows where her lair is. I do not want to be around you right now.” With that said, he left the room slamming the door behind him. Buffy knew there was no point in following him. It would only piss him off more. She wanted this nightmare of a day to end, so she went to bed. Hopefully, things would be better in the morning.

The following morning Buffy awoke at dawn. The house was very quiet and Mablung’s absence made it more so. Nestor and Orchal were already in the kitchen finishing their breakfast. Buffy grabbed a cup of tea and made her way out to the patio. Her friends soon joined her. They sat there talking about what transpired the previous night. “I’ve known you guys for a while now. If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it a secret?” They swore that they would keep their mouths shut. Buffy then related what happened to her in her ‘past life.’ For some reason, every sordid detail came spewing from her lips. She revealed every personal and humiliating event that ever took place in her life. From Angel to Spike, even Dracula. Things that even her best friends back home didn’t know about. When she was finished with her ramblings (which lasted a couple of hours), she finally said, “So. Has your opinion of me changed? Or do you now see me as some whore who has a thing for the undead?”

Buffy definitely left them both stunned by her tales. It was Nestor who spoke first. “I think no less of you,” he began. “If your tale is true, and I believe it is, you have done nothing wrong. You were in love with Angel and one could understand that. He was good to you. He loved you. That certainly makes a difference. To me, any way.”

“Besides,” interjected Orchal. “You killed your lover to save the world. Not many people would do that, I deem. However, your relationship with Spike is different…”

“I do not think so,” chimed in Nestor. “Spike showed his affections differently, but it was love nevertheless. For one who had no soul…”

“It was obsession,” countered Orchal. “It was obsession until he reclaimed his soul. But what a remarkable thing it is to love someone so much that one would go to such lengths in return for their soul. That is indeed an admirable quality.”

“And do not forget that because of his love for Bella, he died saving the world.” Nestor said as he shook his head. “I thought that good and evil was easy to distinguish, but now I learn it is not so.”

“Nope,” Buffy finally said. “It’s not. Everyone assumes that it’s black and white, good and evil, that is. But they don’t consider how many shades of gray there is. Believe me, I know.”

“Why is it that you have not told Mablung these tales?” inquired Orchal.

“I didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t understand about the ‘gray’ part. To him, there are only two categories: good and evil. You’re on one side or the other. There is no happy medium.” She chuckled to herself. “You have no idea how hard it was to tell you guys. I have this gut feeling that I’m going to loose a lot of my friends here in Doriath. I can’t explain it, but I can tell.”

“And you think that has to do with your past?” asked Nestor.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Not everyone understands like you two. I knew instinctively that it was okay to tell you guys that stuff about my past, but I don’t think I should tell anyone else.”

“Perhaps you should trust your instincts then,” suggested Orchal. “I do not think any different of you. You are strong and loyal. But more importantly, you are a great friend to those whom you love.” He smiled. “And I do not think that you are a whore…”

“However, you have had a number of lovers,” Nestor said wryly. “Would that qualify as being a whore? Perhaps. But I would never call you that in a million years.”

“That is because you do not wish to die by her hands…Or be beaten to a bloody pulp,” added Orchal with a sarcastic laugh.

“Have you not wondered Bellaseth, why you seem to be attracted to immortal men? You have had more…encounters…with them than mortals? And why is it that you were willing to tell Mablung about Allandro but not about your other lovers?” inquired Nestor.

Buffy sat there for a moment. “Allandro’s not a vampire. So that explains that. As far as the other goes…I guess it’s because I have super-human strength. Your regular Joe-mortal doesn’t have powers like me. Only other beings possess those traits. I guess that’s why I’m drawn to them. We have that ‘other-worldliness’ thing in common. I really never thought about it before.”

“Shh,” whispered Orchal. “Someone is approaching. Change the topic of conversation to something else…” Orchal was correct. Soon they were joined by three more individuals; Finrod and his two brothers, Aegnor and Angrod. Buffy was quick to apologize to Finrod about Mablung’s outburst the previous night. She was still slightly embarrassed by that. He was very understanding and after she apologized it was not mentioned again.

The brothers spent the rest of the day with Buffy and her buds. She showed them her weapons which had now grown in number since she had had another birthday. She had received dozens and dozens of swords, axes, knives, and spears over the years. All in varying shapes and sizes, but none compared to her scythe. The brothers were quite impressed with that weapon. It was while they were looking at the weapons that Finrod spoke to Buffy quietly while they were alone. “I know where I have seen you before,” he spoke quietly. She looked at him inquisitively. “One eve I was on guard duty and I saw you, but you were not as you appear now. You were not in your garbed in flesh. Do you remember coming face to face with me?”

Buffy cast a glance at the others before replying, “Yeah, I remember.”

“I felt your sadness…and loneliness. You do not understand why you are here and what your true purpose is. Did you reach the Blessed Realm?” he asked.

Buffy was absolutely stunned by his ability to perceive her mind. “Not exactly,” she replied. “I only got a visual. Something held me back from actually entering Valinor. I think they installed some type of alarm system. I don’t think I’m ready to confront The Powers just yet…Maybe some day. Who knows? Tell me, Finrod. Have you ever heard the Valar talk about me? Or The Slayer? The Chosen One? She who hunts creepy crawlers in the dead of night?”

“I am afraid not,” he replied. “The Valar do not reveal all to us. Whatever your mission is Bella; I would judge that it is to remain a secret.”

“Even from me?” she queried. “I just wish I knew exactly what my role is in this great scheme of theirs.”

“I am sure you will discover that at some point in the not too distant future,” replied Finrod.

Buffy really liked Finrod and his brothers. They were very interested in her tales from the ‘modern world.’ She told them about motor cars, airplanes and spaceships which they found difficult to comprehend. They were horrified when she told them of man’s invention of weapons that could literally obliterate entire races of people.
They, in turn, told her stories of the Blessed Realm and The Powers That Be.

Finrod and his brothers departed Doriath the following day. They had to report back to their kin who dwelt along the shores of Lake Mithrim. Buffy was invited to tag along, but she refused to go anywhere until Mablung returned home. Over the next few days, Buffy spent endless hours looking in her own mirror that she erected in one of her private chambers on the third floor. She had already lost interest in magics except for this one device. If it could give her the ‘edge’ over the enemy, than that would suffice.

But things took a dramatic turn one rainy night. Buffy had drifted off to sleep and found herself in some strange room. It reminded her of that chamber in Lindon Hall where they met with the ambassadors. The room was constructed entirely out of black marble; walls, floor and ceiling. Three mammoth chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They appeared to be wrought out of antlers from some unknown beast. The wax from the candles had dripped down and resembled blackened icicles. The walls were adorned with many tapestries and portraits of gory scenes. Most depicted certain acts of torture – too horrific and graphic to be put into words. But they mesmerized Buffy. The details were impeccable and so detailed. The artist surely captured the pain and anguish of the poor elves depicted in them. There were four sets of double doors located on each wall. After surveying the chamber, Buffy went through door number one; on the other side was a winding staircase.

As she climbed up the stairs she noticed that her clothing had changed. She was now dressed in silk and lace black gown with a plunging neckline. A gilded belt was clasped around her waist, dangling from it were several small golden charms in the shapes of daggers and swords. It made a soft tinkling sound with every step she took. Once again Buffy found herself walking barefoot. She could smell the burning oil from the torches that were mounted along the stone walls. The shadows cast by the flickering flames gave the stairway an eerie and spooky vibe.

At the top of the stairs was yet another door – this one seemed to be constructed from iron or steel. She slowly turned the knob and entered a magnificent chamber. It still had that black theme going on, but the décor was very beautiful. It was the complete opposite of what she just saw downstairs. The tapestries were adorned with gorgeous scenic vistas. One large solitary window was located at the far end of the room which was reminiscent of the Gothic architecture back home. She walked across the room, feeling the cold of the marble one minute followed by the warmth of a rug in the next. All of her senses seemed to be intensified. It was strange and bewildering to say the least. She glanced out the window and through the haze she immediately recognized the three enormous peaks of Thangorodrim in the foreground. She was somehow in Angband.
Buffy continued to stare out the window. Her vision seemed amplified and she was able to penetrate the thick walls of Thangorodrim and beyond. It was like her eyes had become super duper binoculars. She focused her energies on Mablung and soon she saw him with a small group of friends riding through Taurost. Túreb and Sador were now in his company. She then felt someone’s arms slide around her waist and she was gently pulled into an embrace. Looking down, she noticed the strangest thing. The hands of this individual were jet black to the wrist; from the wrist up the skin was porcelain white. She found his embrace to be oddly comforting. “At long last you have come to me, Melisse.” Buffy did not recoil when he called her ‘lover’. Instead she continued to look out the window; although she no longer focused her attention on Mablung and his endeavor. “I have longed for you throughout all the ages of the world. Why did you abandon me?” His voice was clear, melodious and beguiling. She knew that it was Morgoth speaking to her.

She turned and faced the Dark Lord who had caused her so much grief in the past and present. He was very tall and incredibly handsome. His long dark hair shimmered beneath the light of the lamps that hung from the ceiling. His eyes were a deep brown and they revealed a perceptive and indulgent mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied softly. Her mind was screaming for her to flee yet her heart told her to stay. And unfortunately, Buffy always followed her heart.

He looked at her keenly. “How is that possible? How can you not recollect…” A wry smile came upon his knowingly face. “I see,” he said more to himself than to her. “They have blinded you to your past, my dear Melisse.” He went to embrace her again, but Buffy moved away several paces. “And now you fear me.” He smiled. “That is good.” Buffy stayed about ten feet away from him. He slowly walked around her, studying her carefully. “You cannot imagine my surprise when I saw your face in Melian’s Mirror years ago.” Buffy was shocked by that statement but tried not to show it. “Oh, yes,” he continued. “I see all that goes on in this world for I am its King.” He continued circling her like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. She remained perfectly still. “It has taken me many years to pierce your mind and bend your will towards me. To come to me as you have this night.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked timidly.

“What do I want?” He said aloud. “I want things to be as they once were. How they were destined to be. But then they changed the rules of the game. I curse them. I curse every one of them every day. You, what is it those peasants call you? Bellaseth? Bellaseth Dagnir?” He shook his head. He stopped and stood a few paces from her. “I am not your enemy Melisse. I have never been. That is, as long as you are on my side. That is why you are here whether you will it or not…Must we continue to battle one another for supremacy of these lands?” He asked with a gleam in his eyes. “Would it not serve us both to make an alliance and share the power?” He took a few steps forward and fell to one knee. He took her left hand in his. “You shall be my Queen and together…together we shall subjugate these lower beings to do our will as it has been foretold long ago.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “You’re lying…And you’re evil.” Buffy stammered. She desperately tried to be courageous but she was finding that to be extremely difficult. She knew that he had bewitched her. She felt it. It was similar to what she experienced with Dracula without all the star-struck nonsense. Her heart was racing as she continued, “I don’t want to control anybody and you shouldn’t either. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be. Manwë is King, not you, no matter how much you desire to overthrow him…” she shook her head. “It’ll never happen.”

He stood up again; tall and proud. “How dare you speak of me in that contemptuous tone. And within my own Halls no less.” His eyes showed his disdain. “I come to you offering an alliance…a truce…and you dare speak to me that way. You have dwelled far too long with those…elves…I have seen you dallying with Thingol’s Chief. That Mablung.” He turned from her and faced the window. “He will get what is coming to him.”

“You stay away from him,” she said firmly as her courage intensified. “I draw the line when it comes to my lover.”

He turned and faced her. He smiled. “And what am I?”

“You’re the devil!” she responded.

“The devil?” He laughed wildly. “Yes, I like that. You have always had a way with words.” He approached her again. “Oh sweet Melisse, what have they done to you?” he caressed her cheek. She could feel calluses on his fingers and palm. Despite her inner turmoil, she found his touch to be soothing. It made her…submissive. She couldn’t move away. “I can pull their veil from you. I can reveal all of your past including the good, the bad and…the ugly.”

Buffy contemplated this for several minutes. He knew she longed to know who she was and why she was here. The Powers played the same old games with her when it came to her past. But now Morgoth was making her an offer of a life time. “And what price would I have to pay for that? Nothing’s for free. Especially when the offer comes from you.”

“Must I repeat myself over and over?” He asked with an air of frustration to his voice. “You shall remain here as my Queen…”

“Not interested,” she quickly replied as she took a step back. His hand fell to his side. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I’m through.” She sneered at him as her confidence rose. “Why the hell The Powers set you free is beyond me. If I had my way, I’d never set you free. Look what you’re doing?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the window. “Look at that!” she demanded. From the window one could see the desolate ruins of the great works of Yavanna, the Vala whose domain was the governing of all things that sprout from the earth, from long ago. Thick grayish smoke hovered over the grounds which had an oily scent to it. Where lush grasses once grew the ground was now barren and resembled a desert. “You have single-handedly destroyed the works of The Powers. Your little paintings and portraits you have on your walls are a thing of beauty, but whatever you touch withers and decays. You long for what you can never have – including me!” She grabbed his hands. “Look at these! What dastardly deeds did you commit to be rewarded with these?”

His smile widened. “That is the Melisse I have known and loved.”

“You have no idea what love is! You’re filled with hatred and jealousy.” She let go of his hands.

He whispered in her ear, “And you too possess those same qualities. And tell me, what kind of love do you speak of? Love to you is uniting your body with another. And how many lesser beings have you adjoined with? Did you love them all? Or was it lust?” Buffy went to turn away but he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Do not preach righteousness to me! You are like me in more ways than you think. That whole ‘good girl’ act is nothing but an illusion. Deep down you know that. You are drawn to the darkness because it is a part of who you are. You do not follow the laws of Manwë whom you proclaim as King. You are an interloper in his world. If you are not with me than you are against me. I promise you this Melisse, if you do not align yourself with me than I will be forced to…”

“Kill me?” she suggested.

“Oh no my dear Bellaseth. That is too easy. I will hurt you in ways that will only maximize your suffering. This is your weakness,” he said as he pressed his hand to her heart. “If you thwart me than I shall have no other choice but to make your life a living hell…And that Melisse, is what I do best.”

“Go to hell!” She yelled as she pushed him away.

He firmly grabbed her by the shoulders. Buffy could feel his fingers clamped to her flesh. “Only if you come with me.” He moved closer. His face only inches from hers. “No more games…Now, let us work on removing that veil.”

Morgoth’s attempt to kiss her was prevented by a sudden right hook to his jaw. Buffy had no idea where her will to do so came from, but it came in the nick of time. “Get your filthy hands off me,” she exclaimed as she got into her fighting stance. Morgoth was taken aback by her blow. The pain was all too brief and his anger had now awakened.

“You have no power here,” he sneered as he rubbed his jaw. “This is my domain. You cannot fight me but if you wish to be treated as a whore than I shall grant you your wish.” As he moved in closer Buffy threw a right hook at him, sending him reeling to the floor.

“I may be small but I’m still stronger than you!” She said as she pinned down his much larger form on the cold stone floor.

He now wore a terrible smirk on his face which gave Buffy chill bumps. He pulled his blackened hand free and quickly grabbed a hold of her hair. This sent her neck backwards and soon their positions were reversed. “I do not think so,” he responded. “I brought you here out of friendship and love. And here you are attacking me for no apparent reason at all.” Buffy struggled but could not break free from his grasp. “Do you not see? How blind can you be? We are like Manwë and Varda, our powers are heightened when we are united. It is time for us to do just that.” He positioned his body on top of hers so that she was confined beneath him and unable to break free. His face came lower and lower. She felt his lips press against hers. She could feel them burning with lustfulness. His mouth wrestled with hers and he kissed her both hungrily and greedily. In spite of his aggressive behavior, Buffy felt her body responding in like manner. She wanted him with that same wanton fervor that she had only experienced with Spike. As they were rolling around on the floor in this passionate embrace, he began tearing at her gown. She found herself impulsively doing the same to him. He had some how found a way to unleash the animal within her…



Buffy awoke the following morning to the sound of larks singing on her window sill. The early morning light shot across the room signaling her to rise. Noticing that she was now in her own bed, she was relieved to discover it was only a dream…or nightmare. She was freaked out by the encounter, nightmare or not, and was left feeling extremely confused. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and crawled out of bed. To her dismay she was dressed in a torn black gown with a gilded belt that had little charms dangling from it. She ran to the bathroom in order to survey her appearance. She distinctively noticed several bruises on her arms and shoulders. After unclasping the belt she let the gown fall into a heap on the floor. Her body was covered in Morgoth’s passion marks. And where his finger touched her heart, there was now a darkened spot, much like her old birthmark that she had removed long ago. “Holy shit,” she mumbled to herself. “It was real.” Buffy felt sick to her stomach; running to the toilet, she vomited. When all the contents of her stomach were expelled she sat on the floor next to the bowl trembling. She was horrified. There was no doubt in her mind that he had somehow bewitched her. What if he does it again? She thought. I can’t go to Melian, what the hell would I say? The thing that disgusted her the most was that she enjoyed it. After sitting there several minutes, Buffy decided to pretend it never happened. She would have to deal with this one way or another. Perhaps Nestor could whip up a draught that could keep her awake. But first, she wanted to wash the filth of Morgoth off of her. She was covered in his scent.


Chapter 13 - NEVER LEAVE ME

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NEVER LEAVE ME


Buffy applied Nestor's salve to the various markings that covered her body. She would not leave her chambers until they dissipated. There was no way she would be able to deal with the reaction of her friends nor their endless questions. Instead she wallowed in her self-contained asylum knowing that there was no way to pretend that this was not happening to her. Buffy's anguish grew even more when she learned that Orchal and Nestor had left early that morning for Ossir. They were supposed to stay throughout the summer but for some reason they left without bidding her farewell. Instead they sent word through a member of the household. In the back of her mind, she knew that Morgoth was behind this; he had something in store for her.

She remained alone within her chambers contemplating why Morgoth chose now to make his move. In order to think more clearly, Buffy decided to do some training. That usually helped clear her mind. The veil that Morgoth said would be removed after they 'adjoined' was still firmly intact. Her thoughts mostly drifted to past experiences in the 'modern world'. She recalled telling Giles about wanting to learn more about who she was after her encounter with Dracula. Now she wondered if Drac actually saw through that veil of concealment that was placed on her. He said her power was rooted in evil yet the first Slayer said she was filled with love. Did that mean at some point in time she loved being evil? No, she thought to herself. That's crazy talk.

Despite the number of people dwelling within her own halls, she felt so alone...isolated. She wished that she had someone she could confide this deep dark secret to, but she knew no one would understand. Every elf that Buffy knew despised Morgoth more than anything else in this world. She dare not even consult Melian about this new torment. The fact remained, she let it happen. And if she didn't figure out something soon, it was likely to happen again.

It's times like these when she longed for the wisdom of Giles. She knew if this was happening back home, Giles would be able to find some counter-spell in one of his numerous books. Daeron had created an alphabet, but the elves had very little use for reading. They possessed a photographic memory and had no desire to put those memories into print. And at this point in time, the elves didn’t write or possess books of spells and incantations or ancient scrolls that held the secret method of killing some particular big nasty. The fact remains, not one person in Beleriand really had any comprehension of what true evil was except Buffy …and Melkor.

She joined the rest of her household for lunch but remained sullen throughout the entire meal. They concluded that she was saddened by the fact that Orchal and Nestor had left while Mablung was still abroad. After she ate, she returned to her chambers telling the staff that she didn't want to be disturbed. She then spent a couple of hours meditating. She attempted to remain cool and collected, yet deep down inside she was frightened. While The Powers were evasive when it came to who she truly was, Morgoth was not. She knew in her heart that he held the key to her mysterious past.

In reality, she hated herself. She loved Mablung and wanted to become his wife yet her heart was now being drawn to Morgoth. Ever since the previous night all she wanted was to be with him. She yearned for him. She had been enthralled before and knew what it was like…but this was different. Being with him felt…right…and oddly familiar. And even as Buffy sat there, in that very moment, she could feel him yearning for her.
Buffy decided that a hot bath would help clear her mind. She submerged herself in the steamy water as the scent of lilac swiftly filled the chamber and put her mind at ease. She remained in the tub until the water had cooled and her fingers were pruney. Nestor’s miracle salve had worked wonders except for the mark on her chest. That spot seemed to darken even more and now it resembled a hammer. Buffy found that quite distressing.

She changed into a red dress that she wore only within the confines of her own home. It was much shorter than your average elvenwear and Thingol had forbade her to wear clothing that he deemed 'inappropriate' and 'too provocative'. We're talking mini-skirt length. Ironically, in the warm seasons, many of the men wore something similar. But no woman was allowed to wear anything that revealing in public. It was your typical male chauvinistic society. She pulled on a pair of black boots and topped off her ensemble with a lacy black coat that went nearly to the floor. Once she determined that her appearance was satisfactory she gracefully walked across her chamber and disappeared in a blinding white light.

She reappeared only moments later on a vast grassy deserted plane. The sun was beginning to descend in the west but the temperature was still quite pleasant. She proceeded to walk in knee-deep grass towards a cluster of pine trees. The trees seemed somewhat out of place; like they didn't belong there. There was a crystal clear spring near the sparsely treed area. As she began to walk through the trees she was stopped. Not by a person, but by the tree itself! "What the hell..." she said as the limbs blocked her way. She took a couple of steps backwards. "What the hell’s going on? Let me through!" She couldn't believe she was saying that, but she had heard from Melian herself about the Onodrim, the Shepherds of the Trees. And Buffy thought that she may have just encountered one.

"This way is blocked," said the pine tree in a high melodic voice. "None may enter, hmm, save Luinil or Hebor." Buffy's jaw hung open as she stared up at the ten-foot tall tree. Two almond shaped eyes peered down at the stunned Slayer. It had pine needles for eyelashes and its ‘hair’ stood up like little green spikes. Very strange. "Would you be Luinil or Hebor, hmm?" the tree asked her. It sounded female to Buffy.
Buffy finally closed her mouth and then opened it to answer. "I really don't know...You're an Onod, aren't you? One of those Shepherds that Melian told me about?"

The tree now bent slightly in the middle and looked down at Buffy. "You are no elfling, hmm" it said in the same high tone. "What might you be?"
"Good question," Buffy mumbled under her breath. "I'm the Slayer," she answered in her normal speaking voice. "The elves call me Bellaseth Dagnir. I live in Doriath and I'm also a knight of Thingol's Household."

"I have not heard of the Slayer before. Hmm. I have heard of Thingol though. He is both wise and a lover of trees. And Melian. I know her well," she replied thoughtfully. "Hmm, you keep good company. Hmm, yes, good company."

Buffy than asked the tree a question, "Um, you said that only Luinil or Hebor can pass. What is this place, if you don't mind me asking?" Buffy didn't see anything. Just a thin stand of trees.

"Hmm, I don't rightly know if I should divulge the secrets of this place to you. Hmm." The tree seemed to be studying Buffy closely.

"Well," Buffy began again. "Maybe you saw me back there..." she turned and pointed in the direction she came from.” But I just kind of appeared over there. I don't really know who Luinil or Hebor are, but I am a warrior. I've even been called a champion…well, back in the day...I’m a slayer of demons, monsters and other beastly creatures of the night...And for some reason I was...brought here. So, I kind of think that I'm supposed to be here...even if it's an evil place." Buffy wore a curious expression, "Is this an evil place?"

"Yes...and hmm, no." replied the tree after several moments. "I see curiosity in your eyes. Hmm, and I believe that you speak the truth. That too, I see in your eyes. The eyes are the gateway to the soul, hmm," it continued. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah, kind of," answered the Slayer.

The tree stood upright again. "Bellaseth Dagnir, hmm..." The tree looked towards the sky. One of its branches moved to a knob on the tree, which Buffy thought resembled a chin. Well, a chin for a tree. "Perhaps I may have heard that name long ago...Hmm, Dagnir…sounds somewhat familiar. Hmm." It lowered its branch and looked at Buffy once again. "Dagnir, is death not your gift?" Buffy’s jaw dropped open once again. She hadn't heard those words applied to her in a long time. And now this tree was saying those same words, more or less, that she had heard from the first Slayer long ago.

"I've been told that before," she said sadly. She had many talents other than slaying.

The tree laughed which freaked Buffy out. It sounded deeper than its speaking voice and the earth seemed to vibrate. Besides, she wasn't expecting laughter at that particular moment. "Then you are Luinil...Hmm, that is good. Very good. Is Hebor not with you? Hmm, because I thought that hmm, you were to come together."

“Why do you called me Luinil?” questioned a very confused Slayer. “And I sure don’t know anyone named Hebor. Do you think you’ve got the name wrong? Maybe it’s something else.”

"No. Hmm. I never forget names and I have been here a long while now. Hmm, I know the names Luinil and Hebor, but not the faces. Hmm. I was told only names, nothing more. But I shan’t forget your face, Luinil, now that I have seen it. Hmm…Your raiment is strange though. I shan’t forget that either." The passageway was now unblocked. "You may pass, if it is your will..."

"What will I find?" queried Buffy as she looked around the tree waiting for some mystical place to appear.

"I am but a sentinel. Thônel, I am called. But what awaits you on the other side...hmm remains to be seen. And not by me." One of its limbs gave Buffy a gentle push forward.

She walked several paces and then vanished into a nether realm. She turned around and was now devoured by the darkness. She stretched out her arms feeling around and felt a stony wall on either side. She couldn't feel anything over her head. Buffy concluded that she was in some tunnel. "Damn," she said aloud as she slowly started forward. Gradually a light began to illuminate. Not a light light. But Buffy herself seemed to emit a white light. She examined her arms which resembled white glow sticks. It was pretty cool. It wasn't like the bright light that encompasses her when she disappears, but a soft glow. Like a low wattage light bulb. She could make out the pathway much easier as she continued down the twisting and turning tunnel. It was much longer than she anticipated. It took her thirty minutes to reach a huge cavernous chamber. Large stalactites hung from the ceiling and the stalagmites stood proudly from the floor. She had no idea what that place was or why she was there.

All of a sudden, her body ceased emitting the light and she found herself consumed by darkness again. There was silence except for the sound of trickling water coming from the far end of the chamber. Buffy then experienced a weird feeling. A tingly sensation that made the hair on her arms stand on end. She felt a presence. She was no longer alone. "Who’s there?" she demanded as she slowly turned to face whatever else was in there with her.

"Luinil,” a voice said in her head. And it wasn't her voice either. She couldn't tell if it was male or female, or a combination of both. It was powerful and beautiful, joyful and sorrowful, all at the same time. She had never heard anything like it. She continued to slowly turn in a small circle expecting someone to jump her at any moment. "I know you are confused, child." the voice continued soothingly. "Do not be alarmed. You have nothing to fear...from me."

"Who are you?" she queried as she continued to look around anxiously. "Are you one of the Powers?"

There was silence and then the voice said, “It is not in my power to reveal my identity as of yet. That will come…in time.” Buffy hated hearing that ‘in time’ bit. It was getting old. “There is much that needs to be done and all the inhabitants of Arda shall depend on you…”

“For what?” she questioned.

“To maintain the balance of good and evil.” The voice replied. “Melkor has been toiling in secret for many long years. He has fashioned creatures of the most nefarious kind. Soulless beings that are bound to serve only the will of their master. Yet even more tragic are the Ainur whom he corrupted long ago and they are now accounted amongst his most devoted servants…they are deadly, Luinil. For they cannot be wholly killed. Their bodies may be broken but they possess the abilities to make their flesh anew. That is of great concern. For that is where your destiny lies, child.”

“I don’t understand how that concerns me,” stated a perplexed Buffy.

“Look around you Luinil.” The voice instructed. “What do you see?”

Buffy chuckled. “Um, I don’t really see anything but darkness.”

“Then you are not looking hard enough…Look again…now tell me what you see,” said the voice.

“Listen Vala…or being of unknown origins…or whatever you wanna be called. I don’t see anything…” It was then that Buffy did see something. Not exactly what she was expecting, but she saw it nonetheless. It was a vision. A great fortress that went deep beneath the earth. “It looks like a holding chamber of some sort,” she said aloud.

“Very good. You have seen it. It is your destiny to bring it into being.”

“How?” asked the Slayer. “I don’t know anything about excavating rocks. I’m more into weaving, sewing, cooking…things of that nature. Not hard manual labor. That’s men’s work. And it’s definitely not a requirement for being a Slayer.”

“We would not have you take on such a task if it could not be accomplished. There are those who are destined to aid you in this endeavor,” the voice said. “Your fate is intertwined with the children of Aulë.”

“Children of Aulë? Sounds like some new pop group or something,” she said jokingly. “I gotta tell you, I’ve never heard of them…so, where would I find these ‘children of Aulë’?”

“You have already met them have you not? They are called Naugrim or Dwarves by the elves. I believe that you are familiar with those names.”

“Oh…Yeah, I’m pretty friendly with Drór; he’s one of the lords of Belegost. Hell of a nice guy…”

The voice interrupted her. “I do not speak of the dwarves of Belegost. You must seek the High Lord of all the Dwarves, Durin; his dwelling is known as Khazad-Dûm which lies deep under the Misty Mountains.”

“Where the spirits go now…over the hills where the spirits fly, ooh...”

“Are you singing?” said the voice in a flabbergasted tone.

“Well, you said Misty Mountains, so that made me think of the song Misty Mountain Hop. Ya know, by Led Zeppelin.”

“I would think that a Slayer would take her work more seriously,” the voice said in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Maybe I would if I could get some straight answers from you people,” Buffy shot back in frustration. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that you’re some higher being…probably one of The Powers…So now it’s time to play a round of ‘What’s the Slayer’s Thinking?’ Ever play?” she asked. “Didn’t think so,” she said quickly after. “Let’s see. I have like a gazillion questions running through my mind. But first, if you don’t play then don’t expect me to help you people. I’m tired of not knowing a damn thing about me or about why I’m here and …all the crazy shit that is currently going on in my life…Tell me, what I’ve been thinking about the most lately?” Before the voice could reply Buffy quickly continued, “Well let me give you a hint. For some reason I’m having these weird and creepy nocturnal visits from one Melkor Bauglir…Morgoth…The Dark Lord…whatever you damn people call him. And for some reason these nocturnal visits are…of an intimate nature. And for some reason that repulses me to no end, I am unable to resist the charms of that disgusting, murderous, evil…ah…vile…um…” Once she spoke those words aloud, she regretted it. She wanted to take them back. She became crestfallen. Buffy fell silent for several minutes before asking dejectedly, “Why am I in love with Melkor? Why can’t I control myself when I’m with him?…Why are you letting him do these things to me?” Her last words echoed in the empty chamber. All she heard was the sound of dripping water.
Buffy stood there for what seemed to be an eternity. “It’s unfair, ya know,” she said aloud as she shuffled her feet in the darkness in search of the tunnel. “To be all alone…” At last Buffy’s body began emitting that soft light again, allowing her to find the exit of that mystical place.

She stepped through the magical barrier and found herself in the small grove of pine trees. The sun was already setting and the sky was a pinkish-orange color. As she walked through the trees, she heard Thônel ask, “Did you find what you were searching for?”

Buffy looked over her shoulder as she continued to walk. “No,” she said with a heavy heart. “I’m on my own.” She stopped for a moment and looked to the southwest. Her eyes pierced through all obstacles, hundreds of miles away until she saw what she presumed to be the Misty Mountains. They were shrouded in mist, so she assumed that had to be the home of Durin, High Lord of all Dwarves. Buffy wasn’t in the mood to start on the task that was assigned to her by whomever she had just encountered in that cave. Why should she bend over backwards for them, when they won’t even provide her with some simple answers to the most troubling of questions? It reminded her of the Watcher’s Council and that whole ordeal she went through with Angel. They had the antidote, but refused to give it to her because he was a vampire. The Council didn’t give a damn that he had a soul or that he was an instrument of The Powers. The hell with them all, thought Buffy. Wearily she continued to walk until she disappeared in a blinding light.

To Buffy’s surprise she actually arrived back home. She was back in her own bedchamber feeling terribly depressed and lonely. She reached under her mattress and pulled out the belt that she had hidden there earlier in the day. She examined it closely and shook it so that it made that tinkling noise that sounded like music to her ears. It was a thing of such magnificent beauty that the Slayer felt compelled to put it back on.

She poured herself a glass of wine and walked out on the balcony. Her eyes scanned the woods that surrounded her home and she could hear much mirth on the patio below her. The Slayer was in no mood for merrymaking of any kind. Her mind went back to the words of the ‘beings unknown’ and the cave. The Powers, or someone with a greater power than her, want her to construct a holding chamber with some dwarves that she never heard of. That sounded completely insane to her. She wasn’t a construction worker or architect or engineer. She was just Buffy…or Bella. Or was she?

In need of a refill, Buffy turned to go back inside. Somehow she managed to walk right into a closed French door causing the glass to shatter in her hand. “Damnit!” she mumbled to herself as she let the jagged pieces fall to the floor. Blood oozed from the deep cut between her thumb and forefinger. She went straight to the bathroom and pressed a clean towel on it. It was deep and the white towel soon matched the color of her dress. Before she was able to find some medicine for it, she vanished in a blinding light.

Buffy was not at all surprised to find herself in Morgoth’s chambers. She was still holding the towel firmly on her wound. All of her attention was focused on that so she didn’t notice when Morgoth came from behind her. “Melisse, you are hurt.” She said in a compassionate tone. “Let me see.” He gently took her hand and pulled the towel away. “It is deep…I can mend it.” He raised her hand towards his mouth.

“What are doing?” she asked.

“I shall heal your wound,” he responded. His tongue darted out of his mouth like a serpent and he licked the open gash a couple of times. Buffy watched in amazement as her hand was miraculously healed by Morgoth’s saliva. She then flexed her hand a few times. There was no pain or any sign that it had been cut only a few minutes before.

“How did you do that?” she questioned.

“It is part of my powers. You, too, possess such skills.” Buffy raised her eyebrows. She doubted his words. Morgoth must have perceived her mind because he followed it up with, “You do not believe me, do you?” She shook her head. “Then I shall show you.” He looked down at the belt that was clasped around her waist. “It brings me great joy to see that you are wearing the gift that I made for you.”

“You made it?” asked a surprised Slayer.

“Indeed.” Now the fact that Morgoth made something of such beauty was one thing, but apparently Buffy really didn’t understand what that belt really was until that moment. He grasped a small dagger charm in his hand and then presto! It was now a full size dagger.

“That is too cool for words,” the Slayer said excitedly. “How’d you do that?”

He laughed at her words. “Oh my darling Melisse. I shall teach you things beyond your reckoning.” He took the dagger and ran the blade across his hand. Blood began spilling out of the incision. “Lick it,” he instructed. Buffy’s face showed her disgust. “My blood is not poisoned. It will not hurt you. In fact, it tastes as sweet as yours.” He held his hand up to her face. “Do it,” he ordered.

Buffy watched as his blood started to drip onto the black marble floor. She took his hand in hers and then awkwardly licked his cut. In a matter of seconds the wound closed up. It looked as good as before. “I can’t believe it,” she stammered. “I can’t believe I did it. How is this possible?”

He smiled at her as the dagger reverted back to a charm and he placed it back on her belt. “The secret to all life is blood, Melisse,” he began. “Our blood is extremely powerful and can serve several purposes. We can share it with others in order to make them stronger…or we can create whole new races of beings with only a few drops. It is the most powerful substance in Arda. I am the only one who has truly learned its properties. How do you think that the yrch and vampires came into being?”

“It was your blood?” asked a shocked and disbelieving Buffy.

“That and a little magic goes a long way. Together, you and I are unstoppable. We can do anything that our hearts desire. The world will be at our mercy. That is the way it is supposed to be.” He took both of her hands in his. “Years ago when I heard that a Slayer had arrived in Middle-earth, I was greatly dismayed. But when I discovered that it was my Melisse, I rejoiced. I always knew that we would one day be reunited. Our love is so great that we are able to break any barriers that separate us. We are…invincible.”

Buffy found herself wrapping her arms around him. She felt…complete. Whole. After all these years, she found what she was looking for. There was no more confusion. This was meant to be. “Promise me,” she said as she placed her cheek on his chest. “Promise me, that you’ll never leave me.” She looked up into his deep brown eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I promise Melisse. I swear by everything that I hold dear that I will never leave you.” He kissed her sweetly on the lips. “I have had a feast prepared for you, my love. We shall stay within my chambers tonight…for this will be the most important night of our lives.”

Buffy smiled back at him. “It already is,” she said lovingly.

Morgoth led her to yet another chamber. A forty-foot long table was laden with an assortment of foods. It was only the two of them yet there were at least a dozen different entrees to choose from. They each took a seat at opposite ends. For some reason this scenario reminded her of an Simpsons episode. And Morgoth was none other than Mr. Burns. She half expected him to tent his fingers and say ‘excellent.’ Buffy construed that Morgoth in many ways was similar to that cartoon character. Despite that thought, Buffy found the food to be quite delicious. She never expected to have a feast like that, especially with Morgoth…and in Angband, no less.

After their meal, they went into yet another one of Morgoth’s chambers. This was his private bedchamber. The sound of wild music began to play from somewhere within the fortress as they entered that room. It was so unlike the music of the elves and dwarves, but Buffy found herself moving to the beat. It was repetitious and loud and reminiscent of rock music in modern times. And she would never have guessed that Morgoth was quite the dancer.

Of course this dance was more or less like foreplay. As the beat became faster so did their movements, which became more and more sexual. They undressed each other to the music until it culminated into a passionate lovemaking session. So powerful was their union that the ground literally shook. We’re talking a genuine, full-blown earthquake that would have registered a five plus on the Richter scale. It was the most euphoric experience that the Slayer had ever encountered. Good and evil had just become unified.



The following morning Buffy awoke in Morgoth’s bedchamber. He was watching her intently with his head resting on his propped up arm. “Blessed be the morning,” he said to her. “I hope that you slept well.” His other hand was gently caressing her stomach.

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept that soundly before.”

“That is good to hear. Last night was very special,” he said as he pulled her into his arms.

“We rocked the house…Literally.” She added with a chuckle. “I’ve gotta tell your Melkor, I’ve never known sex to be so…”

“Perfect?” he suggested.

“I was thinking powerful but perfect fits the bill too.” She placed several kisses on his bare chest. “What’s this?” she asked as she noticed that there was a strange mark over his heart. It was a deep blue color and resembled a crucifix. “I’ve never noticed that before.”

He glanced down at the mark smiling as he continued his caresses. “That is because I received it only last night.” Buffy looked at him with a bewildered expression. “You do not understand?” he questioned. “I have been branded with your symbol.” He then pointed to the ‘hammer’ mark on her. “As you have with mine. We have bound ourselves together…in more ways than one.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Can you not tell?” he asked with a surprised tone to his voice. “I guess you cannot.” He held her close and said, “My dear Melisse, you now carry my seed.”


Chapter 14 - SOMETHING BLUE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SOMETHING BLUE



When Buffy heard the words of Morgoth she was completely shocked. She glanced down at her belly as Morgoth continued to stroke her with loving tenderness. Her eyes were able to penetrate through her own flesh and she saw the tiny embryo growing inside her womb. Images of grabbing a sword from her belt and thrusting it deep into her gut killing the spawn of Morgoth flashed in her mind. But due to the spell of the Dark Lord, her reaction was quite the opposite. “This is what you’ve always wanted…what we’ve always wanted.” She corrected herself as she placed her hand atop Morgoth’s. “Our little progeny. Do you think it’ll be a girl or a boy?”

“I care not,” he replied. “Son or daughter…it shall be more powerful than any of my disciples. A true being that shall inherit our skills in inflicting vengeance upon this world.” He laughed. “Oh, how they will tremble when we unleash its wrath upon the world. But now it is time for you to meet my loyal subjects, for they shall now be at your beck and call at all times of the day. Whatever you need, they will see to it that it is done.” He got up out of the bed. “It is time for you to become familiar with my fortress and its occupants. I have much to show you.”

Buffy crawled out of bed. Much to her surprise, Morgoth already had many various types of garments made for her. All the clothing was either blue or black. No whites, pinks or purples. She decided on a flowing navy blue gown that resembled a Greek toga. As they left his chambers, Morgoth’s appearance totally changed. He was no longer the hot stud that Buffy had seen but a tall menacing figure that intimidated all those within this compound. He must have been at least twenty feet tall and his soft pale skin was now rough, thick and deep bronze in color. The only exception was his hands; they were still jet-black. Despite the changes that overcame him, in Buffy’s eyes, he still resembled the handsome Vala who delighted in pleasures of the flesh.

The many inhabitants of Angband gawked at the Slayer as she passed by during her tour. She assumed it was because she was the most beautiful creature within the confines of these walls. Morgoth’s disciples were, quite honestly, uglier than sin. True evil seldom wore a pretty face. Buffy could sense doubt and dread in the minds of many of his servants; they viewed her as the enemy. And the females, they were extremely jealous of her newly exalted position. She was the only one to ever win Morgoth’s affections.

An enormous feast was held that evening in one of the great chambers. Numerous demons were in attendance to celebrate the union of Morgoth and Buffy. Morgoth made the announcement about her pregnancy after the ceremonial sacrifice was performed. Two poor elves, one male and one female, were the victims of that savage ritual killing. Their blood and lymph fluids were extracted from their bodies and gathered into various drinking vessels. Buffy was disgusted by that ghoulish display but she was powerless to do anything about it since she was still under the enchantments of the Dark Lord. “My dear acolytes,” Morgoth began as he grasped a chalice of blood in his blackened hand. “Long have I been absent from my Halls of Hell.” He looked proudly about the room. “For three ages of this world I have been imprisoned, unjustly, in the confines of Mandos…under the ever watchful eye of Námo. I was condemned by the will of those who should be kneeling before me…begging for my mercy!” Morgoth still felt the shame of having to cower down to Manwë and the other Valar but those feelings had already turned into unbridled rage. “Alone I was confined in that impenetrable fortress; plotting ways to exact my revenge on those who have dared to supplant me from my Kingship.” The many creatures in the room made hissing noises followed by venomous words of blasphemy. “But know my good fellows that it was not all in vain. I have been bequeathed with greater powers and knowledge than my brethren and their jealousy of me shall be eternal. I am no blind fool like Manwë! I possessed the foresight to see that this day should one day come. The day in which I would be reunited with my beloved Melisse…and together we shall begin our rain of terror upon all the inhabitants of Eä!” A burst of applause echoed through the chamber. “Rise Melisse,” he said to Buffy, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. Buffy got to her feet. “Come to me,” he instructed. She walked the length of the table and stood happily beside him. “This is truly a glorious day,” he started again. “Let it be known to all who dwell within these walls that I Melkor, King of the World, have taken Melisse as my wife. We are now bound together for the duration of this world but more importantly she now carries my seed within her womb.” Cheers and the sound of metal clashing upon metal reverberated loudly throughout the great hall. “To that, we shall drink!”

With one voice his minions raised their drinking vessels and shouted, “Blessed be the spawn of Melkor!” As his ‘people’ sipped from the cups, Buffy distinctively heard a loud crunching noise coming from the alter situated behind her. She glanced over her shoulder she saw two wolves devouring the remains of the sacrifices in a ferocious fashion. One of the beasts had just snapped an arm in two at the elbow and was eagerly chewing on the elven fingers. It would normally be a stomach turning experience for the Slayer, but in this instance she only looked away with a smile on her already elated face.

Morgoth then continued his speech. “My darling Melisse came to me by her own free will. Do not harness doubt within your hearts regarding her loyalty. We are bound together, my friends. She bears my mark upon her breast and I bear hers upon mine. Our love is eternal…no matter what boundaries separate us.” He placed his chalice on the table and clapped his hands twice. Immediately one of his cronies came forward carrying a black velvet pillow framed by a crimson cord. On top of the pillow was a circlet of gold that resembled skeletal fingers grasping an onyx heart. “I have wrought this especially for you my love,” Morgoth said softly as he took the crown off the pillow.

It was a creepy looking thing. But Buffy found herself saying, “It is a thing of beauty, my lord…but am I not worthy enough to receive a gem of greater value…say a Silmaril?” Buffy’s eyes glanced up at the iron crown upon his head in which the three precious jewels of Fëanor were set.

His facial expression turned from joy to anger at the mention of those jewels. His reply came in the form of a slap that sent her flying across the room. A hushed silence fell across the room…even the wolves stopped feasting on their delectable morsels. Morgoth was seething. “A hefty price I have paid to obtain these precious jewels. They are mine and mine alone! I will not part with them…not even for you Melisse.”

Buffy wiped the blood from her split lip as she crawled back to Morgoth. “Forgive me, Lord. I only thought…”

“It is not your job to think,” he sneered at her. “I will tell you when to think. Do not let that thought enter your mind again or you shall pay dearly, love. That is not a mere threat, but a promise that I intend to keep.” Buffy cowered at his feet uttering unintelligible apologies. The sight of that softened the heart of Morgoth. “Stand Melisse,” he instructed. Buffy rose to her feet with her head bowed. The occupants in the chamber remained completely quiet. He lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “I reckon that I have made my point clear enough.” He licked the gash on her lip and immediately it was healed. “Do not broach that subject again or I will not show you the same mercy that I just have.”

“Sorry…I won’t Melkor,” she groveled. “I am ever grateful for your kindness. I was stupid and ignorant to even suggest such a thing. I am…beneath you.”

He smiled at her words. “That was not so bad, was it? You are forgiven.” He picked up the circlet and placed it on her head. It fit perfectly. “Let it be known from this day forward that Melisse is my Queen. A throne worthy of her honor shall be erected next to mine. Regardless of her audacious words she is still my spouse and shall be treated as such by all my people.” He looked grimly around the still silent chamber. “And let it also be known that none here shall call her by the name Melisse save myself. That is my name of affection for the Queen. You shall all address her as Inanna, Lady and Queen of Angband…and the World.” Buffy would later learn that the name was a corruption of the tongue of the West and meant ‘woman-gift.’ A name that Morgoth felt most befitting of her.

Once again, the demons raised their glasses and shouted, “Blessed be the Lady of Angband.” Morgoth then declared that it was time for the feast to begin. Buffy took her seat at the opposite end of the table from him; she could feel many eyes scrutinizing her. She turned to the gentleman on her left and started a conversation with the Maia called Luthor, one of the chief sorcerers of Angband. He was quite friendly and his outward appearance was that of an old man of great ability. His well manicured mustache and beard were streaked with black and silver and his eyes were deep gray and concealed his knowledge of many secret things.

After the meal, they continued the festivities in yet another chamber. There were three dozen captive elves chained to the walls within that room. A large marble table was laden with a multitude of various torturous devices. There were several contraptions for inflicting pain including a rack, cauldrons of boiling oil, giant hooks that gently swayed from the ceiling waiting eagerly for its next victim. Some things Buffy couldn’t figure out what they were until they were actually put to use.

She sat idly beside Morgoth and watching one heinous act after another. There were roars from the spectators whenever one of the victims cried out in pain. And the monsters that dwelled in this place delighted in their attempts to one up the other when it came to pain and torment. After an hour and a half of witnessing the gruesome entertainment Buffy excused herself and returned to Morgoth’s private chambers.

She changed into a black nightgown and glanced out the only window in all his rooms. It was pointless because a thick haze lingered all about that land. Not even the stars could be seen. Buffy had only been here for twenty-four hours, yet it seemed longer. She imagined being in her own home. A place where the air was clean and fragrant, blossoms of color bursting forth in the garden, the sweet tunes of the elves…It seemed like it was a distant dream. Her memories of those days seemed to vanish the instant Morgoth ambled into the room. She remained by the window as she heard the door close. “Your fey cries out to me…” he said softly. “You are being consumed by loneliness.” She didn’t respond. “I know what it feels like…to be all alone. To possess such power that none can understand…not even my closest colleagues. Because they are in fact, beneath me.”

Buffy turned and faced him. “Like me?” she asked angrily. He was leaning against the door. He wore a curious expression on his face. She took several paces across the room and was now face to face with the handsome version of Morgoth. “Let me tell you something…If you ever lay a hand on me again, you won’t have to worry about the pain they cause you, cause I’ll cut them both off!” Her feelings exploded out of her. “How dare you degrade me like that? I didn’t show my ass in front of your people, but next time…” He turned away fuming. She could feel her face burning hot. She walked over to the dresser where her circlet had been placed. “And this thing,” she said as she picked up and turned to him. “It’s revolting. Where is it written that evil can’t possess things of beauty? The Silmarils are beautiful, but you would have me wear this hideous thing with a black stone in it! I hate it. It disgusts me.”

He walked over to her smiling reassuringly. “And what is it that you desire, love?”

“Something beautiful.” She replied as she looked deeply into his eyes.

“If that is your wont, than I will see to it that it is done.”

“Fine,” answered Buffy.

“Now can we kiss and make up?” he questioned. She smiled at him; all was now forgiven…

It must have been really early when Buffy awoke the next morning. The room was dark except for a stream of soft light that swept through the slight opening of the door. Buffy could hear voices on the other side. Quietly, she climbed out of bed and listened by the partly opened door. “…we discovered this only a few minutes ago…” Buffy recognized the voice of Sauron. “I thought that it should be brought to your attention immediately.”

“So the chain was not broken?” she heard Morgoth ask.

“It is still intact. We found this on the crags. I thought you ought to see it. Buffy sneaked a peek and saw Sauron showing what appeared to be a severed hand wrapped in cloth to Morgoth. “My Lord,” he began speaking hesitantly. “I know you do not want to consider…It is too much of a coincidence that his escape coincided with the arrival of…um, the Lady Inanna. Do not let her deceive you…”

Morgoth interrupted him. “She is not deceiving me. She is under my thrall. Melisse played no part in Maedhros escape. She has not been out of my sight since she arrived…”

“My Lord Melkor,” she heard Sauron pleading. “Do not put your faith in her. The Lady has many allies in the world. Surely you are aware of that…”

“She is of no concern to you,” Morgoth replied firmly. “Give that to Carcharoth, my favorite of the wolves, as I deem he will savor the taste of the flesh of one of the Noldorin Princes of Valinor.” Buffy assumed the conversation was over as she started walking back to bed when she heard Morgoth say, “Oh, by the way. Any of those elves from Valinor that can be captured, bring them to me…alive. I have need for their skills.” Now the conversation was over. Buffy quickly slid back in bed before Morgoth returned to the chamber. She pretended to be asleep.

After breakfast, Buffy was free to do as she wished. Morgoth’s only command was that she could not leave Angband until after the birth of their ‘child’. Buffy had no desire to leave, but she was most interested in finding Sauron. She wanted to confront him about the conversation she overheard earlier that morning. He was trying to ruin her reputation and she couldn’t have that.

After several hours of exploration she finally found out his location from Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs. “You will find him Lady, in one of the subterranean vaults.” He pointed the way with his fiery tail. She nodded in appreciation and set off in the proper direction.

She found Sauron in an enormous chamber that smelled so foul Buffy thought she might be sick. He was busy at work tanning hides. There were many hides going through the various stages of that process, but there was a heavy stench in the air. It smelled like a combination of urine and feces. Very unpleasant. His back was turned to her as she approached. “Imagine that,” she said, startling him. “Funny I would find you in a place that smells like shit. It suits you to a tee!” She said sarcastically.

He looked over his shoulder as he continued dunking a skin in a large barrel containing some nasty liquid. “What brings you here, Lady? Are you in need of my services?” He asked in a sweet melodious tone. “Or is it your pleasure to insult me as I work?”

She walked into the chamber and stopped on the other side of his barrel. “Do you think I’m a fool Sauron?” she asked.

“With all due respect, I shall not answer that question. I do not want to have to contend with the anger of Melkor,” he replied as he carried a skin to a table and began rubbing something nasty on it.

“You won’t have to deal with him. Only me…” The smell was intense. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked.

“It is called bating. I am bating the skin with wolf dung…”

“No surprise there. You smell like you’ve been rolling around in it!”

He looked up, a combination of anger and frustration was on his face. “I am quite busy. If you want something, than get on with it. I am in no mood for your games.” He stared at her.

“I heard you this morning…talking to Melkor about…”

He interrupted her. “The elf? What about it?” His frustration was growing.

“I came to warn you. To warn you not to speak of me…the Queen of Angband, in that manner again. I should cut your tongue out so it won’t be able to spew such vulgarity again,” she said sternly.

He studied her for a moment. “If I truly speak my mind, will it stay between us?” He asked. Buffy nodded in agreement. “Very well.” He pulled off his elbow length gloves and threw them on the table. “I do not trust you…Inanna. Melkor has these perverse feelings for you and that is folly. I am more patient than my Lord. I do not need things done by a certain date nor do I follow any time tables. You will bring about his downfall, sooner or later.”

“You’re a liar,” she retorted. “I love him.”

“You love him not, you dim-witted fool! He has bewitched you! And you do not even know it!” he barked back. “You are being led around here blindly on a leash that he had put around your neck. And you…you have bewitched him with your feminine ways.” He shook his head in disgust. “It is a disgusting display. I am revolted every time he mentions you…it sickens me to no end.” He mocked Morgoth. “Melisse is the fairest maid in all of Arda…Melisse is incredibly powerful…Melisse is the only woman worthy enough to carry my seed.” He took a swig out of a goblet.

“Sounds like you’re jealous,” she replied maliciously.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Do I not have reason to be? I have served Melkor from the beginning. You have always flitted in and out of his life. He clings to you even when you have moved on…to the next fool.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here to stay whether you like it or not. So you might as well get use to it.”

Buffy noticed his facial expression changed. “And what service may I offer the Lady Inanna this day?”

Buffy turned and noticed that Gothmog’s enormous form was standing in the doorway. She looked back at Sauron. “Make me breeches made of leather,” she instructed. “And coats of varying lengths…And Sauron, I want them in black and red. A dozen of each should do. Do you need my measurements?”

He glared at her and than smiled kindly, “No, my Lady. I can judge that by sight. I shall bring them to you when they are completed.”

“That’s a good minion. Now get to work. Chop-chop!” She turned on her heal and went to Gothmog. “What’s up, my burning hell fire friend?”

“Melkor has instructed me to bring you to him.” They walked out of the chamber. “He said it was of great importance.”

“Very well,” she replied. “Lead the way.”

Gothmog led her to a smaller chamber than the one she was in with Sauron. It was located deep below the surface and the air was much cleaner. Morgoth began that day to teach her the various methods to his madness. She, in turn showed him many things from the End of Days. Whenever they combined their essences they exchanged knowledge of all things evil that happened to be in their memories. Unfortunately, Buffy was still blind to her ‘real’ past and only shared things that she experienced as Buffy Summers, the Chosen One. It was enough though. The knowledge that Morgoth obtained from their ‘adjoining’ spells were enough for him to bring into being creatures that Buffy had faced in her past. The consequences of these ‘trysts’ would haunt the Slayer forever, something she wouldn’t realize until the spell was lifted.

Together they brought several new races of demons into being. Morgoth showed her how he twisted and corrupted the forms of the Maiar who aligned themselves with him long ago. There were several key elements that were the foundation for his new devices. Firstly, size does matter. His most beloved creatures were grotesquely enlarged in order to serve his objective of being intimidating and frightening to lesser races. While Buffy was in Angband, Morgoth prized his Balrogs above all others. They were huge man-demons engulfed in flame that brandished whips of pain and torment. Most of the lower beings were unable to survive the heat alone and most things withered before them. They were the total embodiment of what Morgoth represented: fire and darkness.

The ability to be cunning was also a prized attribute to be found in his most devoted disciples. Of these, Sauron embodied that characteristic with perfection. He also exemplified the ability to be innovative and resourceful which scored major points with the Dark Lord. That earned him the second most coveted position of rank within this realm.

The thing that Buffy found to be the most remarkable about Morgoth was his talent to create beings out of his own thought. When she first witnessed that phenomenon she was reminded of that old adage ‘I think, therefore I am,’ by Socrates or some other philosopher from that time. She wasn’t powerful enough to accomplish that feat on her own yet but Morgoth assured her that she would soon master that skill.

As Buffy’s pregnancy progressed into her fourth month she underwent many changes. Her appetite was insatiable resulting in dramatic weight gain even in her early months. Her temper became extremely volatile and she killed several of the vampire handmaidens that were assigned to her. Buffy’s lustfulness for things amoral and wicked progressed much to the delight of Morgoth although Sauron told him that he was certain that it was only hormones and wouldn’t last.

It was at this time that Luthor became Buffy’s chief caregiver and companion. All the female occupants feared the Slayer’s wrath and refused to be left alone in a room with her. Luthor volunteered for that assignment in an attempt to elevate his ranking within Angband. But if he could not win Morgoth’s favor then perhaps he could win the Slayer’s as her ranking was now even higher than Sauron’s. It was Sauron who encouraged Luthor to develop a relationship with the Chosen One. Unbeknownst to Luthor, Sauron knew that the Slayer’s fate was intertwined with that of Luthor, and as a result he had no use for either of them. The time was drawing near for Sauron to make his move or his doom would come much sooner than even he anticipated.

Luthor had taken Buffy exploring throughout the many tunnels and chambers of that great fortress. He had taken her far north to Dor Daidelos where the land is nearly always under snowfall and the winds are freezing cold. But something that made the trek worthwhile were the numerous hot springs located throughout that area. And that had become one of Buffy’s simple pleasures in life. She had even talked Morgoth into joining her on those weekly excursions. She found it quite relaxing.

When Buffy reached her ninth and final month of pregnancy, she had already packed on nearly seventy pounds on her small frame. She spent most of those last weeks confined to Melkor’s private chambers. She would spend many hours lying in bed watching the movements of the child within her. Sometimes it looked like the Loch Ness monster now resided within her womb. In spite of her vicious demeanor, Luthor remained in her constant company.

The labor pains started late one night waking the Slayer out of a fitful sleep. The pain was agonizing and her contractions were still only thirty minutes apart. Morgoth did not leave her side; he wanted to deliver his child himself. He remained throughout the entire duration of her labor, which lasted seventy-two hours. “It is time Melisse,” Morgoth had said after examining her. “Your body is ready, but you must push. Push with all your slayer strength.” Buffy shouted out obscenity after obscenity while Morgoth tried to speak to her reassuringly. The ground then began to shake violently as a clash of thunder rumbled in the distance. It was an earth quake. Items began bouncing off the tables and shelves in the room, but that did not interfere with the delivery. “It is coming,” he said excitedly after a second push. “Take another deep breath and push…Come now Melisse…one more should do it…Make me a proud papa…” Buffy cried out as she pushed for the third and final time. She collapsed onto the pile of pillows as she heard the wailing cry of the newborn. “It is a girl Melisse,” Morgoth cried out. “We have a wickedly beautiful baby daughter. Blessed be this day!” Morgoth carried the infant to a prepared table where he carefully wiped her clean before wrapping her in a soft black blanket. “Time to meet your mommy.” He said as he handed the bundle to Buffy.

Buffy took the bundle and as she looked down at her child she understood that unconditional love that a mother has for her child. Now she truly comprehended the name Luinil, for that child’s hide was as blue as the sea. And instead of ten little fingers, she had ten tentacles, five on either side. Four small horns protruded from her forehead and claws similar to eagles were located at the bottom of her legs. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as her rock solid ‘skin’. Buffy cradled the infant in her arms. “I feel her power,” she said as exhaustion crept over her. “She has taken a lot of my strength,” she whispered in a hoarse voice to Morgoth.

“It is only temporary,” he assured her as he gently stroked one of the tentacles. “With some rest, you will be as strong as ever…Let me take the little one and you can rest in peace. She will need feeding soon.” Buffy accepted his offer; she was so tired. After the birth, Luthor gave her a dose of elixir and she soon fell fast asleep.

Morgoth took his little pride and joy to his great hall. It was time to show off his most precious creation. “Who’s daddy’s little hell demon?” he cooed to the infant as he made the typical faces and sounds that any new parent would. Morgoth walked up the twelve steps of the dais to his throne; the chamber was filled with his most trusted minions. “It is with great joy that I announce the arrival of my only child and heir to my throne,” he began with a grin on his face. “And as we have all witnessed, the earth trembled in despair knowing that a new evil has been born within Eä.” The throng cheered in response. “Both mine and Inanna’s essences run through this hell spawn and truly she has been gifted with our greatest traits.” He let the blanket fall to the ground as he displayed the demon child to his people. “Today, we celebrate the birth of my beloved daughter, Illyria.”


Chapter 15 - HELPLESS

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HELPLESS



Buffy was beginning to come out of the final stage of sleep when she recalled the horrible nightmare she had just had. She dreamt that she had given birth to a hideous blue demon child with tentacles and horns. It was creepier than hell! As her senses awakened, she thought that whatever she ate the night before must have disagreed with her and caused that dream. It was then that she became aware of a constant rumbling noise coming from deep below the earth. A noise that sounded oddly familiar to her.

As she shifted her position, her eyes darted open and to her dismay she realized that she was in fact in Morgoth’s House of Horrors. Her jaw hung open as she surveyed the large chamber constructed from black marble. The only light came from a candelabrum, which held twelve candles that were nearly burned down to the wick. Buffy’s eyes then fell upon herself. Her gown was unbuttoned and both of her enormous breasts were exposed, but that’s not what wigged her out the most. It was that both of her nipples were covered in small strips of cloth that had some type of yellowish gel-like substance on it. It reminded her of pasties that strippers normally wore. She carefully pulled off the cloth revealing several puncture marks around her areola. Oh my god, she thought. That thing fed off me!

Immediately she leapt off the bed, pulling her gown closed. What the hell was she going to do? She was freaking out in a major way. Apparently she had been under some kind of mind-control spell of Morgoth’s but now…she wasn’t. Her nightmare was her current reality. And the thought of that was nearly too much for the Slayer to bear. How was it possible that beautiful Buffy could give birth to a …monster? She recalled various events that had transpired throughout her ‘imprisonment’ in Angband. The Dark Lord had manipulated her feelings and actions for the past nine months. Buffy felt like she was being consumed by feelings of hopelessness, but if she allowed herself to fall into the abyss, then she would be doomed to Angband forever.

Quickly she ran to the wardrobe in search of clothing that wasn’t stained with blood and sweat. She noticed her reflection on the mirrored doors and was shocked by her physical appearance. She wasn’t merely fat – she was obese. She looked like an Oompa Loompa dressed in a muumuu! Buffy tore the gown off. She changed into clean garments but still remained disgusted by her portly self. She grabbed a pair of boots and knew she had to get out of there as soon as possible.

The door flung open only moments later. It was Luthor. He stopped in his tracks, looked at her wide-eyed and then shut the door behind him. “Stay away from me,” she stammered as she looked around for some type of weapon.

“I mean no harm, Inanna.” He replied as he approached cautiously with both hands held up. “The spell is broken I take it…” he said in a soothing voice.

“You have no idea!” she replied with a trembling voice.

“Oh, I think I do,” he commented. “Sauron and I have conspired together over the last few months. We have attempted to reverse the spell of Melkor’s and at long last we have succeeded. If it had not been for our talents you would still be smitten with Melkor and sweet, sweet Illyria.

“You and Sauron?” she questioned. “You guys broke the spell?”

“Indeed,” he replied with a grin on his face. Before Buffy could question him further, he continued. “Sauron felt threatened by your presence here. For many ages he has labored for Melkor and he gained much respect from him as a result. Since you arrived, his clout has begun to diminish and he cannot stand for that. He had to make his move and fast if he is to remain in the favor of his Master.”

“I noticed you didn’t include yourself in that little spiel,” she said.

“No. I am afraid that I have fallen from the Dark Lord’s good graces in recent years. We do not always see eye to eye, you see. But since I formed a bond with you, well, let us just say that I am now in good standing with his Royal Evilness.”

“Lucky you,” scoffed the Slayer as she inched towards a staff that was leaning against the wall.

Luthor noticed her movements and said, “I would not do that if I were you.” The staff then went flying past Buffy into Luthor’s outstretched hand. “I am not the enemy here.”

“You think I’m that stupid. If you’re not locked away in some hidden dungeon or something, than you are the enemy,” she shot back.

“That is not true,” he stated calmly as he tossed the staff across the room. “If I were the enemy, I would not have assisted Sauron with the spell.”

He moved closer towards her as she took several steps backwards. “I see things clearer, Inanna. I understand my true purpose in this world…”

“And that happens to be…what?” she asked sarcastically.

“My true purpose is to aid you in your labors…Because of you; I now see the error of my ways. I want to change. This is not the world for me. I do not belong here. I have made many a tragic mistake in my life…”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Her back was now against the wall.

“Mistake?” He queried as he stopped a foot away from her. “And what about your sins Inanna? The spell has been lifted, but have you not given thought to the actions…the atrocities…that you committed these last several months?”

“I…I…didn’t…” she stuttered.

“Would you prefer it if I called it your ‘acts of wonderment’?” He looked at her keenly. “You remember all you have done. The vaults of Angband are filled with thousands of menacing creatures brought about by your own hands.” He saw the look of horror that came upon the Slayer’s face. “Illyria was just the icing on the cake,” he said harshly. “You have given aid to the Dark Lord like no other. His powers for creating creatures of darkness had diminished before you arrived. You provided him with the right amount of oomph to succeed in bringing about beings more heinous than he could ever have imagined…” He gave her a contemptuous look. “Let us see how you live with that!” Buffy stood there in absolute shock.

“It…it wasn’t my fault. I…I was bewitched…there was nothing I could do…” she cried out as tears rolled down her cheeks. She sank to the floor hiding her face in her cupped hands as feelings of despair consumed her.

She could hear Luthor opening many drawers and cabinets. He was packing up some of her belongings into a couple of satchels. “It will do no good to sit there and wallow in self-pity,” he finally said after he finished packing her things. He squatted across from her and spoke in a friendly manner. “You are a champion Inanna. Act like one.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “The elves named you Bellaseth; if you love them as much as you claim then you need to prove it. Now is the time to call upon that strength. I will help you dear Inanna. Do not give in to weakness. Should you fall, I will be there to help you back on your feet.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let us flee from this place and once we are far from here, we can address those things that are of the utmost concern. But we must go NOW!”

A blubbering Buffy mumbled, “okay” as he tossed a bag to her. It was heavier than she expected.

They left the many rooms of Morgoth and began the long trek through the tunnel that would take them east of Ered Luin. “Melkor has been told that I have taken you to the hot springs for healing. That should give us several days head start before…”

“Will he come after us?” Buffy asked.

Luthor remained quiet for several seconds. Buffy noticed that he was nervously chewing on his bottom lip. “We shall see Inanna. We shall see.” There was no doubt in Luthor’s mind that Melkor would seek to reclaim his bride, bewitched or not. But Luthor’s main objective at this point was to get the Slayer out of there and somewhere where she would be safe. He had only recently discovered that the fate of Arda rested solely on her shoulders; a doom that seemed crueler than any device of Melkor’s.

Luthor seemed most anxious to get out of there and Buffy had no idea why he was willing to help her. Surely Morgoth would be furious if he discovered his betrayal and would inflict his most horrific torments on him. Apparently, Luthor was willing to take the risk. “It shall take us a fortnight or so to reach the southern gate, east of Ered Luin. How do you feel?” he asked as they headed down the shaft.

“How do you think?” she snapped back.

He looked at her as they continued walking. “You have not taken my head off or plunged a dagger through my heart, so I take it that you are feeling better. At least your lust for violence has waned.” Buffy didn’t say anything else. She tried to digest all that had happened to her in the past nine months. The memories were horrific. And the fact that that creature, the spawn of Morgoth, came from her body…The thought alone made her shudder. And she sure didn’t understand how that thing could have her blood coursing through its veins. Wasn’t she one of the good guys? Good guys don’t give birth to the spawn of Evil. Buffy remained distant while they made that trek.

Luthor was right. It took them two weeks of walking through that long dank passageway before they reached the first southern gate of Ered Engrin east of Ered Luin. Luthor gave the password to the stone sentry that stood at the doors and they were able to pass outside into the light of day. They still had to descend a good two hundred feet from the crag on which they now stood. The pace was slow and Buffy constantly mumbled curses under her breath. This should have been a piece of cake for her but her weight made it more difficult to maneuver down the rock wall.

When they reached the bottom a lone wolf sat on a large boulder watching them suspiciously. “You made it,” Luthor said to the animal. The beast turned into Sauron. “Do you have the provisions?” Luthor asked.

“That can wait,” he replied as he fixed his eyes on Buffy. “At the present, I am most concerned with Inanna. You do understand that your freedom comes at a price, do you not?”

Buffy looked at Luthor whose eyes were fixed on Sauron, “She is unable to make any bargains with you. Can you not see that? She has been despondent since…”

“I care not,” he spat out. “I am not known for being merciful and I do not intend to start now.” His gaze returned to the Slayer. “I can call upon legions of yrch with a snap of my fingers. Would you like that Inanna? Would you like to return to your beloved Melkor and your demon offspring?” A sadistic smile came upon his face. “To enter his thrall once again…but this time it will be for an eternity…an eternity of dancing on the threshold of pain and pleasure. Is that your wont?”

“What do you want?” she asked in a defeated tone.

His wicked grin widened. “What do I want? I want to be left alone to do as I will without interference from you. You shall go your way and I will go mine. Swear to me…and freedom shall be granted to you.”

“It is an abomination!” cried out Luthor. “Make no deals with him Inanna. Only ill will come from it, I deem.”

“Silence!” commanded Sauron. “The offer is not for you, you traitorous scum!”

“And what of you, Sauron?” questioned a very agitated Luthor. “I am sure Melkor would be delighted to know what part you played in this conspiracy.”

Sauron leered at Luthor. “In the end, my Lord will see that I have done what is best for his survival. I do not fear him.”

“You lie,” said Luthor. Buffy just stood there as the conversation got more heated. “You fear his wrath as much as any of us.” He took a few steps forward and was only inches from Sauron’s face. “What do you think the Dark Lord will do when he finds out that you sent his beloved Melisse away? Do you think he will reward you beyond all others?” He asked in a low threatening tone.

“Inanna had fulfilled her obligations,” Sauron responded in like manner. “She has given him the child that he has longed for. Illyria shall keep him distracted for quite some time.” Sauron’s eyes went back to the Slayer. “The choice is yours, Inanna. Leave me be and you shall be granted your freedom…”

“For how long?” Buffy finally asked after being silent throughout most of the conversation.

Sauron found that quite amusing and let out a hearty laugh. “Forever! Dear Inanna. You shall let me be forever.”

A look of horror came over Luthor’s face as he saw Buffy contemplating Sauron’s offer. “Do not do it,” he whispered to her. “He is the epitome of evil. You cannot make deals with him.”

“Okay,” she finally replied to the offer. “Let us go and I’ll leave you to do as you wish.”

“NO!” cried out Luthor. “Do not do that Inanna, I beg of you.”

Buffy’s face was stern. “The deal’s already done.” She looked at Sauron with contempt. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Your word is good enough for me!” His voice was cheery. “I must say Inanna…you have more sense than I gave you credit for. Perhaps Melkor is right…and there is some hope for you yet.” He sneered at Luthor. “I have stowed some provisions for your journey in that cluster of chestnut trees,” he said as he pointed to the distant trees to their south. “They shall last you several weeks if you are prudent. So…it is time for me to return home and I bid you farewell and good riddance!” He turned back into his wolf form and ran towards the west before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“You should not have done that Inanna,” stated Luthor as they started heading south towards the tree line. “Mark my words, nothing good will come from it unless you desire chaos.”

Buffy stopped. Luthor took a few more steps before noticing that she was lingering behind him. Her gaze pierced him. “And what was I supposed to do?” she queried. “I’m not going back! I had no other choice…I’m weak Luthor. My strength…my powers…I’m spent! I’ll deal with Sauron when the time comes, but right now…I just wanna get the hell away from here. So if you have any more comments about this then I suggest you keep them to yourself!” Luthor dared not say anything else to provoke the Slayer. She might be weak now, but he knew her strength would increase soon enough.
It took them another two weeks to reach the grove of chestnut trees. By the time they reached the ‘provisions’ left by Sauron, they were covered in maggots. The loaves of bread (which Buffy was dying for) were as hard as a rock and inedible. Much to her chagrin, Luthor didn’t give a damn about eating maggot covered food. He argued the nutritional merit of the little white creepy crawling things. He wasn’t about to convince the Slayer to eat that crap. She preferred to sustain herself with wild berries and her excess body fat.

They rested in that grove for two days. It was imperative that they got as far away from Ered Engrin as possible. But Luthor didn’t know exactly where they should go. He didn’t know of any secret retreat that Melkor himself wasn’t familiar with. And it didn’t make matters any better with Buffy acting all quiet and depressed. He understood that she was going through something huge, but he didn’t want to discuss it while they were in the open. Once they were somewhere safe and secure, then they could deal with her inner demons.

“Where are we going?” asked the Slayer.

“I do not know. Any suggestions would be most helpful.” Buffy saw the glimmer of hope in Luthor’s eyes.

Buffy got up and walked around the grove studying the vista before her. “I don’t know this place,” she mumbled under her breath. Her eyes became like binoculars again and she was able to see things for a great distance. “Wait a minute,” she said as she now looked to the east. She smiled when she recognized the thin stand of pine trees. “I think I know a place…”

Luthor moved next to her and lowered his head to her level as he searched the vastness with his eyes. “What is it you see? I do not see anything remotely safe.”

“Do you see that stand of pines?” she questioned as she pointed.

“That is no haven for us! We are better concealed here. At least the walnut tree boughs shield us from the eye of the enemy.” Luthor stated dejectedly.

Buffy shook her head. “What do you take me for – an idiot?” she rebuked. “There’s a secret place there that’s protected by powerful magics. I only discovered it myself…” her excitement faded. She remembered how she discovered that place and then found herself in Angband the very next day. What if it happened again? What if it was Morgoth who was speaking to her in the hidden fortress? She was now reluctant to even continue the conversation about it with Luthor but he wouldn’t give up. He badgered her with endless questions and remarked that if they didn’t find a hiding place then they would surely be doomed to the guiles of Morgoth. Buffy finally conceded. “It’s a hidden fortress,” she explained. “And when I mean hidden…I mean hidden. There’s an entrance in those trees…into another dimension.”

“Please tell me Inanna that you are not jesting!” He said eagerly.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for jest?” she asked with a fierce look in her eyes.

“I suppose not,” replied Luthor apologetically.

“I say we go at night fall. Let the darkness be our cover.” Buffy then sat back down with her back to the tree. She was no longer in the mood for conversation. Her only desire was for the sun to set in the west.

It took the pair nearly three months to reach that secret fortress. And lucky they arrived when they did as the season had turned to fall and all signs indicated that winter would come early. Thônel the sentinel was still at her post and Buffy was quite happy to see that Shepherd. “Greetings to you Luinil,” said Thônel as she looked closer at Buffy and Luthor. “Is this Hebor? For I will not forget his face now that I have seen it.”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Buffy. “This is Luthor and he’s…a guest of mine. We are in dire need to pass. Is that okay?”

“I am only a sentinel. Anyone who comes with you Luinil is most welcomed to pass,” replied Thônel as she stretched her limbs out signaling them to pass.

“Thanks,” said Buffy. She grabbed Luthor’s hand as they passed through the mystical barrier. The passageway was completely dark and unlike last time, Buffy’s body didn’t do that glow thing. Instead, Luthor pulled out his scepter and a soft light radiated from the clear stone that was mounted in it. “That’s a handy little doohickey,” Buffy remarked as they started down the tunnel.

“This is amazing,” said a mesmerized Luthor as he turned and saw that they were totally enclosed in the hidden chamber. “Melkor will surely not find us here. You have done well my friend.”

“At least I’m good for something,” she answered with a sigh.

“Do not be so hard on yourself Inanna. All things must come to past whether they be good or not. And my heart tells me that you will do much good yet.” Buffy didn’t find his comments reassuring. She had spent the last several weeks lost in her thoughts. She felt like she was torn in two. Her time with Morgoth seemed to be a dream yet it was not so. And in time, she would have to deal with the consequences of her actions. She knew that. But deep down she was so confused. Confused about who she was and what the hell she was doing. She missed Mablung so much but now she didn’t even know if she would ever see him again. What the hell could she possibly say? He would definitely want to know where she’d been. All that inner turmoil that was going on in the confines of her mind gave her one hell of a splitting headache.

When they reached the cavernous inner sanctum the temperature seemed to be quite colder than the passageway itself. “It’s freezing in here,” Buffy commented as she rubbed her arms trying to keep warm.

“That can be remedied easily enough,” replied Luthor. “We can build a fire. All we need is some wood…”

“Don’t even think about hacking on Thônel or the other trees,” commanded Buffy. “If there’s no dry wood on the ground…we’ll just suffer.” She began rummaging through the many sacks they had in their possession. “I think Sauron put a couple of fur cloaks in one of these…ah, here we go,” she said as she pulled them from one of the bags. They only decent thing that Sauron gave them besides a pot for boiling water and cooking. He screwed them over with his ‘provisions’ and Buffy wouldn’t forget it.

They put the cloaks on but Luthor was determined to find some wood. He wanted a fire pretty bad. “I will see if I can find some wood. I will not harm the Shepherds…”

“I told you don’t cut any tree. Don’t even pull off a piece of bark. I’m not in the mood to argue with you Luthor.”

“Fine, fine,” he said surly. “I will not touch any of those trees. Does that not make you joyful?”

“No,” she spat out as he turned down the passageway once again. “Nothing ever will,” she mumbled to herself. The chamber fell into darkness as soon as Luthor turned a corner. Buffy was left alone. She could hear the gentle dripping of water but other than that, it was completely quiet.
She remembered the last time she was here and was told by the ‘voice’ that this was a holding chamber. Buffy thought it was probably meant for her. All those things she’s done. Maybe that’s what her destiny was. To confine herself in this tomb-like fortress so she couldn’t cause any more harm in the world. But it was too late for that. She had already wrought evil in more ways than she could ever have imagined. Was she to leave the elves to suffer horribly by the beasts she helped create? No, she thought to herself. I made them or helped make them so it’s up to me to destroy them…even Illyria. God, she hated her life right now.

Buffy was lost in her thoughts and didn’t notice when Luthor returned carrying an armful of dried wood. After a few minutes he had ignited the kindling into a blazing fire. It felt so good to feel such warmth. “I am going to see if I can find more wood. This will not last through the night.” And he disappeared for a second time.

Buffy resumed her thoughts of self degradation. It was times like these when death seemed justified. Even hers. But that wasn’t how Buffy normally thought or felt. While she felt a certain amount of safety in this place, she still recoiled at the thought that Morgoth could enter her mind at will or even worse…transport her back to his Iron Prison. And it seemed obvious to her that the Powers didn’t give a damn. Why would they allow him to do those things to her? Or the things she’s done with him? That Vala, Ulmo had said he would not forsake her but it appeared that he had done just that. She was in desperate need of aid and counsel yet none of the Powers seemed willing to help her. They had forsaken her. She failed at her quest. She didn’t know what to think or what to believe anymore. Her eyes welled with tears as she began to sing a song that reflected her current state of mind.

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm; he came around like he was dignified.
He showed me what it was to cry.
Well you couldn’t be that man I adored
Your don’t seem to know, don’t seem to care
What your heart is for.
But I don’t know him anymore
There’s nothing where he used to lie
My conversation has run dry.
That’s what’s going on, nothing’s fine
I’m torn.

I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed lying naked on the floor.
Illusion never changed into something real,
I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn.
You’re a little late, I’m already torn.

So I guess the fortune teller’s right.
Should have seen just what was there and not some holy light.
To crawl beneath my vein and now I don’t care,
I have no luck; I don’t miss it all that much.
There’s just so many things that I can’t touch,
I’m torn.

I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed lying naked on the floor.
Illusion never changed into something real
I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn.
You’re a little late, I’m already torn.
Torn.

There’s nothing where he used to lie
My inspiration has run dry,
That’s what’s going on, nothing’s right, I’m torn.
I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel
I’m cold and I am shamed lying naked on the floor.
Illusion never changed into something real
I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn.
I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel
I’m cold and I’m ashamed bound and broken on the floor.
You’re a little late, I’m already torn.
Torn. *

The chamber fell silent after she sang that song except for the sound of her own sobbing. She felt so sad and that song made her even sadder. Unbeknownst to the Slayer, Luthor had returned while she was singing and that tune touched him deeply. Tears streamed down his own face because he understood her pain, her sorrow and her confusion. And she was still oblivious to so many things in this world including her own true identity. Luthor wrestled with his own inner demons as well. He decided that the time had now come to reveal to her things that may help ease her pain and heartache. The only way for Buffy to find healing was to confront and defeat the demons that haunted her. It was time to reveal her hidden past.




*lyrics by Natalie Imbruglia.


Chapter 16 - THE REAL ME

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE REAL ME



Luthor stood there for a few moments listening to the whimpering sounds of the Slayer. He too had become overwhelmed with emotion by watching and listening to her but he had to compose himself. If the Slayer is weak, than he must be strong. It would be no good if they both fell into darkness. He had to find a way to bring her back…to inflame the fire within her. That poor child has been walking around in the dark for far too long, he thought. And now it sounded like she had given up – that she had lost all faith and hope. He took a deep breath before saying, “I am back, Inanna, and I have found many faggots with the aid of the Shepherds.”

“What?” asked a confused Slayer. “Faggots?” Buffy didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Surely he wasn’t gay, not that there was anything wrong with it, but to announce that he had brought back ‘faggots’. Something didn’t sound right.

“The wood,” he replied, unaware of her confusion. “The Shepherds helped me locate some dried wood.”

That misinterpretation actually put a smile on the Slayer’s face for the first time in quite a few months. Buffy always found it amusing when she heard words in Middle-earth that had a very different connotation back home. This was yet another perfect example. “Oh, okay. Now that makes sense to me,” she said as she wiped the tears from her face.

Luthor stacked the wood in a neat pile. He wiped his hands on his breeches and took a seat next to her. “I am sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?” she asked as she stared at the flickering flames of the fire.

“For your pain…the hardships that you must endure.” He faced her. “No good will come from being consumed by grief. You must deal with your feelings and move on.”

“How?” she asked as her eyes began to well with tears again. “How can you expect me to do that after all that I’ve done…That thing. I gave birth to a blue demony thing!”

“I know. But you must bear in mind that your will was not your own. Melkor controlled your thoughts and actions, but no more. I will help you there, my friend. You need to remember that you are not alone here…”

“See, that’s what you don’t understand,” said the Slayer as she got to her feet. “I am alone. I’m always alone.” She began pacing. “I don’t know what to think any more…I don’t know who I am any more. I’ve been led astray and I can’t…”

Luthor got to his feet and grabbed Buffy by her shoulders. “Do not say ‘can’t’ when you actually mean ‘won’t’. And you are not alone, you have me.”

“Oh great,” she laughed as the tears spilled from her eyes. “Yeah, I get one of Morgoth’s head honchos from Hell. I guess I deserve that since that’s where I’m gonna end up!” She looked into Luthor’s eyes. “You’re only here to save your own ass. You’re a traitor and when Morgoth finds out, you’re a goner!”

Luthor was taken aback by her words. He found them very hurtful. “Is that what you think?” he asked in a soft voice. “You think that I am here to save my own skin…”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

He let go of her and walked back to the fire and sat down. Buffy felt horrible after she said that. She was angry with herself, not Luthor, but she couldn’t help it. Right now, she hated herself more than anybody else. “I’m sorry Luthor,” she said between sobs. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I’m losing it. And I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”

“Come,” he said as he patted the ground. “Sit with me.” A blubbering Buffy sat beside him. Luthor found himself in a most unusual predicament. He had spent many years dwelling in the fortress of the Dark Lord and had never encountered a situation like this before. Crying was not an option in Angband unless one is the victim of cruel torments and now here was Inanna, sobbing in a most unpleasant fashion. He was unsure of what to do. He didn’t understand how to comfort and reassure her, to let her know that all would be all right in the end. He awkwardly put his arm around her and she in turn leaned against his chest continuing her sobbing. Luthor found this moment of ‘affection’ strange and slightly unnerving. But he let her cry it out, even though his tunic was quickly becoming wetter and wetter.

Luthor wished that he knew a song that offered her hope but he knew of none. He was great with spells of enchantment or the making of magical elixirs but not with writing songs that offered inspiration and strength. The only songs he could come up with were ones that would trouble the Slayer even more. When it seemed like the Slayer cried all the tears she could, he asked, “Is there not anything that I can do to ease your pain? Perhaps a tonic…”

“What good would a tonic do? It’ll only put off the inevitable for so long,” she replied. Buffy attempted to regain her self-control. She sat upright and wiped her face on the sleeve of her cloak. “I’ve got to deal with this and move on. I know that, but it’s not easy.”

Luthor smiled at those words. “That is a most excellent suggestion, Inanna. I could not agree with you more. So here we are…” he remarked as the chamber fell silent except for the sound of the tinkling water and the occasional pop from the fire. “There are several issues that need to be dealt with, Inanna,” he said after several minutes. “I know how very painful things are for you. Getting your will back after such a horrible…ordeal can be overwhelming…”

She leaned against his frame. “Am I fixable?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I think there is hope for you yet…Things will get better…”

“I’m a freak!” Buffy said as she continued to stare into the fire.

“A freak?” queried Luthor. Buffy told him what it meant. “If that is the case, then I would like to be a freak as well. And I must tell you, Inanna, you have lost quite a bit of weight. The journey has been well for you.” Buffy had walked off nearly half of her post-pregnancy weight but still had a way to go.

“Yeah,” she replied somberly. “Only thirty more to go.” And once again, the chamber fell silent.

“Perhaps I should tell you a tale…” he suggested.

“I’m not really in the mood for a story. Not right now, anyway,” she said.

“Then what shall we do?” he asked. Buffy shrugged her shoulders. Luthor continued, “Perhaps you would like to hear my tale after all…it may have answers for the questions you have been searching for.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Well, like who you are…what you are…your past. I would think that you would be interested in such things.”

“I know who I used to be, I just don’t know who I am anymore,” she replied. She wasn’t in the mood to be teased with information again.

“Your true name is Maranwë. Did you know that?”

Buffy shifted her position and looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you. That is your true name – Maranwë. It’s quite lovely really. At least, I think so.”

Buffy said the name out loud a couple of times. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I suppose not. I know much about you…Maranwë. I would have thought that you would desire to know about your origins and why Melkor chose you…”

“Are you jesting with me?” she inquired apprehensively.

“I jest you not. I know more about you than you do,” his tone was quite serious.

“Okay, so tell me something I don’t know,” she remarked.

“Very well. You are a Vala of…”

“What?!” she exclaimed, stopping him mid-sentence.

“You do not need to speak so loudly!” He chastised. “I may resemble an old man but I am not deaf…and yes, I said you are a Vala.”

“You’re just saying that…you’re trying to make me feel better,” she grumbled.

“That is not true. Not all that I will tell you will be pleasant to your ears. Some of it is quite unpleasant. Would you like for me to continue?”

“Continue away,” responded an attentive and disbelieving Slayer.

“Long ago, before the world was wrought, there lived the Ainur. I know that you are aware that the Ainur are comprised of the Valar and the Maiar. You, my friend, are the youngest sister of the Fëanturi; Námo and Irmo. You also have an older sister named Nienna, the Lady of mourning and pity.”

“Seems appropriate,” commented Buffy. “Luthor, if what you’re telling me is true, why do I have no memories of any of it? I’ve spent a lot of time with Melian and she’s told me lots of stories about the Valar, but I’ve never heard her mention anyone by the name of Maranwë.” Buffy was slightly intrigued by the notion but found it too far-fetched.

“Did Melian tell you tales of the Valar who did not descend into Eä?” he asked. Before Buffy could respond, he continued, “I doubt that she did. Most of the Ainur did not enter this world, choosing instead to dwell in the Timeless Halls with Eru…You were one of them. Why you are here now? I do not truly know, but you did not enter Eä at the same time as the rest of us. Only one has come since the beginning, other than you – Tulkas. And I do not doubt that Melian has told you many tales of his deeds of valor! It was Tulkas who captured Melkor and hauled him back to Valinor after the Battle of the Powers. He is the so called champion of the Valar, yet Melkor was still able to escape his confinement. Tulkas may have great strength but he is rather dim and a true champion must possess both strength and wisdom. And now you are here! That is not mere chance. You are supposed to be here,” Luthor said excitedly. “What Tulkas lacks, you possess.”

Buffy didn’t believe a word of it. How could she? “Okay, so if what your saying is true, why now? Why am I here now at this particular moment in time? And without any memories or super powers?” She paused. “Alright, I may have some powers, but you know what I mean. Super duper powers.”

“I can only speculate as I do not know the will of Eru,” he continued in a somber tone. “I believe that you were sent here to take Melkor down…to assist in thwarting his upcoming reign of terror.” He lowered his voice, “You have not truly witnessed what Melkor is capable of doing. You have only seen a small portion of his armies. He has been breeding creatures for thousands and thousands of years and he continues to do so this very day. He will crush all who stand in his way. The Dark Lord sits in his Iron Prison seething over the Lordship of Arda passing to Manwë. And now he speaks of the humiliation he had to endure, cowering at the feet of Manwë, praying for pardon.” He shook his head and resumed his normal speaking voice. “No. The Dark Lord does not forget. His imprint will forever be left on Eä.

“So one must assume that is why the timing is now. If I recollect correctly, you entered Eä the same time Melkor was released from Mandos – eight years have passed since that time. I am sorry to disappoint you, Inanna…uh…er, Maranwë…which name do you prefer I call you?” Luthor asked.

Buffy thought for a moment. “Bellaseth. Or Bella. That’s what I wanna be called.”

Luthor smiled, “Yes. Of course. Bella.”

“Did I hate my brothers and sister?” asked Buffy casually. She still wasn’t buying it but she was still curious all the same.

“Hate them? Why would you ask that?” he asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Because there had to be some reason why I didn’t enter Eä with them. My guess is because I didn’t like them…or they didn’t like me, why else would I not join my family?” Buffy thought that made sense.

“There are other possibilities,” said a grim faced Luthor. He fell silent which definitely peaked Buffy’s interest.

“Such as?” she finally questioned.

“Well…” he replied and then fell quiet again.

“C’mon Luthor, there’s no need to beat around the bush. Just spit it out. I’m actually interested in what you have to say.”

He looked at her and then back at the fire while nervously chewing his bottom lip. Finally he said, “You must understand Bellaseth that what I am about to tell you transpired thousands and thousands of years ago. It is long in the past. So please remember that.” He took a deep breath and then said, “Your fate is intertwined with that of Melkor whether you like it or not. It has been that way for many years now.”

“I don’t understand,” commented the Slayer.

He sighed heavily. “You soon will. Let me first tell you of Melkor and his quest for the Imperishable Light, something that he has longed for since the beginning. He searched far and wide for it. He wanted to claim it as his own for he is a being of darkness yet he desires the beauty and power of light. He would take it for himself if given the chance.”

“I thought that the Light was the essence of Eru.”

“It is,” responded Luthor. “That is why Melkor will never gain possession of it. So he sought out the next brightest light he could find…and that was you, Bellaseth. Your essence is blinding and full of love, so much so that all who seek love and comfort are drawn to you. Melkor was no exception. He was your first…”

“My first?” she questioned. “My first what?”

“Your first love.”

“No way.” Even though Buffy expressed doubt, she knew that it made sense. That would explain those feelings of familiarity she experienced when in Morgoth’s presence.

“I am afraid so. As Melkor is drawn to the light, you are drawn to the darkness. I cannot wholly explain that, but it is true. In those days you sought out the darkest places you could find and it was while exploring those desolate regions that you met and fell in love with Melkor…”

“We were lovers?” asked Buffy.

“Oh, yes. Of course, you were not embodied at that time. One demonstrated one’s love by combining one’s essence with another. That union increased the powers of both fey’s. Melkor desired to harness the power that you possessed. You see my dear Bellaseth, you have the ability to draw those to you by your love. And Melkor used that to entice others to folly. I am accounted among those who were beguiled by both you and he during the Great Music. Together, we all played our part in the marring of Ea.”

While Buffy was finding this tale rather remarkable, she also found that it struck a cord deep inside. And for some reason the words of Dracula came back to her, ‘Your powers are rooted in darkness.’ And now Luthor was telling her that she had helped Morgoth mar this world. Too much had happened to her to disregard Luthor’s words altogether. But then again, if she loved Morgoth, even a little, why didn’t she enter Ea with him? She asked Luthor that very question.

“Well, I did say that not all of the tale would be unpleasant.” He smiled kindly and then chuckled. “I recall that time all too clearly…especially when your heart turned from Melkor.” Buffy raised her eyebrows questionably. “Oh yes,” he said responding to her look. “I believe the words Melkor used were, ‘Maranwë possesses a fickle heart,’ because your heart did turn to another…Ulmo.”

“What?” asked an astonished Buffy.

“You heard me. For whatever reasons, you turned from Melkor to Ulmo. I would deem that it had to do with Melkor’s long absences. Often he would stray to faraway places in search of the Imperishable Light even after he had bound himself with you. His lust for more has never ceased…” He watched as the Slayer’s gaze returned to the fire. He sensed that she did not believe what he was telling her, but he knew by the end of this night, she would. “I know what you are thinking, Bellaseth, and no, you are not evil. Melkor is cunning and his ability to speak words of adoration and flattery are…”

“Did I love him?” she asked faintly.

“I believe you did…as I believe a part of you still does, and always will.” Buffy shuddered at the thought. “I also believe that Melkor has loved only one beside himself…and that is you, Bellaseth. Your bond will last forever no matter what barriers separate you. One is always bound to their first love. It is no different for the Ainur.”

“What do you mean by ‘bound’?” asked Buffy.

Luthor stood up and pulled a vial from the pocket of his breeches. “You are connected,” he stated as he poured a drop of some type of liquid into the fire. The flames flickered from bright white to blue and then to white again. The entire chamber was brightly lit. “You bear his mark,” Luthor said.

“That hammer thingy?” queried Buffy as she turned her head in an attempt to shield her eyes from the light.

“That is no hammer!” stated Luthor as the light began to dim. “That is a mace.”

“It’s the same thing, more or less.”

Luthor laughed. The room continued to glow with that same white light but with less intensity. “That is like calling your scythe an axe!”

“What do you know about my scythe?” asked Buffy. She had never told him about it.

“I have seen everything about you, Bellaseth. That is, everything about Buffy Summers, the Chosen One.” He waved his hand over the fire and then a vision appeared in the hall. It was Buffy, but back in ‘modern times’ – her past. It was like watching a home movie, sound and all that recorded every minute detail of her life. She was mortified that things she would never have shared with anybody were now being played out before her and Luthor. He held up the vial. “This contains your blood. It has very powerful properties.” Before Buffy could ask him when and why he acquired it, he continued, “While in Angband, I had access to you. I had to delve further. I needed to confirm who you truly were and I have learned a great deal about you since I retrieved this.” He shook the vial. “I can only see what has happened to you since you entered Eä, so it does not show things that have happened prior to you taking on this human form you now possess…My intensions were not malicious, I only wished to see that Melkor was correct in his assessment…that you were indeed Maranwë.”

Buffy shook her head as she watched the trials of her previous life unfold before her eyes. “This is insanity,” she snapped. “I know what happened in my past. That doesn’t prove that I’m this Maranwë you claim I am…” She was referring to the picture show of her life that was still on display.

“Oh, that is where you are wrong, dear child,” he replied. “The lineage of the Slayer begins and ends with you. Melkor has told you that he is both the First and the Last, the same applies to you…”

“But there are hundreds of Slayers now,” she declared.

“And who acknowledges them as The Slayer? None. They are recognized as a Slayer, but not The Slayer. You can have thousands or hundreds of thousands of Slayers, yet all those with real power, they will look to you as the One and Only Slayer. You are the First and the Last - just like Melkor. Your fates are intertwined with the world.” Luthor shoved the vial back into his pocket and sat directly across from the Slayer. He took her hands in his. “No one knows Melkor’s mind as you do.” The images that continued to play now revealed things that transpired while she was in Angband. Buffy watched as Melkor revealed his innermost thoughts and secrets to her while she was under his spell of bewitchment. “He has shared things with you that he has shared with no other, including his most trusted servants. Even now, in this time and place, he still confided in you. The only difference is that you were not a willing participant this go around. Those things that he disclosed to you must be used against him…to foil his evil plans. That, my child, is what I think your true purpose is.”

Luthor looked at Buffy with a knowing smile. This was just too much for her to take in at one time. “I’m sorry Luthor, I’m pretty overwhelmed right now.” She continued watching her life. “Stop it…please,” she pleaded. She no longer wished to see her life flashing before her eyes whether it be past or present. With a wave of his hand, the image disappeared. The chamber was still glowing with that white light although it was no longer blinding. “Thanks,” she finally said.

“Do you believe me?” Luthor asked through peering eyes.

“I don’t know,” she replied. She sat there quietly for several minutes before saying, “I’m really sorry I was bitchy before. I didn’t mean those things I said earlier. I’m glad you’re with me. I really need a friend right now.”

“Do not concern yourself with apologies Bella. You have endured many hardships in the past year. In fact, I believe that you are holding up rather well, considering everything that has come to pass.” Luthor then fell silent.

Buffy sat there staring into the fire. Luthor changed his position and now sat beside the Slayer. So many thoughts were going through Buffy’s mind. Could she really be one of the Valar? For some reason she remembered the words of Ulmo warning her to ‘expect the unexpected’ in her dream the night before she came here via the Hellmouth. Even if she expected the unexpected, she would never have expected what she actually got! Maybe Luthor’s story had some validity to it after all. It was Salmar, a servant of Ulmo that taught Buffy the art of astral projection. And Luthor’s story only echoed what Salmar had told her years earlier.

She now understood the significance of the words that haunted her for all these years, ‘you think you know, what’s to come, what you are…you haven’t even begun yet…’ It was true. She was one of the Powers, a Vala. It was like all the pieces of a puzzle coming together and Buffy was seeing the picture for the first time. It made sense to her now. She had so many dreams and visions over the years that suggested that she was more than just your average Slayer. Besides that, how many people, both good and bad, had alluded that she was something more? And after everything that she had been through in the past year, it only confirmed that notion. But she was still clueless on why she had no memory of her distant past. Her memories only went back to her life as Buffy, nothing more. It was obvious that some greater power didn’t want her to know about it. Not yet, any way. But why? “I believe you Luthor,” she said breaking the long silence.

“Yes,” he nodded his head. “I knew you would.”

“That doesn’t mean that I understand what’s really going on here. Melian had told me that there was a veil of concealment about me. Why do you think that is? What don’t I remember any of it?”

“Alas, I do not have the answer to that riddle. Perhaps things will reveal themselves…in time.” He replied.

“How I hate those two little words,” grumbled Buffy. “In time. That should be my motto or something.”

“You have heard that before I take it?” he questioned.

“Like a million times,” responded the Slayer. “It’s weird, ya know. For so long I wanted to know who I really was…I kinda thought I was a Maia like you and Melian. Never would I have imagined that I was a Vala. It’s so surreal.”

“You know Bellaseth, you must keep your identity a secret. You cannot divulge your true nature to any including Melian. It is imperative that you do that,” Luthor instructed. “For whatever reasons, the Valar do not want anyone to know that you are here. We must conceal that from all the peoples of Middle-earth.”

“But Morgoth knows,” she stated. “He knows who I am.”

“Indeed he does. And we shall see how that bit of knowledge unfolds in days to come. Promise me that you will keep that secret to yourself. Do not tell a living soul about who you really are. We must honor the will of the Valar, whether we understand it or not.”

“That’s fine by me. I don’t think anyone would believe me any way.”

“Do not be so sure of that. I deem that any who heard your tale would most certainly believe. There may be days to come where you do not have the bliss of anonymity.” Luthor started chewing his bottom lip, again. “We must get to work, there is still much more to do. We have to get you back into fighting shape first and foremost. Are you ready for that?”

“I was born ready,” replied the Slayer.

“Good. Then let us get to work!” Luthor ordered. And so began Buffy’s training. Her regimen was a mixture of martial arts, meditation and backbreaking labor. She and Luthor discovered several other passageways other than the main one at the entrance. That led to the idea of them constructing some type of living quarters within that stronghold. Ergo the back breaking labor! Buffy thought that Luthor was taking advantage of her by having her do all the heavy lifting of large rocks that needed to be removed, but he swore it was just part of building back her muscle mass.

It was several weeks later after one of those strenuous workouts when Buffy collapsed into a fitful sleep and experienced her first ‘weird’ dream since departing the Black Lands after giving birth to Illyria. Buffy found herself at The Bronze, the local hang out in Sunnydale that had long ago been sucked into Hell. The place was packed with mortal people as well as elves and dwarves. That was strange enough as normally one might find vampires or an occasional demon at that haunt. All of the patrons were clad in white robes except for the Slayer who was dressed in black leather pants and a white turtle neck sweater.

Buffy maneuvered through the throng of people and noticed that they were separated by race. The dwarves were congregated around a seating area in a far corner examining and swapping various pieces of jewelry while downing large quantities of beer. On the opposite side of the room there was a cluster of mortals (both male and female) acting, well, like mortals. There was a lot of playful flirting and teasing going on from what Buffy could see. It appeared as if they were having a good time. And the dance floor was full of elves. She found it quite amusing to watch them dirty dancing to the tunes of ‘modern’ music. The Slayer only recognized a handful of elves and no one else. She assumed that it was too crowded to see properly, so she climbed up the stairs to the loft.

The loft was deserted except for nine men who were dressed from head to toe in black. Buffy didn’t give them a second thought as she walked over to the balcony to watch the partying below. There was no live band and several of the mortals were now dancing wildly on the stage to Prince’s When Doves Cry. Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle to herself, she found the whole scenario quite comical, to say the least.

As Buffy stood there, she had an eerie feeling that someone was watching her…intently. The Police song Every Breath You Take started blaring through the house speakers. Slowly Buffy turned around and came face to face with none other than Morgoth himself. He stood maybe ten feet away from her. “Finally, I have found you,” he said as he took several steps toward her. As he moved closer, the Slayer stepped backwards until her body made contact with the balcony railing. “Why do recoil before me?” he questioned.

“What do you want?” she asked as she mustered her courage.

Morgoth’s facade was that of the handsome variety not the demony one. “I have come to bring you home…home to your family. Illyria is in need of her mother…”

“You have one hell of a nerve,” she retorted. “You think you can waltz in here and woo me back after everything you’ve done? You bewitched me. You made me a puppet. But guess what? I’m not under your thrall any more.” She took a few steps forward. “You’re going down, lover, and I’m gonna be the bane of your existence!”

Morgoth’s face grew stern. “I see you have been listening to the tainted wisdom of Luthor.” He shook his head. “You think that you can trust him? He is nothing more than a traitorous fool. You will see that before the end. Your fate is tied to mine, my dear Melisse. Whatever befalls me, will in turn befall you, remember that. I am always watching.” He walked over to the railing and peered down at the people below. “One by one they will fall…and by my hands no less. These parasites that you count as your allies will perish. All of them.” He rested his arms on the topmost bar. Buffy turned and looked at the crowd below. All lay dead, covered in blood. Their bodies twisted into grotesque shapes.

His lips curled into a sinister smile. “It is as I told you before Melisse, if you are not with me then you are against me. I will see to it that your life is full of sorrow and pain. You will watch all those you claim to love wither before your very eyes. Is that what you want?” He turned to her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “It does not have to be that way.”

“Bullshit!” Buffy replied in a contemptuous tone. “I know you, Melkor Bauglir. You have no intentions on stopping the spread of your malice. It’s what you do…”

“And what is it you do…Maranwë?” Buffy was stunned that he used that name. “Oh yes,” he continued. “I am aware of your true identity, and I see that you are as well.” He moved in closer, whispering in her ear, “You have brought evil into this world as much as I have. In fact, you have done things that I had not given thought to before. The portals. Do you remember breaking through those dimensional barriers so that our children could escape if need be?” Buffy’s heart sank. She did recall that. The Hellmouths were a feat that they accomplished together during the latter days of her stint in Angband. “One hundred and forty-four of those things you call ‘Hellmouths’ now exist in this plane. Oh yes, my dear Maranwë, you do possess remarkable talents. I knew that from day one. That is why I bound myself to you. You are everything I ever dreamt of.”

Buffy continued to look at the carnage below. “Then I’ll fight to undo what I did. It wasn’t my will that brought those things about, it was yours.”

“See, that is where you are wrong. The yrch, trolls and balrogs were my design. These new creatures that you’ve brought about came by your will, not mine. I could never conceive of beings with such…power as the ones that you have fashioned. And they will unleash their cruel torments on all the children of Eru…and nothing will please me more.”

“I’ll kill them,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll kill every last one…”

Morgoth laughed wholeheartedly at that comment. “Will you now? I do not foresee that, Melisse. Say what you will in order to convince yourself that your undertaking was less than mine. Without you, these new breed of demons would not exist. Dwell on that…lover.”

“You will fall and I’ll be there when it happens,” she scoffed.

His smile widened. “I would not have it any other way, Melisse, I would not have it any other way.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Until we meet again, and I assure you, we will.” He turned and descended down the stairway followed by the nine cloaked men. She could hear Morgoth singing along with the song, “…every vow you break, every smile you fake, every claim you stake, I’ll be watching you…*” the music ended as soon as Morgoth left the building.

“Well done,” Buffy heard Luthor say as he approached. “You handled yourself well.”

Buffy was surprised to see Luthor in her dream. “How did you…I mean, are you really here?”

“Let us see,” he pinched Buffy on the arm and she winced. “Apparently so.”

Buffy rubbed her arm vigorously. “There was no need to pinch, Luthor. That hurt.”

“Forgive me,” he smiled. “You did very well against Melkor. Very well indeed.”

“It’s true isn’t it? About the Hellmouths?” she asked.

“It is. But it is as you said, you will right the errors of your past. It is not all your fault, but it was your strength that brought all those horrible things into being. Together, we will destroy them one by one.”

“What about them?” Buffy asked, referring to the dead people below.

“It is only a dream,” he replied. “Melkor willed their deaths and it happened. Will them alive and they shall be.”

Buffy closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, all the people had once again resumed what they were doing before the arrival of Morgoth. That made her happy once again.

“Come,” said Luthor. “Show me Sunnydale as it was before it was sucked into Hell. I am most anxious to explore the town where the Slayer was nurtured in the days of her youth.”

They headed down the stairs. “I can show you my house and…oh god, Luthor, let’s go to Starbucks! Even if this is only a dream, a latte would really hit the spot right now…” They talked happily together as they crossed the floor of the club. Buffy felt someone watching her. She looked over her shoulder before they left through the front entrance and saw a handsome, dark haired elf watching her closely. Buffy’s heart fluttered as their eyes locked. She smiled shyly before exiting The Bronze with Luthor.



*lyrics by Sting.


Chapter 17 - THE GIFT

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE GIFT



Buffy awoke from her blissful dream and immediately sought out Luthor. She really enjoyed the visit to Sunnydale (in spite of the encounter with Morgoth) and she still had the aftertaste of coffee in her mouth. She found Luthor in one of the chambers mending some of her clothing. Buffy had lost all the weight she had gained and her physique was better than ever, thanks to those strenuous workouts. She was now more muscular and shapely, so most of her stuff had to be altered. And that’s something that Luthor didn’t mind doing at all. “That was awesome,” she said as she entered the chamber. “I really had a blast last night.”

Luthor looked up at her. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable. I look forward to the future with more anticipation than ever before. I do have a better understanding for the strange garments you wear. I would never have thought that dresses could be so short!”

Buffy laughed. “Better not take you to any nude beaches, then.” Luthor’s jaw dropped open.

“Nude beaches?” he questioned excitedly.

“Calm down, pops!” replied the Slayer teasingly. “I’ve actually got some news to tell you.” He stopped what he was doing and gave Buffy his full attention. “After our little trip I actually heard that voice in my head again. You know the one I heard when I first came here. Apparently it’s time for me to meet with this Durin guy. He’s like the king of the dwarves or something…”

“When shall you depart?” he questioned.

“My guess is now…” she answered.

“What did the voice say…exactly?” interrupted Luthor.

“Well, basically it told me to fulfill my duty or something or another. It said the time was drawing near and I needed to get a move on and visit Durin…I’m paraphrasing, of course, but that’s pretty much the gist of it, I think.”

“Hmm,” replied Luthor as he went back to work. “It is terribly cold outside to take such a long journey…I do not think that you should use your powers whilst…”

“Screw that!” she shot back. “I’m not walking anywhere. I can do that disappearing thing pretty well. I figured I’d just teleport my happy ass there via magic. Might as well use it since I have it.”

“You cannot go around Middle-earth displaying your powers on a whim!” He scolded. “You must use caution. Those magicks are a part of who you are. You do not want to reveal your identity too hastily. Eru only knows who may be lurking about.”

“But Luthor,” argued Buffy. “I’m one of the Powers; no one can mess with me.”

“Have we forgotten Melkor already? He is stronger than ALL the other Ainur including you. Do not forget that. And we have not yet witnessed the powers of Illyria. There is no telling what she is capable of…”

“Fine,” replied a sulky Buffy. “And for your information, I haven’t forgotten! I just don’t want to spend the next century walking to the Misty Mountains.”

“Use discretion. That is all I ask.” He resumed his sewing.

“Well, it’s not like I’m gonna go turning dwarves into toads or something…” she said jokingly.

Luthor shook his head as he uttered, “I deem that you have transformed enough…” His tone was severe.

“It was just a joke,” she retorted. “I wasn’t really gonna do anything like that.” She would never forget that she had ‘transformed’ many demons into being while in Angband. Buffy returned to her sleeping chamber and started shoving various garments into a bag. As she pulled on her thick wool coat she noticed that she was dressed entirely in blue. When she had everything she needed, she bid farewell to Luthor and exited their hidden halls.

The weather was atrocious for this time of year. Snow whirled around her as she pulled a blue knitted cap over her head ensuring that at least her ears would remain warm. Her fur-lined boots sank into the deep drifts as she took a few steps away from the doorway. She focused all her brainpower on the Halls of Durin beneath the peaks of the Misty Mountains. And then she vanished in a blink of an eye.

“Shit,” she said through chattering teeth after she reappeared only moments later. Buffy had expected to arrive outside the gates of Durin’s Halls not a couple of miles away. She had no idea what direction she was facing, as the sun was nowhere to be seen. The temperature was frigid and Buffy was happy that it was snow-free. But the dark gray clouds that loomed above her indicated that it was about to rain or snow, Buffy couldn’t tell which. She continued shivering as she surveyed the area. Buffy was in a valley close to the base of the Misty Mountains; its two arms stretched out on either side. As she looked up admirably at those peaks, large drops of rain began to fall from the sky. “Oh great,” she muttered to herself. “Just my luck.”

She wasn’t expecting having to hike, especially uphill, and first thing in the morning. Buffy headed towards a stone road that was only a short distance away. She found that the road had some patches of ice, which made it very slippery. But as the gentle sprinkle turned to a torrential down pour, any evidence of ice soon melted away. After crossing a stone bridge that traversed a dark blue lake, Buffy was nearing her destination. It seemed as if it took forever, but the cold just made it seem that way.

The road ended at the sheer wall of the mountain. Buffy ran a gloved hand along the surface of the wall looking for some type of door. There was no sign of anything. She actually turned and faced the direction she came from, wondering if she had teleported to the wrong place. “But the road…and bridge,” she mumbled to herself. She turned and faced the door, a look of determination on her face. “Open up!” she yelled as she pounded her fist against the wall.

Only moments later a seam in the wall could be seen as the large doors slowly swung open. A door watchman with reddish hair looked at Buffy curiously and asked, “What is it you want, lass?”

Buffy, who was trembling from the cold, replied, “I am here to see Durin, Lord of Khazad-Dûm.” The dwarf looked her up and down. “I’ve traveled far,” she continued when he didn’t invite her in immediately. “And it’s wet and I’m freezing.”

The dwarf shook his head. “Begging your pardon. Come in out of the rain, then.” Buffy entered and the two massive doors slowly closed. A second dwarf sounded a horn with two short notes and one long. The sound bounced from wall to wall. After a few minutes, a similar series of notes came in reply. “This way then,” said the dwarf as he led Buffy from one chamber to the next. She marveled at the size and splendor of Durin’s Halls. It mirrored Menegroth. They climbed down some stairs and then crossed a deep dark abyss by a bridge that was maybe a foot or so wide.

“Wow!” Buffy exclaimed as they were crossing the bridge. “How deep does that go?”

“Several thousand feet,” came the reply. “This is our first line of defense should our doors be breached. Any intruders would find it most challenging to assault us with full force.”

“That’s absolutely brilliant!” remarked the Slayer. The dwarf blushed at the compliment although Buffy didn’t know it.

They passed many dwarves going to and fro and they looked at Buffy with that same ‘curious’ expression that she had encountered when the elves saw her for the first time. Man had not yet been born, so Buffy was a novelty to these people. After nearly fifteen minutes of walking, she was finally led to Durin’s Grand Chamber, the Seventeenth Hall. A large throne constructed from marble sat upon a dais at the opposite side of the room. A single window far above cast a faint light down upon his high seat. On that throne sat Durin Longbeard, high Lord of all the dwarves. He was dressed in white and wore a thick, gold chain around his neck that reminded Buffy of some rapper back in modern times. His dark beard had flecks of gray and was so long that it nearly touched the stone floor. She couldn’t help but smile as she approached his throne.

His face wore no expression, but his eyes, said much. They looked at her keenly and knowingly and soon a smile came upon his face. He stood in greeting and welcomed Buffy to his Halls. As she attempted to introduce herself, he said, “There is no need Lady. I know who you are. You are Luinil…”

Buffy was flabbergasted that he knew one of her names. “How did you know?” she asked.

The dwarf summoned one of his people to bring her a chair. After Buffy sat, he answered, “Long I have slept, Lady. And whist I was sleeping my father, Mahal, spoke in my ear certain words that I have not forgotten:

Not an elf or mortal fair
Watch for the maiden with golden hair.
Called by many, the Lady Luinil,
Dressed in blue from head to heal.
Aid her willing, in time of need,
And forever shall live Durin’s seed.

“And now, here you are, just as it was prophesized long ago.” His smile broadened. “Dressed in blue from head to heal,” he repeated with a chortle as Buffy pulled off her hat. “I take it that you have come seeking my aid then?” He asked as he clasped his hands together on his lap.

“You guess right again. I’m in need of the skill of your kind, actually. I’ve been told there are no better craftsmen in Middle-earth than the Naugrim. In fact, some of your kin from Belegost built me a magnificent home in Beleriand. So, I’m well aware of your people’s skillfulness and endurance. But…” she glanced around and noticed several dwarves still lingering about. “I don’t know if I should say this in front of everybody…” She paused, waiting for Durin’s reaction. He was studying her carefully. When he made no reply, she continued, “Well, I need help building a fortress.” She was reluctant to say any more.

Without hesitation, Durin agreed even though he had not heard Buffy’s entire request. “I will do as you bid for my heart tells me to. I see that our fates are intertwined, Lady,” he said. “And I heed the words of my father. Eager are the Khazâd especially when it comes to matters of craft. We take pleasure in creating works of wonderment, for we are the sons of Mahal, and he is the greatest craftsman of them all…”

Their conversation lasted for several hours. The more she talked with Durin, the more she came to love him (not implying that Buffy had a ‘thing’ for dwarves). Durin thought that it was best for Buffy to remain in his Halls until after winter passed. She agreed. The dwarves were very friendly and treated her well. They even gave her a dwarvish name, Freya, which meant ‘Lady’ in Khuzdul (the secret language of the dwarves).

When the first signs of spring appeared, Buffy spoke with Durin about departing Khazad-Dûm. “The appointed time has come then,” Durin said. “It grieves me to know that you shall be leaving my Halls so soon. Your tales of conquest bewilder me for I deem that you are small for your race. I know that my people are in good hands and that brings me great comfort. Tonight we shall have a feast of farewell and I give you my leave to depart these Halls in the morning. I will announce which members of my Household shall go with you before long.”

Later that evening, at the feast, Durin named the individuals that would be going with her. When he proclaimed that his eldest son would be accounted as one of them, a feeling of dread came over the Slayer. She stopped him at that point and said, “I don’t think it’s wise for your heir to go with me, Durin.” She had a serious air about her as her eyes locked with the dwarf’s.

He sat there for several minutes as a hushed silence fell over the occupants of the Thirty-Third Hall. “They are not coming back,” he said softly as he stared into Buffy’s eyes. “Those whom I have chosen…they will not return to these Halls again. Am I not right?” There were many gasps of shock and murmuring from the dwarves in attendance. Only a handful sat there silently, listening intently and with resolve. One of them was Durin’s youngest son, Dvalin.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. The realization of the magnitude of this mission finally dawned on her. She now understood the importance of the dwarves to the survival of this world. And if they did not go with her, willingly, then the consequences would be horrific. This matter had to be settled one way or another. So of course a major debate ensued. The conclusion they reached was that any who wished to volunteer for this mission would go with Buffy. No one would be coerced into this undertaking. But her hope of enlisting one hundred and forty-four dwarves was crushed; only eighty-nine volunteered, including Dvalin. Durin was not pleased by Dvalin’s decision.

When the meeting was over, many dwarves remained in the Thirty-third Hall celebrating the opportunity afforded them. This would truly be a life-changing mission and those who volunteered instinctively knew that (why else would they volunteer?). It was all about destiny. Others left the chamber seeking out their loved ones for a private moment before their departure the following morning. Buffy noticed that Durin left the chamber with his head hung low. She decided that she would follow him.

Durin wandered out of the Halls and made his way towards the lake. It was a beautiful night. The air was fresh and cool and the quarter moon cast dim shadows about the valley. Buffy found Durin with the hood of his cloak pulled over his face and a large mug of ale in his hand. He was sitting atop the ridge overlooking the pool. All was quiet except for the sounds of the falls nearby. Buffy climbed up to the crest and sat down next to Durin on the soft green grass. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know it’s hard when the little one leaves the nest, but Dvalin will be alright. It’s his destiny, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied after a couple of minutes. “But he is still a young lad and there is much more I would like to teach him.”

“I think Dvalin is a capable young man. You’ve taught him a lot but it’s now time for him realize his true purpose in this world. He can’t do that here.” Buffy glanced at the hooded form of Durin. He took a swig from his mug and belched loudly. “Dvalin’s accomplishments will be amazing and awe-inspiring,” she finally remarked as she stretched her legs out before her. “In fact, his ability for creating extraordinary things will be legendary. None will surpass him, not even you.”

Durin moaned. “I have grown rather fond of you Freya, but now you are taking my youngest son away and insulting me as well.”

“Insulting you?” questioned Buffy. “I did no such thing! I’m merely pointing out that Dvalin will become a legend. Yes, Durin, you will too, but he will achieve more because he is coming with me. There is more in this world than building fine mansions under tall mountains. Or rust free weapons. Those things are great and all, but there’s more to this world than just simple trinkets.” Durin attempted to interrupt Buffy but she wouldn’t let him. “This is a dark world, Durin. And things are only going to get worse in the future, I’m sorry to say.”

“And Dvalin’s purpose, is it to keep evil at bay?” he interjected.

“Sort of,” she answered. “It’s kinda complicated. This fortress is not your every day, run of the mill fortress. It’s a prison. A prison that will house the most vile creatures in Arda. We’re talking something like the Halls of Mandos in Valinor. We’re talking massive. And mystical. Dvalin and everyone involved are gonna have to labor for thousands of years before it’s completed.” Durin turned to her; a look of growing concern on his face. “Building that fortress will be his most important venture. At least, to me.

“So don’t waste your time worrying about him. He will be fine,” she said reassuringly. “It will be Dvalin who keeps your blood-line alive…forever.” Durin’s eyes widened at that remark and he threw the hood of his cloak off his head. “I thought that would get your attention,” she added with a quick smile. “Embrace the world while it has some semblance of peace, because it won’t last long, Durin. The tides have turned and the swells of darkness are coming this way.

“Your people will continue to prosper for quite some time, but unfortunately Arda will evolve faster than dwarves…or elves, for that matter. Your races will diminish and will only be remembered in myths told in tales to children in the End of Days. But Dvalin and those loyal to him…and me will continue to live in peace and tranquility until the breaking of the world.”

“You mean to tell me that Dvalin will…will become immortal…that he will live forever?”

“Yep!” replied Buffy.

“And by whose grace will that be done?” he questioned. Buffy didn’t reply. “You! It is you, is it not?”

Buffy smiled and turned towards the lake. She pressed her index finger to her lips and said, “Shh…”

Durin pulled at his beard and nearly emptied the contents of his mug all over himself. “You…you are one of them, are you not?” he asked in an astonished tone. Buffy looked at him and continued to smile, but she did not say one word. He slapped his knee. “No elf or maiden fair, indeed!” he gleefully remarked. “You are kin to Mahal. I knew it.”

“No one can ever know, Durin. Promise me, that you won’t say a word about this to anyone.”

“You have my word, Freya. I will tell not a living soul including my own sons,” he pledged.

“Good. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you, Durin. And this too must be kept a secret. You are the eldest of the children of Aulë and you are surrendering your son to me. So in return I shall give you a gift.” She grabbed the mug out of his hand. Durin had not spilled the entire contents; about one third of the brew still remained. Buffy sat the cup between her legs as she pulled her knife out of her sheath. “I’m gonna make you an offer. It’s up to you to accept it or reject it. The choice is yours. I cannot grant you immortality for it is not your destiny, but I can make it where you can come back…like the elves. You can be reborn into the world after your body withers from old age.”

“You can do that?” he asked in amazement.

“I sure can. But, there will be consequences. There are always consequences when it comes to using magic. Remember that Durin, because most people don’t read the small print at the bottom of the page.” Buffy closed her eyes and sat quietly for several minutes. Durin sat there, watching her anxiously. He couldn’t believe the things she was saying. But if she could truly bring him back, he’d jump at the chance, regardless of the consequences. “Okay Durin,” she finally said breaking the silence. “Six times I shall allow you to be reborn at various times in this world. Most of these rebirths will take place soon after your first death, but the last…the last will be when your house falls to ruin.”

“My house will fall to ruin?” he queried.

She smiled weakly. “At some point in time, everything will fall to ruin…even Valinor. One gains a better perspective on reality when one is subjected to…the unpleasant things that life has in store for them. How else can you appreciate the good if you don’t experience the bad?”

“Is that the consequence?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “I won’t tell you how or when, but yes, that is the consequence. All good things must come to an end. Weigh your decision carefully because once the spell is cast, there is no undoing it.”

Durin faced the lake once again. They sat there quietly for thirty minutes before Durin replied, “Yes, Freya. I willing accept your offer. But tell me, will I ever see Dvalin again?”

“Not for a long while,” she answered. She placed the tip of the knife on her index finger and punctured a small hole in it. She squeezed her finger as she held it over the cup. Six drops of blood fell into the ale causing it to bubble and froth for a few seconds. When that was completed she sucked on her finger healing it instantly. She swirled the contents around six times and then blew on it. It turned pale blue in color. “Drink up, my friend,” she said as she handed it back to him. “Make sure you drink it all and don’t spill it.”

Durin gulped it down. “It tastes sweeter.”

“That’s because I’m sweet,” she said with a smile.

“That you are,” he said. “But come now. I have a gift for you as well. Let us return to my Halls.” They got up and proceeded back to Khazad-Dûm. Durin led Buffy to his private chambers. She had never been in them before and they were decorated quite magnificently. The Slayer took a seat on one of his couches as he disappeared into another room. He returned moments later carrying a large burlap sack. He placed the bag at Buffy’s feet. “This is for Freya,” he said with a smile.

Buffy excitedly opened the bag and found it full of gray and brown feathers. “Oh, feathers,” she remarked. What the hell was she supposed to do with these? Make hundreds of quills? “How nice,” she said after a stunned moment. “Thanks.”

A sparkle was in Durin’s eyes as he let out a hearty laugh. “This is actually a gift from Mahal, dear Lady. They have been stowed away with me for many years. I was instructed to give it to you whenever you came to my Halls. But I, too, have a gift to give you. I am afraid it is not as glorious as the one you have given me, though.” From his cloak pocket he pulled out a crystal sphere and handed it to Buffy. “I made it myself,” he said proudly.

Buffy looked at it closely. It briefly glowed an amber color before returning to its original clear hue. A huge grin came upon her face. “I know what this is,” she said with enthusiasm. “This is an Orb of Thezula.” She looked up at Durin. “That’s your true name, isn’t it? You’re Thezula! And this is a spirit vault…” Durin never answered but put his finger to his lips and went ‘shh.’ She chuckled as she shook her head. “Now I get that whole, ‘it’s a small world after all’ thingy. Thanks Durin. Something tells me this is gonna come in handy.”

The following morning the party departed shortly after dawn. One thing Buffy would soon discover was that she’s not a very good guide! Their journey should have taken maybe ten or eleven months, but with Buffy in the lead, it took them sixteen months. But many strange things happened upon the road they traveled. Soon after they left Azanulbizar she noticed flocks of birds following them. One morning she awoke to find hundreds of birds perched on the limbs of the oak trees that surrounded them. “What’s with all the pigeons?” she had asked Dvalin.
“Those are no pigeons Freya. Those are doves,” he replied.

These doves confounded Buffy. Whenever anyone tried to approach them, they would quickly fly higher into the treetops. Their cooing became annoying and sometimes she thought the birds understood their conversations. For example: Andvari, the dwarf, made some insulting comments about them and when he awoke the following morning, he was covered in bird droppings from head to toe. It was actually quite amusing, although he didn’t think so.

Buffy attempted to communicate with them several weeks into the trip and had great success. She realized that the birds would make great messengers much like the nightingales of Melian. With that in mind, she sent some to her home in Beleriand to bring words of comfort to Mablung. She knew that he and many other elves had been searching for her since her ‘disappearance’ and she wanted him to know that she was okay. She sent word that she was taking care of ‘Slayer’ business and hopefully she would be home soon. Even with all the trials she had been through recently, she still loved him and missed him terribly. She sent others to Luthor. She wanted to inform him about her imminent return and how many dwarves she had with her. It would be his responsibility to have things ready by the time they got there.

Before long, winter arrived again. The dwarves were hardy travelers, but with the onset of a horrible blizzard, they had no other option than to seek refuge out of the weather. They stumbled upon a cave (nothing remotely like Menegroth or Khazad-Dûm!), but a dank and dark place that at least provided them with relief from the howling storm. This caused quite a delay. They remained housed there throughout the winter.

With the arrival of spring they soon started their journey once again. After two months of hiking they came upon a wandering band of dwarves, singing songs of lamentation. Despite the sorrow of their songs, Dvalin and his people were excited about meeting their kindred from the east. These dwarves were led by one called Brokk who told them that they fled their dwellings beneath Orocarni (The Red Mountains) due to an evil presence that was multiplying in magnitude in that region. “Wicked creatures have crept into our peaceful realm and have started destroying all the fine works of our labor. Things of great beauty now lie broken and twisted by their hands.” He stopped as he caught his breath. Everyone saw how painful this was to him. Many of the Khazâd dwarves pulled on their beards in anger and were eager to return to that Orocarni with their kin and make war with the ominous presence that ousted them from their homes.

“No!” exclaimed Buffy. “We already have a mission to do. We can’t turn away from it no matter how grievous Brokk’s account is. It will be dealt with…in time,” she said. She was kind of shocked that she used the words ‘in time’ but they had to get to the site of the fortress, first and foremost. Luthor was waiting and there was lots of work to do. Buffy studied the newcomers carefully and noticed that their numbers amounted to fifty-five. It became obvious to her that they were destined to meet these dwarves who referred to themselves as the Ironfists. If they joined her group then she would have a total of one hundred and forty-four dwarves, the exact amount that the Voice had requested. “Listen,” Buffy finally said. “Why don’t you guys come with us? We’re on our way… home and you guys are more than welcome to tag along. There’s plenty of room and a lot of work that needs to be done.”

Brokk didn’t seem to be interested although some of his companions were. “We do not know where we are going, Brokk,” stated one of the newcomers. “Let us take the Lady up on her offer. Have we not traveled far enough?”

“You guys didn’t just happen to stumble upon us by chance,” Buffy finally said. “This was meant to be. So what do you say?” Brokk relented and the dwarves of Orocarni merged with the dwarves of Khazad-Dûm.

Six months later, they arrived at the secret entrance of the Hidden Halls. There were many tables laden with utensils and crockery overflowing with vegetables, fruit, cheese, bread, jam and butter. But what got everybody’s mouth watering was the large boar roasting over a pit. It was obvious that Luthor expected them and prepared their first decent meal since they departed Durin’s Halls. Luthor was sitting in an elaborately carved wooden chair at the head of one of the tables. The pine trees that had been here prior to Buffy’s leaving were now gone. A number of small saplings had taken their place. Thônel and the other pine trees were nowhere to be seen. “Tell me Luthor,” said an exhausted Buffy, “that you didn’t kill Thônel and the others…”

He got up from his chair and walked towards the group. “Now, now Bellaseth. Is that any way to greet an old man who has been busy making the necessary preparations, as you requested? Thônel had business elsewhere, and she and the other trees left. Another Shepherd passing by planted these saplings. So no, my dear, I have not killed anything…or anyone.” The dwarves were relieved to hear that he didn’t maim or slay anyone in her absence although they looked at him with suspicion for quite some time afterward. Luthor hugged her in greeting, which she found comforting. It had been a long time since she had even the simplest form of bodily contact with anyone. The dwarves are not really an affectionate people. They’re not touchy feely like the elves or Luthor. “I missed you, Bella, I truly did.”

“I missed you too,” answered Buffy. “I haven’t had much sleep since we’ve been traveling, and let me tell you Luthor, I suck as a guide. I wish you were with us.”

“Yes, I suppose you do. But come now, I have worked diligently on preparing this feast. And that is not one of my specialties.” Luthor noticed their dirty faces and hands and slapped his forehead with his hand. “Oh, I have been quite busy and nearly forgot…” He waved his scepter and several cauldrons filled with clean warm water, materialized along with lots of wash cloths. “Clean yourselves up.”

After refreshing themselves, they all took seats at the well-laden tables. Luthor even supplied them with dozens of flagons of delicious wine and several barrels of ale. Buffy sat next to Luthor instead of at the opposite end of the table. There was much she wanted to tell him. Most of their conversation took place with their minds, so the dwarves wouldn’t be able to hear. Not that they really would, as they became more boisterous as they consumed more and more ale.

“Bella,” Luthor’s voice said in her mind, “You are aware that these dwarves cannot get through the barrier, are you not? They are mortal beings. They will burst into flame if it is attempted. One must have The Gift in order to enable them to pass through those gates.”

“I know,” she replied in like manner. She could feel Luthor’s eyes burning through her as she continued to eat.

“And you intend of giving all of them The Gift?” he asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Every single one,” she replied, still avoiding eye contact and trying to look ‘normal.’

“And you were going to discuss this with me, when?” The ‘slightly’ in his annoyed tone was rapidly fading away.

“So now I’m expected to discuss everything with you? When did that start?” she asked him, in an irritated voice.

“It is common courtesy if you must know. This is our home. Our being defined as ‘yours and mine’. And while you have been off gallivanting with these…these dwarves, I have been busy making this place more appealing and palatable to your tastes. Therefore I am entitled to have final approval when …strangers are brought to dwell within these halls. I am Lord of this domain, Bellaseth Dagnir; it is best that you get use to hearing it now. I will not cower down to any of the lower races.”

“And what will you do if I tell you to?” she asked firmly as her eyes locked with his.

“As you wish, of course,” he replied in contrast to his earlier tone. He picked up his goblet and drained it.

“Listen, I realize we’re living in a…predominately male dominated world. I get that. Actually, I’m use to it. We’ve got a tough road ahead of us. And if you want some title of Lord of whatever, that’s fine. I have no problem with that. But you knew that I was bringing them back with me. I can only assume that you knew that they would be given the Gift in order to carry out the orders of The Powers.

And furthermore, there are some among these dwarves that possess phenomenal skills that will aid us in times to come. I will grant titles of lordship to them whether you agree or disagree. They will be bound to me, not you…I only hope that you’ll some day appreciate the position I’m in and the choices that I’ve made. I’m only doing as I’m instructed.”

“Very well,” he replied. “I hold no ill will toward you. We shall see what happens.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said aloud. “It’s time,” she said to Luthor. He nodded his head. “You’re Lord of this domain. Do you wish to inform the dwarves of our intentions?”

“Yes, thank you,” he answered as he rose from his seat. He picked up his knife and tapped it against his goblet in order to get the attention of the dwarves. “My good dwarves,” he began in a thickly sweet voice. “I welcome you to our Halls and hope that we may get to know each other much better in the coming days. Since it seems that our little celebration is reaching the end, there are some things of great importance that must be discussed before you retire for the night.

“These halls,” he pointed to the entrance, which was obviously invisible, “cannot be entered by any mortals. One must have the blood of the Ainur coursing through their veins in order to go through the barrier.” The rumblings of the dwarves began to escalate. “There is no need to get riled up! I assume that you are well aware that Bella and I are accounted among them…”

“Her name is Freya,” belted out one drunken dwarf.

“What are you saying?” asked many others.

Buffy informed Luthor that she never disclosed that little bit of information to the dwarves – only Durin. “Well, I suppose, now you know. The only way to get through the barrier is by becoming immortal. This is a Gift that Bella has the ability to grant. But it is up to you to decide whether you wish to receive this Gift or not.”

“What exactly does it entail?” asked Dvalin.

“You must ingest her blood.” That shocked nearly every dwarf. This led to a lengthy discussion about the pros and cons of immortality. Once someone received the blood of an Ainur, they are bound to that Ainur, forever. Meaning if they ‘die,’ their fey will travel back to Buffy instead of going to the Halls of Mandos. Both she and Luthor have the ability to remake their flesh anew. That thought actually appealed to all of them. The gift of immortality had never been bequeathed to any of their race. In the end, they were all in agreement.

Unlike Durin, who received six drops of her blood, these dwarves would have to ingest more. Buffy figured an amount equal to a shot glass would suffice. But it could not be mixed with ale, wine or water. It had to be pure and untainted. None would drink the blood of Luthor. It was Buffy’s Gift to give alone. One hundred and forty-four dwarves were a lot, when one looked at it from this perspective. Nevertheless, Buffy slit her wrist and allowed the blood to seep out into a large silver bowl. She felt weak and woozy as her life force drained into the basin. Once full, it was Luthor who healed her wound. She remained in her chair as Luthor doled out the drink of immortality. When the last dwarf consumed his share, the party ended. It was time for bed.

Luthor helped Buffy into the fortress. As they went through the passageways that led to their living quarters, she was amazed at how much work Luthor did while she was gone. The walls were smooth and they now had doors! If she weren’t so exhausted, she would have asked him how he accomplished all of that in such a short amount of time. Instead, he led her to her chamber where she fell into a deep sleep.

Buffy slept for two days. When she awoke, the dwarves were already busy working on the construction phase of the prison. Buffy’s strength had returned and she was in high spirits. After she had eaten, she was approached by fours dwarves: Dvalin, Dain, Duneyr and Durathor. While they had understood the importance of their assignment, (her blood was now coursing through them), certain things they saw more clearly than before. Dvalin spoke to her about the falcon feathers that she had in her possession and what the dwarves desired to do with them. They joined Buffy in her private chambers and locked themselves inside for several weeks. None entered nor did any of them depart during that time. They were busy crafting two very different mystical items. One of them was done predominately by Buffy, while the dwarves worked on the other.

While they were busy with their new project, dissension and jealousy grew among one of the dwarves from Orocarni. This dwarf called Mîm, began to spread lies among the others about what was really going on in the Lady’s private chamber. His rumors were filled with sexual innuendos about Buffy and the dwarves locked in her rooms. When word reached Brokk, he quickly went to Luthor and told him all he had heard.

Luthor was enraged when he heard what Brokk told him. He summoned Mîm to his chambers at once. The dwarf was terrified to find himself in such a plight. Luthor did not allow him the opportunity to explain himself. Instead he called his words blasphemous and he named him a servant of wickedness. “Get what meager belongings you have and be gone from my house. A mark I have put upon you, dwarf, so that all your kindred will shun you until your dying days. I will see to it that the Lady takes away the Gift she so generously gave to you.” Mîm fell to his knees begging forgiveness. “It is too late for you, dwarf. In the end you shall get your just rewards. Be gone!” With that said several other dwarves dragged Mîm out of the fortress and abandoned him outside the gates. He was given some provisions but these were scant. Luthor watched as he headed west. When he felt that Mîm wasn’t moving quickly enough, he sent blasts of flame from his scepter to hasten his pace. Luthor could foresee that Mîm would continue to spread lies about Buffy to any and all that would listen to him. Unfortunately, his deceitful words would become interwoven into myths concerning her in later years.

It was nearly mid-winter when the doors to Buffy’s chamber finally opened and out came the four dwarves, singing a joyful tune. Instead of Buffy, a beautiful grayish brown falcon swooped through the passageways to the chambers of Luthor. Luthor was momentarily stunned when the falcon changed to Buffy before his eyes. “What do you think?” she asked as she modeled her feather coat proudly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“I daresay it is,” he replied as he examined it closely. “What a magnificent device you have wrought!”

“And this.” She showed him an amber necklace that the dwarves had made for her. “The dwarves actually made this,” she said. “It actually contains some of my tears. It’s got powers to make people follow me. Should come in handy in times of war…”

“Perhaps, unless it is the enemy who desires to follow you…” Buffy didn’t care. She absolutely loved these magical items that now belonged to her. She was saddened to hear the news about Mîm, but she thought that Luthor handled the situation justly. She only wished there was some way to take away The Gift from him.

After winter, Buffy announced that she would be returning home for a while. She left Luthor in charge but appointed the four dwarves as lords of their hidden halls as well. Dvalin was given a special title of overlord of all the dwarves. Instead of teleporting, Buffy chose to fly back to Beleriand. She wanted to experience the sensation of soaring through the air in this most unusual form. Nothing would brighten her day more than seeing Mablung once again.


Chapter 18 - NO PLACE LIKE HOME

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: NO PLACE LIKE HOME



It took Buffy only a few weeks to get back home. Flying was definitely much quicker than walking or even riding on horseback. While she had the ability to teleport herself, she really wanted to experience this metamorphosis thing first hand. How many people can actually say that they have a magical coat that has the ability to turn the wearer into a falcon? That’s right, only one - Buffy.

She circled high above her home before deciding to land in the woods on the outer edge of her yard. She didn’t want to ‘change’ in front of any of the elves. At least, not yet. She perched herself high in a tree about four hundred feet from the back of the brick mansion. The sun was already setting and there were a dozen or so elves congregated on the patio. They were engaged in a mixture of lively conversation and song. It had been such a long time since Buffy heard the sweet voices of the elves or the joyfulness of their laughter.

The realization that she had been gone for four years finally set in. So much had happened to her in that time. And the truth of the matter was she didn’t want to disclose any details of what transpired during that time. Not who she really was, or what she had done, or what she had created. Luthor was right. She had to keep her mouth shut about all of it. There were reasons why the Powers chose to keep her past hidden and Buffy knew that it wasn’t time for her to reveal herself to anyone else. Those who knew her true identity were hidden away in the mystical fortress and there was no way anyone from Beleriand would happen across them. And Durin… well, Buffy was certain that he wouldn’t say anything either.

It was obvious that Melkor was her sole threat right now. If anyone could cause her trouble it was he and he was definitely ready, willing and able. There was no doubt about that. As Buffy looked at her own home she recalled that this was where it all started. This is where Morgoth invaded her dreams only to turn them into reality. The thought of going back there scared her shitless. Although she was stronger than when she left, he was still stronger. And since she actually gave birth physically, she also passed some of her powers to Illyria. That alone made her essence weaker.

But what other choice did she have? The thought of remaining in the fortress with only the dwarves and Luthor as companions wasn’t the most thrilling of prospects. Buffy was a woman after all, and she had needs. Needs that could not be fulfilled by any in that company. She longed for a partner, someone she could share her heart, mind, body and soul with and only one man qualified for that – Mablung. That’s why she was here. The time had now come for her to overcome her fears. She wasn’t about to let Melkor drive her from her own home.

In a flash, Buffy resumed her ‘mortal’ form, still sitting in the top most branches of the beech tree. She carefully climbed down until she was about thirty feet from the ground and then she jumped. Instead of walking towards the house, she actually went deeper into the woods. She really didn’t want to be accosted by the elves on the patio. A quiet entrance was all she desired. As she made her way along the west side of the house, she stopped suddenly, looked at the house intently and then disappeared in a blinding light.

Buffy reappeared in her private chambers on the third floor. More specifically, she was in the chamber with her Mirror. She stood about ten feet from the marble basin contemplating whether she should destroy it or let it be. Melkor was able to see her in Melian’s Mirror so there was no doubt that he could probably see her in this one as well. As she continued mulling things over in her head, she heard a voice from behind, “Bella? Is that you?”

Buffy turned and found Úrion standing in the doorway. “Hey Úrion,” she said.

He came quickly into the room and hugged Buffy tightly. That was definitely something that she wasn’t expecting. She and Úrion were not really that close. “I am so glad you are home,” he said as he took a step back and looked her over. “Mablung has been so worried… we have all been worried.”

“Didn’t the doves deliver my message?” she inquired.

“They did but that was two years ago. Where have you been all this time?”

Buffy waved her hand and the chamber door quietly closed. “I’ve been tending to Slayer business,” she replied. “Is Mablung here?”

“No. He is at Menegroth with Thingol and Melian. He only returned there today as a matter of fact. He has spent the last few years searching for you,” answered Úrion.

“You mean he kept looking for me even after he got my message?” asked an astonished Buffy.

“Indeed. He loves you Bella. The thought that you were out there all alone fighting… Eru knows what… He was quite worried. I am sure he will rejoice now that you have arrived home safe and sound.”

“Will you do me a favor?” asked Buffy. Úrion nodded. “Let Mablung know that I have returned.”

“As you wish,” he said as he walked towards the door.

“Oh, by the way, did you guys ever find Randiel?” inquired Buffy.

“No. Randiel was long gone by the time we reached her lair. We searched many weeks but to no avail.” Buffy nodded her head. Úrion opened the door and turned to Buffy and added, “It’s really good to have you back home and… I like your coat.” He smiled and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Buffy recalled the heated exchange that she and Mablung had had before he left in search of Randiel, his former lover. It was their only ‘real’ fight in all these years. She had forgotten about it until a few minutes ago. And now hearing that Mablung had been searching for her all this time, she wondered how Mablung would react when he saw her.

Feeling quite anxious, Buffy made her way to her bedroom. She took off her coat and hid it in some quilts at the back of her closet. She had no idea why she did that, but she did it nevertheless. The room was quiet except for the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. Unable to just sit still, she went to her training room. She wasn’t in the mood to work out even though she was feeling extremely fretful.

She wandered aimlessly around the training room examining various weapons that she had acquired since her arrival in Middle-earth. It was nearly thirty minutes later when she heard the door open. She turned and there in the doorway stood Mablung, his expression seemed grim. He spoke not one word but stared at her keenly. “I guess saying ‘Hi, honey, I’m home’ isn’t really gonna cut it, is it?” she asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Mablung entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Is it really you?” he asked as he walked over to her. “I have prayed for your safe return for so long.” He did not embrace her like Úrion did, which threw her off.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she looked deeply into his green eyes. “I was sent on a mission and well… it took me a while to… ” her words broke off. She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. She looked down at the stone floor.

Mablung came closer and lifted her chin. “I understand,” he said. “I only wish that we had not parted with such angry words. I feared the worst. ” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Oh Bella, I have missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said as they finally embraced.

“Not one day has passed that I have not thought of you. I feared the worst until your messengers arrived. I only wished that you would have sent word sooner.”

He released her from his embrace and held her hands. “I would have if I could. So much has happened… ”

Mablung looked her over. “You look good. What have you been doing all this time?” Buffy didn’t know how to answer that question. She remained silent. “Are you not at liberty to tell me? Do the Valar require that you not share your tales of adventure with me?”

“I’ve been tending to business in the far east,” she found herself saying. “A new power has arisen there… ”

He smiled, “And I am sure that you defeated that villain.”

“No, not yet,” she answered. Oh, my god, she thought. Why am I lying to him? A voice inside her replied, ‘because he can never know the truth. You have no other choice!’ “But I guess I will at some point in time,” she added. Buffy let go of his hands and wandered over to her punching bag. She was terrified that he would be able to see through her. She wanted to change the topic of conversation quickly. “So, Úrion tells me that you’ve just returned to Doriath. I can’t believe you spent all that time looking for me.” She looked up at Mablung, who was now standing on the other side of the bag. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I love you,” he answered. “This is our home and I did not wish to stay here without you.” He moved closer to her. “Everywhere I look, I see you. It was too painful to stay here… I had to at least make an attempt to find you. Even Thingol was concerned by your disappearance,” he said with a slight grin on his face. “I believe that every elf and dwarf in Beleriand has been keeping an eye out for you. How is it that we have not received any word that you have passed through their lands?”

“I am small,” she suggested. “Maybe I just slipped past them unnoticed.”

Mablung let out a hearty laugh, which made Buffy smile. “I am pleased that you have made it home safely. I daresay that calls for a celebratory feast. What do you think?” he asked as he pulled her into his arms again.

“You know me, I can always eat. I’m sure anything will be better than the stuff I’ve been eating lately… ” Buffy didn’t elaborate on that but she did travel as a falcon and well, falcons eat other animals. And she did have to eat.

“Let me inform the cook. He will be delighted to hear that he is cooking for the mistress of the house again,” said Mablung.

“Sounds good to me,” Buffy stated. Mablung went to give her a kiss but she backed away. “I’m kinda stinky and I’d rather clean up before… ”

“I care not,” he said as he pressed his lips against hers. Buffy could feel those butterflies in her stomach again. It reminded her how much she missed Mablung and their life together.

He soon left the room while Buffy returned to their bedchamber. All she could think about was a hot bath. She went into the bathroom and turned on the water as she washed her teeth. She undressed and examined her naked body in the mirror; she couldn’t help but notice that damn mark that Morgoth put on her. “Shit,” she said aloud. There was no way she could hide something so visible from Mablung, or could she? She blew out half the candles in the bathroom so that the room became rather dim.

When the tub was full, she climbed in and submerged herself under the tepid water. The water was not nearly hot enough so she pursed her lips together and blew. The temperature of the water began to rise and the room was soon filled with a steamy haze. As she began washing her hair, she was still trying to figure out how to get rid of the mark of Morgoth. She tried every type of spell she could think of to remove it, but nothing worked. How is it possible that I can create beings out of thin air but I can’t even get rid of that damn mace thingy? She thought. I’m cursed! That’s what that mark is; Morgoth has cursed me.

Buffy had just finished washing when Mablung returned. Much to her surprise he had undressed and climbed in the tub with her. “What are you doing?” she asked as she pulled her legs to her chest.

“I would think that is quite obvious. You are not the only one in need of a bath.” He submerged himself under the water. “Why the sudden modesty? We have bathed together many times.”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s nothing. It’s just… been a while and you caught me off guard.” Buffy offered to wash Mablung’s hair and he accepted without hesitation. He always liked it when she did; he found it very relaxing. After rinsing his hair, she lathered up one of the sponges and began affectionately washing her lover. Mablung’s porcelain white skin glistened in the dim candlelight as Buffy ran the sponge over his magnificent muscular body. She had missed moments like this when she was away from home. This was one of the simple pleasures in life that she sometimes took for granted. They both suddenly became aware of those overwhelming feelings of desire they had for each other. They kissed passionately and wildly as the water swelled over the side of the tub onto the marble floor. They could no longer contain their longing for one another…

Buffy was amazed to see how many people attended her homecoming feast. Hundreds of people showed up including Thingol’s entire household. Mablung, who wholly understood how to communicate with the doves, used them as a means of sending invites to those who dwelled in Menegroth. Buffy took this as an opportunity to renew old friendships and start new ones, for Galadriel, Finrod’s only sister, was now staying in Menegroth due to her newfound love for Celeborn.
Thingol in no way chastised her for disappearing for “a little while.” Four years was not considered a long period of time to the elves although by Buffy’s standards it was. No one recognized how much she had changed except Melian. She was one perceptive woman. The Queen had no idea about Morgoth, but she did tell Buffy that “a bright light radiates from your spirit that was not there when you departed these lands. You are as a beacon amid the darkness in the world…”

Buffy had played down her words by saying, “It’s just my powers developing, Melian. No Slayer has ever lived to the age of thirty-five before. I guess none of them truly reached their potential… until now. Yay me!”

“If that is the case,” she replied, “then I have underestimated the powers of the Slayer. But my heart tells me otherwise. There is more to you than meets the eye, my dear Bellaseth. I may dwell amongst the elves but I am still a Maia and I can recognize those who are of my kindred.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Melian, but I’m far from one of your kin. You’ve never encountered a Slayer before. You have no idea of what we are or what we’re capable of. Let’s just leave it at that.” Buffy felt slightly uncomfortable under Melian’s scrutinizing eyes. She didn’t want to be short with the Queen, but she surely wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything about Buffy’s ‘radiating light’ or her powers. It was time to look to the future and not focus on the past. Melian would not broach the subject with Buffy again for many, many years.



Buffy quickly fell back into her old routine. Her attempts at hiding Morgoth’s mark lasted three whole weeks. Mablung finally saw it early one morning when Buffy was not yet fully awake. Perhaps sleeping in the nude wasn’t such a good idea if one is trying to conceal an unwanted deformity (that’s what Buffy considered it to be). She told him it was just another one of her typical battle scars albeit an ugly one that she received while following the orders of The Powers. “Let us try some of Nestor’s salve… ”

“I’ve already tried. It doesn’t work,” she commented as Mablung continued to examine it. “Nothing will remove or diminish it. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried everything… ”

“It is a very strange mark. It is unfortunate that you will have to endure the memories of it for a long time to come. How did you come by it exactly? It does not look like it was inflicted by any weapon that I know of,” he questioned as he gently traced it with his fingertip.

“No, it wasn’t your typical weapon,” she said uneasily. “I’d rather not talk about it. It’s too painful.”

“Then we shall save the tale for a later day.” He then pressed his lips against the mark, which caused a searing pain to shoot through Buffy. “What is it?!” exclaimed Mablung as Buffy quickly pushed him away. “What did I do?”

“It’s just a little sensitive,” Buffy replied as she rubbed her hand over the flaming spot. The truth of the matter is that it never hurt before, not one single time, that is, until Mablung’s lips touched it. That kind of freaked the Slayer out, but she had to remain calm, otherwise Mablung would start freaking out too.



Time seemed to be moving swiftly for Buffy and before she knew it, she had celebrated her thirty-seventh birthday. It was hard to believe that she had now lived in Middle-earth for twelve years. And in all that time Buffy’s physical appearance had changed very little. She was maybe a little buffer and her hair was longer then it had been but other than that, she looked just like her twenty-five year old self.

One also must take into account that Buffy spent over eleven of those years in a devoted relationship with Mablung. Even though Morgoth found a way to taint that, Buffy was still deeply in love with that elf and she would do nearly anything to sustain the bond that they had formed so long ago. But sometimes fate has a way of intervening in a relationship thus testing the strength of one’s love. And Buffy was no exception.

Buffy awoke one morning in early summer to the songs of many birds that were perched on her windowsills. Mablung had apparently already awakened, as he was nowhere to be found. It was five weeks after her birthday, which fell in spring in Middle-earth as opposed to winter in the ‘modern’ world. (Buffy celebrated her birthday based on the time when she first arrived here – which was spring, and only a couple of weeks after her ‘real’ birthday in the ‘modern’ world. All references to time are based on Buffy’s arrival into Middle-earth. With that in mind, Fëanor and his House arrived ten years ago, and the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin arrived five years ago. So this part of the tale would correspond to our month of June).

She dressed and went downstairs and decided that she wanted breakfast served on the patio. The early morning sun felt wonderful on her skin and the yard was chock-full of blooming flowers with their sweet fragrance lingering in the air. It was an absolutely beautiful day. Nathril had departed the Halls of Thingol in order to enjoy breakfast with Buffy. “Today’s the big day,” Nathril had commented.

“What are you talking about?” asked Buffy as she took a sip of her tea.

“Er, the grand feast… that Thingol and Melian are having this eve. Did Mablung not tell you?” she questioned hesitantly.

“Nope, he hasn’t said a word to me,” Buffy looked at the members of her household who were gathered around the tables. “Did you guys know about the feast?”

They looked at one another before Úrion replied, “Indeed. I would have thought that Mablung told you.”

Buffy turned to Nathril and asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, you know Melian,” she said as she chewed on her toast. “Any excuse would suffice for her to throw one of her galas. It will be extraordinary as they always are. Mablung had me make you a new dress… ”

“Ooh, new clothes and a party! Sounds right up my alley. I’m sure it’ll be fun,” said a cheerful Buffy.

Buffy learned that the party would start at sundown, which was a favorite time for the elves. They had that whole fixation with the stars and all. Although Buffy was surprised to learn that the feast itself would be held inside Menegroth. Usually at this time of year, most feasts were held outdoors under the canopy of stars. According to Nathril, rain was expected later that day even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Mablung was busy helping out in Menegroth and Buffy only saw him once in the early afternoon. He was at the mansion for only a few minutes before he departed once again.

Later that afternoon Buffy took her bath and then Nathril helped her get into her new gown. It was beautiful and very elegant. It was pale blue in color and resembled a cross between a halter dress and a Greek toga. It was made from a silky material and was overlaid with lace. It had a matching lace headdress with thin woven filaments of gold. She topped off her ensemble with a simple pearl necklace. Buffy always enjoyed dressing up for one of Melian’s parties even though they seemed to be a rarity nowadays. What girl doesn’t take pleasure in getting all gussied up for a night on the town?

When Buffy was finished dressing, Nathril excused herself so she could go home and get ready. It was only an hour until sundown. Buffy poured herself a glass of wine as she waited for Mablung to return. She walked out onto the balcony and noticed the looming gray clouds rolling in. It looked like a storm was moving in from the north as the rumbling sound of thunder shook the whole house.

After she had downed two glasses of wine, Mablung finally arrived. “Let me see you, Bella,” he requested as she turned and faced him. He looked quite handsome. He was wearing black breeches with a white and gold tunic, which was considered fancy by Mablung’s standards. “You take my breath away,” he said as he approached her. “One could easily mistake you for one of the Ainur.”

Buffy smiled at the irony of that comment. “And look at you with your handsome self. There’s no doubt that you’re the hottest elf in all of Beleriand,” she remarked as he pulled her into an embrace.

“I am glad that you approve,” he said as he gave her a kiss. “Will you, my Lady, allow me to escort you to the feast?” he asked as he offered his arm.

“Of course, my Lord,” responded Buffy in like manner. They made their way down the spiral staircase to the first floor. For the first time, Buffy noticed that the house was deserted; all the inhabitants had already left for Menegroth. They continued down the path that led to Thingol’s Halls as the first drops of rain started to fall. It was already dark due to the impending storm and now flashes of lightening could be seen in the distance. “Hurry!” Buffy squealed as she held her dress up and ran towards the main gates.

Once inside, the rain was unleashed from heaven and it began to down pour as the lightening continued to flash across the sky followed by the rumblings of thunder. The storm had arrived with full force. “Thank Eru we made it before the storm hit,” commented Mablung.

“I know, it’s really coming down out there,” said Buffy. “And that rain feels cold too.” She began rubbing her arms in an attempt to ward off the chill.

“Let me help you,” offered Mablung as he attempted to warm her up.

“I know something you can do to take away the chill,” she suggested seductively.

“You are bad,” he teased. “While I am most tempted to take you up on your offer, that will have to wait until later. We are pressed for time.” He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close to his side, as they started down the passageway.

Buffy noticed very few people lingering in the passageways, and those few that they did pass merely grinned sheepishly before disappearing around some corner. “This is gonna be one helluva party… ”

“What makes you think that?” asked Mablung.

“There’s nobody around… The place is deserted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this before,” observed the Slayer.

“Then I take it that you have guessed rightly, and most people in Menegroth are at the feast,” he said with a smile. “Today is indeed a very special day.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s so special about it?” queried the Slayer.

“You shall soon see, Bella. You shall soon see,” answered Mablung with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Hmm, seems like something’s up. And my guess is you’re not gonna tell me,” commented Buffy as they turned down another passageway. There were many people loitering outside the opened double doors that led to Thingol’s Great Chamber. The throng of people warmly greeted Mablung and Buffy as they approached. It wasn’t until Buffy entered the chamber that she became aware that they were there to celebrate a wedding. All the decorations and the ceremonial garland of flowers for both the bride and groom were laid out. “Oh, a wedding!” exclaimed Buffy joyfully as she searched the crowd for the happy couple. “Where’s the bride and groom?” she asked.

“That would be us,” came Mablung’s reply.

“Huh? What? What did you say?” asked Buffy as Nathril slipped the garland over her head. “Huh?”

“This is our wedding day,” he repeated as Nathril slipped the other garland over his head. Buffy finally noticed everyone looking at them with big smiles on their faces. “Did I surprise you?” he asked. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Buffy stood there absolutely dumbfounded. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever considered a ‘surprise’ wedding. And in all her days in Middle-earth, she’s never heard of a groom throwing his bride a ‘surprise’ wedding! So why the hell was Mablung ‘surprising’ her with a wedding? “Surprise is not the word I would use,” she uttered as the blood drained from her face.

Mablung put his hands on her shoulders. “I have loved you from the moment that I set my eyes upon you many years ago when you first stumbled into our world. Although you were strange, you were also fair… and you renewed my hope when all seemed lost to me. And by the blessings of the Valar my prayers were finally answered when you loved me back… ”

Buffy’s heart was aching, Mablung had already started reciting his vows but she couldn’t let him continue. “Mablung, I love you, I really do, but you’re not supposed to plan a wedding without me! It’s something that we plan… together… ”

“I only thought that I was saving you the trouble. I have seen too many brides worry about their weddings in the past and I did not want to do that to you. I have placed that burden on myself… ”

“Can we talk… in private?” Buffy hated the fact that all these people, including Thingol and Melian, were watching them so intently. She didn’t allow Mablung the opportunity to answer her question. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out the doors of Thingol’s chamber into the passageway. Buffy could hear the room break out into quiet murmurings as they left. They went a little way down the passageway before she stopped. “What were you thinking?” Buffy questioned in an agitated tone. “You don’t surprise the bride with a wedding! You discuss it with her and plan it… together. I can’t believe you did this!”

“I did not think it would displease you. We are betrothed; the wedding is merely the next step. It has been six years since you agreed to become my wife, I do not see anything wrong with preparing for the wedding myself… ”

“That’s not the way it works, not in this world and most certainly not in mine,” interjected Buffy as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

Mablung grabbed her shoulders. “Do you not want to be my wife? I thought that you loved me…”

“I do love you,” she pleaded. “But I’m just not ready to… to be married or wedded, or whatever you wanna call it. I’m just not ready.”

He dropped his hands to his side. “So, you no longer wish to be my wife?”

“I didn’t say that,” Buffy was starting to panic. She had a real bad feeling about this. “I just said that I’m not ready… not now, anyway! Mablung, I’m only thirty-seven… that’s considered young by elvish standards. Can’t we wait until I’m older and… ”

“Do not use your age as an excuse,” he said heatedly.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with what we have… I just want things to stay like they are… ” she pleaded.

“Why do you fear binding yourself to me? Have I not brought you happiness and joy all these years? Do you find me to be an unfit husband?”

“You make a great husband,” she said as she grabbed his hands. “And you do make me happy. I’m just not ready to make a life-long commitment.”

He pulled his hands from her grasp. “Then you do not love me. Love is about commitment and it is… forever. If you do not make that commitment to me this day… then it is over. We have nothing!”

Buffy could feel the bile rising to her throat. She felt sick. “Please Mablung, don’t do this.” The tears began to roll down her cheeks as many of the guests congregated in the passageway in order to watch this scene unfold before them. “I don’t wanna break up. I love you and what we have. I don’t wanna lose that. Please!! Don’t leave me… You promised me… ”

“You leave me no other choice, Bella. I want more… you know that,” he stated.

“Let’s just go back to how it was before… Let’s just… ” Buffy continued pleading.

“No!” he replied sternly. “The time has come for us to wed or we end it. This is not some silly game, Bella. If you question this relationship, then you question me. If you are not prepared to walk back in there and exchange vows, then you never truly loved me. Love is forever… it is eternal.”

Buffy looked down at the stone floor as the tears continued spilling down her cheeks. She was trying to catch her breath. When she felt she had some control over her emotions, she looked back up at Mablung. “I love you, Mablung… but I’m not ready to become your wife,” she said softly.

“Then you have made your choice,” he said sadly as he pulled the garland from his neck and hurriedly took off down the passageway.

“Mablung! Mablung!” Buffy called after him. He rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Buffy turned only to see the entire passageway filled by all the people of Menegroth. Some looked at her sympathetically while others looked at her with loathing. She could see that in their eyes and in the expressions that they wore on their faces. Buffy then realized that she was the villain here. Everyone would side with Mablung. It was Buffy who was the outsider.

As the wave of humiliation engulfed her, the Slayer fled past the bystanders towards the main gates. The storm was still raging outside as she disappeared into the darkness. She wept as she ran and the rain seemed to be coming down harder. The sounds of rolling thunder seemed to continue non-stop and the sky seemed to be aglow from the constant flashes of lightening. As Buffy ran down the path towards the mansion, the hem of her dress became entangled with her shoe causing her to fall and she slid face first through the mud. Unable to free her garment, she tore her beautiful gown in order to free herself. When she got back to her feet, she heard the malicious laughter of Morgoth in her head as she continuing running towards home.


Chapter 19 - WHAT'S MY LINE?

CHAPTER NINETEEN: WHAT’S MY LINE?



Buffy slammed the front door behind her after she entered the mansion. She was relieved to be free from both the raging storm and the glaring eyes of the elves. She kicked off her shoes in the antechamber and ran up the stairs, leaving a muddy trail behind her. Buffy couldn’t comprehend why all this crap was happening to her. First, there was Morgoth, and then Illyria and now she had lost Mablung. He had always been her rock… her saving grace, and now she had nothing. For reasons unknown, the Powers seemed to be letting the Slayer get bitch-slapped from one end of Middle-earth to the other. But the million-dollar question was: why? Yes, Buffy did some heinous things in Angband, but it wasn’t her will at work, it was Morgoth’s. She shouldn’t be held responsible for the deeds that she committed while under his sway. He’s the First, the biggest and baddest of them all, even they couldn’t stop him in Valinor!

When she entered the bathroom she turned the ‘hot’ water on in the tub and went over to the mirror and began wiping the mud from her face with a washcloth. She couldn’t come to terms with how her life had turned upside down in only a matter of a few minutes. All hope for a brighter future in Doriath, after the horror of Angband, withered before her very eyes.

A sobbing Buffy was removing her jewelry when a cold chill crept over her entire body. She was drenched to the bone and assumed that that was the cause until she looked up into the mirror, and there before her was none other than Morgoth. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he sounded. “Why the long face, Melisse? Surely you knew that this… infatuation with the elf was doomed from the start.” He was wearing his ‘fair’ form and the tone of his words seemed overly sweet. Buffy was still trembling from the chill and Morgoth, realizing that, then pursed his lips together and blew; the Slayer then became consumed by warmth – his warmth and the chill immediately dissipated.

“I will always take care of you, my love,” he said soothingly. “I made a vow to never leave you and I will not break that promise. That relationship with the elf was built on a foundation of lies; it was fated to crumble into nothingness. Weep no more!” Buffy’s bawling ceased; only to be replaced by silent tears that spilled down her dirt streaked face. Morgoth continued in the same compassionate tone, “Come now, Melisse, he is but an elf… a lower being unworthy of your love. And was it not you that walked away from him? How can you expect to sustain a relationship when you cannot even speak truthfully about whom you are or all those things that lay hidden in your past? That is a part of you, sweetness. It is why I love you so. That is why you ran from him… to me.”

Buffy’s voice broke as she spoke, “I didn’t run to you. I only came home.” Her voice was weak and feeble.

He smiled and Buffy’s heart began racing. “Home is where your heart is, is it not? If that happens to be here, then so be it. Melian’s spells of enchantment cannot prevent me from seeking out the one whom I love… We are bound together, Melisse. Perhaps that is the reason why you fled before the elf. You now truly understand the significance of our bond. Our love transcends both time and space… and we have no secrets between us. I care, not about your past… dalliances… that is a part of who you are. You are the Vala of Love after all, and I know what that entails. You are my perfect mate and you are already my spouse! Surely you have not forgotten that we have exchanged vows?”

“I wasn’t in my right frame of mind,” she replied softly yet firmly. “You bewitched me. That doesn’t count…”

“Doesn’t count?” he questioned, mocking her voice. “My mark is branded upon your breast and yours upon mine! You cannot flee from your destiny no matter how hard you try. The world awaits us, love; all you have to do is take my hand… ” Buffy half expected Morgoth to come popping out of the mirror into her bathroom but he remained confined to the mirror with his hand outstretched before him. For some reason she couldn’t restrain herself as she stretched out her hand towards the mirror.

WHAM! Buffy had balled up her fist and smashed the mirror sending shards of glass all over the sink, counter top and floor. She glared at the empty frame that hung on the wall – Morgoth was gone. The Slayer let out a deep sigh before pulling fragments of glass out of her bleeding knuckle. She turned off the water, undressed and climbed into the tub. An eerie feeling of calmness encompassed every fiber of her being as she healed herself in the method that Morgoth had taught her.

After scrubbing herself raw, she changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed. It was still early despite the deceptiveness of the evening sky. She grabbed the bottle of wine that she had been drinking from earlier that day and took a long swig. Oh, how she wanted to forget this day. Buffy spent the remainder of the night wallowing in her grief and consuming too much wine. A persistent knock at the door indicated the arrival of at least one member of her household, but she knew it wasn’t the one person whom she wished to see the most. She soon found the room to be spinning and the knocking ceased as she collapsed onto her bed in a drunken stupor.

The following morning Buffy woke to yet another beautiful day. Her head was pounding and the bright rays from the sun gleamed into the room causing her eyes to sting. She waved her hand and the heavy drapes closed causing the room to become dim. Any hope of her dying in her sleep was now gone. Not that it would do any good, being one of the Valar and all. Inevitably she would make her flesh anew and move on, but that was the part she was having the most difficulty with – moving on. She wasn’t ready yet. Hell, it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours!

Once again, Buffy heard a persistent knocking, but this time it was on the glass doors to the balcony. “I know you’re in there, Bella,” she recognized Úrion’s voice. “Open up!” With each rap, it felt like Buffy’s head would explode. “I will smash through this door if you do not open it. Enough is enough!”

“Fine, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Buffy mumbled under her breath as she staggered to the door and unlocked it. She immediately returned to her bed. “Keep ‘em closed,” she ordered Úrion when he attempted to open the curtains.

“As you wish,” he replied as he sat in the chair next to the bed. “Do you intend to lock yourself away in here forever and drink yourself into oblivion?” he questioned as he picked an empty bottle up off the floor.

“Maybe,” replied the Slayer as she rubbed her temples.

Úrion got up and proceeded to the bathroom. “Let me see if I can find a tonic for your… Oh, Bella! What happened in here? There is glass all over the place.”

“I had an accident. Don’t worry about it. Just be careful,” she answered.

She could hear him rummaging through the cabinets. “If it makes you feel any better, Mablung is not doing much better than you. He still does not understand what he had done that was so wrong. It was all done out of love, as you know. Perhaps there is still a chance to save your relationship for I deem that you are not one to toss it away so easily.” He returned with a green bottle. “If I recall correctly, I believe this contains the remedy to what ails you,” he said as he handed her the bottle. “That should help,” he added as he sat back down.

“Thanks,” she uttered as she pulled the cork and took a swig.

“You look a mess,” he finally said again.

“Gee, if your intentions were to cheer me up, you’re sure doing a shitty job,” smirked Buffy. “Now I have a better understanding as to why there’s no woman in your life.”

Úrion leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Ah, you see that is where you are wrong. I do have a woman in my life… you!” Buffy looked at him questionably. “Oh no, not in that respect, of course,” he replied with a chuckle. “Nevertheless, I am here by your invite, not Mablung’s, even though I have spent more time in his company than yours. Those things happen... ” He leaned closer. “Listen to me Dagnir, I have seen you and Mablung together for a while now, and what you two have is genuine… it’s real. But sometimes I think that he may love you more.”

“So now I don’t love Mablung enough?” she asked with an air of frustration in her voice.

“No, I did not say that, exactly. I went with him in search of Randiel’s lair. I wish you could have seen him, Bella, he was deeply hurt by you. You concealed something of great importance from him. She was his first love and to learn that she is now a vampire… ”

“Because you ran your mouth!” Buffy interjected.

“He was bound to find out one way or another. But that is beside the point. Even though he felt somewhat betrayed by your actions, he overlooked it because he loves you. His future with you means more than a fond memory from his distant past,” disclosed Úrion.

“What are you saying?” she questioned.

“I say clean yourself up and go find Mablung! You will have no peace of mind until this situation is resolved.”

“And what happens then?” she asked. “What if Mablung’s resolute and doesn’t want anything to do with me? You heard him last night… everyone heard him. I’m the bad guy here.”

“At least you will know. There are those who are loyal to you Bella. I am not the only one,” he continued. “The people of Doriath wait with bated breath to discover the outcome of this… misunderstanding. There are those here who recognize your power and fear that you may depart these lands. While Melian is strong, you are by far much stronger. You are a gifted warrior who brings hope to those of us who dwell in these days of impending doom and destruction. Melian said so herself. What would become of the people of Doriath if you leave?”

“First of all, I didn’t say anything about leaving. This is my home and I’m not gonna be forced to leave it. And secondly, Doriath is protected by Melian’s power and that’s good enough. There’s nothing for the people to fear.”

“Unless they go outside the Girdle,” added Úrion.

“That’s not my problem,” she said as she finally climbed out of bed.

“No, I suppose it is not. All I am saying is that there are those who hope that you and Mablung reconcile before it is too late. My heart tells me that you need to take the first step,” he remarked.

Buffy pulled open the curtains allowing the early morning light into the chamber. “You’re right,” she said as she opened all the doors. She turned and faced him with her arms folded across her chest. “I’ll take the next step but after that… it’s up to Mablung. Now get out of here so I can change.”

“Very well,” he said as he left her inner sanctum.

After Buffy had made herself presentable she left the mansion for the Halls of Thingol with a deep sense of foreboding. She would make an effort although her heart told her that nothing good would come from it. She knew Mablung well enough to know that once he made up his mind – that was it. But hopefully, she could persuade him to not throw their love away so hastily.

As Buffy made her way through the passageways, she noticed that some of the elves refused to make eye contact with her while others stopped and offered words of comfort. She discovered that Mablung had returned to his ‘old’ living quarters and that’s precisely where she found him. He opened the door, “What is it, Bellaseth?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. He opened the door wider and she entered. She took a seat on the couch as he sat in the chair opposite her. She was so hoping that he would sit next to her. “I’m really sorry,” she started. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you’ve got to understand that I’m not ready to become your wife.”

“I would have thought that our current living conditions would suggest otherwise. Did we not live as husband and wife?”

“Yes, but the only problem I have is the whole life-long commitment part. I’m just not ready to do that. God, I’m still coming to terms with the whole immortality thing… Mablung, can’t we go back to what we had? We were happy… ”

He looked at her with pity in his eyes. She could see how hard this was on him too. “We have been through this already Bella. I do not want to spend the rest of my life with a woman who does not love me enough to exchange vows with me. Love is more than just cohabiting with one another. I yearn to have children while the world has some semblance of peace… and my heart tells me that you are not ready for that.”

Buffy looked down at the floor as tears began to well in her eyes. “No, I’m not ready for that,” she replied solemnly. “I know this might not mean anything to you, but years ago when we were in Ossir and I met with Salmar, he told me that you were going to ask me to be your wife.” That revelation did not have any effect on him. “He told me that I would accept your proposal but he also said to wait… He said not to have the wedding until I spent fifty years in Middle-earth.”

“And you are disclosing this bit of information now? Why have you waited so long to tell me this?” he questioned.

“I don’t know. It was just kind of a weird thing to hear at the time. Then, time just kinda crept away from me and things happened… ” Her words drifted off as they sat in silence for several minutes. Buffy could feel Mablung’s gaze, but she continued to look down at the floor.

“Then Thingol is right,” he finally said. “You have kept secrets from me. No relationship can survive when it’s built on a foundation of lies.” Buffy nearly freaked hearing those words. They mirrored nearly verbatim what Morgoth had said the previous night. When Buffy looked up, Mablung held the crucifix in his outstretched hand. “I think that I should return this to you,” he said softly.

Buffy stood as tears rolled down her face. There was an aching deep in the pit of her stomach and she was feeling nauseous. “No,” she sniffled. “I gave it to you. Keep it. It’ll bring me peace of mind knowing that it will protect you.” She walked across the room. Her hand was on the doorknob when she said, “I’ll always love you, Mablung… and I’ll always be grateful for the time we’ve had together.” She didn’t look at him or wait for a response as she walked out the door.

She quickly left the Halls of Thingol and returned to her home. Úrion was waiting on the front stoop for her. “I take it that things did not go well,” he remarked off her look.

“You think?” she whimpered.

“I am truly sorry, Bella, really I am.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said dejectedly. “Listen, Úrion, I really don’t wanna be around anyone right now, okay? I just want to be alone.” She swept by him and entered the house. She went to her bedchamber and locked the door behind her. Immediately the Slayer grabbed a bottle of wine, but she hesitated. What am I gonna do? she asked herself, drink myself into oblivion like Úrion said? She stared at the bottle for a moment before throwing it hard against one of the gleaming white walls. Red wine sprayed all over the wall as the Slayer covered her face with her hands and broke down once again. When she looked up again, she noticed the wine took the shape of a giant cross.

“What the hell?” she mumbled as she walked over to the wall to inspect the image. When the bottle had first broken, it looked like wine splattered on a wall, but after only a few minutes it had taken the shape of her symbol. She touched the wall; the liquid was already dry. It frightened her somewhat and she stepped a few paces back. Suddenly, the room became filled with a blinding white light…

Only a moment later, a very tall man appeared. He was of slender build and had brown wavy shoulder length hair and a well-trimmed beard. His eyes were a deep gray and they seemed to sparkle with wisdom and power. Although Buffy did not know who this man was, her heart rejoiced at the sight of him. “Maranwë,” he said in a deep melodic voice. He was definitely one of the Powers. His smile widened and his eyes became misty as he approached her. “It has been much too long since I’ve seen my sister.”

Buffy felt a lump in her throat. Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected to see one of her siblings. “Irmo?” she asked inquisitively.

“Yes, it is I.” He pulled her into a bear hug that literally swept her off her feet. “Oh, how you’ve been in my thoughts of late.” He put her down, took a step back, leaving his hands resting on her shoulders, as he looked her over. “Let me take a look at you,” he said with affection. “Námo was right. You are very small.” Buffy didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Why are you here?” she asked warily.

His smile waned a bit. “Yes, you are very much like Námo in one respect: you like to get down to business. Not one for small talk.”

Buffy shrugged. “It hasn’t been a good day.”

“Oh, yes,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Come Maranwë. Sit.” Despite the fact that it sounded like Irmo was talking to a dog, she did, however, do as he commanded and sat beside him on the bed. “I can help ease your pain. In fact, it was I who gave you the strength last night to thwart Melkor’s… er, advances… ”

“You did that?” she asked with surprise. He nodded. “I felt calm and confident… for a little while… ” she added sadly.

He clasped her hand in his. “Heed my words: the pain will lessen sooner than you think. But now, let me take your mind off your tumultuous love life and take you on a most wonderful journey.” Irmo pulled her to her feet.

“Where we going? Valinor?” queried the Slayer hopefully.

“No, not Valinor.” His smile broadened and he winked as he linked her arm in his. “Ready?” And together they vanished…

They reappeared only a split second later in an incredibly beautiful place. Buffy and Irmo stood on the shores of an enormous crystal clear lake, but that wasn’t the impressive part. In the midst of the lake there was a large island on which a great fortress was built. An enormous tower that made Buffy think of the Tower of Babel for some reason, stood in the center of that isle. The white marble shimmered in the morning sunlight. The Slayer looked on in awe. She was mesmerized by that place.

“Aulë will be pleased that you like it,” Irmo said before they disappeared once again.

They reappeared in the topmost section of that colossal tower a moment later. The view from the balcony left her breathless. As Buffy looked down she saw numerous fountains and gardens, statutes, covered porches, gazebos, and streets paved with gold. The list went on and on. It was Buffy’s ideal of heaven. Everything was pristine and beautiful, fresh and new. There was a mystical energy about this place that lulled to sleep all feelings of weariness, loneliness and even heartache. It was a place where love radiated from every living thing, all of which lived together harmoniously.

“Where are we?” she asked in a bewildered tone as her eyes continued to scan the landscape.

“This is Folkvang!” Buffy looked at him oddly. “Or so Aulë calls it. It means… ”

“‘Field of folk,’” responded the Slayer. “At least it does in Khuzdul, the language of the dwarves… ”

Irmo raised his eyebrows. “You know the secret tongue of the Khazâd?”

Buffy turned her gaze to him. “For some reason, I know just about every language I come across in this world, Khazâd being one of them.” She returned her gaze to the countryside. “I’ve had dealings with the dwarves… I figured you knew about that whole Durin thing.” She watched him closely from the corner of her eye. His eyes remained fixed on the Slayer.

“So you have started phase one I take it,” he commented.

“I don’t know about phase one, but the dwarves are currently working on the prison I was told to have built. Or at least I think they are.” She hadn’t checked in on them in a while. Buffy could only assume that Luthor was overseeing their ‘project.’ “Well,” she began again. “They were last time I was there. I’m sure if there were any problems, Luthor would’ve let me know.”

“Luthor?” questioned Irmo with raised eyebrows. “Are we talking about Melkor’s Luthor?” Buffy nodded. “Is it wise to put your faith in one of Melkor’s servants?”

Buffy gave Irmo a hard look. “I trust Luthor with my life!” she said firmly. “Besides, if it wasn’t for him, I’d still be Morgoth’s bitch!”

He was silent for a moment. “You really believe in redemption, don’t you?”

She smiled even though she found it absurd that Irmo would ask her such a question. “Do I have a choice?” she asked. “I’m no angel either… ”

“Yes, but the circumstances surrounding… ”

“It doesn’t matter Irmo,” she cut in. “I don’t care how ‘bewitched’ I was. The fact remains that I’ve brought evil into this world that otherwise would not have existed. I’m to blame for that.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know if I can put any of that on Morgoth.”

“How can you say that?” he seemed affronted by the notion. “Melkor used very dark magicks on you in order to gain knowledge of things that he would never have given any thought to conceiving. He is wholly at fault here, not you! You were an unwilling pawn in his game… ” Buffy couldn’t help but feel slighted by Irmo using the word ‘pawn’ in reference to her. “He is rotten to the core! A despoiler… ”

“Then why don’t you guys do something about it?” she questioned disdainfully. “If all the Powers united, surely you guys could take him down in one fell swoop. If it were up to me, I’d throw his ass back in Mandos so fast his head would spin!”

Irmo appeared crestfallen. Buffy regretted speaking so harshly, but it just burst out of her. She had nothing against her brother, especially since he seemed to genuinely want to help her. He let out a sigh and the smile left his handsome face.

“Alas! It is not fated to be that way, Maranwë. It is up to the children of Eru to bring an end to Melkor’s reign… ”

“Okay, fine. I’m a child of Eru. Isn’t that good enough?!” she shot back as she folded her arms across her chest.

Irmo looked at her solemnly. “Unfortunately, no. That’s not to say that you won’t play a role in that great battle, but it will be one who has both elvish and mortal blood running through his veins who’ll be the catalyst of the end. And that time is not yet upon us… ” He let out a heavy sigh and looked towards the mainland, his eyes seemed to be searching in the distance.

“I have brought you here for a reason, sister. We do not wish for all your knowledge to come from the likes of Melkor and Luthor… ” Buffy shot him a dirty look but didn’t say anything. She trusted Luthor! What was so hard to understand about that? “Everything that has happened to you was meant to be, Maranwë.” He didn’t have to look at her to know that her jaw had dropped. “Yes, I said everything. Melkor, Illyria… the Hellmouths and those awful… well, those dreadful creatures that… er… ” He was having a hard time getting the words out.

“I know what you’re referring to. There’s no need to say any more,” said an uncomfortable Buffy.

He gripped the railing of the balcony and took a deep breath. “You are the only Vala who’s supposed to be in Middle-earth other than Melkor. He as a representative for dark and you for light. It was prophesied long ago that the two would unite; both good and evil. That was something that we in Valinor found impossible to comprehend. We asked ourselves, ‘How could that be?’ ‘Who would unite with Melkor?’

“That is when Eru held council with Manwë and revealed to him that you were going to be descending into Eä… ” He turned to her. “That’s when we knew that it was true, for you and he have a history dating far back beyond the making of this world. But what we didn’t understand at the time was that this is all part of Eru’s will. Everything and everyone to the minutest soul serves some purpose in this world.

“Evil exists to test all men, not just mortals.” He paused for a moment. “Eru gifted the children with the ability to reason and use logic when making the choices that are put before them. Free will is a very powerful thing. It is ultimately man’s decision whether he treads down the path of righteousness or the path of wickedness. But nevertheless, both options are to be available to them.

“You Maranwë must maintain that balance until the End of Days. In that respect you are the Chosen One. But you must bear in mind that evil cannot wholly be eradicated and is needed in order to maintain that balance! Men must be given the opportunity to choose which path to tread. Remember that!” He paused once again. “That is why, when given the opportunity for respite, you can call this place home. Your sanctuary.”

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” she questioned suspiciously. It wasn’t every day that someone got handed a mystical kingdom on the proverbial silver platter.

“Need I say again that you are very much like Námo?” He shook his head. “Yes, there’s more to it. Ultimately, when the world reaches the age in which we witness the End of Days, the final battle will start here… in Folkvang.” Buffy found that to be a most unpleasant thought! “But you will not be ill-equipped when that time comes. Manwë and Námo will grant onto you one half of all the mortal warriors that have been slain in battle. You shall have your pick of any of those that have lived upon the earth until the breaking of Eä. Here they will reside in peace until that time and you shall be their Queen… their General… ”

“Wow! That’s a lot to take in,” she said as she gripped the balcony railing. Her legs felt like jell-o. “So, is this like heaven?”

“A version thereof,” Irmo replied as his lips curled into a smile. “It is very much like Valinor save that you are the only Vala that shall dwell here. But there are many Maiar that wish to remain here and enter your service, if it’s your will. Sussrúmnir is quite large and will require a great many people… ”

“What’s Sussrúmnir?” questioned Buffy. She knew that it meant ‘room of seat,’ but that didn’t mean anything to her.

“That’s the name of the Halls in which we now stand… your Halls. Sussrúmnir. This is but a different version of the Halls of Mandos. While Námo prefers to have those that dwell within his Halls reflect upon their life in quiet solitude, I daresay that you are the opposite. In Folkvang you will allow the inhabitants to ‘live’, garbed in flesh, as a reward for their brave and heroic deeds in life. You will grant to them the opportunity to experience all the… er, pleasures that they once held dear.”

“I’ve gotta tell you Irmo, this kinda blows my mind.” Buffy didn’t doubt his words - they stunned her. “So, tell me, how do I acquire these warriors? I mean… has man even been born yet?”

“We are not aware of their awakening as of yet. But that brings to mind another matter that I have need to discuss with you,” he said grimly. Buffy was preparing herself for some bad news based on the look on Irmo’s face. “It is your task to find the mortal folk and succor them in their hour of need. Melkor is always on the look out for them so you must be vigilant. Dark days await them, Maranwë, dark days indeed! You must deliver them from the thralldom that Melkor has in store for them. Show them that hope truly lies in the light of the West… ”

“So that means that Morgoth’s gonna find them first, right?” asked a confused Slayer.

“That is how it’s fated to be,” he answered. “You shall deliver mankind from the evil of Melkor.”

“Oh,” she simply replied. That disclosure left her speechless, for once.

Irmo then decided to show Buffy all around this fortress. This palace was much more elaborate and beautiful than anything she had ever seen before including both Menegroth and Khazad-Dûm. Buckingham Palace is like a tiny cottage in comparison. Actually, she never envisioned a place of greater beauty. Aulë and his kin had constructed this place in memory of Almaren, the first home of the Valar, that Morgoth Bauglir destroyed long ago.

Buffy discovered that this island would actually expand on its own in order to accommodate all its inhabitants as more and more people entered this realm. Therefore when the time comes and millions of people live here, it will never seem overcrowded. There will always be an abundance of food, livestock, water and any other necessity that any ‘city’ would require. A wall, one hundred and fifty feet high, twenty-two feet thick surrounded the fortress and was in the words of Irmo, “impenetrable.”

But it was Buffy’s inner sanctum that really blew her away. The entire thirteenth floor consisted of her private rooms. All of them were enormous and the décor was magnificent to say the least. Each room was designed with either a color theme or a ‘nature’ theme and was decorated accordingly. Many of the various objects in the rooms were made from gold, silver and copper (which Buffy loved). There were hundreds of glass vases of various sizes that were filled with an abundance of gemstones including rubies, diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, to name a few, in every room within the palace. They were on display all throughout the place instead of being locked away in some vault!

Besides that, there were rooms that were referred to as ‘treasuries’ that were packed to the ceiling with gold and silver bars that could be wrought into new items of beauty. Buffy couldn’t even fathom how much wealth was stored within these halls. And it was all hers! She was rich! And we’re not talking Trump rich, we’re talking Rothchild rich! Irmo then showed her the armories, which were stock piled with an assortment of the most magnificent weapons that she had ever laid eyes on.

They ended the tour of the interior of the palace at the Hall of Judgment. It, too, was a work of wonder. The ceiling must have been nearly one hundred feet high and was finished in copper. The entire floor was constructed from white marble and there were beautiful tapestries and paintings hung on the stone walls. Along two walls were many long ornate couches and wooden chairs. At the far end of the room was a dais with seven steps and atop that sat a large canopied throne. Two large silver vats stood on pedestals on either side of the steps and contained the only flames that Buffy saw throughout the entire tour. Immediately, Buffy was drawn to that seat. She knew it was hers.

“Oh my god,” she said as she climbed the marble steps swiftly. “Isn’t this lapis lazuli?” she asked as she stood before the high seat.

“Indeed it is! Aulë knows of your passion for that color,” came Irmo’s reply.

Buffy stroked the arm’s smooth surface. The entire chair was carved from lapis lazuli (known as sapphire in the ‘modern’ world). The stone’s intense blue color was dotted with small specks of gold that brought to mind a clear blue sky. The back of the chair had a large crucifix etched in the center with an eight pointed star situated above it. “What does that mean?” she questioned as she ran her fingers along the intricate carving of the star.

Irmo now stood at the bottom of the steps. “That my sister, you will discover in time.”

“In time,” Buffy said as she cast a look over her shoulder. “You guys really love those two little words, don’t you?”

“Some things are not yet meant to be revealed to you,” he responded with a knowing smile. “Why don’t you give it a try? See if it’s to your liking,” suggested her brother.

Buffy’s smile widened as she sat on the cushioned seat. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and that’s when she saw images flashing quickly before her eyes. She saw both dwarves and men fighting a great battle, monsters in all shapes and sizes, women and children screaming, and a city vanishing beneath the earth. She was so started by these things that she quickly jumped out of the chair.

“What the hell was that?” asked the freaked out Slayer.

“I take it that you have seen snippets of the future,” Irmo answered as he climbed up the steps to the dais. “That seat will also allow you to see events from the past. You will need that in order to judge those who come before your throne.”

“You could warn a girl, you know,” she said as her nerves began to calm. “I wasn’t expecting to see all that stuff.”

“It is no ordinary chair,” he remarked.

“You got that right!” she said in agreement.

“You must come to these Halls each night after man has awakened, in order to pass judgment on those who have been slain. Those whom you do not wish to reside in your Halls will be sent to Mandos, but you shall get first pick.”

“What about the elves?” she asked. “Do I get to choose the ones I want?”

Irmo looked at her for several moments before replying. “I’m afraid not. Their home is in Valinor, not Folkvang.” Buffy was saddened to hear that. “The Valar understand that there will be some of the Firstborn that will not part from you for any reason. They will bind themselves to you in order to aid you in your quest. We consider their loyalty commendable and it brings great joy to my heart knowing that you will have some of those folk in your service.”

It was then that Irmo somewhat introduced her to the Maiar that wished to remain in Folkvang. Buffy was astonished to learn that there were thousands of them, not mere hundreds! They came from all the great houses of The Powers, including Melkor’s (not all fell from grace!). To Buffy’s amazement, the females actually outnumbered the males. She learned that many of these female deities had an extremely important purpose in this world. It was their destiny to assist the Slayer in choosing the fallen warriors from the battlefield. They would also be the ones to guide those fey’s back to Folkvang where Buffy would pronounce her judgment on them. If Buffy’s memory served her well, in ‘modern’ mythology they were referred to as Valkyries, which meant ‘Choosers of the Slain.’

Irmo and Buffy took a lunch break after meeting many of these wonderful people that she gladly accepted into her service. She was definitely in heaven. Any food that Buffy could think of was found here in Folkvang. The first thing that she ate was an orange. It might seem a stupid choice, but the scent of that fruit nearly brought tears to her eyes (as well as flashes of her life in Sunnydale). And when she sunk her teeth into the flesh and she experienced that burst of flavor – it was glorious! But one food did make her cry – chocolate! She hadn’t tasted that in years and it was as phenomenal as she had ever remembered. Yep, thought Buffy. This is definitely home sweet home.

After they had eaten, she was given a tour of the grounds, groves, pastures and such. There were also many harbors where men were busily constructing ships in the likeness of swans. Folkvang was akin to Valinor in respect to it being a land of perpetual spring. No winter shall ever visit it. Although if one looked towards the mainland, there were numerous snow capped mountains in the distance. Man was permitted to visit that region, but they were not allowed to set up permanent dwellings outside the isle.

It was evening when the tour was finally completed (and Buffy didn’t nearly see everything that this place had to offer), and the time had now arrived for Irmo to return to his own home in Lórien. Buffy loathed the idea of his leaving so soon. The whole day was so enjoyable and it was nice being with someone who knew and loved her (even though she had no recollection of him).

“Alas! The time has come, my sister, for me to return to my own Halls in fair Lórien.”

“Do you have to go?” she whined. “Can’t you stay awhile longer? Please!” She was having such a lovely time and she wasn’t ready for it to end.

“I’m afraid I cannot stay any longer.” He pulled her into another one of his bear hugs and whispered, “You will never be wholly alone again my dear sister. Do not forget that.” He pulled out of the embrace, his arms still around her, “Dreams are yet another form of reality. It is my gift to you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Take care Maranwë and remember, there are many in Valinor who love you dearly.” Before Buffy could respond, he disappeared in a flash.



Irmo reappeared only a moment later in Námo’s private chamber in Mandos. He quickly walked to the sideboard and grabbed a crystal decanter that contained miruvóre. His hand shook slightly as he poured that sweet nectar into two glasses.

“I take it that the task is done,” remarked Námo as he stepped out from a darkened recess.

Irmo gulped down his drink and refilled it. “Yes,” he responded as he handed his brother a drink.

“She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?” Námo questioned.

“No,” answered Irmo as he turned to his older brother. “I hated lying to her…”

“You have not lied to her,” countered Námo sternly. “You only disclosed to her the things she needs to know.” Irmo didn’t find his words comforting. “She will try to use the throne to discover her past… to break through the veil.”

“She won’t succeed,” said Irmo. “Aulë assured me that it cannot be done, no matter how hard she tries.”

“That is good,” remarked Námo as he sipped his liqueur. “Things are as they should be.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” said an agitated Irmo. “I think this is nonsense! She should know the truth…”

“That is not for you to decide,” snapped Námo. He composed himself before adding, “We must leave things as they are. That is how it’s supposed to be. We are dealing with the will of Eru, not the will of the Valar.”

“Fine,” grumbled Irmo as he put his empty glass on a table. “I’ve done what you have asked of me. Now, I’m going to return to my own Halls.”

Námo nodded his head. “I thank you brother. Farewell!” Irmo hastily left his brother’s chambers. Námo’s heart ached for Maranwë as well. He didn’t have the luxury of showing his emotions. Surely, Irmo understood that.


Chapter 20 - GOODBYE IOWA

Buffy stood there for several minutes, stunned by Irmo’s sudden departure. She wasn’t expecting him to leave so soon and she hated that fact that he did. There were still so many unanswered questions in her mind. The Slayer looked blankly around the chamber. Her throne sat empty on the dais, looking impressive and alluring, as the two vats burned with silent blue flames. Buffy could not resist the urge to sit upon that seat once again despite what she had seen earlier.

Slowly and gracefully she crossed the white marble floor, realizing for the first time since Irmo had left that she was not alone in her Hall of Judgment. Among those in the room were four of her thirteen handmaidens: Feawë, Laurië, Anairë, and Vórëa, each one of them representing the Houses of Námo, Irmo, Manwë and Aulë respectively.

She climbed the steps of the dais and took a deep breath before sinking into the blue cushion. She waited in trepidation for the images to appear but it was to no avail. Buffy tried closing her eyes and concentrating but still nothing. Her eyes explored the massive chamber, which seemed rather empty even though she counted thirty-five occupants other than herself.

It was Núrë, the cupbearer, who broke the silence at long last by pulling the cork out of a bottle. The sound of the amber liquid falling into a jeweled silver chalice echoed through the hall. She then approached the dais, waiting for the Slayer’s approval before ascending the steps.

“Welcome home, Freya Queen,” she said with a small curtsey before handing the cup to the Chosen One.

“Thanks,” she replied after taking a sip. “It’s yummy!” Núrë then went back to her appointed post.

“Would you like some music?” suggested the raven-haired minstrel Antamo. Buffy gave a quick nod of her head and he began to strum the strings of his harp. He then sang one of the most beautiful love songs that she had ever heard. Many songs he would sing this night.

While Antamo sang Buffy thought about the latest turn of events in her life. She experienced so many twists and turns in the last several years that she felt like her head would explode. She’s gone from one extreme to the other, yet her place was somewhere in the middle. She has to maintain the balance. What a daunting task she had been assigned.

Buffy didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally did get a vision. And it wasn’t a pleasant one either. To cut a long story short: It was a ‘vision’ of a very angry Thingol banning her from his kingdom. That freaked her out. What on earth could she have done to piss him off that much? Surely, he wouldn’t go to such extremes due to her breakup with Mablung, would he?

She received no other visions while on her sapphire seat besides that one. The prospect of returning to Doriath suddenly looked grim to the Slayer.

Time moved quite swiftly in Folkvang. Before Buffy knew it, two months had passed in what seemed to be a week or so to her. She returned to the mansion only to discover quite a commotion going on. Apparently, the members of her household had noticed that their mistress had disappeared without a word and they were extremely concerned. It didn’t help matters that the elves had broken into her rooms and discovered the large cross on the wall. They jumped to the wrong conclusion thinking that it was blood, Buffy’s blood, until Úrion pointed out the jagged pieces of glass that littered the floor. None understood the significance of that symbol. Not yet, any way.

Only minutes after arriving home, members of the household spotted Buffy as she was descending the spiral staircase. Many of them frantically came up to her asking question after question. The Slayer appreciated their concern for her well-being but blew off her disappearance by saying that she needed time to mourn the end of her relationship with Mablung. Not all believed her story but there was no way in hell that she was going to reveal where she had gone or what she had learned.

All she wanted to do was kick back on one of the comfortable couches with a glass of wine and mull things over in her head. And that’s exactly what she did. She disappeared into the drawing room where she helped herself to a nice bottle of wine and lounged on the sofa.

Mablung had ended their relationship and there was no hope for any type of reconciliation. But was it fair for her to remain in Doriath as a constant reminder of their doomed love affair? She recalled the words of Úrion about the people of Doriath fearing that she may leave their land. Under the circumstances, it now seemed like she had no other choice but to go. It was time to start over, but where?

Even though Buffy’s heart still ached for Mablung, Irmo was right when he said that the pain would lessen. It was a weird feeling. Her brother had repeated the ‘old’ adage: ‘time heals all wounds,’ and that’s how it felt to her. It was as if the breakup had happened years ago. There was still an emptiness deep inside but she was no longer acting like a sniveling idiot, which was good, because the time had now arrived for the Slayer to focus her attention on more important matters.

Úrion was the first one to corner her in the drawing room. “I do not believe your tale, dear Bellaseth,” he said suspiciously. “My heart tells me that you are not being forthcoming about all that has transpired these last couple of months. Will you not tell me, your trusted servant, where you’ve been all this time?”

The Slayer looked directly into his gray eyes. “It’s like I said Úrion, I just needed to get away for a while and clear my head. Had to think about the next step I need to take.”

“What do you mean?” he questioned as he sat in the chair across from her. “What step?”

Buffy forced a smile. “I think the time has come for me to leave Doriath,” she announced solemnly.

His eyes widened. “Why? You have no need to leave these lands. No one is forcing you from your home. Surely you know that,” he remarked.

“I know. But look around,” Buffy waved her hand around the drawing room. “Everywhere I look, I see Mablung. This isn’t my house; it’s mine and his. There’s a difference, you know.” Buffy quickly got up and grabbed another glass from the sideboard before returning to her seat. She filled it and handed it to Úrion. “There’s nothing left for me here except painful memories that I’d rather not have to face day after day. The only way to heal my heartache is to leave Doriath and start over somewhere else.”

“But where Bella? Where will we go?” he questioned anxiously.

“We?” she queried with a raised eyebrow.

“You do not think that you’re going to leave me behind, do you? Where ever you go, I shall follow. Together we will work on your healing and my redemption. But I will not let you walk in this world alone.”

The Slayer was touched by his words. It really meant a lot to her. “I appreciate your loyalty Úrion,” she said. “It’ll be easier facing the days ahead knowing that you’ll be by my side.”

“Through thick and thin,” he responded as he raised his glass and took a sip. “So, where are we going?”

“That’s a good question,” she answered. “I’m still working on that.” Buffy then began to think about the ‘options’ that lay before her.

Buffy would love to move further north where the threat of Morgoth’s was greatest, but that was now Noldor territory. And let’s face it; she really didn’t know those people very well. Although she did befriend Finrod and his brothers, she could never be so forward as to ask if she could relocate to their land. What would she say? Oh by the way Finrod, do you mind if I crash at your place for the next millennia? No, that wasn’t going to work.

But there was one person that she could be that forward with – Orchal. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be most welcomed in the Ossiriand. The only drawback was the location; it was so far south, even of Doriath, and she had to consider her stance against Morgoth. Could she dwell that far away from evil and still be effective in the upcoming battles?

She definitely had to stay in Beleriand; there was no doubt about that. So that eliminated going anywhere east of Ered Luin. Yep, she thought to herself. Orchal’s my only hope. “Excuse me,” she said to Úrion as she walked over to the French doors that were swung open. She whistled and within one minute, two doves landed on her outstretched fingers. She whispered instructions to her messengers before they took off to deliver her pleas for aid.

“Where are they going?” asked Úrion as he walked up from behind.

“I’ve sent one to the green elves and one to the dwarves. I’m gonna need their help,” came her reply.

“What for?” he questioned.

“To prepare for war,” she answered dejectedly.

Úrion then told her that he would inform Thingol of her return. Evidently, no one had any idea as to where she had disappeared. No search parties were sent out; as everyone seemed to think that she needed to get away for a while after the ‘breakup.’ He also reminded her that she was still accounted amongst Thingol’s Household and she should’ve received his permission prior to leaving.

Buffy then gathered everyone in the house and begged them to keep her homecoming a secret until she heard back from her messengers. She feared that the vision that she had in Folkvang would come true once Thingol learned that she had returned. Everyone promised to remain silent about her ‘whereabouts’ including Úrion, much to the Slayer’s relief.

Her restlessness grew with each passing day as a result of being confined within her own halls. She longed to be outside enjoying the last days of summer but was forced to remain hidden. It sucked.

Buffy’s doves finally returned eight days after they had departed. They delivered the replies from both the elves and the dwarves. Yes, she was more than welcome to join the green elves in Ossir. And Drór and the other dwarves would be arriving soon with carts to transport her stuff to her new home. She quickly shared this news with Úrion and informed him that her friends were on their way.

“That is indeed good news,” Úrion told her. “But I deem the time has come for you to notify Thingol of your intentions. A Knight cannot simply leave his or in your case her post; you must be granted permission from the King… ”

“I know,” she replied. “But I’d rather wait until they get here. I’ve got a bad feeling about Thingol… I don’t want to take the risk of him throwing me out of Doriath on my ass. Once I have a means of hauling my stuff out of here then I’ll tell him, but not before.”

“What makes you think that the King would act so rashly?” he asked.

“Let’s just call it women’s intuition and leave it at that,” she replied.

“Well, I still say you need to speak with him about your intentions. Remember it was Thingol who helped you in your hour of need. You most certainly owe him for that,” mentioned Úrion as he pushed a strand of his dark locks behind his pointy ear.

He was right, of course. “Fine,” she said in a defeated tone, “but I’m still gonna wait until my friends arrive before I do.”

While Buffy was locked away in the mansion, she did a complete inventory of all the things she wanted to take with her. Most of these items were made especially for her: her weapons, the Mirror, clothing, jewelry and some miscellaneous pieces of furniture and artwork. Mablung would still be getting the lion’s share including the mansion itself, so it wasn’t like she was cleaning the place out.

Only a few days later, Orchal and the green elves arrived, much to Buffy’s delight. It was so good to see her old friends again as it seemed like it had been ages since she had last spoken with Orchal and Nestor. They stayed up all night talking for hours on end about the many things that were going on in their lives.

With the arrival of the dwarves four days later, it was time for Buffy to proclaim her intentions about the move. The first people she informed were the members of her household. To her amazement, all forty-five of them refused to leave her. They would also go to Ossir. Buffy was touched by their loyalty; she wasn’t expecting that. Úrion then urged her to go to Thingol immediately before someone else did. He felt it was best that the King hear from Buffy’s own mouth that she was leaving permanently.

As the elves and dwarves busied themselves with packing, Buffy retreated to her rooms. Once again, Úrion’s words struck a chord with the Slayer; ‘he helped you in your hour of need. You owe him for that.’ Buffy agreed. She grabbed the shield that Thingol had given her years ago and a couple of other items before she headed off to Menegroth.

Daeron was strumming away on his harp, singing one of the elves favorite songs about the Blessed Realm when Buffy entered Thingol’s Great Chamber. She stopped by the doors and scanned the room, looking at the many people who were congregated in there. It was only a minute or so later when Thingol raised his hand, indicating to Daeron to cease with his music making.

“Enter Bellaseth,” the Kings voice echoed.

Buffy proceeded to the Kings throne and bowed slightly as she propped the shield against her leg. “I hate to interrupt your… songfest, but I need to talk with you, Sire,” she said.

For the first time in many weeks, Thingol looked directly at her. “So you have at long last returned to your domicile,” he started. “A Knight in my Household has no right to leave my realm without my permission,” he scolded. “Where have you been these last two months, Muilwen?” The intensity of his gaze sent shivers up her spine.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she replied somberly. “So much has happened that I just needed to get away… and think about my future. I assumed since there was no threat of war, that it would be okay.”

“You are not in the position to make assumptions!” he declared loudly. “No member of my Household has the right to depart without my permission! Perhaps I should make an example of you… ”

Buffy bit her tongue. “Will you hear me out?” she questioned in an agitated voice.

Thingol’s glare intensified even more. “Now you want to tell Elu Thingol what to do? You… ”

“I’m leaving Doriath,” she blurted out. “I’ve only come to return the shield that you had given me; it belongs to your House and should remain here.”

“What?!” exclaimed Mablung, who quickly rushed to Buffy’s side. “Why are you leaving?” he asked as their eyes locked for the first time in a long while. He seemed totally stunned by her announcement.

She remained poised as she softly replied, “There’s no reason for me to stay.” She then shifted her gaze back to the King before adding, “My talents are needed elsewhere.”

“You cannot relinquish your post,” pleaded her former lover. “Doriath needs you!”

“No, Melian will keep Doriath safe. You guys have no need for me… Thingol, I ask your permission to release me from my position in your Household.”

“So you wish to renounce your loyalty to me… ” stated the King as he narrowed his eyes on her, his nostril’s flaring.

Not a good sign, thought the Slayer.

“Absolutely not. I’ve pledged my loyalty to both you and Doriath long ago and I have no intentions on rescinding that. If Doriath ever comes under attack, I’ll come to your aid, but I’ve got business to tend to elsewhere. There’s a vast world out there and I can’t devote all my time to Beleriand. Morgoth’s tendrils reach far and wide.”

“You have been in contact with the Valar, have you not?” questioned Melian.

Buffy didn’t want to reveal too much. “Yes,” she answered.

The room erupted into hushed murmurings while the Slayer was subjected to the scrutinizing gaze of both the King and Queen. They both remained quiet. Buffy assumed that they were probably speaking to each other telepathically, a skill that many in their Household possessed. The silence was nearly unbearable.

“Don’t think that I don’t appreciate everything you guys have done for me,” Buffy finally said. “I’m very grateful. And I don’t want to leave without repaying you for the kindness you’ve shown me all these years.” She directed that comment primarily to the Queen.

Buffy pulled a cloth wrapped package from her coat pocket and handed it to Thingol. “Please accept this as a token of my good will and undying friendship, King Thingol,” she proclaimed as she bowed slightly.

Thingol took the ‘gift’ from Buffy and was surprised by the weight. He unwrapped the blue cloth and his eyes widened. Inside was a bar of the purest gold, and one of silver. Both were taken from Buffy’s vaults in Folkvang and were fashioned by the greatest craftsman of all, Aulë.

The Queens eyes lit up as well for she recognized the workmanship of that Vala.

Thingol’s attitude changed dramatically once he received her offering. “This is indeed a mighty gift, Dagnir,” he said in his most pleasant voice. He paused before adding, “I declare that you are hereby released from my services, but not my heart.” His tone was warm and friendly. Buffy let out a sigh of relief.

Her thoughts immediately flashed to the vision that she had had while in Folkvang and she wondered, if by paying her debt to Thingol, that she somehow changed the future. This scene sure didn’t unfold the way she had seen it!

“When do you intend on leaving Doriath?” inquired Melian.

“At first light tomorrow,” answered Buffy.

“Why so soon?” questioned Mablung. “Can you not stay longer?”

Buffy turned to him. “The sooner I leave the better. But if you have a couple of minutes to spare, I’d appreciate it if you would come by the mansion. There are a couple of things that I’d really like to take with me, but they were given to both of us, so… ”

“Take whatever you like. It is no longer my home,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, okay. Well, see you... ” Buffy bowed to the King and Queen and hastily left Thingol’s chamber. She was relieved that things had gone so well with Thingol but she still wondered what was up with that vision. It was weird, to say the least.

The packing was finished later that evening. It didn’t take very long because so many people were helping out. And she wasn’t taking nearly everything that she wanted to.

It was before dawn when Buffy awoke the following morning. She was in a hurry to get on the road and start this next phase of her life. A new beginning… again. The Slayer had no idea how many ‘new beginnings’ life had in store for her, but right now she was on number seven. And isn’t seven supposed to be the luckiest number of them all? She hoped that that was a good omen.

The Slayer was stunned to find Thingol and his family waiting downstairs. They had come to bid her and her household farewell in proper elvish fashion. Buffy was delighted by that gesture as it gave her the opportunity to say good-bye to these people whom she had grown to love. Unfortunately, Mablung was not counted amongst them. She wished that she had said something more to him yesterday, but it was too awkward.

Buffy’s final farewell was to Lúthien.

“I shall miss you, Dagnir,” said Lúthien. “I have enjoyed your company immensely.”

“Me too,” Buffy replied. “You’ve taught me quite a bit and I value our friendship. If you ever get the chance, come to Ossir. You’ll always be welcomed.”

“I will keep that in mind. Farewell my golden friend.” Lúthien then kissed her on each cheek.

Before the sun had risen, the group took off down the road. Most were traveling on foot while some were on horseback and a few were in the dwarves’ carts. Drór wanted to travel by way of the Dwarf-Road, which meant they had to go further north before they could cross the River Aros and then head southeast. It was much longer this way, but Buffy thought it was a good idea to pacify the dwarves, as she still needed their help after they arrived in Ossir.

Once they crossed Aros, the group slowed their pace considerably. Buffy was no longer in a hurry and wanted to enjoy this leisurely trip. The last time she traveled on foot through Middle-earth was disastrous. But this time she wasn’t the guide. It was nice crossing the countryside like ‘normal’ people for a change. She had missed that.

To pass the time, the elves pulled out their harps and began singing amusing songs about this new adventure that they were embarking on. At night, after they had eaten, they would tell stories around the fire while consuming their beverage of choice. The dwarves obviously preferred ale and the elves loved their wine. Either way, they had plenty of both.

Nothing eventful happened until the tenth day of their journey. They were maybe thirty miles from the northwestern borders of Ossir, setting up camp, when they noticed a group of elves on horseback heading in their direction.

“Who are they?” asked Buffy to Orchal.

“I cannot rightly say at the moment. They are coming this way, so it will not be long before we find out.”

Everyone continued with their mundane tasks, occasionally casting a look in the direction of the riders. It wasn’t until after sunset when riders finally reached their encampment. There were twenty of them and at the forefront were two elves that appeared to be identical twins with reddish-brown hair.

“Hail Orchal,” said one of the twins.

“You know these guys?” whispered Buffy to her friend.

“Indeed I do. They are elves from Valinor, the Golodhrim, who have recently settled in these parts,” answered Orchal.

“Noldor,” Buffy mumbled to herself.

The silver-haired elf walked up to the newcomers. “Amrod. Amras. Well met,” greeted Orchal, who seemed to be on friendly terms with these people. “Why don’t you and your kinfolk sit a while and partake in some refreshments. As we say in Ossir, ‘the more, the merrier.’”

“That is good of you, friend,” answered the other twin. “We have been riding since sunrise with too few breaks.” He and the others in his party dismounted their steeds.

Buffy remained seated on the chair that she had removed from one of the carts, watching these ‘strangers’ intently. She recognized the names of the twins from her conversations with Finrod; these were the youngest sons of Fëanor.

The one who had hailed Orchal turned out to be Amrod. He was informing Orchal that they were on their way to visit his brother Caranthir, whose dwelling was northeast of the Dwarf-Road, at the foot of Mount Rerir. The Slayer knew vaguely where that was based on reviewing Thingol’s maps while in Menegroth.

“Come. You’ve got to meet our beloved Bellaseth,” informed Orchal as he led the twins towards Buffy.

When the redheaded elves saw the Slayer, they hesitated. “You are not an elf,” remarked the one named Amras.

“What gave it away?” questioned Buffy playfully. “My bronze skin? Or the fact that I don’t have pointy ears?”

“Are you one of the Hildor?” asked Amrod.

“Yes and no. I’m an immortal mortal,” replied the Chosen One.

“How can a mortal be immortal?” queried Amras.

“Call it a gift of the Valar… or maybe a curse. I haven’t totally figured out which one yet,” she answered with a grin. “I’m Bellaseth but I prefer to be called Bella. At least by my friends.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” announced Amrod in a dignified voice. “I am Amrod, this is my brother Amras. We are the sons… ”

“The sons of Fëanor, I know,” she interjected. “I’m really sorry to hear about your dad. I heard from Finrod that he was a man of many talents. Quite extraordinary ones, if I recollect correctly.”

They seemed taken aback by her words.

“Thank you for your words of sympathy,” replied Amras. “Our father was killed by one of Morgoth’s demons’ of fire.

“Gothmog,” uttered Buffy under her breath. Since she was surrounded by elves who had impeccable hearing, they all heard the name.

“How is it that you know the name of one of Morgoth’s followers?” questioned an astonished Orchal.

Buffy wished she hadn’t said a thing. Damn it! She thought to herself. Why do the elves have to have such freakin’ excellent hearing? Now she had to somehow think of something quick to tell all these people who were all staring at her, waiting for her response.

“We’ve met before,” she answered. “When I was tending to business… elsewhere. He’s the chief of all balrogs.”

“You fought him and yet still live?” asked a disbelieving Amrod. Buffy only shrugged her shoulders in response. “How is that possible? You are so small.”

Everyone in Buffy’s party had a good laugh over that. Apparently, not everyone in Beleriand has yet heard of her or her abilities.

“You have no idea what this young lady is capable of,” remarked Úrion with a laugh. “She is the Slayer, the mightiest of all warriors… ”

“C’mon Úrion,” laughed Buffy. “You’re exaggerating. I’ve had my ass kicked plenty of times.”

“Nevertheless, you live to tell the tale!” he said.

“I didn’t know Fëanor had red hair,” mentioned the Slayer, who was desperately attempting to change the topic of conversation.

Amras answered, “We get the red hair from our mother, Nerdanel.”

Buffy was relieved that her strategy had worked and she spoke with the Valinorean elves about the Blessed Realm and the Valar. Anything was better than talking about herself. One thing that she found interesting was that Fëanor had seven sons. Seven! When the Slayer heard that magic number, she wondered if it was coincidence that she met these sons of Fëanor or if fate was intervening in her life once again.


Chapter 21 - TABULA RASA

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: TABULA RASA



The train arrived in Ossir the following afternoon. They continued on until they reached the former home of Denethor. For the moment, it would be what Buffy called ‘home,’ that is until she found a more suitable location for building yet another magnificent home.

The dwarves were unwilling to climb up the long ladders to the city in the treetops even though Buffy assured them that it was safe. They remained adamant and refused to budge. She had no idea that the dwarves had such a fear of heights.

“We dwarves love the earth,” said Drór as he stamped his foot on the ground. “Our passion is delving deep into the heart of the world, no desire do we have to be above it!” The Naugrim found the elves desire to live in the trees absurd and strange. They even refused Nestor’s offer to take the lift.

It was then decided that the elves would erect large tents for the Naugrim beneath their above ground city. Orchal saw to it that they were provided with all the comforts of home. Furniture, rugs, beds, etc. were transported via the lift. The elves of Ossir already had established a wonderful relationship with the dwarves of Belegost. The green elves bartered food for knives and other objects wrought from metal with the children of Aulë. They had this mutual ‘agreement’ in place for many years now.

A great feast was held later that evening on the ground by the river Gelion at Buffy’s request. This way the dwarves would be able to attend too. The Slayer found it rather odd that Denethor’s empty seat was placed at one of the tables. It remained vacant throughout the entire meal.

When the stars popped out in the night sky, the elves began singing songs of friendship and love. Buffy, who was already weary from the trip, quietly slipped away and returned to her chamber. She longed for a hot bath and a warm bed to sleep in, but right now, she’d settle just for the bed. Whenever she traveled outside Girdle, the Slayer found that she couldn’t sleep. She attributed this to Morgoth’s emissaries who still roamed freely in the wild. It was of the utmost importance that she stay alert when traveling abroad.

One thing that Buffy had noticed since her return to Ossir was that she could feel Ulmo’s essence everywhere. She never really noticed it before and assumed that it had to do with her recent ‘enlightenment’ of who she truly was. The Slayer hoped that she would soon come face to face with the Lord of Waters. She had to admit, she was slightly jealous of Orchal and Nestor, who both spoke with that Vala on numerous occasions.

Once inside her bedchamber, Buffy decided not bother with a bath despite the fact that it had been nearly two weeks since she had last bathed. It took all of her effort just to wash her teeth. She changed into a clean nightgown before crawling into bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.

“Wake up. Bella. Wake up,” she heard in her ear. Then the shaking started. “Come on, Bella. Wake up. The sun is already out this morning.”

“Go away!” she protested as she felt the warmth of a ray of sunlight on her face.

“Your bath is being prepared,” informed Nestor. “I have not forgotten how much you enjoy them,” he added in jovial voice.

“Nestor, I’m tired. I haven’t slept in nearly two weeks,” argued the Slayer. “Go away!”

The covers were then abruptly pulled off her. “Come now woman! It’s time to rise!” he mockingly scolded. “Let’s get a move on.”

A yawning Buffy sat up, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. “Next time I’ll remember to lock the door,” she mumbled to herself.

Nestor was standing to her right while several other elves busied themselves by filling the tub with hot water. “I hope that you slept well,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, I only wish I still was!” she countered crankily. “What time is it any way?”

“It is half past eight,” he replied.

“Damn, Nestor. Why did you wake me up so early?” she asked with a yawn as she stretched her tired and stiff limbs.

“You no longer live in Doriath, so say goodbye to that life of ease that you’ve become accustomed to,” he said sarcastically. “For today is the first day of the rest of your life.” He smiled. “Besides, we’re holding a council this morning and you, my Lady, must be in attendance.”

Buffy grumbled under her breath as she climbed out of bed. “First day of the rest of my life, bah humbug!” she murmured as she began to sniff various bath oils. “You could’ve at least let me start this new life of mine later this afternoon.”

“Let’s have none of that,” he countered. “I daresay you will feel better once you are refreshed. How about some tea?”

“That would be great, Nestor. Thanks.”

Shortly thereafter, all the elves left her chamber. Buffy disrobed and slowly submerged herself into the steamy water. It felt so good and so relaxing. It was much better than the ‘sponge’ baths that she had to endure while on the road.

Buffy had luckily just finished dressing when Nestor returned with Orchal and Úrion. I have to remember to use the damn locks in this place, she thought to herself.

“I have brought your tea, Bella,” announced Nestor as he placed the tray on a table in the sitting area.

Buffy thanked him as she continued to towel dry her hair. “So what time is this council supposed to take place?” she asked.

“Not until eleven,” replied Orchal as he poured each of them a cup of tea.

“Eleven? And you go waking me up at eight thirty. Shame on you Nestor,” she chided as she plopped down on one of the couches, combing her hair.

It was only a few minutes later when four elves came in carrying breakfast trays. “I thought it would be nice if we ate in your chambers,” said Orchal. “Since nearly everyone has already partaken in the first meal of the day.”

Buffy didn’t mind at all. She was ravenous and the green elves were by far the best cooks in Middle-earth. It was clear to see why the dwarves bartered with them.

A series of bells rang at the appointed hour of the meeting and the small group left the Slayer’s chamber for the Hall of the Lord. Buffy’s attempts at inquiring about the purpose of this council went unanswered by her friends. Something was definitely going on. Her suspicions were confirmed when they wandered upon Drór and the other dwarves walking down the corridor that led to the Hall.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” she laughed as she mockingly rubbed her eyes. “I thought you guys were afraid of heights.”

“For you, Lady, we have made an exception… and it is only for the council! As soon as it is over, we will flee this city in the treetops,” replied the dwarf nervously.

The Slayer chuckled at his comment and the fact that the dwarves were walking so cautiously through this well-constructed house. With each step, they tested the sturdiness of the floor before taking the next one. It was quite amusing.

“You and your kin have brave hearts Drór and I’ve gotta say I’m flattered by your devotion to me,” she replied as they neared the double doors to the chamber.

When she entered, she immediately noticed the throng of people that packed the room to capacity. Never before had she seen it like this. Not even when Denethor died. The long benches and lovely carved wooden chairs were nowhere to be seen; this was a standing room only kind of crowd.

Before Buffy could take in any more, she noticed a sparkle in the elves’ eyes and the wide smiles on their faces. She grabbed Orchal by the arm. “Please tell me you’re not throwing me a surprise wedding?” she pleaded.

He let out a hearty laugh, linking his arm with hers and replied, “I assure you Bellaseth, this is no wedding.”

The Slayer let out a sigh of relief. “Thank Eru! So, what’s going on?”

“It is as Nestor told you this morning: today is the first day of your new life,” answered Orchal as they proceeded down the green carpeted aisle in the center of the chamber. It ended at Denethor’s High Chair, which sat upon a three-step dais.

“I don’t understand,” said a confused Buffy.

When he reached the area at the foot of the steps, Orchal stopped. The people in the room settled down and it became quiet.

Orchal then began his little speech. “Since the days of our youth far, far east of Ered Luin, we green elves have been under the protection of the Vala, Ulmo. It was he and his kinfolk who waylaid us on the Long Journey when we reached the River Anduin ages ago. And he taught us much about the world, the planting of seeds, the tilling of soil, and the crafting of boats. We have always dwelt in close proximity to his domain – the glorious rivers of Middle-earth, and he brought us comfort and happiness in times of pain and sorrow…

“Yet more and more frequent did sorrow and pain befall us until the Lord Ulmo bid us to gather our belongings and seek hope and bliss in the west. It was Denethor who led us on that perilous journey to these lands years ago where our long lost kin in Menegroth befriended us. And it was through Thingol that we were informed of the horror that was about to be unleashed and would soon plague our peaceful world.” Orchal paused as he became teary-eyed and his voice faint.

“All present here today recall how we were called to arms to aid Thingol in the first battle in Middle-earth. And our Lord, Denethor, and his entire Household perished by the hands of the cruel and vicious yrch upon Amon Ereb. We then decreed that never again shall we answer any call to battle unless evil invades our borders.

“But Ulmo counseled us otherwise, my dear Bellaseth. He said that we are here to serve another purpose in this world, although we do not rightly know what that is. He said that one would come to Ossir out of love and friendship, one who possesses the strength and determination to fight the darkness that will soon encompass this world. He sent you, my friend. The Lady Luinil.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped (it seemed like that was becoming a habit in Middle-earth!) It wasn’t as much as what he said but mentioning the name Luinil. That’s what did it. The Slayer gulped.

“Luinil,” she said softly as she looked into Orchal’s eyes. “Ulmo told you that name?” she questioned.

“Indeed,” he answered. “When we received your message, we knew that the time had come. For you see, this is not only the beginning of a new life for you but for us as well. You are our savior, our only hope. Most of our people have no desire to fight in any war and I would like that to be honored… ”

“What are you saying Orchal?” she asked, still stunned.

“We have held many councils regarding this matter and we, the people of the Land of Seven Rivers, ask that you become the Lord… er, Lady, of Ossiriand. Our leader.”

To say that Buffy was flabbergasted would be an understatement. It was such a surreal moment. Ulmo was sure putting a lot of faith in her and her abilities. She prayed to Eru that she wouldn’t disappoint them.

“Yes, Orchal. I most humbly accept. It would be my honor to serve you and your people,” she responded in her most dignified voice.

The room erupted into cheers and the ‘coronation’ ceremony, which was very simple, immediately took place. The Slayer was thankful that the green elves weren’t into formal rituals like Thingol. But they did present her with a circlet of tiny blue flowers, called luinil, interwoven in silver band. The flowers were actually ‘real’ and would never fade nor lose their scent. Buffy’s eyes welled with tears when Orchal placed it on her head.

Even though the Slayer had vast riches in Folkvang, and anything else that her heart desired, this simple headdress meant more to her than all the contents in her treasuries. It was the dawn of a new age. And Buffy was most excited to start over amid these wonderful people. Needless to say, she spent the rest of the day (and night) celebrating with lots of wine and ale.




Over the next couple weeks, Buffy learned to adjust to her newly exalted position within Ossir. It was something that she was taking very seriously. Her thoughts constantly revolved around warfare and weapons. Not that that was unusual for the Slayer, no, it was a part of her life… a part of her soul. The big difference was that ‘weapons’ were not that easy to come by in Middle-earth. Sure, one could wheel and deal with the dwarves or the elves and acquire a sword, axe, spear or bow. But Buffy was thinking ‘bigger.’

She was amazed by the things that she remembered from her days at Sunnydale High as well as her brief stint in college. Not to mention life experiences. When it came to possible weapons, the idea of devising gunpowder or messing with uranium was not an option even though they are very effective in ‘modern’ warfare. Buffy wished that those things had never been introduced to the world, and when the day comes when they are, it most certainly won’t be by her hands.

Instead, her thoughts turned to history and ancient civilizations. And she recalled many of those ‘primitive’ yet effective war machines from the days of the Roman Empire and Medieval times. “Hey Úrion,” she called to her friend, “Will you bring me some parchment and a quill?” she asked as various images of the ancient weapons flashed in her mind.

“And where am I supposed to find those items?” he asked. “The green elves do not use the runes… ”

“Ask Drór,” suggested Buffy.

The Slayer thanked Eru for the time that she had spent in Rome and all those touristy trips that Allandro had dragged her on. He was a lover of ancient weaponry and took pleasure in building replicas of old engines in his spare time. But many of the things that she remembered, she learned in history class. Who would’ve thought that actually paying attention in class would one day be beneficial to her?

Her first thought went to ancient hurling engines – such as the catapult, the ballista and the trebuchet. These machines could hurl large stones, wooden beams, javelins, and pots of the infamous ‘Greek Fire,’ (which is similar to napalm in modern times) at a great distance and with deadly accuracy. There were the breaching engines such as the battering ram and bores and of course ladders and towers for scaling the walls of any fortification. Her mind was buzzing from all this knowledge that she now recalled.

After thirty minutes, Úrion returned with said ink and parchment. Buffy’s excitement was escalating with every passing minute. She knew that this was what she was supposed to do whether by Eru’s will or the Valar. Immediately, the Slayer began sketching out these devices from memory, but it would be up to the dwarves and elves of Ossir to bring it to fruition.

When Buffy finished sketching about thirty-five of these drawings, she informed her engineers and trusted advisors including the dwarves that she would be holding a council at noon the following day. She shared her thoughts with her closest friends who were truly amazed by ‘her’ designs and the destruction that they were capable of causing.

The Slayer approached the idea from a practical standpoint. The elves of Ossir refused go to war, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t help build engines and machines that could be advantageous to their allies. Buffy did not forget the Noldor who dwelt upon Angband’s borders. Such devices would come in handy to those who would face the brunt of Morgoth’s forces. War was imminent, but did that mean it could not be somewhat profitable too?

She knew that the newcomers had a monetary system and were also quite skilled in the art of bartering. And Buffy had to seriously consider Ossir’s position in this new age. It’s a normal practice to do business with neighboring lands as long as it’s advantageous for both parties. Furthermore, it was important to her to compensate those in her ever-expanding Household, as that’s one way to ensure loyalty and good will.

But first, they needed to build prototypes… prototypes that actually worked! The Slayer stayed up all night perfecting her sketches and designing them in various sizes.

At first light, Buffy left her bedchamber with a feeling of nervous anticipation as she headed downstairs for an early breakfast. This was her first ‘official’ council as the Lady of the Seven Rivers. She hoped and prayed that everyone would be in agreement with her proposal.

When the appointed time arrived, many of the elves were surprised to learn that the Slayer was holding the meeting in more ‘private’ quarters. Buffy preferred that they all sit around a table so that she could pass her designs to all those present at the assembly. It seemed the only logical thing to do.

There were only twenty-four people that Buffy requested to be in attendance. She didn’t want too many present in case they were revolted by her ideas. Her presentation lasted maybe three hours, she explained in great detail about the mechanics of these engines even though she did not yet possess the skill to construct one herself. That was about to change. The dwarves were most intrigued by the notion of such devices.

It was Ordon the Old, a dwarf, who seemed most impressed by the sketches. Throughout Buffy’s spiel, he would nod his head and mutter, ‘cleaver, cleaver,” under his breath.

“Tell me Lady,” he said as he reviewed the trebuchet design. “What material would you use to have that kind of flexibility? Surely horsehair is not strong enough.”

“Sinew,” she replied. “It’s both elastic and can withstand tremendous force. Plus, it’s the byproduct of most animals, so it’s plentiful.”

“Forgive me Lady, but tell me you are not planning on slaying innocent animals only to acquire their sinew,” blurted the dark-haired councilor, Gúrchim.

“Of course not!” she shot back reproachfully. Buffy had no intention on harming some poor deer or ox that roamed harmlessly in the wild. But the fact remains, all Eru’s children eat… and none were vegetarians either! Elves were already resourceful when it came to using animal byproducts; this was just another byproduct that was not currently being utilized. “But we shouldn’t waste what’s already available,” she continued. “Animals are slaughtered here every day for food. Let’s start collecting all the sinew from here on out… ”

“But Bella,” interjected Úrion. “Do you think that will be enough to build all these devices?”

“Probably not,” she answered. The room fell quiet for several long minutes; everyone was deep in their own thoughts.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Hey! I think I know how we can get additional supplies of sinew. We can always hunt Morgoth’s puppies, the Wargs. I’m not deaf to the rumors about what’s haunting Taur-im-Duinath (The Forest between Rivers), you know. From what I hear we might even have an endless supply!”

The room erupted into rumblings.

“That seems appropriate to me,” declared Orchal. “I like the idea of using the flesh of the enemy as a means to thwart their evil plot. I must say Bella that you have done well with your first council. Constructing these devices can be our way of contributing to the upcoming wars without being in the direct line of fire.” He raised his glass to her. “I’m in total agreement with you, my dear Luinil.”

Everyone unanimously agreed to help make these weapons of war as a way of hopefully contributing to the downfall of Morgoth. Little did the Slayer know that by building these contraptions, she would soon earn the title Vala of War in addition to Vala of Love.

Before sending any type of hunting party out, they would use the sinew they had available to construct their first engine, the catapult. Buffy knew that it was going to be a matter of trial and error and she was correct in her assessment. After several months and five attempts, they were able to successfully launch a two hundred pound boulder three hundred and fifty yards. Its target was a twenty-foot by twenty-foot wooden structure that she had erected for the sole purpose of destroying it. The catapult’s accuracy was dead on.




With the arrival of winter, the dwarves returned to Belegost with the promise that they would return in spring. Buffy didn’t blame them. Winter was the rainy season here and since the dwarves refused to stay in the houses in the trees, they were subjected to streams of water running through their tents and all their belongings became wet and muddy. No, the Naugrim were not fans of ‘roughing’ it.

It was not long after their departure when the Slayer fell into a melancholy state. While she was very happy about her new life in Ossir, the reality of the situation was, she was lonely. Life would be much better if she had someone to share it with. And it wasn’t like there were no elves interested in ‘courting’ her, there were, but none whom she deemed to be her ‘type.’

Later that night she fell into a fitful sleep.

Buffy suddenly awoke sometime in the wee hours of the morning, which was strange because she could really use the sleep. But for some unknown reason, the desire for sleep left her. Her mind was inundated with thoughts and images of everything that had transpired within the last six months including her newly exalted position in Ossiriand. She wondered if she was ready to face this whole new set of responsibilities that fell in her lap. After all, she had only been responsible for those in her own Household, now she responsible for an entire populace.

And on top of that, she still had to deal with Morgoth, Illyria and all the other spawns that dwelt in the bowels of Angband at some point in the future. And of course there were also Folkvang and mankind… and the mystical prison. It seemed to the Slayer that she had too much on her plate at the moment. The burden of it all finally hit her; she was carrying the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders.

In desperate need of some fresh air, Buffy pulled on her cloak, left the house, and climbed down one of the ladders to the ground below. She immediately headed south, walking deeper into the forest, lost in thought. Before she knew it, she came upon a familiar sight – the mystical pool.

The Slayer climbed upon the same flat rock on which she had found Salmar long ago, sat down and glanced into the shimmering water. She called for Ulmo repeatedly, but he never showed. She tried summoning Salmar, but he too, did not respond. This made Buffy even more depressed. She longed to talk with someone about this burden, but to whom could she turn? Folkvang was ruled out since time moved so differently there. One day in that mystical realm was the equivalent to over a week in Middle-earth. And with her recent appointment as the ‘Blue Lady of Ossiriand,’ it didn’t seem appropriate to leave so abruptly nor without an explanation.

The tears started to flow as a direct result of her insecurities and a complete lack of belief in herself. On top of all her other responsibilities, she still had to deal with the Hellmouths too. And in the back of the Slayer’s mind, she knew that Morgoth would continue to haunt her until he reclaimed her as his own. How much was the Chosen One expected to endure? Buffy didn’t know how she could possibly handle everything on her own.

A gust of cool air blew through the trees, chilling the Slayer. Instead of retreating back to her warm bed, she wrapped her fur cloak tighter around her to ward off the chill. Exhaustion set in after the last tear fell and she curled up on that flat stone and fell into a most blissful dream…

Buffy found herself standing alone in some grassy meadow by the seashore. The sun was sinking in the west as a gentle wind blew from the eastern sea. She had no recollection of ever being in this place. There was no doubt that this was a dream, maybe even a mystical one, and as long as Morgoth wasn’t in it, she would play along.

Suddenly, she heard someone begin to sing. It was definitely a man’s voice and it seemed to be the sweetest sound that she had ever heard. She stood there, unable to move. It was as if some spell was cast over her and all her senses went numb except for her sense of hearing. His song enthralled her. It filled her with joy, love and hope as nothing ever did before.

When the singing stopped, only to echo through the meadow, the spell seemed to lift. She proceeded towards the edge of the cliff, where the singing came from below. As she glanced down, she saw a dark-haired elf sitting by the water’s edge. From this angle, she could tell that he was wearing a blue long sleeved tunic and tan breeches. Unfortunately, she could only see his back. His long hair wafted in the sea breeze and Buffy’s heart skipped a beat as he began another song. The Slayer was terrified that he might stop singing his inspirational tune if he noticed her, so she lay on her belly in the tall grass, peering over the edge, watching the elf dreamily.

Night after night, Buffy experienced this same dream over and over again. It was always exactly the same as it was on the first night until some weeks later. That’s when everything changed.

The Slayer arrived in the meadow as she always did, but this time she didn’t hear that sweet elvish voice. She walked to the cliffs’ edge and saw that the beach was deserted, not an elf in sight. Thinking that he might have moved further down the coast, she walked along the stony verge anxiously seeking the soulful singer. A feeling of disappointment came over her when she had no luck discovering his whereabouts.

Instinctively, she knew that it was nearly time to wake in the ‘real’ world. With her head hung low, the dejected Slayer was preparing to depart, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She pivoted on the spot only to discover that the mysterious singer stood before her. Her heart began to race as she looked into his deep gray eyes. He was gorgeous!

“Looking for me?” he asked with a mischievous grin on his face.


Chapter 22 - HIM

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: HIM



Buffy was left momentarily speechless. She gave the enchanting elf the once over. He appeared to be around six feet, six and was rather well built. He wasn’t a huge bulky guy but slender and physically fit. His longish dark hair, which looked nearly black, cascaded down his back, to just below his shoulder blades. But it was his eyes that made her weak-kneed. Their intensity left her totally smitten by this handsome stranger.

The Slayer knew that he had to be one of the Valinorean elves because he addressed his question in Quenya, the High-elven tongue of the West, instead of Sindarin, which was spoken by all the Eglath that dwelled in Beleriand.

“So, you must be the mysterious singer with the golden voice,” she said, attempting to play it cool.

He gave a slight nod of his head. “I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë, son of Curufinwë Fëanáro,” he announced. “It’s a pleasure to meet you… ” He raised his eyebrows, not knowing how to address her.

“Oh, I’m Maranwë Luinil,” she replied. “But most people call me Luinil although I’m known by other names as well.” She was quite shocked that she used her ‘real’ name, but whether it was a slip of the tongue or complete stupidity on her part, she really didn’t know. Or care. She was face to face with the man of her dreams. He was the vision of everything she could ever ask for, tall, fair and handsome, with one hell of a voice. He was like a cross between an angel (not the vampire) and a rock star, and oozed sex appeal.

“You have watched me for many weeks, have you not?” he asked as they ambled over to a nearby willow tree. “I can always sense when I’m being watched… even from afar.” They sat on the grass beneath the boughs of the tree.

“Guilty as charged,” she answered. “I’ve never heard a voice like yours before. You’re fabulous! You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you? I could always use a minstrel with a voice like yours.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I’m flattered by your words, but I’m afraid that I’m content with where I am.” He leaned against the tree, stretched out his legs and asked. “Perhaps you care to explain where we are? For I deem that this in no typical dream.”

“Good call,” she said. Buffy then went into a lengthy and detailed explanation about dream states, alternate realities, astral projection and the subconscious mind. Kanafinwë listened with rapt attention. The Noldo had never visited another, in the flesh, while in an altered state of consciousness before. He was amazed to be one of the rare few that were able to experience such magic first hand.

“Your knowledge regarding these magics is quite impressive, though your detailed explanation was a bit tiresome,” remarked the elf teasingly after Buffy finished speaking. “That’s a most extraordinary ability to possess.”

“You have no idea!” she replied.

“Do you do this often?” Kanafinwë asked, as he folded his arms behind his head.

“Not really,” the Slayer answered. “It just sort of happens… ” She sighed knowing that it would soon be time for her to wake and she didn’t want to devote the entire conversation to discussing ‘mystical transportation.’

“Well, I must say that I’m glad that it has. I cannot think of anywhere else I’d rather be. It’s not every day that I meet a beautiful maiden who captivates me, dream or not,” commented the Noldo with a smile.

“Ooh, I’m beautiful and captivating,” she said gleefully. “Well, I gotta confess to you Kanafinwë, you’ve got this whole animal magnetism thing going on. How is it that a hunkilious elf like yourself is not wed… or are you?” she queried with great interest.

“No, I have no wife. I haven’t found her… yet. But I must say that I am enjoying your company immensely Luinil… and I especially like all the adulation,” he said with a chuckle. Buffy’s face turned a deep shade of red. He stood up, held his hands out and then said, “Come on.” Buffy grasped his hands.

“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously.

“We are going to watch the sunrise on the beach. Its quite spectacular,” he answered as he pulled her to her feet. “There’s a pathway just down the way. It’s not far.” Buffy didn’t care how far it was; he was still holding her hand. She’d walk from one end of Arda to the other as long as he was by her side.

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages,” she remarked as they headed back towards the cliff.

“No? I haven’t been in a while… except in my dreams these last few weeks,” said Kanafinwë as he cast a glance at her. “I’ve dreamt about you before, a while back. I saw you with an older gentleman… in a very strange pub.”

“Yeah, I remember,” she answered. “But we don’t wanna go down that road now, do we? That leads to lengthy explanations and my ‘tiresome’ words might put you to sleep,” she said doing her best impression of the Noldo.

“I think that you’re right about that! We will not discuss dreams or astral projection or any other element of these magics that we’re experiencing. Let’s enjoy it for what it is. Agreed?” he questioned.

“Agreed,” she answered.

He led her down a sloping grassy path that ended at the sandy shore. They were both barefoot and Buffy had flashbacks to her life in California as her feet sank in the cool sand with each step. Kanafinwë still held onto her hand as they walked along the shoreline, the waves lapping at their feet. They went maybe a quarter of mile before stopping at an alcove in the cliff’s wall.

“This is my favorite spot,” he proclaimed. They sat with their backs against the wall; the entire rocky surface was covered with ivy and clusters of fragrant yellow flowers. The gentle sea breeze was invigorating and Buffy could taste the salt in her mouth. The cry of the gulls could be heard in the early morning as the sun slowly rose from the ocean’s depths.

“I can see why,” she replied. She wrapped her arms around her folded legs, staring at the waves as they crashed on the shore. “This is bliss,” she added.

“Yes, it is.” They sat there quietly for several minutes. Buffy felt content just being in Kanafinwë’s presence. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Sure,” she replied. “Fire away.”

“Why have I never seen you in Valinor?” he asked straightforwardly.

She turned her gaze towards him. “I’ve never been to Valinor,” she answered. “I have no business there.”

“No business there,” Kanafinwë echoed her words. “I thought that all the Ainur resided in Valinor, except those that follow Morgoth.”

“What makes you think I’m one of the Ainur?” she asked, slightly stunned by his perceptiveness.

“Oh Luinil, I was born and raised in the Blessed Realm, I know an Ainu when I see one,” responded the handsome elf with a grin.

Buffy fell silent for several minutes. “Not all the Ainur dwell in Valinor,” she started in a solemn voice. “And not all that dwell in Middle-earth are evil, only those who dwell in Angband are. I’m not evil. My job is to maintain the balance… between good and evil, that is. I’m the bane of Melkor’s existence.”

“Speak not that name!” said an anguished Kanafinwë. “He is our darkest foe and should be addressed as such. None of the Noldor dare call him by that name!”

“Sorry,” she said slightly taken aback. “I see that you have issues with him as well. Join the club.” She wished that she hadn’t spoken the name, Melkor. Kanafinwë’s whole demeanor had changed from one of contentment to one of anger and sorrow.

“Forgive me for my outburst,” apologized the Noldo. “Morgoth has brought much sorrow to my kinfolk. He is nothing but a liar, thief and murderer! No peace will we have until we bring about his downfall and retrieve the heirlooms of the House of Fëanáro.”

Buffy placed her hand on his sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear about the evil that he’s brought down upon your House. He stole the Silmarils, right? Those are the heirlooms of which you speak.”

The painful memory was reflected in his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He killed my grandsire and robbed our treasuries.” Kanafinwë clasped Buffy’s hand in both of his, gently caressing it, as they fell quiet once again.

Buffy had no idea that her comment would have such an effect of him. “I’ll help you Kanafinwë,” she said at last. “Whatever it takes, I’ll help you reclaim the heirlooms of your House.” That wasn’t just a mere statement; she meant it, even though she knew how much Morgoth prized those jewels. She remembered how violently the Dark Lord reacted at the mere mention of the Silmarils back in her ‘dark’ days. It would not be easy, but it wasn’t entirely impossible either.

“You’re willing to do that?” he questioned with surprise.

“Honey, for you, I’ll do just about anything,” she replied with enthusiasm.

He laughed heartily and his mood greatly improved after that. “Then I shall sing a song for you, golden maiden. I will sing of bliss and love.”

“Two of my favorite things,” she answered.

Kanafinwë grabbed his harp that was sitting on an old log against the wall. He began to strum his instrument and sing in that enchanting voice of his. Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder, and watched as the sun climbed in the early morning sky. She felt utterly content for the first time since arriving in Middle-earth. All her fears and worries subsided while under the thrall of Kanafinwë’s song.

The words of Irmo came to her mind, ‘Dreams are yet another form of reality. It is my gift to you.’ For the first time, she truly understood that statement. She was meant to meet Kanafinwë in her dreams. Her big brother didn’t want her to be alone and he sent someone who could complete her, make her whole; something that she had never experienced in her entire life.

When the last notes of his melody faded across the distant sea, the spell was lifted and Buffy zealously applauded. “Bravo!” she exclaimed. “I’ve gotta tell you Kanafinwë, that was incredible! Absolutely wonderful! If you ever desire a change of scenery, you’d be most welcomed at my own Halls. I don’t think I’d ever leave if I had a minstrel like you around!” gushed the Slayer.

“Once again I thank you for your flattering words,” he said politely with a quick nod of his head. “I’m delighted by the fact that you enjoy my music… ”

“You’re like a rock star,” she laughed. “All you need is some leather pants and… ” She couldn’t finish that sentence. The image that flashed in her mind took her breath away. Literally.

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “What is a rock star? I have never heard that expression before.”

Buffy was about to answer when she heard her name being called frantically over and over in her mind. “Bella! Bella!” She knew that it was time to wake.

“Crap!” she said aloud, confusing Kanafinwë even more. “I’ve gotta go. Something does not bode well at the homestead,” she said as she got to her feet.

“Is something wrong?” he asked with an air of concern.

“Probably,” she replied, “but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

He set his harp aside and rose. “When will I see you again?” he asked as he took both of her hands in his. Buffy continued to hear the frantic cries of her name.

“Soon. Look for me in your dreams,” she said with a wide grin on her face.

“That I shall,” he replied as he kissed the back of both her hands.

“Please Kanafinwë, don’t tell anyone about our meetings. We must use discretion. No one’s supposed to know that I’m here. Promise me,” she demanded.

“I promise that from here on out nobody shall know about our trysts,” he vowed. Kanafinwë took care in how he worded his response. He had already told his eldest brother about the strange dream involving the petite golden haired maiden that he had long ago.

Buffy gave his hands a gentle squeeze before she let go and returned to reality.



A moment later, her eyes darted open and Orchal was bent over her. “Bella! Thank goodness you’re awake. There are some youngsters playing with your contraption by the river… ”

“Shit!” she exclaimed as she flew from her bed and out the door, her bare feet covered in sand. Buffy jumped the steps three at a time, holding her white gossamer nightgown above her knees. She ran down the boardwalk as the men ogled her near naked form. Without hesitation, she leapt from the boardwalk, landing a couple of hundred feet below. Her feet sunk in the soft earth and she caught herself before falling in the dirt. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed when she saw what the little hoodlums were up to.

A large group of elflings were gathered around the catapult near the riverbank. One of the kids was seated in the ‘spoon’ at the end of the arm and was about to be hurled into the river. “HEY!” Buffy screamed as she continued running as fast as her legs would carry her. Unfortunately, her timing was off by a split second. She heard the click of the lever and then saw a silver-haired boy go flying through the air. But the little brats did not know that adjustments had to be made to the weights of the engine to determine how much force was used. They overshot their mark. The boy careened into the rock wall on the opposite side of the river. A loud cracking sound could be heard as his limp and bloody form plummeted to the water beneath him.

Without hesitation, the Slayer jumped from the embankment into the ice-cold river. She gasped for air as she resurfaced, the coldness nearly taking her breath away. The current was taking her downstream as she bobbed up and down looking for the boy. She saw his flailing form some fifty yards down from her.

The current was swift and Buffy was an excellent swimmer so she was able to reach the elfling in no time at all. She grabbed him around the neck, keeping him above the water as she kicked feverishly to the shore. “Thranduil!” she scolded the youngster (who ironically was thirty-eight, the same age as Buffy, which is the equivalent to a young teen in ‘mortal’ years). “What the hell were you thinking?” she asked as she looked over his injuries. His body was trembling and his skin had a purplish hue to it. His nose was broken and a steady stream of blood poured from both nostrils. The poor kid also suffered from a compound fracture to his femur, the bone piercing his skin at an odd angle.

Thranduil was howling in pain, gagging on the blood that was running down his throat. Buffy propped him up against a large rock. Her anger ebbed only to be replaced with grave concern. She spoke softly and reassuringly to him as she tore a strip from her gown. The Slayer needed to make a splint. With a shaky hand she grabbed the nearest piece of driftwood that would suffice for that purpose.

Buffy eyed the height of the embankment as she tore another strip from her gown. A group of people had gathered and were in the process of lowering a rope. As the Slayer worked on the splint, Úrion came down the rope with a cloak and a blanket in hand. He handed Buffy the cloak and wrapped the blanket around the boy. She was freezing, her teeth chattering, as she put the cloak on.

“Let me carry him,” suggested Úrion.

“No, I’ve got him,” answered the Slayer. “Okay Thranduil, I’ve gotta get you up the embankment before we can tend to all your injuries. Wrap your arms around my neck,” she instructed. “That’s a good boy.” Buffy picked up the whimpering elfling, grabbed the rope, and carefully scaled the rock wall. When she reached the top, she placed him in Orchal’s arms. “Take him to the house.”

Buffy ordered all the kids involved to report to her Hall where she would dole out the appropriate punishments. Orchal took Thranduil to one of the chambers in the main house while the Slayer inquired as to his mother’s whereabouts (his father died in the war, being close kin to Denethor). As it turned out she was visiting some kinfolk in the east.

Nestor came around the corner wheeling a cart loaded with various herbal remedies and implements needed for that ‘art of healing.’ “What do you have that’ll knock him out?” asked a still shivering Buffy.

“Do not fret about it Bella. I’ll tend to the child,” he said as he attempted to bypass her into the room. “Excuse me!” he asserted, miffed by her rudeness.

“Just give me the tonic and I’ll take care of Thranduil,” she replied, with her hand held out.

“You’re no healer! That is what I do best as you should recall!” he countered.

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you Nestor. Give me the tonic and be gone. And that’s an order!” demanded the Slayer.

Nestor stood there for a moment floored by the words and tone of his friend. “Fine,” he said as he handed her the bottle and took off down the corridor leaving his cart behind. Everyone seemed taken aback by Buffy’s attitude.

“He’s my responsibility,” she said before slamming the door and locking it.

Immediately, she went to Thranduil’s side. “Am I going to die?” he asked between whimpers.

“No sweetheart,” she replied as she opened the bottle. “Drink this,” she instructed, as she put the bottle to his lips. He took a dose of the tonic and within a few minutes, he fell asleep. Buffy took this opportunity to heal Thranduil herself. She couldn’t share this secret with anyone, not yet anyway. As Morgoth showed her years ago, the Slayer utilized her saliva to heal the boy’s wounds.

It was not the most enjoyable of experiences, but Buffy was only concerned with the end results. She was able to heal all his injuries but deliberately left a faint scar on his leg to act as a reminder of this most stupid and dangerous stunt.

As the Slayer left Thranduil’s chambers, she summoned one of her healers to keep an eye on him. She was wet, cold and dirty and in desperate need of a hot bath. Úrion was already in her rooms when she arrived. She ordered him to have the arm of the catapult dismantled and kept under lock and key in case any other elfling had the gumption to repeat Thranduil’s disastrous feat. The Slayer waited impatiently as bucket after bucket was carried to the tub. This was the first time that Buffy had truly missed the mansion in Doriath.

While the Slayer was bathing, an uptight Nestor came barging into her private chamber. Buffy cursed under her breath, angry that she kept forgetting to lock the doors in this place. “Do you mind?” she questioned. “I’m kinda naked here.” She tried to hide her ‘stuff’ the best she could.

Nestor ignored her words. He grabbed a chair, pulling it a little too close to the tub for Buffy’s comfort. “How did you heal the boy?” he asked as he sat down, arms folded across his chest.

“Can’t this wait?” she asked.

“No. How is it that you were able to mend Thranduil’s leg so quickly? The bone had pierced the skin! Yet now it looks as though it had never been injured.” He was half frantic.

“I’m a woman of many talents, Nestor,” she admitted with a twinkle in her eye. It was obvious that he was stumped by her newfound healing abilities. “Listen, don’t be angry over this. It’s not a big deal. I’ve learned a few things over these last few years; healing being one of them.” She slid closer to the side of the tub and rested her arms on its edge. “You’ll always be my favorite healer. You know that, don’t you?” she said in a flattering tone.

“Pfft!” he sounded. “I am not worthy of the title ‘healer’ when compared to your skills,” he replied sullenly.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she countered. “Who was it that healed me when I couldn’t sleep for weeks? YOU! Who has every remedy under the sun for whatever ailment one may suffer from? YOU! My dear Nestor, you’re the greatest healer in all of Ossir; don’t get down over one incident. You’re consistent. I’m not. That’s why I love you so.”

“You love me?” asked the golden haired elf.

“You bet I do. You’re like the brother I’ve never had. Or wished I had.” She smiled, knowing that she had real brothers but that they were strangers when compared to the likes of Nestor, Orchal, and Úrion. “Please don’t be angry with me any more.”

He let out a sigh. “All is forgiven, but you will someday teach me your methods of healing, right?” queried Nestor as he rose from his seat.

“You’ll be the first one. Promise.” She even did the whole cross your heart and hope to die routine.

“Enjoy your bath,” he said as he left her chamber.

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. She really did love Nestor but it was way too soon for there to be a dissenter amongst her Household. The Slayer was appointed to her position in Ossir; she didn’t inherit it by direct bloodline, as was normal custom. Incidentally, it was Thranduil who was next in line for the lordship of this land since he was now the only living descendent of the ‘Greenleaf’ clan. Denethor was his uncle.

When Buffy finished dressing, she returned to her Hall where she knew there was a group of youngsters awaiting her judgment. The look of terror on their little faces softened her heart considerably. But she still punished them by assigning them to the most tedious tasks in her Household. They wouldn’t be happy campers for the next three months.



For the next sixteen nights Buffy continued with her nocturnal rendezvous’ with Kanafinwë. They spent each night in a different place doing different things. No, nothing like that! At this point in their unusual ‘courtship,’ they had finally reached the passionate kissing stage. No groping, just kissing, as Káno (her nickname for him) was always the perfect gentleman.

It was unfortunate that while on their seventeenth ‘date’ that fate found a way to intervene in her love life once again. Kind of ironic since she was the Vala of Love, and all. But it seemed to her that whenever the potential for a new loving relationship was within her grasp, it was somehow cruelly torn away from her… as she was about to find out!

On this particular night, they paid another visit to that isolated spot on the beach where they had gone the first time they ‘met.’ Since this was all a dream state, they came up with different ways to make themselves more comfortable. Instead of sitting in the sand, they were sprawled out on a magnificently large chaise lounge made for two. And they saw to it that they had plenty of refreshments including wine, ale, mead, delicious ripe fruit and cheese. Something to snack on, if they found themselves hungry or thirsty, whatever the case may be.

They were surrounded by darkness and lay there talking and watching the starry sky. Kanafinwë then asked her the most peculiar question, “Are you named after the star or is the star named after you?” he asked as he pointed to the heavens, indicating the star in question.

After all these many nights, Buffy had never admitted to being one of the Ainur although it was alluded to many times. She did confess that she was the Slayer, but he really didn’t know what that meant other than she was to maintain the balance between good and evil. She wanted to keep this whole ‘thing’ separate from her real life. This was a way of escaping the rigors of reality. But Kanafinwë was very clever. The question that he posed was yet another example of his trying to get her to admit that she was an Ainu. Buffy knew that, and she wasn’t about to slip up again.

She turned on her side and looked deeply into his gray eyes. “Do you see the word stupid on my forehead?” she asked lightheartedly. “You’re not gonna trick me, Káno, no matter how hard you try.”

“Is that so,” he replied in like manner, as he flung his legs over hers. Buffy attempted to playfully squirm away, but he prevented her from doing so. “Let me see if I can use my ability to charm you into admitting who you really are,” he continued naughtily.

“And how do you intend to do that?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It requires that I show you rather than tell you,” he whispered seductively.

He moved in closer, their lips were a mere inch apart, she could feel them burning with desire. She had just closed her eyes when a voice rang out from nowhere, “LUINIL!”

They both jumped, startled by the interruption. The ‘moment’ was lost.

“Luthor?!” exclaimed Buffy when she caught sight of his form just outside the alcove. He looked good, kingly even. It seemed that he was taking that whole Lord thing seriously. But what had concerned her the most was that he was dressed in battle gear. “What is it?”

Luthor’s gaze shifted from her to the elf and back to her again. “Melkor has unleashed an army against our fortress. They are marching as we speak. I do not have nearly enough men to combat them, as they are ten thousand strong. We are outnumbered, my friend. And we are in need of your… skills.”

Buffy jumped to her feet, as did Kanafinwë. “He’s found the fortress!” That distressed her more than anything else.

“They are still about thirty miles north of the fortress. I do not want Melkor discovering its whereabouts. That would be disastrous. We must take the battle to him! My men are prepared but they will not march out without you, their General,” he said with an air of annoyance.

Buffy looked up at Kanafinwë. “See, duty calls once again.”

“Let me help you,” he volunteered. “I have thousands of men at my disposal. Tell me where to go and we will join you… ”

“It won’t do any good, Káno. It would take months for your men to reach the fortress; it lies far in the east… ”

“Get a move on Luinil!” ordered Luthor. “There is need for haste! If you continue to dawdle, all our hard labor will be for naught.” He then disappeared.

Buffy turned to Kanafinwë. “Is there nothing I can do?” he asked with deep concern. “I want to help. Let me come with you. I’m skilled in battle.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s too far away. I can deal with this. It’s not my first time down this road and believe me, it won’t be my last.”

“You take care then,” he said softly as he took her hands in his. “War is a vicious affair. Be safe. Stay alert. And most importantly, come back to me in one piece.” He kissed the back of each of her hands. Buffy felt the warmth of his kisses course throughout her entire body, making her momentarily lightheaded.

“Wait for me,” she said hopefully.

“You know that I will. No peace will I have until I know that you’ve safely returned to me,” he answered. The Slayer knew that she needed to get a move on, but his eyes captivated her. She couldn’t believe how infatuated she had become with Kanafinwë, especially when one considers that they had only met seventeen nights ago.

“I’ll return, I promise,” she said resolutely, as she kissed him passionately on the lips. She felt her face flush. “I’ll see you soon.” She gradually walked backwards, clinging to his fingertips not wanting to let him go. Even though this was a dream, she most definitely could feel his ‘touch.’

“Be careful.” Those were the last words the Slayer heard before she awoke in her own bed in Ossir.



It was still dark outside and according to the clock it was half past four. Buffy climbed out of bed and went to her wardrobe, deciding that leather would be appropriate for the upcoming battle. She went to one of her adjoining rooms and grabbed her armor and axe, carefully placing them on the bed. Before she geared up for war, she wanted to inform Orchal that she had to leave Ossir for a while.

As she walked to his chamber, she tried to concoct some type of story to explain her sudden departure. By the time she rapped on his door, she thought she had a plausible story. When he didn’t answer, she turned the knob and entered, praying all the while that he was ‘decent.’

“Orchal,” she called. He obviously wasn’t in his sitting room, so she continued to his bedchamber. “Orchal,” she called again as she tapped on the door. Without waiting for an answer of some sort, she went ahead and opened the door.

“Bella? What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat up, and lit the lamp next to his bed.

“It’s nothing, really,” she whispered as she walked over to his bed. “Well, that’s not true… ”

“I’m awake. There’s no need to whisper,” he said with a yawn.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” she said apologetically as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Slayer stuff… ”

“What do you mean? Is it something to do with the enemy?” he questioned.

“Afraid so.” She had no other choice; she had to fudge the truth. “I was looking in my Mirror and saw an army about to attack a… a fortress far east of here. The people there are not equipped to take on an enemy of this caliber. If I leave now, I think I’ll be able to get there before Bauglir’s minions do.”

“Oh, dear. That is indeed dreadful news. What can I do?” he asked.

“Just keep things moving along here. Act as my regent while I’m gone.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t know if I’ll be back by spring, so if the Naugrim come back before me, have them continue with their labor. I need as many of those engines as they can build. Let them know that, when I return, I’ll have their payment… ”

“What shall I say to the Household?”

“I don’t know. Use your judgment. I’ve really gotta go.” She turned to leave.

“Take care, Bellaseth, and for the love of Ulmo, be careful,” she heard Orchal say as she crossed the room. She gave him a little wave before disappearing out the door.

Buffy quickly made her way back to her chambers. The house was quiet except for the clicking of her boots on the wooden floor. Once inside her bedroom, she went to the wardrobe and grabbed her feather coat. She didn’t know if she would actually need or use it, but she wanted to bring it nevertheless. Carefully she folded it up and placed it into a satchel along with some extra clothing and her orb of Thezula. She then put on her mail including her helm. After surveying herself in the mirror, she grabbed her axe and disappeared in a flash.




Úrion stepped out from behind one of the columns in Buffy’s bedchamber, thankful that she was too preoccupied to notice his presence. He walked over to the area where she had been only a few moments before, his hand feeling the impulses of energy that still lingered in the air. How did she do that? He wondered to himself as he inhaled deeply. Úrion relished the scent of the Slayer; it was imbued with such power, making him both envious and resentful of her at the same time.

He made his way to her ‘real’ private chamber, so called because it contained her Mirror. This was the only room that Buffy demanded that the door be kept locked at all times. Only two keys existed to the door and she entrusted one of them to Úrion for safekeeping. Once inside, he locked the door before scanning the room. It was sparsely furnished with a couple of comfortable looking chairs and a small table in one corner. In the center of the chamber sat the Mirror on its marble pedestal. Beside it was a cistern full of the ‘water of Ulmo.’

Úrion walked over to the Mirror, grabbed the ewer that rested in its basin and used it to transfer water from the tank. After the bowl was filled, he sliced his hand and let a few drops of blood fall into the water. Immediately, it began to hiss and emit black vapors. He studied his wound for a moment, blood dripping down his arm, before running his tongue along the incision. It was then healed.

“It has been far too long since I’ve last heard from you, Úrion,” said the unmistakable voice of Morgoth from the Mirror. “You’d best have a good reason or I’ll see to it that you are disemboweled on a daily basis by Carcharoth for the next century.”

Úrion gripped the rim of the bowl in an attempt to stable his trembling body. “Much has happened in the last few years, my Lord Melkor. This has been the only opportunity I have had of late… I would never intentionally delay any communications with you.”

“Then Melisse does not suspect a thing about you, I take it,” replied Morgoth. His image in the basin was clearly visible.

“I am still her trusted servant,” he replied confidently.

“That is good news, my friend. Good news indeed!” He paused. “So tell me, what has my wife been up to?” asked Morgoth with interest.

Úrion told the Dark Lord about the break up with Mablung, which didn’t please him in the slightest, as he already knew about that. “If it weren’t for my cunning skill, it would not have happened in the first place!” he yelled angrily. “Tell me something that I do not already know!”

“Forgive me,” stammered the traitor. “Inanna has left Doriath for Ossiriand; we now dwell in the house of the dead elven Lord, Denethor. She has been named the ‘Blue Lady of Ossir’ by the elves in this land,” he revealed.

“I have always said that she was a natural leader,” commented Morgoth. “Let her lead them into ruination.”

“You might want to reconsider that,” remarked Úrion as his courage grew. “The Lady has been quite busy devising new weapons that can inflict damage from far away. I have never seen the like before. And the one that we have built is deadly accurate. These engines, as she calls them, are capable of launching a projectile five hundred yards!”

Deep creases formed between the Dark Lord’s eyes as his anger escalated. “Why is it that I have no knowledge of these… machines?” barked Morgoth. “For one year she dwelt by my side and I never considered… ” He was seething, his eyes burning with an intense fury. The Vala had only been concerned with creating new monsters – his children, with Buffy. He never gave any thought to building war machines, only standard weapons. She was attempting to foil his plans and there was no way he was going to allow that. “I want those devices!” he ordered.

“It’s not that simple, Lord. These are very large contraptions that are difficult to transport,” argued Úrion. “It is much easier to send the designs to you. I will have them copied and I will have one of your messengers deliver them to you.”

“Very good. Make that your number one priority. I want those designs!” He fell silent for a few moments. “I will not have her thwart my plans… ”

“She may be in the process of doing that very thing as we speak,” said the ‘elf’. “It has been only a few minutes since she disappeared garbed in full battle gear.”

Morgoth’s evil laughter resonated throughout the chamber. “That, my friend, is my doing. I needed a diversion for my beloved whilst I set Illyria up on her throne in the lands east of Orocarni.” A wicked grin appeared on his monstrous face. “My spies tell me that the second born have awaken. There are hordes of these witless mortals running around, oblivious of the world. They lack purpose and direction in their wretched lives. Oh, but that is all about to change! They shall soon learn that I am their only salvation in Arda.”

“What more can I do for you Lord?” asked Úrion.

“Proceed as you have been. Keep me informed but do nothing to jeopardize your position with Melisse. I do not want her to discover your true nature,” answered Morgoth.

“Very well,” replied his servant. The conversation was over. Úrion left the chamber exactly as he found it. He hastily went to collect the plans from the engineers to begin work on making copies for his Lord.


Chapter 23 - INTERVENTION

Buffy arrived outside the fortress only seconds later. Luthor had all one hundred and forty-three dwarves lined up in marching formation. The dwarves’ short and stout bodies were covered entirely in armor wrought of steel. Only a small portion of their grim faces could be seen. They were glad to see the Lady Freya once again, but dreaded the thought that it looked like they were going to march to their deaths. How could one hundred and forty-five people defend themselves against an army of ten thousand?

“You arrive at last,” snapped Luthor as he walked over, looking both annoyed and concerned. He, too, was clad in armor similar to the dwarves, but on his chest plate was a blue crucifix. Buffy had to conceal her amusement over the fact that he had braided his beard like the Naugrim. She had enough scruples to know that now was not the appropriate time for jest. “I would think the prospect of war would have you make haste,” he added.

“It’s good to see you too, Luthor.” She studied the group carefully and wondered how many of them would ultimately fall in battle. “So, how much time do we have?” she asked.

“According to my calculations, some time this afternoon, if we start marching now,” he replied.

“Damn it! I wish we had more time. Why didn’t you notify me sooner?” asked the perturbed Slayer.

“Do you think that I linger about these fields all day? Do I not have things to tend to within the fortress?” he questioned agitatedly. “I’m sorry Bella, but I do not devote all my time to keeping watch. I did not know that Melkor would discover our whereabouts so soon. It wasn’t until my alarm went off that I realized that the enemy had stumbled upon our realm. That, my dear, is when I sought you.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “But it looks like you’ve been rather busy of late… been too preoccupied with your lover instead of paying a visit to those who labor endlessly in order to do your bidding… ”

Those last words stung the Slayer, but she bit her lip. There was no point in arguing with Luthor. True, it had been quite a while since she’d checked in with the guys, but right now, her undivided attention was focused on the impending battle.

“We’ve definitely got to route the enemy away from the entrance to the refuge,” said Buffy, getting back to business. “You know, I’ve just started building these weapons called engines back in Ossir… God, how I wish I had my catapult with me.”

“Do we have time to retrieve it?” asked Luthor hopefully.

“Nope. It’s way too big. We’d have to disassemble it in order to transport it,” she replied. “Believe me, if there was any way, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“That is most unfortunate,” he answered dismally. “I deem that we had better get a move on then.” The Maia then ordered the men to move out and slowly but surely, the train started advancing north.

Luthor saw to it that all provisions were packed on carts, which were pulled by oxen. Buffy had no idea how he was able to domesticate them, but was grateful that he had. It was a burden to have to carry supplies especially when one was outfitted in armor. Most people don’t consider how heavy that stuff is, or how hot one becomes when marching and/or fighting. But it serves a vital purpose, so they would all endure it together, because, quite frankly, no one wants to die.

As they marched in silence, Buffy pondered on how unprepared they were for this battle. If only she had her war machines ready, this would be a piece of cake. Images of all the things that she had forgotten that would have been beneficial to them flashed in her mind: lembas, horses and bows and arrows. Can you believe they were marching to war without any? The dwarves were not big fans of the bow, preferring the axe instead, and the Slayer, who was in too much of a hurry, didn’t bring any. Hell, bows were like ‘shotguns’ in Ossir; there was one behind every door. That meant they’d have to resort to one on one combat since there was no option of ‘picking’ off any of the enemy before the initial collision.

Gradually, the dimness that surrounded them became lighter as the sun started to rise. The eastern sky glowed in a pinkish orange hue as a gust of cold wind blew from the south. Not only did it bring an air of hope to each one of them but even better - the yrch detested sunlight.

After marching for four hours, the company halted for a quick bite. Thick gray clouds loomed in the distance. It appeared that Morgoth would provide his armies with some cover after all. This disheartened the group somewhat.

“Don’t loose faith,” the Slayer told them. “We can’t rule out a victory just yet.” Although in the back of her mind, she wasn’t quite sure how they could defeat the enemy. Buffy had to tread very carefully here. Her newfound powers were so great, that with little effort, she could destroy the world. All the Ainur possessed that kind of power, but none dare use it, as they loved the world too much. Yes, even Morgoth and his cronies. Their only desire was to rule Middle-earth with the proverbial ‘iron fist’ and subjecting the ‘lesser’ races.

Twenty minutes later, they resumed the march once again. A misty rain began to fall a couple of hours later and gradually the sky became darker and darker. Dvalin attempted to renew the hope of the dwarves by singing one of their dwarvish war songs and that actually roused their confidence to some degree.

That was good because beyond the horizon, Buffy could make out the forces of Morgoth. She was quite surprised that he had sent mostly yrch. The Slayer counted twelve Balrogs and saw a number of wargs, some with yrch riding on their backs while others were running wildly towards them. Buffy was half expecting to see some of those demons that she had helped to create, but from this perspective she couldn’t make out any.

The dwarves had not yet gotten the visual of these creatures. Their eyesight was not nearly as acute as Buffy’s and Luthor’s. The two Ainur spoke in their minds about their impending doom.

‘Bella, there is no possible way on Eru’s green earth that we’ll be able to defeat our foes!’ said a panicking Luthor.

‘It doesn’t look good, does it?” queried the Slayer. “I’ve been in situations like this before Luthor. Just don’t give up hope.’

‘I assure you that I have already lost all hope, my dear! I only wonder what death feels like… ’ He became sullen. ‘Will death take me swiftly or will I be subjected to horrible torments in retribution for my past deeds… ’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ she chastised as she cast an angry glance his way. ‘If the dwarves heard you say that, they’d probably freak out and run the other way!’

‘They’re not the type to turn tail and flee from any enemy, even if death is eminent, as it is now,’ defended Luthor. ‘The dwarves are a hardy folk and very stubborn. I have spent much time with them and I am quite impressed by their fortitude.’

‘Well, it seems like you’ve taken a liking to them, after all,’ she said with a grin.

‘In some ways, I appreciate them, but in others… ’ grumbled Luthor. Buffy could tell that whatever it was that the dwarves did or didn’t do, she was about to find out. ‘Do you know that these Naugrim refuse to work the fields? I’ve got the daunting task of having to sow and reap the crops and do all the cooking. I’ve had to threaten them with my scepter in order to get them to help with the weaving! It’s as if I’m their servant.’

Buffy chuckled when she heard that. Granted, it wasn’t the most suitable time for that, but she found Luthor’s little tirade quite amusing. ‘You know Luthor, the road to atonement is a long one. No one said it would be easy.’

‘I wasn’t subjected to such drudgery while in Angband,’ he muttered. She shifted her gaze back to the Maia, a look of disgust on her face. ‘I’m not saying that I want to go back or that I miss it… I simply do not take pleasure in doing hard, manual labor,’ he whined.

‘Yeah, I’m sure Melkor would welcome you back with loving arms,’ she smirked. ‘And you sure didn’t mind manual labor when I was doing it!’

‘That was different,’ he argued. ‘You were fat and needed to lose weight. I was merely getting you back in shape and I must say that I did a rather good job of it, if I don’t say so myself.’

“I think that we should leave the carts here,” she said aloud as they came to a standstill. The terrain changed from this point on, it was hilly and rocky as opposed to the flat fields that they had just crossed. They stood at the spot where these two different landscapes intersected. The only large trees were firs, and they had just passed the last stand of them. Buffy thought it was best to leave their provisions hidden within that treed area. It would be nearly impossible for the oxen to descend into the dale without causing injury to themselves or their supplies.

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Brokk, who stood nearby. “Let us take only the basic necessities that we can carry on our belts.” It wasn’t like they were going to have time to sit down and have a feast in the midst of all the killing. So each person was given two water skins and a small portion of food. Luthor un-harnessed the oxen and sent them back towards the fortress while the dwarves pulled the carts beneath the boughs of the fir trees.

Misty rain continued to fall and with the disappearance of the sun, nighttime arrived earlier than they had anticipated. As they carefully descended the slope, the howls of the wargs echoed in the distance; the enemy was quickly approaching. Buffy’s mouth felt dry, knowing that the confrontation was close at hand. Some would die; there was no question about that. She hoped and prayed for a miracle.

The company made it to the bottom of the vale and with difficulty they began to ascend the hill on the other side. The wind picked up and the temperature seemed to plummet even lower, chilling the Slayer to the bone. When they reached the top, everyone could see the large fiery figures of the Balrogs and the torches carried by the yrch, who were only a couple of miles away. The dwarves were frightened upon seeing Morgoth’s beasts of shadow and flame, but Luthor assured his friends that they most certainly could be killed.

The wargs were the first to attack them at this juncture. Foaming out the mouth and growling as though they hadn’t been fed in weeks they leapt at the men with a ferocious velocity. A couple of dwarves nearly flew down the slope backwards, but managed to fall on their backs instead, allowing their brothers the opportunity to kill the beasts. The sweetest sound to Buffy’s ears was hearing the yelps of the wolves as the axes of the dwarves hacked them to pieces.

“Save your energy!” ordered Buffy. “Kill them, don’t make ‘em into mincemeat. There’s plenty more where that came from.” She swung her own axe and in one swift motion, she managed to behead one and gore another. “Gotta two for one special today!” she quipped.

“You must do better than that, Dagnir,” said Luthor as he placed his foot on a downed beast, trying to pry his axe out the dead wolf‘s rib cage. “If my calculations are correct, and they usually are, we’ll each have to kill 68.96 of the enemy. Up for it, Luinil?” he asked as he freed his weapon from the warg’s corpse.

“How does one kill .96? What the hell does that mean any way?” she asked as she glanced over her shoulder at Luthor. That slight distraction led to her being blindsided by another warg, which resulted in her being thrown onto the ground. She used her axe-handle as a means of preventing the snarling beast from biting her. It growled madly as its jaws locked on the handle. Buffy mustered her strength and flipped the warg off, holding it pinned to the ground with the axe-handle. “Bad puppy!” she scolded as Luthor slipped around and crushed the topmost portion of its skull in two. The contents of its brain splattered all over the Slayer. “Damn it, Luthor!” she said irritatingly. “Try not to get brain matter all over me!” She hastily wiped the stuff from her face with her gloved hand.

“It’s all a part of war,” smirked the old man. “I would think that you of all people would be used to it by now.”

The riders atop the wargs had now arrived carrying both bows and spears.

“My specialty is vampires! And they turn to dust,” she remarked as she snatched an orch from a warg by his neck. She allowed the momentum to force her onto the ground, keeping the creature trapped in her choke hold. She maneuvered her hands in order to grab both sides of his head and using her slayer strength, she twisted his neck until she heard a loud cracking sound. She then rolled the limp form aside. “I think I sometimes take them for granted, you know. There’s no mess involved… no blood stains or brain matter,” Buffy said matter of factly as she got back to her feet.

“I see no vampires here today,” said Luthor, before swinging his axe at another wolf with such force that it literally was disemboweled whilst in mid-air. He let out a hearty laugh. “Top that, Luinil,” he boasted.

“Personally, pops, I’m gonna extinguish the fires of Morgoth’s Balrogs,” informed Buffy. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall… but I’m up for slaying any of them. I don’t discriminate!” A hail of arrows began to rain down upon them. “Shields!” she cried out, and they speedily slung them from their backs, blocking the arrows that whizzed in all directions around them.

Buffy was impressed with the dwarves tenacity and resourcefulness under these conditions. She saw Dufur and Har each holding rings at opposite ends of something that was reminiscent of piano wire, as one of the riders came stampeding towards Luthor, they raised the ‘wire’ and severed its head. Luthor turned quickly and decapitated the wolf, which then tumbled several times before coming to a halt. It was a most spectacular sight!

“Excellent teamwork!” shouted Buffy.

Luthor glanced at the Slayer, gave a nod of his head, and repeated their strategy, “I’ll take the right flank, you the left and the Naugrim can come up the middle.” Buffy nodded in agreement, as Lofar sounded his horn, indicating that the time had arrived to charge the enemy. Their adrenaline rush kicked into overdrive as the dwarves along with Buffy and Luthor charged at the enemy. Their war cry rang out into the night.

Buffy veered off to the left and attacked the nearest Balrog, whom she happened to know by the name of Authon. He was nearly four times the size of the Slayer, and brandished both a whip of burning throngs and a sword that smoldered with fiery magicks. She went for his legs knowing that was her best chance at bringing him down to her level. Time after time, he blocked each blow forcing Buffy to use her shield more than her weapon.

Authon’s whip lashed at the Slayer’s legs causing her to wince from the pain. As the sting shot through her body, Buffy clenched her fist even tighter around her weapon. She forced him to use his sword and when he made a stabbing motion, she flung her axe with all her might; it went soaring through the air, striking the beast between the eyes. It let out a terrible wail as it teetered on the spot before falling with a heavy thud, thrashing on the ground. It dropped its weapons as it attempted to pull the axe from its skull.

Buffy picked up its flaming whip and lashed it a couple of times. “Don’t feel good, does it?” she spat. She grabbed its sword and rammed it through its chest. Its fires diminished indicating that the creature was at deaths door. The Slayer retrieved her Orb of Thezula from a pouch that hung from her belt. “Guess what Authon? You get to be my guinea pig.”

As the light quenched from his eyes, Buffy saw his fey rise from its former house. “Come to momma,” she said as she held the Orb aloft, summoning his spirit. The Orb glowed a brilliant orange. The son of a bitch was trapped! She smiled as she slid the Orb back into her pouch. She pulled her weapon from his head and rejoined the fray.

It was probably about thirty minutes into the battle when Buffy noticed the first fallen dwarves. The yrch were literally dismembering her fallen friends, pulling out their intestines and swinging them like a lasso. Angered by the sight, the Slayer switched her attention to the yrch instead of the Balrogs. She failed to notice in her ire, that the enemy had formed a large ring around her and her friends. It was like the Ultimate Fighting Championship but instead of the octagon, the bodies of the yrch, Balrogs and wargs would act as the fence.

Buffy killed several yrch and then turned her attention back to the Balrogs. That’s when a loud shriek pierced the night. The Slayer looked for its source and as she saw more of her comrades fall, she felt a prick on the side of her neck. Her hand automatically reached for the painful spot and Buffy withdrew a dart with a black-feathered shaft from her flesh. About twenty feet away, she noticed a Balrog lowering its blowgun. Her head started spinning and she became very disoriented as she cried out, “LUTHOR!” before collapsing to the ground, convulsing like one experiencing a grand mal seizure.

The enemy roared with delight, clashing their weapons against their shields. They had succeeded in carrying out their Master’s wish.

Luthor and the nearest dwarves made their way towards Buffy; they were flummoxed by what had just happened to her. The Maia picked up the dart and sniffed it, “Poison!” he declared to the others. The enemy had resumed their assault when suddenly, the earth began to shake violently, troubling everybody present. All ceased fighting. Luthor thought that maybe Melkor was on his way to collect Buffy and bring her back ‘home,’ but that was not the case.

The enemy started falling, one after another, by unseen hands. Unbeknownst to those present, Buffy’s Valkyries arrived to save the day. They heard her prayer and answered with an unbridled fury. Heads just popped off the enemy or their throats were slit as blood splattered all over the rocky surface. The Balrogs careened back and forth fighting some unknown assailant before the fire was quenched from their houses and they crashed to the ground in a blackened heap. Within an hour, the Valkyries invisible forms vanquished all the enemy while the survivors of Buffy’s brigade huddled around her unconscious body.

When the enemy was bested, the rumblings in the earth ceased and four maidens appeared before the group of one hundred and twenty-seven survivors. Seventeen dwarves perished in the battle, sixteen were seriously injured and the Slayer was near death or so it seemed.

Luthor had removed Buffy’s helm and cradled her lovingly in his arms, weeping. Her eyes were both open and vacant; the fire from within could no longer be seen. He gently wiped the blood that trickled from her mouth, nose and ears with a gloveless hand. He gave no heed to the beautiful maidens that stood before him. The dwarves were howling and pulling on their beards, mourning the loss of their fallen brethren and of the Lady Freya.

Feawë, who was chief of the Valkyries and also a former servant of Námo’s, knelt beside the grieving Maia. “She is not dead, Luthor,” she said in a voice that brought little comfort to him. He continued to cradle Buffy, stroking her hair affectionately.

“I will heal her,” moaned Luthor. “I’ll save her.”

Feawë was astonished by Luthor’s emotional state. She knew that he had long been a servant of Melkor’s, but to see him now, one would never surmise that. She saw that his feelings for the Slayer were genuine; he really did love her.

“I must bring her home, Luthor. Her people will work diligently in finding the appropriate cure for her… ”

With fire in his eyes, he looked up at the dark haired beauty. “Her people? And what are we?” he asked angrily. “I am quite capable of curing Bella. I have a great deal of knowledge when it comes to herbal potions.”

“I do not doubt your skill,” she said softly as she placed her fingers on Buffy’s carotid artery, her pulse was weak. “But only in Folkvang can we stay the toxin until the antidote is found. If she stays here, things will be bleak for the Lady.”

“What is this Folkvang you speak of? I’ve heard of no such place,” he said as he wiped his tears away.

Vórëa, a former servant of Aulë’s, came forward and gathered the Slayer in her arms.

“Perhaps you do not know Maranwë as well as you thought,” replied Feawë as she rose to her feet. Her eyes scanned the battlefield, which was littered with thousands of corpses. She gave a nod of her head before disappearing with her sisters and Buffy.

Luthor yelled after her, “You do not know her! If you truly knew Dagnir, you would know that she prefers to be called Bella, not Maranwë!”

Dvalin approached Luthor, who was still sitting on the ground, now clutching the Slayer’s helm. “My Lord,” he began, “what about the dead? With the Lady Freya gone, how will their bodies be remade?”

The Maia put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “We’ll have to wait, my friend. I do not have the ability to remake their flesh… our friends will have to wait.”

“What about the slain?” asked Brokk, who was nursing a terrible gash on his leg.

Luthor looked around. A burial was out of the question due to the topography of the land and he had no desire to see their friends burned on a pyre. “Let us gather them up and we’ll build a cairn over them,” he answered.

Dvalin nodded his head and approached all the uninjured Naugrim and allocated to them the task of either retrieving the slain or gathering large stones. Despite their exhaustion, they labored for hours until it was completed. Luthor walked amongst the dead, collecting specific weapons from the enemy that he felt would be advantageous at a later time.

It was the Maia who led the dwarves in a song of lamentation, both for their fallen brethren and for the Slayer. He had no idea when he would see her again. So many questions were running through his mind. Most revolved around Buffy, and he was mystified by this place called Folkvang. Why hadn’t she told him about it? And how is it that the Maiar came running to her aid and referred to themselves as ‘her people?’ What the hell was up with that?

When the Naugrim had finished singing their burial songs, the group crossed the dale and set up their encampment amidst the fir trees on the other side. The stench of death was not nearly as bad over there as it was on the battlefield. They could finally rest and partake in the food that they had brought with them. None celebrated the victory and all remained quiet as they ate. As the sun rose once again in the east, Luthor was still busy tending to the wounded. It had been a long night.



The Valkyries arrived back in Folkvang with the Slayer. Most of the ladies returned to their ‘normal’ duties while the four ‘captains’ took their Queen to her private chambers within Sussrúmnir. She was placed on her own bed as four healers and her thirteen handmaidens dashed into the room.

Feawë carefully removed the Slayer’s mail while Istahiro, the principal healer, inspected the puncture mark on the side of her neck. “Where is the dart, Feawë?” he asked in a grave voice.

She cringed, knowing that she never thought to bring the dart with her. “Luthor has it,” she replied meekly.

Istahiro looked up at her with anguish in his eyes. “And you gave no thought as to how useful that would be to me… ”

“I can go back and get it from him,” she offered.

“No. I deem that Luthor will not part with it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I will make do.” Istahiro stuck a large needle into the wound and extracted a vial of blood. He handed it to one of his assistants and then ordered that the Slayer be cleaned up. “Wash this filth off of her,” he remarked as he disappeared from the room with his fellow healers.

The ladies gathered around and stripped Buffy, preparing her for a ‘sponge’ bath. They let out gasps of shock when they saw the mark of Morgoth on her breast. “So it is true,” declared Laurië in a distressed tone. “Maranwë Luinil had been marked by Melkor.” She apprehensively touched Morgoth’s symbol with her finger tip as tears welled in her eyes. “This is truly a sad day.” The former servant of Irmo’s began to weep.

“There, there Laurië,” said a consoling Feawë. “Do not fret over something that was foretold long ago. Ultimately, Maranwë… ”

“It’s Freya!” interjected Vórëa, “not Maranwë.”

“Only those who had followed Aulë call her by that name,” replied Feawë. “Maranwë Luinil is the name given to her by Eru Ilúvatar and by that name only shall I call her!”

“Our Queen will be known by countless names ere the end,” chimed in Anairë. “Let us do the task that has been assigned to us before Istahiro returns, as I deem that he will be displeased with us if his orders are not carried out.”

The ladies fell silent and worked diligently in bathing the Slayer. When she was clean, they clothed her in a gold lamé gown as Istahiro and his assistants returned.

“Leave us,” he instructed the women. When the ladies had left the room, Istahiro and his assistants began their labors. The room was soon swathed with the sweet fragrant smell of various herbs and incense that possessed healing properties. When chanting magical words failed, the Maiar raised their voices in song, in hopes that that brand of magic would help stay the poison. Istahiro still had no clue as to what new devilry was at work here.

After three days of continuous singing, he ordered his men to get some rest. He remained by the Slayer’s side, stroking her hair and calling her by her various names. Her green eyes stared blankly back at him. “Where are you Luinil?” he whispered under his breath. “What unspeakable torments is Melkor subjecting you to?” Istahiro was utterly exhausted. He sat in a chair next to her bed and soon drifted off to sleep.


Chapter 24 - TOUCHED

CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR: TOUCHED



For many weeks, the Slayer lay in a comatose state. Istahiro had refused to leave her side, even for a minute. Her fever, which had gotten dangerously high, had finally broken and she had not experienced any convulsions in the last few days. He was confident that his latest antidote had done the trick. It was now up to Buffy to pull herself out of this mystical state.

Antamo, the minstrel, by orders of Istahiro, sat on the opposite side of Buffy’s bed, singing the love songs that she had relished during her last visit to Sussrúmnir. The primary healer of Folkvang was none too pleased by the Queen’s handmaidens remaining in the bedchamber, but they refused to leave her side as well. As long as they were quiet, he could overlook their presence.

It was a few days later when Buffy showed the first signs of ‘life.’

“Look at her chest,” remarked Istahiro to the others. “Her breathing is becoming more labored. That is a very good sign.” He laid his ear on her chest and listened, a smile came to his handsome face. “It shan’t be long now,” he added confidently.

Buffy’s progress continued the following day. When Istahiro checked her reflexes, her body responded with various twitches. It was the first time in all these weeks that she had actually moved any part of her body.

“That is promising,” he had said to Anairë, who stood beside him. “My heart tells me that our Queen shall soon awake.”

“Will there be any after effects from the toxin?” asked the former servant of Manwë.

“That I cannot clearly tell,” Istahiro answered with a sigh. “Only time will tell, I’m afraid.”

It was two days later, when the most peculiar thing happened. A raging thunderstorm came from out of nowhere. Folkvang, like Valinor, had only previously experienced gentle showers that cleansed away pollen and dust, and provided much needed water for the vegetation. Never before, in countless ages, had dark clouds rolled in, obscuring the sunlight from view in this Blessed Realm. The sky was alit with endless bright flashes of lightning and the rolling sounds of thunder shook the city to its foundations. The swells crashed over the quays and the boats and ships that were moored there rocked wildly upon the water. All the inhabitants retreated to the safety of the nearest shelter, totally blown away by this unprecedented phenomenon.

All those in Buffy’s bedchamber ran to the closest windows to observe this atypical wonderment more closely. The torrential rains pounded against the windowpanes, making it nearly impossible to see out. It was then that the room became filled with a brilliant blue light and everyone’s attention immediately turned towards the Slayer once again. The Maiar let out gasps of shock when they saw Buffy’s body suspended in mid-air. It looked as though she was struggling to break free from some unseen bonds. The light changed intensity and soon a bright white light engulfed the blue light. Her body then soared backwards and slammed into the southern wall of the chamber. The force was so strong that cracks in the wall appeared at the point of impact. Buffy’s body slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Her eyes glazed over, and she collapsed in a heap onto the marble floor. Immediately, Istahiro crossed the room, instructing the others to stay put, while he gathered the Slayer in his arms. He placed a padded cloth to the back of her bleeding head and then carried her back to bed.

“You’ll be fine, Maranwë, I promise,” said the healer reassuringly, as he lay her down. “It is I, Istahiro, your healer.” Buffy moaned as she reached for her head. “No, my Lady. Do not touch. I’ll take care of it in a minute,” he added as he snapped his fingers and one of his assistants came forth bearing a bottle of clear liquid, a jar of salve and strips of white cloth. He uncorked the bottle and attempted to put it to the Slayer’s lips, but she began to thrash about wearily.

“No! No!” she moaned softly. Her eyes were opened, yet unfocused.

“SING!” instructed Istahiro to Antamo, who had stopped his music making when this strange turn of events occurred. The minstrel plucked his harp and sang one of Buffy’s favorite Valinorean love songs. The music’s effect on the Slayer was immediate. She became languid and accepted the proffered dose of Istahiro’s medicinal tonic. He continued to speak softly as he applied a gob of ointment to her opened wound. He was in the process of wrapping strips of cloth around her head when Buffy grabbed his arm.

“Am I ugly?” she asked in a broken voice, as she felt her face with her other hand. “Am I hideous?”

“No, of course not,” replied Istahiro. “You are as fair as you ever were.”

“I don’t believe you,” she answered.

Fulla, her chambermaid, came forward. “Here my Lady, see for yourself,” she said as she handed Buffy a mirror. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

The Slayer looked into the mirror, her hands still trembling. She thoroughly inspected her eyes and teeth; they were still intact and undamaged. Her flesh was whole and healthy looking and none of her bones seemed to be broken. The only thing that she could see that was wrong with her appearance was the knot on the back of her head. She was still pretty, much to her relief.

“What happened to you, Maranwë?” asked the healer.

Buffy locked eyes with him. “He sent me to Hell,” she replied softly as she handed the mirror back to her chambermaid. She glanced around the room and noticed the concerned faces of her ‘people.’ “How long have I been…?” The Slayer did not finish that sentence. She found herself very confused by this whole ordeal.

“You have been unconscious for eleven weeks,” responded Istahiro as he checked her pulse.

“WHAT?” she exclaimed, jerking herself into an upright position. It had seemed much, much longer to her.

“Shh,” the healer said. “You need your rest, my Lady. There is no need to get upset.”

“Upset?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not upset, I’m pissed.” She shakily got to her feet. A couple of her handmaidens ran to her side, attempting to steady her. “Mark my words, people. That son of bitch’s ass is mine,” she proclaimed as the effects of Istahiro’s tonic hit her full force. That was the last thing she said before sleep overtook her. She was placed back in her bed as her servants nervously glanced at one another.

Shortly thereafter, the violent storm dissipated and the sun once again shown brilliantly in a cloudless sky. All of Folkvang echoed with the delightful melodies from the songbirds as the many minstrels that dwelt within Sussrúmnir accompanied them with their stringed instruments and harmonious voices. They were celebrating the news of their Queens awakening, at long last.

It was nearly four in the morning when Buffy finally awoke. She blinked several times as she took in her surroundings. She was in Folkvang… and she was safe. The painful memory of her recent torments had apparently been lessened by the aid of Istahiro’s magical elixir although her wrath towards Morgoth had not. However, right now, the Slayer was only concerned with one thing - food. She was ravenous.

As she sat up in bed, she noticed her thirteen handmaidens standing at attention in her inner sanctum. She eyed them curiously, as she started to undo the bandages on her head.

“Don’t you guys have something better to do?” she asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable by their dutiful presence.

“We are here to serve your every need, my Lady,” answered Anairë. Although Buffy was much obliged to have so many maidens willing to be at her beck and call, the idea that they had hung around while she was sleeping, kind of creeped her out a bit.

“Okay… well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m famished,” she said, attempting to sound more like her usual self.

“Rest, Freya, and we will see to it that your meal is brought to you. Surely it is too soon for you to be up and about,” suggested Vórëa.

“No way!” she said as she stood up, tossing the bandages on the bed. “The last thing I want to do is stay in bed. I daresay it’s time for me to raid Sussrúmnir’s larder,” she remarked as she started out of the chamber. “You ladies are more than welcome to join me.” Of course, they were going, whether Buffy gave them an invite or not.

Buffy’s ‘snack’ ended up turning into a celebratory feast with many of the people of her Household. Despite the fact that it was nearly dawn, they all sat down and enjoyed a delicious seven-course meal. Mead, wine, miruvóre, and ale poured freely from crystal fountains within the Hall of Feasts while the minstrels played and many danced and sang in unison.

While everyone was enjoying the festivities, Feawë, who was seated next to Buffy, quietly broached the subject of the torments that Buffy was subjected to while in her apparent sleep. “Will you not tell me, Maranwë?” she asked. “I will not speak of it to anybody else, if that is your wont.”

The Slayer looked at her with sorrowful eyes and answered, “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” The Maia did not mention it again.

By late morning, Buffy grew bored of the festivities and left straight away for the treasuries. She had decided that the time had arrived for her to return to Luthor and the dwarves. The Slayer had not forgotten her friends who died during the battle. She was sure that they were most eager to be embodied again since eleven weeks in Folkvang was the equivalent of twenty-two months in Middle-earth. She hated the fact that the dwarves had been bodiless for so long.

When Buffy reached the treasuries, she ordered the men to pack four large chests full of jewelry, gold, silver, and gemstones. They were instructed to bring the treasure to her Hall of Judgment within the hour. This would allow the Slayer the opportunity to refresh herself properly and bid farewell to her people before departing her sacred Halls.

Buffy was so eager to leave that she had never sat upon her canopied throne of lapis lazuli, even though the urge to do so was nearly overwhelming. She took a deep breath before lifting the heavy chests off the ground. She definitely felt the burn in her legs! She concentrated on her destination and nearly freaked out when she did not disappear. No matter how hard she tried, she was not going anywhere. For some reason, her ability to ‘teleport’ was not working. She was stuck.

“God damn it!” she yelled as she dropped the heavy load to the floor. “What the hell’s going on?” She glanced around at the few people who remained in her Hall. “Get Istahiro. Quick!” she ordered one of her servants. Buffy plopped down on top of the chests, cursing at her new misfortune.

Fifteen minutes later, Istahiro came running into the Hall. “What is it, Maranwë?” asked the healer with concern in his voice. Buffy explained her inability to leave Sussrúmnir and wanted him to explain why this was happening to her. “That is simple, my Lady,” he began. “You are not yet completely healed. It was only this morning when you woke, surely you don’t expect to depart so soon.”

“Well… yeah. I’ve got people to see and places to be,” she countered agitatedly. “I’ve already been here way too long, Istahiro… ”

“My dear Lady, your body has been inundated with the poison of Melkor and you have been unconscious for several weeks. You cannot expect to be completely healed in such a short amount of time,” explained the Maia.

“But this is one of the Blessed Realms! Don’t you guys have the ability to speed up the healing process here?” she asked with an air of disbelief.

“No quicker than anywhere else,” he answered. “I have never before encountered this new device of Melkor’s and I cannot rightly say when you will regain your ability to pass through the mystical barrier.”

“With all the knowledge that you possess, you can’t even wager a guess?” questioned a panicked Buffy.

“Once again, I cannot. Only time will tell, my Lady.” He smiled reassuringly. “I suggest that you enjoy the pleasures that Folkvang has to offer. It is, after all, your kingdom.” He nodded his head before departing the chamber, leaving Buffy both angry and confused.

As she went to leave, she let out her frustration by kicking the bottommost chest. “OW!” she yelled as the pain shot through her foot, causing her to limp from the Hall while uttering curses under her breath. The Slayer refused to be coddled by any of her servants and refused all offers of assistance.

Buffy was not pleased by what Istahiro had told her. She had to think about her next step. Things would not have been so bad if time moved the same here as it did in Middle-earth. God only knows how long she was going to be ‘trapped’ in Folkvang. She did not like to use that word, but finding out that she could not leave, made her even more determined to find some way of ‘escaping.’

Her solution was to drown her sorrows with a nice bottle of wine. She could really use the buzz after everything she had been through in the last few months. Buffy instructed her maidens to let her be. She was not in the mood for company of any kind. She grabbed a carafe of wine before climbing the stairs to her tower. When she reached the uppermost chamber of the tower, she proceeded out onto the balcony. The view was as impressive as she remembered.

It was nearly an hour or so later when Marto, a former servant of Melkor’s back in the day, joined her. He was broad shouldered and muscular with long wavy black hair. His skin was similar in color to Buffy’s and his eyes were an intense blue. As with most of the people that Buffy encountered in Middle-earth and Folkvang, he too, was tall.

“Hail, Maranwë,” he said in greeting, as he walked out onto the balcony. “I hope you do not mind if I join you.”

She glanced at Marto, took a swig from the bottle, and replied, “Nah, I can use the company.” She offered the bottle to him. “Want some?” she asked.

“Gladly,” he answered as he took a long drink before handing the wine back. “I have heard that you are quite distressed by your inability to leave Folkvang. Is that true?” he queried.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh. “My duty is in Middle-earth, not here. My poor dwarves… they died for me, and now their spirits are houseless. I owe it to them to return as soon as possible.”

“Hmm,” the Maia commented as he leaned against the wrought iron railing. “Perhaps there’s another way.”

The Slayer snickered. “Yeah… sure there is,” she commented skeptically. She wasn’t in the mood for jest.

“I have spoken in great detail with Istahiro, Maranwë, and he tells me that it will be quite a while before your strength returns. That is the reason why you cannot leave Folkvang. My heart tells me that Melkor wanted you out of the way for some evil purpose. But what that is, I cannot rightly say,” revealed Marto.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she mockingly replied. Yes, the Slayer felt the effects of the alcohol. “Tell me something that I don’t already know.”

He laughed and grabbed the bottle from her hand and took another swig, nearly draining the contents. Buffy was quite miffed by his lack of etiquette. None before had ever been so bold as to take something from her without asking. She was the Queen for god’s sake. It looked to her as though Marto needed to learn something about respect and manners, especially where she was concerned.

“You might as well finish it,” she suggested. “I’m not gonna drink your back wash!”

Once again, he laughed before downing the last of the wine. “That was good, but I daresay that I have something better.”

“I hope so, since you drank all my wine!” Buffy snapped back.

“Try this, Maranwë,” Marto said as he offered her a silver flask.

Buffy unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful. Her body shuddered at the taste. “That’s whiskey!” She wasn’t a fan of drinking hard liquor without the aid of some type of mixer. It was not bursting with vine ripe flavor like the wine that she normally enjoyed. “That stuff is vile,” she added.

The Maia laughed again as he took the flask from her. “It is a manly drink.”

“Then why the hell are you offering it to me?” she queried suspiciously.

“I assumed you had the gonads to handle it. Forgive me, for being wrong,” Marto replied with a sneer.

Buffy glared at him, grabbed the flask and took a deep draught. “I’ve got bigger nads than you,” she smirked back. “So, why are you here?”

“I think I know of a way for you to regain your strength,” he said, taking the flask from her. Buffy continued to eye him with suspicion. “We can do an adjoining spell. I can share my essence with you… ”

“You’ve got to be kidding?” she said with an air of disgust. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the freaking Queen of this realm. I can throw you in the dungeons for your insolence.”

“How anxious are you to leave Folkvang?” he queried as he placed his hand on top of hers.

“I’m not that anxious! And I’ll give you a little bit of advice, Marto.” She took a step closer. “If you ever disrespect me like that again, I’ll teach you a thing or two about manners, and believe me when I say, it’ll be a painful lesson. That’s no way to talk to any Lady… especially me, your Queen. I expect you not to forget our little chat.” She turned on her heal and left in a huff.



Over the next few days, Buffy didn’t know what to do with herself. She began training again, thinking that maybe if she built up her strength, she’d be able to recover sooner. Many Maiar joined her in these training sessions including her own handmaidens. That led to them having daily wrestling matches, a favorite past time of her people. Buffy immensely enjoyed the workout that it provided as well as the competitive nature of the Maiar.

Nevertheless, she felt that something was missing. It seemed wrong to her to be having fun while the dwarves were stuck in their current state. Buffy couldn’t imagine what those poor dwarves are going through? They are unable to pick up a hammer or any other tool of the trade while being subjected to watching their kinfolk take pleasure in their labors. That’s what the dwarves lived for - creating new and wondrous things. On top of that, poor Luthor couldn’t help them. He only has the ability to remake his own flesh, not theirs. The Naugrim are bound to her and only she can embody them as they once were.

Although her body was in Folkvang, her heart remained in Ossir. That was the only place that Buffy considered ‘home.’ Sussrúmnir was merely a retreat, a place she could run to when the balance of evil was maintained. And the elves! Oh, how she missed her friends and their sweet voices. Not a day went by that the Slayer did not think of those whom she loved back in Middle-earth - including Kanafinwë. She hadn’t been able to contact him with her mind or through dreams since she was struck with the poisonous dart.

Ten days after her awakening, she decided that it was time to give the throne a try. Perhaps it could clue her in on when she would be strong enough to ‘teleport’ or show her some other means of leaving this dimension. Regardless of her reasons, Buffy could no long restrain the desire to sit upon her magnificent throne.

Several hours had passed and still the Slayer received no visions, not even a morbid one. Instead, she experienced these weird ‘urges’ to make things. She assumed that that was due to the fact that as she sat there hour after hour, her thoughts often drifting to warfare. The crafting of weapons, to be more precise. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do; learn a new skill, thought Buffy. Without giving it a second thought, the Slayer left her Hall of Judgment and headed to the forges despite the fact that it was half past one in the morning.

Buffy had never been to the forges before, but her feet seemed to know the way. She could honestly say that she didn’t have much knowledge when it came to smithing. While the Slayer lived in Doriath, she tended to bypass the smithies due to the heat and odor of the furnaces. Besides, it was kind of a dirty place, and well, she didn’t have any interest in metallurgy. Period. But that was about to change.

There were several men at work, laboring at this odd hour due to their innate passion for this craft. Much to Buffy’s surprise, she discovered that Marto was the chief of these metal smiths, and he didn’t seem at all surprised to see her there.

“I see that the Queen deems that the time has arrived for her to learn the art of making those weapons that she so skillfully wields,” he said courteously as he pulled off his thick leather gloves.

“You’re right. And will it be you, Marto, who’ll teach me this new trade?” she asked in her most dignified voice.

“It would be both a pleasure and an honor to have you under my tutelage, my dear Maranwë,” he replied with a slight bow. It was obvious that he took her earlier warning to heart. She was glad about that.

The more she hung out with Marto, the less irritating he seemed to be. Learning this new craft wouldn’t normally be at the top of her priority list, but she felt the need to make things, and what better things than weapons to use against the enemy. Especially if they could be magically enhanced.

Buffy spent the next few weeks working diligently by Marto’s side in the forges. She was amazed that she had an aptitude for such ‘dirty’ work, but then again, slaying was also a dirty business, so maybe this was meant to be.

There was one day in particular when Buffy thought that she had created a new metal. After smelting copper, she added tin to the mixture, thus creating a tough reddish-brown metal. She pounded out a three-foot square sheet and then tested its durability with blows from various weapons. Buffy was so impressed by her achievement that she showed it to Marto.

He found it difficult to hide his amusement. “My dear Maranwë,” he said half-laughing. “You have not created a new substance, you have made bronze!”

“Oh,” she replied disappointedly, as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

He picked up the sheet. “I must say that you have done a most excellent job. This is fine work, my Lady, fine work indeed.”

A small smile came to her face and she shrugged, “I thought it was kinda pretty… as far as metals go.”

Marto placed the sheet of metal onto one of the tables. He studied the Queen intently as she cleaned up her workstation. His heart ached with both love and pity for the Slayer. He had loved her for many ages now and deemed her fairer than the light of the two Blessed Trees at the hour of their mingling. But he knew deep inside that she would never feel the same for him, for he could see that her heart already belonged to another.

He pitied her because of her destiny. It seemed cruel to him that Maranwë’s memories were concealed from her, only to have her cast blindly into an evil world where she was charged with hunting down the demons that lurked in the darkest recesses of Arda. And to make matters worse, he knew that she would soon discover that if she had remained in the Timeless Halls with Eru Ilúvatar, then Arda would have been a more peaceful place.

Buffy was preparing to return to Sussrúmnir when she stopped to say farewell to Marto. “I guess I’ll see you at the evening meal,” she said, as she wiped the sweat from her neck with a towel.

“That you will,” Marto replied with a smile. His eyes remained fixed on her as she left the forge.

Later that night, at mealtime, Marto had the privilege of sitting beside the Slayer once again. Their friendship had grown since Buffy started her ‘apprenticeship,’ and she was always eager to discuss the manufacturing of new weapons. So far, they had only made ‘simple’ arms, such as swords, axes, daggers, etc., mostly because Marto wanted to teach her the basics before moving on to more ‘advanced’ weaponry.

Buffy had an idea about a special weapon that she was sure that Melkor had not yet crafted within the confines of Angband. Something mystical and powerful. After they finished eating, the Slayer invited Marto back to her chambers on the thirteenth floor in order to discuss, in private, her thoughts about this new weapon.

They sat at a mahogany table, parchment and pencils littering the surface. The Slayer spoke as she sketched out the design that was in her mind.

“A long time ago, when I was living in Sunnydale, you remember me telling you about that, right?” she questioned, as she looked up from her drawing.

“Ah, that would be place that was built on… what did you call it… a Hellmouth?” he queried.

“Yeah. Anyway, there was this time when we had to deal with this Watcher that went over to the dark side, and she got a hold of this wicked weapon called the Glove of Myhnegon. Let me tell you, that thing was badass to the core. It was a mystical device that looked something like this,” she explained as she showed him the design. “It shot out these electrical impulses, much like a lightning bolt.” Her eyes locked with his. “Marto, I think we can make something similar. I mean, the real thing actually clamped onto the wearers arm, never to be removed again, but we can omit that option,” she added with a smile.

“So you want to harness the electrical charges from lightning into a glove-like weapon?” he asked, slightly taken aback.

“Well… yeah. I’ve been thinking too much like a mortal when it comes to designing weapons. I mean, for some reason, I thought about engines and war machines… stuff that I’ve read about in history books… I haven’t given much thought to weapons of the mystical variety,” confessed the Slayer.

“Until now,” he remarked with a smile.

“Yep! I think there’s something about Folkvang that makes me think of weapons with more… potency. I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking about this one for some time now and I think we can do it,” she said optimistically.

Marto picked up the parchment and examined it closely. “I must say, Maranwë, I’m impressed by the way your mind works. I would never have conceived a device like this.”

“Thanks,” she answered. Buffy fell silent for several minutes as a feeling of melancholy crept over her.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing that the Slayer’s demeanor had changed.

“It’s my fault, you know,” she whispered as she shifted her gaze to him. “There’s a hell of a lot of different breeds of demons hidden deep in Angband, and it’s all my fault. Melkor never imagined the creatures that I brought into being.” She rose from her chair, her arms folded across her chest as she starting pacing back and forth. “He raped my mind… my will… my body, and I was powerless to do anything about it. I was a fool… a stupid weak… ” Marto tried to interrupt, but Buffy would not let him. “He was able to pull out all my memories of every evil creature that I’ve ever fought or read about… and together we brought them to life.” She looked at him with tear-filled eyes.

Marto left his seat, walked up to Buffy and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You must not forget that, Maranwë,” he said resolutely, pushing aside a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Melkor is exceedingly strong and his malice knows no limit, even when it comes to the one whom he loves the most. You are not alone in your fight. Don’t forget that… ”

“I’ll always be alone,” she replied, glancing at the floor. “That’s what being a Slayer is all about.”

Marto lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You’re no mere Slayer, you are a Vala. And I can assure you that there are more people who love you than you know. That’s something that you shall soon discover for yourself.” He pulled her into an embrace, trying his best to comfort her. “We will begin work on this new project tomorrow. Get some rest,” he suggested. Marto kissed her on the forehead before leaving the chamber.

The following morning, after breakfast, Buffy and Marto returned to the forges. They gathered the many items that they would need: leather, chain mail and plate mail.

“We’ll need some copper, too,” instructed Buffy. The Maia looked at her with a puzzled expression; the design did not indicate the use of copper. “It’s an excellent conductor of electricity,” she explained. “We’ll put copper coils between the leather and the plate.”

Marto smiled. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” he said with an air of awe in his voice. Buffy felt her face flush.

They decided that they would make a proto-type first, and if their creation were successful, they would make more. The twosome worked non-stop for three days, only stopping for meals and bathroom breaks. The glove was finished and looked very much like the one Buffy saw long ago with the exception of the claw like clasps. All that remained to be done was to harness the power of electricity. Buffy still wasn’t clear on how they would actually do that.

“My Lady,” began Marto, “You most definitely have the ability to control the elements, as do I.” Buffy seemed baffled by his words. “Shortly before you awoke from your… sleep, a raging thunder storm erupted in Folkvang, the like which we had never seen before. You brought it about, my dear. Your anger… and fear manifested itself in that way.”

“I didn’t know that I was responsible for that,” said a shocked Buffy.

“There are a lot of things that you do not yet know,” he replied. Marto wrapped the glove in black silk. “Come,” he said as he offered his free hand to her. She took it and got to her feet. “I know of a secluded place where we can harness these magics.” Marto led her out of the forges and towards the stables. “I will return in a few minutes. Have two horses ready to go by the time I get back.” He put the weapon in her hands and quickly disappeared.

Buffy had Roccomeldo ready the horses as she sat on a bale of hay. She was so excited about the prospect of harnessing the elements. She would never have believed that she had such abilities.

Ten minutes later, Marto returned with a large satchel. They mounted their steeds and left the city by means of the eastern road that led to a large forest on the coast of that isle. The marbled road ended at the outskirts of the woods. They followed a trail that meandered through towering oaks, beech and sweet gum trees.

They came upon a small clearing with a knoll in the center. It was late afternoon and the sun was quickly sinking beyond the treetops.

“Here we are,” the Maia said as he dismounted from his horse. He helped Buffy to the ground. “We will conduct our experiment on the top of that hillock.”

He took the Slayer’s hand, and together they climbed to the summit. Marto took a seat on the grass-covered mound and instructed Buffy to put the glove on. The Slayer would never have believed what happened next, if she hadn’t been there. It seemed to her that this whole thing was fated to be. She lifted her gloved hand to the sky and began to sing a song of power. Lightning began to flash in the sky above them and the sound of thunder echoed all around. Louder and louder, she sang until a bolt of lightning zapped down from the heavens and struck the glove. Electrical impulses danced all around Buffy and she could feel the intensity of the power accumulating in the mystical weapon. After a few moments, the lightning ceased, the thunder died, yet electrical impulses still flickered from the glove for a little while afterwards. She knew that they had succeeded.

“Give it a try,” instructed Marto.

“Be free!” shouted the Slayer, as a blast of electrical current shot from the glove and hit the tree that Buffy was aiming at. The bolt obliterated it, leaving only smoldering fragments. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “We did it!”

Marto rose to his feet. “No, Maranwë, you did it,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t get all modest on me, Marto. We’ve done this together. There’s no way I could’ve accomplished this without you,” said a beaming Slayer.

“I say that this calls for a celebration, don’t you think?” He pulled a bottle of wine from the satchel that he had brought with him. He popped the cork and handed it to her. “Congratulations, my Lady!” Buffy removed the glove from her hand before accepting the bottle and taking a long swig. She was on cloud nine!

Over the course of the next several weeks, Buffy and Marto made twelve more gloves. Buffy thought about calling the device, ‘God of Thunder,’ even though it shot out electrical impulses, but she settled on the name that she was familiar with, the Glove of Myhnegon.

After they finished that project, the desire to create other weapons had left her. With nothing to focus her attention on, she became restless once again and her eagerness to return home became nearly unbearable. She had now been in Folkvang for seven months. But the Slayer was still unable to teleport herself back home or communicate with her loved ones in dreams.



Buffy spent endless hours sitting upon her throne, hoping that it would indicate when or how she could return home. She became mesmerized by the flickering flames of the fire that burned in the two vats at the bottom of the dais. As she sat there, she had a vision of herself engulfed in flames, her flesh literally melted off. The Slayer leapt from her high seat, fled to the bottom of the dais and looked apprehensively at the chair. What the hell was that? She thought to herself. It was beyond weird. It was frightening.

Her eyes remained fixed on the vats of flame, and after several minutes, she approached one cautiously. She stretched her arm out until her hand was submerged in the fire. It did not burn her at all. The flames contained both power and love. She felt it run throughout her entire being. It was incredible. The temptation to dive in and wallow in it was nearly irresistible. That’s when a series of visions flashed in her mind. They appeared so quickly that most of it was nonsensical to her. Then her head started spinning and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Buffy awoke a short while later in her bed. Istahiro was at her side as well as her handmaidens. “What happened?” she asked.

“You fainted,” answered Istahiro.

“Oh crap!” she exclaimed as she sat up in bed. “I need to see Marto.” She attempted to get out of bed, but Istahiro stopped her. He wanted her to rest. “The hell with that!” She jumped out of bed and ran to the forges as fast as she could. There she found the Maia hard at work on another project. She summoned him to come outside where they could talk more privately.

“What is it?” Marto asked with deep concern.

“I’ve gotta talk to you about the gloves. I had a vision, a series of them actually. Any way, to make a long story short, we need to figure out a way to destroy them,” she said in an anxious tone.

“What? Destroy them? Why would we need to do that?” he questioned, a complete look of shock on his face.

She looked around; making sure no one was within earshot. “I saw a demon with one. He was using it against an innocent… ” She described the snippets of what she had witnessed in her head.

“Calm down… Come. Let us go to my house,” he said as he took her hand and they walked the couple of blocks to his home.

Marto had her go over her story repeatedly. He hated the idea of destroying such an amazing and powerful weapon, but he had to honor the wishes of the Queen. For the next couple of days, they worked on performing a spell to destroy the power of the glove. After several attempts, they came up with a smelly concoction of sands and powders that rendered the glove useless.

“Listen Luinil,” Marto pleaded. “Let us not destroy any more unless the need arises. We have the ability to relinquish its powers, but let us not destroy this work of wonder too hastily.” It took him a while, but Marto convinced the Slayer to keep the twelve remaining gloves. They would not tell anyone about them and they would be kept locked in the vaults of Sussrúmnir. She felt better knowing that they had found a way to destroy those mystical relics.

Buffy soon left Marto’s house and aimlessly wandered through the city. She soon found herself on the western shore of the isle. The Slayer sat down on the edge of the dock, her feet dangling over the side. She experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. As Buffy listened to the waves breaking against the rock wall, she distinctly heard a melody in the distance. She cocked her head, listening more intently. It seemed to be coming from across the lake from a southeasterly direction.

The Slayer leaned back on the dock, savoring the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine, doing her best to ignore the mystifying tune that seemed to be beckoning her. Not long afterward, Buffy returned to Sussrúmnir and ordered Anairë to ready a ship. She was going on a little trip to the mainland. There was something out there calling to her and Buffy could no longer quell her desire to find out what or who it was.

“No!” she repeated, as she led her horse onto the ship. “I’m not gonna have this conversation with you again Feawë,” said a frustrated Slayer.

“But my Lady,” whined the Valkyrie. “You have never been to the mainland before. Let us escort you… ”

“I said no, and I mean no! So stop with the begging. This is a solo mission. That means I want to go alone.” Buffy’s patience was nearly gone. “If you follow me, I’ll toss you into the dungeons. That applies to any of you people.” She glanced at the others who stood beside Feawë. “I want to be left alone. I’m a big girl and I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.” She nodded to the Captain, who then ordered the men to start rowing. Feawë stood on the dock and watched as the ship left port. She refused to leave that spot until the Slayer returned.

Buffy situated herself at the prow of the ship for the duration of the journey. It wasn’t until the following afternoon that they reached the shore. The Slayer had no other choice but to jump from the boat into the water (along with the horse) and swim to shore, as the ship couldn’t get that close to shore without getting stuck. She wasn’t too happy about being wet and sandy by the time they reached the grass, but c’est la vie.

Both she and the horse, who she simply called Rocco, started walking in a southeasterly direction. She decided not to ride Rocco until she was dry. Chafing would only make matters worse. Buffy had learned that much about horse back riding since her arrival in Middle-earth.

Now Rocco proved to be quite an animal. Buffy had not done much horseback riding in Folkvang, but this beast was tireless. Roccomeldo had told her that the horses had been a gift from Oromë and that they had been born and raised in Valinor. They were bred to be both strong and steadfast and Rocco was no exception.

The days and nights began to run together as Buffy continued on her excursion. Her gut told her that she was supposed to be here. That’s what drove her on. The feeling was unshakeable. The Slayer felt confident that this would somehow lead to finding a way back to Middle-earth. Even though she loved Folkvang and its people, that didn’t come close to her love of the elves and dwarves back home. And it didn’t help matters any that time was swiftly passing by while she remained in this Blessed Realm. God only knows how much time had passed by in Beleriand. Time was something that Buffy wasn’t ready to tackle just yet. All she longed for was to return home to Ossir.

It was late one morning when Buffy had her first strange ‘encounter.’ She and Rocco were galloping through a field of tall grass when a lion and lioness picked up their trail. Now, on the island, the animals, all of them, lived side by side in harmony, but the Slayer wasn’t quite sure whether that same rule applied on the ‘mainland.’ They were still nearly a hundred yards behind, but regardless of Rocco’s pace, they continued to stay relatively close.

Late that night, after Buffy set up camp, she could hear the beasts roaring in the darkness. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of their yellow eyes amid the blackness. Rocco didn’t seem upset by their presence, so Buffy took that as a good sign. The lions did not approach while the Slayer remained awake.

The following morning Buffy awoke to find the lion and lioness lying down on either side of her. She turned her head to the side and saw the lion looking at her lazily. Slowly, she turned to the female who was too busy preening herself to notice the Slayer. Buffy warily sat upright, her eyes darting from one cat to the other.

“Good kitties,” she said softly as she slowly got to her feet, grabbing her satchel with her left hand. “That’s it, stay where you are,” she added, speaking both slowly and softly. Rocco was about twenty feet away grazing happily, his tail swishing back and forth. The lions didn’t move as Buffy inched herself closer to the horse. She repeatedly said, “Good kitties,” and “Stay where you are, kitties.”

Once she found herself next to Rocco, she leapt atop him and had him gallop quickly away. The lion let out a loud roar before its mate joined him in the chase. All that day, the big cats continued their pursuit, but at nightfall, they approached the camp once again. This time, Buffy was awake. She eyed them cautiously as they lay on either side of her. The lioness actually put her front paw on the Slayer’s leg and purred as she started licking the fur on her own leg. Buffy let out a sigh of relief when she realized that these beasts were harmless, at least where she was concerned. The cats traveled with her from that point on.

It wasn’t long afterward that Buffy named her new companions. He she called, ‘Kit’ and she ‘Kat.’ The animals also became much more affectionate towards the Slayer. At night, they nuzzled up to her and Buffy was amazed at how warm they kept her. The oddest part of this whole thing was that the music that Buffy had been following had stopped once she had met the kitty cats. Nevertheless, she continued in the same direction that she had heard the tune coming from.

That is, until she experienced a strange turn of events. It started with the lion. He began to roar loudly and his behavior seemed rather odd to Buffy, so she stopped Rocco. Kit appeared to want to go due east as opposed to the more southern route that she had chosen. Kat had already taken off in that direction. The Slayer was unsure of what to do, until Rocco galloped after the lioness. They had gone maybe a few miles when Buffy noticed something up ahead glimmering in the sunlight.

In the middle of a glade sat a glittering golden chariot. Buffy jumped off Rocco for a closer look. There was no doubt in her mind that it belonged to her. It looked similar to the one’s she had seen in movies and books except this one was more beautiful. A relief of a crucifix and an eight-pointed star (made of sapphire) was located on the front panel, and on either side was a lion and lioness.

“Is this what I’ve been searching for?” she asked out loud. Kit brushed against her and nuzzled her neck. Buffy scratched his head. “I think you’re right,” she mumbled under her breath. Buffy stepped up on the platform of the chariot and found two leather harnesses lying on the ‘floor.’ As soon as she picked them up, both lions moved to the front of the chariot. It took the Slayer a minute before she realized that she was supposed to harness the chariot to the lions. She let out a cheerful laugh. “This is some crazy shit,” she said as she went to harness the kitties up to this device. “Never heard of lions pulling a chariot before! Can things get any weirder than this?” she asked herself. She would later find out that yes, things would most definitely get weirder.

Before Buffy climbed back in the chariot she went over to Rocco. “Okay, my friend,” she said, patting the horse on the neck. “You’re free to do as you wish, Rocco. Enjoy your freedom or you can return to Sussrúmnir, if you know how. I need to go with the lions.” He neighed and rubbed his head against her before trotting off to the east.

Buffy stood before the lions, who were sitting proudly, waiting for their instructions. “Okay, Kit and Kat. I’m assuming that this is some mystical chariot of sorts… so take me home… to Ossir.” Kit let out a roar and both cats rose to their feet. The Slayer smiled. Finally, she was going home. She climbed back in the chariot and a few moments later the lions took off. There was no type of reins, so she assumed that the cats understood what she was saying and would take her to her destination.

She was slightly confused that lions were traveling in the direction from which they had come. But she was even more surprised when both the lions and the chariot became airborne as the terrain was no longer level. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed as they ‘flew’ over the treetops. She felt like Santa Clause, without all the presents. It was… awesome!

Unfortunately, the lions returned to Sussrúmnir, which left the Slayer completely baffled. “So much for your sense of direction!” said a miffed Buffy, as she unharnessed the kitties from the chariot. “I thought you guys were gonna take me home. And you know damn well I didn’t mean Sussrúmnir!”

Many of the Maiar started to gather around the bottom of the steps that led to Buffy’s great house. Let’s face it. It wasn’t everyday someone saw a flying chariot being drawn by two lions. Not even for one of the Ainur! Buffy was so frustrated and angry about her trip being a complete waste of time, that she bypassed the growing throng to return to her Hall of Judgment. The sound of thunder rolled in the distance.

As Buffy entered the humongous chamber, she snapped her fingers and said, “Drink, Núrë!” before climbing the steps of the dais. Her cupbearer was soon at her side with a silver, jewel encrusted goblet full of mead in her outstretched hands. The Queen nodded her head in appreciation before downing it in one gulp. Núrë immediately refilled it. “Leave!” ordered Buffy. The maiden nodded her head before heading towards the double-doors. “All of you! Out!” The occupants made a hasty retreat as the sound of pounding rain on the roof mixed with rolling thunder.

When the room was emptied, Buffy placed her drink on the table next to her throne and closed her eyes. She gripped the arms of her throne tightly, concentrated hard, and desperately tried to summon her brother, Irmo. When that failed, she called out to Salmar, Námo and Manwë. None answered. She cursed her misfortune once again. Why won’t anyone help me? She asked herself. Am I being punished by the Valar or am I still under Morgoth’s yoke?

After an hour of pouting, Buffy rang the gong, indicating to her servants that it was permissible for them to return to the Hall. She summoned forth all the mighty councilors of Folkvang to aid her in her quest to get home. She nearly freaked when she learned that her ‘little’ trip to the mainland took her well over fourteen months to complete. She had lost all sense of time and Buffy had now reached the panicking stage. No one offered any suggestions or spells in this matter save one - Marto. He reiterated his earlier offer of doing an adjoining spell with the Slayer in order to get her powers back. Buffy wasn’t sure if she was that desperate yet.

Later that night, the Slayer sat in one of her many sitting rooms, sipping wine as she thought about this predicament. Earlier in the evening, she had calculated how long she had been in Folkvang. She had been here for nearly two years, which meant that nearly twelve years in Middle-earth had passed since her absence. God only knows what the elves were thinking. Orchal probably assumed that she had died in battle or something. And if that was the case, did that mean that the dwarves were no longer making her war machines? Or that Morgoth had chosen this means of getting her out of the way so he could unleash his armies in Beleriand? She could find no answers to these questions in Folkvang.

Buffy was desperate. And desperate times do call for desperate measures!

She returned to her dimly lit bedchamber. As she went through her wardrobe looking for a nightgown, she listened to the beautiful voice of Antamo, which was audible throughout all of Sussrúmnir. Once she had decided on a long flowing red gown, she changed. The Slayer knew what she had to do.

Buffy then pushed her mammoth bed into the center of the room. She grabbed a jar of red sand and poured it in a circle around the bed. “Red represents power, of which I call upon in my darkest hour,” she said as she completed the circle. She then grabbed a jar of the purest and whitest sand and she made a circle within the red one. “White represents holiness and purity, deliver unto me all of its sanctity,” she uttered when she finished pouring the sand. The Slayer then grabbed the last jar, which contained blue sand and began pouring it inside the white circle. “Blue represents wisdom and the strength of me. I call upon its powers to help me see,” she said as the three rings were completed. Buffy stood beside the bed and clapped her hands together, and the circle of sand turned to a ring a flame. It flickered with all three colors. Buffy became breathless when she saw that the spell was activated.

Only a few moments later, Marto, whose body emitted a soft white light, walked through the fire towards the Slayer. He was dressed in long gold robes and stopped when he was only inches from her. “I’ve heard your call, my Lady, and I have come,” he said, as he gave her the once over.

“This is wrong,” she whispered breathlessly.

“No,” he countered as he gently pushed the straps of her gown off her shoulders. Her gown fell into a pool at her feet. “This is meant to be,” he continued as his hands caressed her naked flesh. His eyes glanced at the mark on her breast. Buffy felt embarrassed and went to cover it with her hand. “No,” he uttered as his lips softly kissed the spot. It did not burn, unlike the time with Mablung.

Buffy’s own body started to emit the same white light.

“I don’t love you,” she said softly as he placed several kisses on her neck.

“I have enough love for the both of us,” he whispered in her ear.

“But it’s wrong,” the Slayer said unconvincingly.

Marto looked at her, his hands cupping her cheeks. “This is meant to be,” he repeated. “For you are destiny and I am fate.” He pressed his lips against hers. She couldn’t resist him any longer. Her hands wrestled with the clasps of his robe as the light of their essences became brighter. When she undressed him, he laid her on the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. Marto had managed to awake the passion within her.

When their bodies became as one, the room glowed in a myriad of vibrant colors. The ring of fire flickered from blue to gold, and then red to white. The change in colors continued in that same pattern over and over again. The power of the light was felt by both of them and while they were adjoined, Buffy could feel her strength returning.

Their lovemaking went on for hours. And when Marto released his seed, they did it again. The second time was not part of the spell. It was strictly for pleasure. Buffy was the Vala of Love and that included the physical aspects of love (or lust), as well. And let’s face it, this is something that she was born to do… it was a part of her soul.

The room was alit in a blinding white light, as they lay there utterly exhausted and panting. The light gradually faded and the chamber became dim. The sound of their heavy breathing seemed amplified to Buffy’s ears. All of the sudden, the room became filled with a golden blue light. The Slayer closed her eyes as she felt the power coursing through her body. It was euphoric!

Buffy’s thoughts were interrupted by the strange words of Marto.

“Look Maranwë,” he said. “We’ve made twins.”

Buffy turned to him and saw that he was propped on his elbows looking towards the foot of the bed. She didn’t understand his words until she followed his glance. At the foot of the bed stood two naked beings; one male, one female. Immediately, the Slayer pulled the covers up, covering both her and Marto’s nude bodies. The ‘people’ had golden skin that appeared to be tattooed with unusual blue symbols or designs. The man’s hair was short and gold colored while the woman’s was long and dark. They both had these intense blue eyes.

“Our children,” whispered Marto with joy in his voice.

“Children?” questioned a totally shocked Buffy, as her gaze went from Marto to the two naked people in the chamber. “Huh? What? Our children? Huh?”


Chapter 25 - NORMAL, AGAIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: NORMAL, AGAIN



Buffy summoned her handmaidens and instructed them to take the twins to a different chamber and clothe them. When they left, she started bitching at Marto as she dressed.

“You knew that this was gonna happen, didn’t you?” she asked, as she pulled the red gown over her head.

The Maia feigned a look of innocence as he did the clasps on his robe. “I knew that the probability was there, yes,” he confessed after a long pause. “But if you had stopped using your feminine wiles on me, then we would only have had one child.”

“Me?” she questioned with an air of disbelief. “It takes two to tango mister! And… and you were most definitely… up for it!” she countered. “And who was it that suggested this… ‘adjoining’ spell in the first place? Hmm,” she questioned with her hands on her hips.

“It does not matter where the blame lies. What’s done is done. Do not fret over creating life. It’s a beautiful and wondrous thing.” He smiled and attempted to pull her into an embrace.

“Don’t touch me!” barked Buffy threateningly. “We might… have more kids or something.”

He chuckled until he felt the Slayer’s icy stare. “I can assure you that my touch will not produce any more children, unless we… ”

“Don’t even think about it!” snapped Buffy, waving a finger in his face. She then began to pace. “So was this some sick ploy to get me to stay? You know how bad I want to go home and now… now I’m forced to stay because… ”

“Nobody is going to force you to stay. Our children are full-grown and with a little guidance, they will be invaluable to you and your quest… ” Buffy sat on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. “It will be fine, Maranwë,” said Marto in his most reassuring voice. He kneeled before her. “You now have the strength to return to Beleriand or wherever it is that you have the need to go.” He continued to speak soothingly until she calmed down.

“Marto, answer something for me,” she said softly. “How is it that the twins are like adults? I mean, they’re full-grown people. I know they already know how to talk, they obviously know how to walk, and I sense that they wield some powerful magic.” She looked into his blue eyes. “When I had Illyria, she was little, a baby… a monster baby, but a baby nonetheless.”

“My dear Maranwë,” he said as he took her hands. “You were physically impregnated by Melkor. Your body carried that child to term. The twins came from our essence, which is clearly quite different. They are merely a manifestation of our combined energies. They possess the same powers that we do, only a little less, and they were born knowing the ways of this world. We gave that to them, Maranwë. They are a part of us.”

Once the Slayer got over the initial shock, both she and Marto went to speak to the children. When they entered the chamber, the twins were thankfully dressed. Buffy’s handmaidens were busy adorning them with various pieces of jewelry.

“Why is their skin gold with the funny symbol-looking thingys?” she whispered to Marto.

“The colors represent their parentage,” he softly replied. “The symbols are Valinorean script.”

The Slayer fell quiet as she watched the kids examining the gemstones that they wore. Buffy had always assumed that one day she’d fall in love, get married and THEN have children. And she did not consider herself married to Morgoth by any means. His treachery made that ‘union’ invalid. But now, here she was, with three children, and none of them were conceived out of love. Perhaps lust, but not love.

It was at that moment that the son approached his parents.

“Mother, father,” he said as he bowed his head to each one. “On behalf of my sister and myself, I thank you for giving us life, but I wonder… are you going to give us names or shall we name ourselves?” he asked as he cast a glance to his sister.

“Oh,” replied a dumbfounded Buffy. Her newborn child was actually asking if she was going to name him! Even though that was bizarre in itself, the Slayer knew that anything was possible in this world. She never knew what she might encounter when she turned a corner here. Just like the twins. She never saw that coming!

The Slayer looked at Marto for a moment before answering, “Since I’m your mother, I’ll name you… ”

“Perhaps a variation of your own name,” suggested Marto. Buffy glared at him for a moment before shaking her head no.

“Hmm,” began Buffy as she studied her son. While she stood there looking at each child, her heart became filled with love for them. Regardless of how they came into being, they were here now and were a part of her. The Slayer could see that their role in upcoming events would be crucial.

After a few minutes, she decided on their names. “You, my son, I will name Anno, because you most certainly are a ‘gift’ beyond all measure.” Buffy cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “A surname I will give to you as well: Pythius, which is from a language that has not yet been contrived in this world.” She smiled as she glanced at her daughter, who seemed preoccupied with the many rings that were on her fingers.

“Come here, daughter,” instructed Buffy. The woman rose to her feet and came before her mother. “Both you and I have a love for jewels and that name I will give you; Mírë. For you are the ‘jewel’ of my heart.” The Slayer smiled as she kissed her daughter on the forehead . “To you, I will bestow the surname of Delphi.” Buffy looked at Marto with a smile. He nodded his head approvingly. “I know that they’re great seers and will help me in my upcoming campaign.”

Buffy literally spent every minute of the next two weeks in the company of her children. At the end of that time, the twins suggested that she return to Middle-earth. They understood their mother’s eagerness to return to Beleriand and the Queen was comforted knowing that it was their idea. She planned to depart Sussrúmnir in her lion drawn chariot. For the first time, she really appreciated this gift because she was able to laden the cart with even more treasures from Folkvang than before. She wanted to take as many priceless gifts with her as she could haul. Buffy had so much jewelry on her body that Mr. T would have been envious. In addition, the pockets of her cloak were filled with things that one did not find in Beleriand, such as oranges, lemons, kiwi, cocoa and coffee beans. She was unable to take the pineapple she had with her; there just wasn’t enough room. She had the Orb of Thezula in her possession as well as the mail that Thingol had had made for her long ago.

After bidding farewell to her loved ones, she instructed the lions to head east. Buffy could still hear the minstrels’ sweet voices as Kit and Kat gathered speed. They soon became airborne and a few minutes later, they disappeared in a blinding flash of white light. Yes, the Slayer was now able to transport objects and other living creatures through inter-dimensions with her renewed powers.

They reappeared shortly thereafter, about two hundred yards from the entrance to the mystical fortress. The lions gracefully descended from the sky but at great speed. “Watch out! Watch out! Watch out!” she cried out. They were about to careen into a stand of evergreen trees that Buffy had no memory of being there the last time she was here. The lions stopped only inches away from the nearest tree. The Slayer let out a sigh of relief. A couple of her trunks managed to slide off the chariot and broke open, flinging many valuables onto the grass.

“That’s just great,” she mumbled under her breath, as she jumped off the chariot and started collecting the priceless artifacts from the ground.

“Hoom… hmm!” She heard from behind her. The Slayer then noticed a large shadow on the grass in front of her. Something was lurking over her shoulder.

She quickly turned around and saw an Onod. A he Onod. At least, she assumed that since it had a long mossy beard. He looked at her peculiarly before saying, “You must be Luinil.”

The Slayer got to her feet and looked up at the fourteen plus foot Onod. “How’d you know my name?” she asked.

“We have been… hoom… checking on the saplings. They’re growing nicely,” answered the Onod. “Besides, I have come to know Luthor well.” Buffy then noticed that the saplings had grown considerably since she had last seen them.

“Oh, is Thônel here?” queried the Slayer as she looked past this Onod to others that were gathered round him. “I haven’t seen her in a while and I’d like to say hi.”

Thônel was not present. Buffy learned that this Onod was called Fangorn. They chatted while she continued to pick up her treasures. She offered the Shepherd an emerald (since he was a tree and all), but he said that he had no need for gems of any sort.

Once she had all her belongings back in the chariot, she bid farewell to the Enyd before returning to the entrance. She unharnessed the lions and together they passed through the mystical barrier.

The first person that Buffy encountered was Dvalin, who nearly fainted at the sight of her… and the lions. “My Lady!” he exclaimed as he let his hammer fall to the ground. “At long last you have returned to us.” His eyes welled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Buffy was shocked, dwarves were not known as an affectionate people.

“Where’s Luthor?” she asked the dwarf.

“I shall take you to him, Freya,” he replied, nervously glancing at the cats. Buffy assured Dvalin that Kit and Kat would not eat him or anyone else. He seemed unsure of her words and kept a firm grip on his sledgehammer. The Dwarf Lord was prepared to use his tool as a weapon if the need presented itself.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, when they reached the ‘prison’ chamber. “You guys have been busy beavers,” she remarked. The last time Buffy was at the fortress, there was what she referred to as ‘The Pit’ in the center of this chamber. Now, in its place, was a deep, deep hole that spanned nearly the entire chamber. An iron causeway had been built crossing the hole from the northern shelf to the southern one.

Buffy peered over the railing and looked into the depths. She could hear the pounding sounds of the dwarves picks and hammers far below; she could barely see them. It must have been a few hundred feet to the bottom. She was very impressed.

“We have labored long and hard for you, my Lady,” replied Dvalin proudly. “Once we dwarves set our minds to something, we see it through to the end.” Buffy noticed the sparkle in his eyes which were transfixed on the gemstones that hung from her neck.

“I can see that,” she replied as they continued across the platform to the gates that led to their dwellings. “Here,” she said as she pulled off several necklaces and handed them to him. “These are for you,” she continued. “I’ve got more on my chariot. Will you have my trunks brought in?”

“Certainly Freya,” he replied, wide-eyed. He was the first dwarf to ever set eyes on gemstones, which were the creation of the Noldor elves in Valinor. “Thank you, my Lady.” He bowed several times and then departed. Buffy lost sight of him as he went around a bend in the tunnel.

The Slayer found Luthor holding court with the spirits of the slain in his ‘throne’ room. His mouth curled into a small smile when she entered. When their eyes met, the smile left Luthor’s face. She crossed the chamber and climbed up the steps of the dais to his high chair. Neither uttered a single word as Luthor held his arms open, his eyes were filled with both joy and sorrow. Buffy crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. It had been too long since she had seen her most trustworthy friend, the only person in Arda that she could truly confide in.

“Oh god, Luthor, I’ve missed you!” She blubbered. “There’s so much I need to tell you. You can’t imagine all the stuff that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Bella, my Bella. Shh,” he replied as he stroked the back of her head. “I’ve been so worried about you. I have not heard anything from you in so long.”

It took Buffy a while to regain her composure. She hadn’t expected to break down like that, but for some reason when her eyes locked with his, something inside her snapped. And for the first time ever, she felt an overwhelming need to discuss the torments that Morgoth had subjected her to while under his spell. But she knew that now was neither the time nor the place to do it. That would be selfish considering the fact that there were seventeen dwarf spirits in that very chamber, waiting somewhat impatiently for Buffy to remake their flesh.

With dry eyes, the Slayer turned her attention to the dwarfish spirits for the first time. They happily greeted her and welcomed her home. She apologized repeatedly for her delay. Luthor offered his chair to Buffy and he watched as she reformed the bodies of their slain friends. When the last dwarf was re-embodied, the Slayer declared that a celebratory feast was in order.

The newly embodied dwarves were anxious to start the preparations, they were eager to begin their labors. After they had gone, Luthor demanded to know about Folkvang and the Maiar who referred to themselves as ‘her’ people. Buffy then told him all about Irmo and the enchanted land that was given to her. She also revealed that she gets to choose half of the mortal warriors that are slain in battle, too. Not surprisingly, he wanted to hear her tale even though it took several hours to tell. She told him about the making of the gloves and how she was unable to return because her powers were drained and what she had to do in order to get them back. Luthor was mystified by the fact that she had two children with Marto, for he had known him well, at one time.

Buffy had learned that she had been gone for nearly twelve and a half years, meaning that she was now fifty-two years old! She didn’t celebrate one birthday while in Folkvang. In the big scheme of things, age and birthdays seemed to matter less and less with the Slayer. It had become irrelevant. Although now the elves could no longer refer to her as a child, maybe child-like, but by their standards, she was an adult.

On the way to the feast, Luthor pointed out the many improvements and additions that had been made to the fortress. He seemed to sparkle with every step. Not from any mystical thing, but from all the gold and jewels that adorned his body. Buffy had given him nearly every piece of jewelry that she had worn, making Luthor look kingly indeed! The Slayer doled out many gifts from her chests to her loyal followers. Everyone received his fair share.

During the feast, she announced that there were more dwarves on the way. Before she had departed Folkvang, Buffy chanced sitting upon her sapphire throne once more. One of the visions showed a mass exodus of dwarves fleeing Orocarni with many females among them. The Vala saw this as an opportunity to reward her men with something more precious than mere trinkets - the gift of love.

Later that evening, Luthor and Buffy went for a walk within the fortress and ended up in ‘The Pit’ chamber. As they stood on the bridge, he said, “We’ve chosen the name ‘Deeper Well’ for this place, that is, if you approve,” he mentioned as they both peered over the iron railing.

“Deeper Well, huh?” she questioned. “I like it. Sounds better than ‘The Pit.’” She took a sip of her wine before adding, “We’ve still got to put our first evil resident to rest. Have you guys prepared a sarcophagus yet?”

“Um, I didn’t realize that you had successfully imprisoned a fey,” he said hesitantly. After a moment, a smile came to his face, “Whom did you capture?” he queried.

“Authon,” she replied.

It was apparent to Buffy, that no, they had not prepared said sarcophagus. That meant that she had to stay here until it was completed. There was no way on Eru’s green earth that she was going to miss the first ‘burial,’ for it came at too great a price. It took four months to finish the mystical tomb. Buffy had imbued it with great magic’s to prevent him from escaping. She then drew out Authon’s powers and locked them into three rubies that represented the fire of his spirit, and set them into the hollows of his tomb. His essence, which remained in the Orb, was then thrust into the iris (an opening at the top of the coffin). The iris sealed itself around the Orb and Buffy commanded his fey to release itself from the mystical stone thus trapping him in the sarcophagus. The Orb disintegrated once his spirit had left it and the iris sealed itself shut. The casket was then thrust into the wall of the ‘Well.’ Authon would remain imprisoned there until the breaking of the world.



Despite Buffy’s longing to return to Ossir, she still had one more bit of business to contend with before she could leave. Now was the appointed time for her to intercept the enclave of dwarves that had left Orocarni. With the aid of her mystical chariot, the Slayer took to the air in order to find them. She had decided that the only way she’d be able to convince them to come with her was by displaying some of her powers. Not in a threatening manner, but in a way to show that she was able to deliver unto them gifts unimaginable.

When Buffy saw the dwarves from the sky, she counted nearly twenty four hundred of them. She could perceive from afar that not all would be welcomed to the Well for a dark shadow lay on some of these travelers. The golden chariot descended from the sky and the dwarves were both alarmed and in awe by the sight. When she landed, the dwarves charged the Slayer with their battle-axes. Buffy did not hide her mirth as she used her magic’s to easily disarm them. They had nowhere to run.

“Fear not, my dear dwarves,” she said. “I have come in peace, no harm will I cause you.”

It is not recorded in any of the histories what exactly the Vala of Love said to convince many of those Naugrim to accompany her. However, it is common knowledge that she had refused to allow some of them to come even though they were more than willing to. Nearly all of the females were convinced to follow her. In the end, she personally chose eight hundred dwarves to go back with her to the Well. All those that followed Buffy were given the gift of immortality. In return, they would assist the others in their endeavors.



Buffy departed the Deeper Well after spending one year there. She took both her falcon coat and her magical necklace, Brisingamen. She made one pit stop along the way, to visit Durin in Khazâd-Dum. While there, she placed a standing order for as many Orbs as the Dwarf Lord could produce. She left him ample down payment for his labors.

Buffy materialized on the outskirts of the city in the trees of Ossir. She didn’t want to have to explain about the lions and chariot, so she did a spell changing them to stone after removing all her goods from the cart. Holding the heavy chests, the Slayer disappeared in a blinding light only to re-materialize in her own bedchamber. It wasn’t a second later when she discovered that she was not alone.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Orchal, using one of Buffy’s favorite expressions.

“Oh my Eru!” shouted Nestor.

“Bella?” questioned a shocked Úrion.

Buffy placed the trunks on the ground as she turned around and noticed her three friends sitting in her bedroom. Their jaws hung open; the blood had drained from their stunned faces.

“I guess I’ve got some explaining to do, huh?” she remarked, slighted taken aback by their presence.

The Slayer had no other choice but to reveal to the three elves her ‘true’ nature. After pouring herself and her friends a good stiff drink, Buffy revealed all that she had kept secret from them over the years. From Morgoth’s enthrallment to the Deeper Well to Folkvang. She even spoke of her children, which was flabbergasting to all present. It was quite a bit to take in.

With her arms folded across her chest, she nervously asked, “So, do you guys hate me? I know I should’ve told you sooner, but… I really don’t want anyone to know who I am. Hell, I really don’t know who I am.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve gotta say though, that’s a real load off my chest.” She looked nervously from one baffled face to the next. “Say something!” she cried out.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” said Úrion, at last. “I care not what you are. What matters is how you treat other people… including me, and I cannot fault you with keeping those… matters private. I only rejoice that you’ve made it home safe and sound.” His face became hardened, “Morgoth shall pay for those atrocities that he committed against you.”

“Here, here,” chimed in a drunken Orchal. “I must say Bella; I’m completely dumbfounded by your tale. I think that it needs to sink in before I can comment further.” For some reason, her tale had the greatest effect on Orchal although she didn’t know why. He ended up shit faced before she finished her story. Buffy’s eyes turned to Nestor.

“I’m in agreement with Úrion on this one, Bella. I must say that your revelation does bring to light many things that I have not wholly understood before; mysterious disappearances, great knowledge of warfare and such.” He rose to his feet. “You are indeed a Vala worthy of praise and worship… ”

“No, no, no!” the Slayer countered. “I’m not for all that adulation crap.” She paused for a moment, thinking that maybe she was being a bit hasty when she rebuffed Nestor’s words. “Okay, well, maybe a little,” she continued. “But I don’t expect you guys to worship me or anything like that. I just want what we had before.”

“Ulmo,” blurted out Orchal as he got unsteadily to his feet.

“What?” queried the Slayer, who quickly dashed to Orchal’s side before he fell. “What are you talking about?” she asked, placing him back in his seat. She turned to the others. “What’s he talking about?”

Nestor glanced at Úrion before answering. “Ulmo paid Orchal a visit whilst you were away.”

“So did Mablung,” said Úrion. “Well, I actually spoke with him, but he came to Ossir while you were gone.”

Buffy stood over a passed out Orchal, utterly and completely shocked by what her friends had said. Ulmo came to Orchal! thought the Slayer. Why? Why didn’t he come to me when I was desperate to talk with him? The fact remains, Buffy was quite jealous to learn that Ulmo had visited Orchal, not her. And Mablung? That was beyond weird.

“What did they have to say?” asked the Slayer as she sat on the bed.

“I’ll have to start from the beginning,” began Nestor. “For this tale really starts the year after you left.” He told her about the dwarves returning the following spring, bringing one thousand of their kinfolk with them. Apparently, the Naugrim were so intrigued by what their kin had told them regarding the Slayer and her machines that they had to see for themselves. When they discovered that she was not there, they volunteered to stay and aid in the building of the engines.

It was not long afterwards, that Ulmo appeared before Orchal, instructing him to build a fortress worthy of the Slayer with the assistance of the dwarves. For ten years, they labored on that magnificent stone palace located on Tol Galen (Green Island), in the midst of the River Adurant in the southernmost region of Ossir. Buffy had never been that far south and knew nothing of that island. She found it rather odd that Ulmo had told them to build her fortress so far south. It didn’t make any sense to her at all, considering the threat of attack would come from the north.

When Nestor finished his tale, Úrion then told Buffy about Mablung’s visit. There was not much to tell other than that he was concerned about her well-being and wanted to see for himself that she was alright. He remained in Ossir for several months, but left some years ago. She found that strange, but not too surprising.

But the Slayer’s mind was more focused on the work that had been done while she was gone.

“Tomorrow I want to see all that’s been done in my absence,” she announced. She glanced at Orchal, who was snoring softly in the chair. “Help me get him to bed,” requested the Slayer as she and Nestor grabbed the drunken elf. Nestor went towards the door. “No,” Buffy said. “He can sleep in my bed.” Nestor looked at her, eyebrows raised, for a moment before complying.

Nighttime had already arrived and the bells sounded indicating that it was dinnertime. Buffy hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment. Leaving Orchal sound asleep, the others descended the stairway, heading towards the feasting hall. The green elves looked at the Slayer with reverence. None were aware that she had returned and were startled by her sudden appearance after so many years. Despite their initial shock, the green elves welcomed her home and they all celebrated into the wee hours of the morning.

Early the following morning, Buffy brought her lions back to life again. They were not pleased by what she had done to them and quickly fled into the woods. She cursed under her breath as she gave chase, leaving her friends to deal with bringing her chariot back home. Buffy then stopped. There was no point in her chasing after the lions when they could easily fly or disappear before she caught them. Instead, she wanted to see how many machines had been completed while she was gone.

When Buffy entered their camp, she was greeted by numerous dwarf Lords from both Belegost and Nogrod. The mighty Lords had waited many years just to set eyes upon the mysterious Lady whose predisposition for creating weapons of war rivaled their own. And let me tell you that the Slayer was not disappointed by what she had seen. The dwarves had completed their task a few years before, having built the five hundred siege engines that Buffy had authorized before she had vanished. There was rumor amongst the Naugrim that they would’ve built more, but the green elves were distressed by the great felling of trees and refused to let them continue. While Buffy was eager to have these things built, she was totally in agreement with the elves. She’d see to it personally that the forest was replanted.

Half the dwarves had remained beneath the city in the northern territory while the other half were removed to Tol Galen. That was Buffy’s next destination. She had to admit that she was anxious to see what kind of place that the elves and dwarves had built for her. Ten elves from her Household and two dwarves accompanied her on the boat. One was a hung over Orchal, whom the Slayer teased endlessly throughout the trip.

They leisurely journeyed by river for three weeks before reaching the port at Tol Galen. The palace was a mini replica of Sussrúmnir, except for being constructed out of blue stone instead of white. Perched atop the five hundred foot tall tower flew the banner of Buffy: a blue cross on a white background.

The elves and dwarves were quite proud of their accomplishment and they were very pleased by Buffy’s reaction. Tol Galen was in many ways like Folkvang. The fortress could only be reached by boat and there were many groves of trees that were not native to Beleriand. And the power that radiated from the island nearly bowled her over. It was fantastic. Even Kit and Kat ended up finding their way there.

Buffy spent much time exploring this island. She assumed it would be small since it was located in the middle of the Adurant River, but it was bigger than she imagined. Most of her exploration was done via astral projection for it was the quickest means for her to get the lay of the land. The island was twenty miles long by five miles wide and there were over one thousand elves that dwelt there. Not all of them lived in her Halls, as there were numerous houses throughout the isle.

For the next two years, Buffy spent much of her time on Tol Galen. She named her Halls Lindecoa, which translates to ‘House of Song’ in Quenya, for she had one of her minstrels singing at all times just like at Sussrúmnir. And she taught them a song that she considered her mantra, although she tweaked it a bit:

Time after time
I sit and I wait for your call
I know I’m a fool
But what can I say
Whatever the price, I’ll pay
For you, Madame Blue

Once, long ago
A word from your lips and the world turned around
But somehow you’ve changed,
You’re so far away,
I long for the past and dream of the day
With you, Madame Blue

Sweet Madame Blue
Gaze in your looking glass
You’re not a child anymore
Sweet Madame Blue
The future is all but past
Dressed in your jewels
You made your own rules
You conquered the world and more
… Heaven’s door

Luinil, Luinil…
Luinil, Luinil…
Luinil, Luinil…
Luinil, Luinil…

Red, white and blue
Gaze in your looking glass
You’re not a child anymore

Red, white and blue
The future is all but past
So lift up your heart
And make a new start
And lead us away from here. *



No matter where Buffy went in Ossiriand, she would hear the elves singing that song to her. Úrion said that it ‘fit’ her perfectly, and quite honestly, she agreed.

It was during the winter of Buffy’s thirty-first year in Middle-earth that she received a most unexpected visitor: Finrod. The doves delivered the message to her while she was in Lindecoa. Instead of Finrod coming to Tol Galen, Buffy and her closest confidents returned to the city in the trees.

“Welcome to Ossiriand, Finrod,” greeted Buffy when he entered her chamber. “Sorry about the wait, but we were a good two hundred and ninety miles south of the city.”

“I was in good company,” replied the golden haired Noldo with a smile. “I’ve enjoyed listening to the melodious voices of the elves of Lindon… ”

“Lindon?” questioned the Slayer.

“Oh,” he answered. “That’s what I call this city of yours. The green elves have such sweet voices.”

Buffy sat back in her chair. “I like it,” she said. “What do you guys think?” she asked as she turned to the green elves in the chamber. “Lindon. I like the sound of it.”

“It sounds very much like your Halls on Tol Galen,” replied Orchal.

“I say we name the city in the trees Lindon,” declared Buffy. The green elves agreed. Once that was settled, she turned her attention back to Finrod. “So what brings you here, son of Finarfin?” she queried.

“I’ve been sent by Fingolfin, King of the Noldor, with an invitation,” he said as he rose from his seat and handed her a sealed envelope.

Buffy broke the seal and pulled the parchment out. It was written in Quenya. She stared blankly at the runes. “I’ve gotta tell you Finrod, I may understand and speak the High Tongue of the West, but I’m afraid I don’t know how to read it.”

“Forgive me,” he replied. “The invitation is for Mereth Aderthad, the feast of reuniting that is to be held this spring at Eithel Ivrin. There will be plenty of food, games and such. All the mighty Lords of the Noldor will be in attendance and the King deemed that this would be a most excellent opportunity to renew old friendships and make new ones.”

Buffy smiled. “A party? That’s all I need to hear,” she said with a laugh. “We most graciously accept Fingolfin’s invite.” The Slayer saw this ‘party’ as a perfect opportunity to sell her machines. There was no way she was going to miss it.


* lyrics by Dennis DeYoung


Chapter 26 - TRIANGLE

Finrod accepted Buffy’s invitation to stay in Lindon for the remainder of the season. It was the middle of winter and the elf’s journey home would be very harsh to endure at this time of year. In Ossir, the weather remained pleasant and one only had to contend with the rain, which the green elves welcomed over snow any day.

During the elf’s visit, the Slayer demonstrated how her various war machines worked. He was quite impressed with the devices; none of the Noldor had ever seen any contraptions like that before. She mentioned to him that these engines were available for trade and that she would love the opportunity to see if the mighty Noldorin Lords were interested in doing business together. Finrod assured her that they would most definitely be interested. He was.

Now Finrod could not help but notice all the jewels that the Slayer had in her possession and he was quite curious as to how she came by these treasures. For the devising of gemstones was done by Fëanor during the bliss of Valinor and the Noldo was amazed to see that Buffy and her Household had multitudes of them.

“Some of us have connections in Valinor,” she had replied coyly. Finrod knew that she did not want to discuss who her contacts were, but he could see that she was no mere maiden. He had his own suspicions. Ever since he saw her fey long ago, there was no doubt in his mind that she had to be one of the Ainur. Power radiated from her although she brushed it off as part of being the Slayer. Whatever she was, the Noldo felt a deep connection with her. He couldn’t explain it, but he could sense that their fates were somehow intertwined.

Before winter had completely passed, Finrod departed Lindon in order to return to his own realm.

It was at the insistence of Orchal that Buffy had revealed to all of her Household her true identity. The silver-haired elf told her that it was the will of Ulmo that she share her secret with those who vowed to serve her. They promised that they would not disclose that revelation to any, and in return, Buffy bound their fey’s to hers. So, if any of them die, their spirits will not be commanded to return to the Halls of Mandos. The Slayer did this, knowing that it was in direct violation of the decree mandated by Manwë. She needed elves bound to her for their skills would be needed in times to come.

Three weeks later, Buffy, along with two hundred elves from her Household, left Lindon for the long journey to Eithel Ivrin. She was quite excited about the trip since she had not seen much of the land outside of Eastern Beleriand. Most of her time in Middle-earth had been spent within the forests of Doriath or Ossir and she had only once, traveled through West Beleriand (in fey form), years ago.

The caravan crossed the river Ascar and then headed due west, parallel to Andram. Most of the people were on horseback and they had oxen pulling wagons laden with gifts and provisions for the trip. Buffy didn’t bring any of her machines, only simple sketches. She feared that if she brought the detailed designs then the Noldor would have no need to buy them. The Slayer thought that that made good business sense.

Buffy was in awe when she saw the Gates of Sirion for the first time. This was where the River Sirion ran through the caverns of Andram and gushed out into the most spectacular falls that she had ever seen. The rushing sound was quite loud and the air was filled with mists from the water crashing against the rocks below. It was definitely a Polaroid moment for the Slayer. She purposely made the group journey further north in order to see this wonder of Beleriand even though it wasn’t easy to cross there. But she also came to realize why Ulmo wanted her to tell her Household about her identity, because it required the use of magic on her part to get oxen-drawn carts safely across the top of the slippery stone wall.

All were relieved when they made it to the other side without incident. The group then continued traveling in a north-western direction among fields of blossoming flowers. The green elves lifted their voices in song and rejoiced when they finally came to the River Narog. They were not far from their destination. They continued to follow the stream northwards and soon they saw the southern foot of Ered Wethrin (Mountains of Shadow) looming in the distance.

After six weeks of traveling, their journey had finally reached its end. They crossed the ford and arrived at the pools of Ivrin where great pavilions and hundreds of tents were erected in various shapes, sizes and colors. The many banners of the Noldorin Houses blew in the early afternoon breeze. The Slayer’s emblem was carried by her standard bearer.

Buffy’s reputation had preceded her. Her skill in battle was known by all the Noldorin Lords although she knew them not. But one thing that the Noldor did not have a true grasp of were the garments that the Slayer normally wore. Since she was no longer subject to Thingol’s authority, Buffy dressed scantily when compared to the elves. She arrived at Eithel Ivrin wearing black leather pants (courtesy of Sauron) and a red top that pretty much resembled a strapless bra. Her attitude of “if you have it, flaunt it” could clearly be seen. Buffy was a woman and damn proud of it, too!

Úrion helped her off her steed and Kit and Kat (who roamed freely throughout the trip), were happy to be at their mistress’s side once again. The assembled elves looked at Buffy with bewilderment in their eyes. They could actually say that they’ve never seen anyone remotely like her ever before, not in Beleriand nor in Valinor. She was unique. One of a kind. And that’s how Buffy liked it.

“It is good to see that you have made it at last, Bellaseth,” said Finrod in greeting. “There are many who wish to make your acquaintance.” He nodded to her companions before offering his arm. “I shall introduce you to all the Noldorin Lords. I have already told them of your war machines and the King is most interested in hearing your proposal.”

“Excellent,” she replied. Buffy couldn’t help but notice how much attention she was drawing from the strangers. She found it rather amusing although she wasn’t sure if they were gawking at her dress or her kitty cats. “I see that there’s not many women around,” commented the Slayer as they started walking through the mass of people. She was followed, at all times, by twenty of her closest confidants including her beloved trio.

“Only those that wished to come have come,” he replied. “Fingolfin has deemed this meeting as a way of reuniting with our long lost kindred and hopes to unify all the Houses in our fight against Morgoth. And you, my dear lady, are the only woman who wields power in Beleriand.”

“What about Melian?” she asked as she glanced up at the elf with a smile. “She’s a Maia… and your kin.”

“True, but it’s Thingol who truly wields the power in Doriath, as you are well aware,” answered Finrod as they came upon a group of elves in deep conversation. “Our Lord has extended his hand to Thingol and his people, but none have yet arrived from Menegroth.”

“Thingol leave Doriath?” questioned a chuckling Buffy. “I don’t see that happening. You won’t be able to get him to leave Doriath for nothing… except maybe war.”

The first elf Lord that Buffy met was Turgon, youngest son of Fingolfin. He was holding court with many people (including Aegnor and Angrod, Finrod’s younger brothers) in one of the pavilions. The Slayer and her companions were invited to join them and partake in some wine. She took a seat between two elves named Galdor and Ecthelion as she took the chalice of amber fluid that was proffered.

“It’s very good,” she said after taking a sip. Buffy had consumed a lot of wine since her arrival in Middle-earth and considered herself a wine connoisseur of sorts, but after tasting the wine of the Noldor, she knew the green elves produced a far superior quality. Of course, she would need to sample more, but she saw another money- making opportunity for Ossiriand. The Slayer then ordered a couple of her servants to bring forth eight bottles of wine from their stores. Once these elves tasted their stuff, they’d be hooked.

It was then that a squat dark-headed elf asked her a question, “Is it true, what they say, that you’re indeed the warrior maiden who fought under Thingol’s banner in the first war?”

She eyed him for a moment before replying, “Yes, it is.”

The elf no longer bothered to conceal his disbelief nor his laughter. “You are very small, even for one not of the Eldar,” he began. “I do not believe that you are the capable warrior that they speak of. You’re no bigger than an elfling.” He laughed heartily.

Buffy rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard that now? A million? “Well… ” she began before the son of Fingolfin interrupted.

“The Lady’s strength is much greater than you deem, Salgant,” counseled Turgon. “Watch your tongue or you may find yourself eating crow!”

Salgant laughed once again. “Surely you jest, my Lord,” he said with a laugh as his eyes gave Buffy the once over. “I do not sense this strength that you speak of.” He fixed his eyes on the Slayer. “I’m willing to allow you a chance to prove your strength, Lady, if you will.”

“So, you want me to knock the crap out of you?” she asked. Her eyes showed her disdain yet she so hoped that his answer was yes. No one likes a smart ass, especially when the comments are directed at you, and Buffy was ready to put an end to this before the situation escalated.

He laughed once again as he got to his feet. For the first time, Buffy noticed that this guy was a bit on the chunky side. Most elves were of slender build but Salgant was clearing the exception to the rule.

“Come, Bellaseth. Let us see if you have been named rightly so,” he answered as he drained the liquid from his goblet.

Many of the elves snickered and giggled over Salgant’s bold words. Most seated in the pavilion sensed the Slayer’s power, unfortunately, Salgant wasn’t accounted amongst them. Buffy looked to Turgon as if to see if it was okay to demonstrate her strength.

“He is asking for it, Bellaseth. I believe that Salgant needs to be taught a lesson for his cheek,” he stated as he put his chalice to his lips in order to hide the mischievous grin on his face. It was apparent that Turgon found the whole scenario humorous.

Buffy got to her feet, her drink still in hand. She and Salgant stepped outside the pavilion while the others adjusted their positions so that they could witness the test of strength. The combatants sized each other up. Salgant was at least a foot taller than Buffy and Eru only knows how much he outweighed her. She took a sip of wine.

“Okay big boy, tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ll let you go first; hit me as hard as you can,” proposed Buffy. She handed her drink to Nestor, spread her feet about a foot or so apart and put her hands behind her head. The sneering Slayer waited for his blow.

Salgant was affronted by her request. He blinked several times before saying, “I’m not going to hit a woman! What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Oh, c’mon, you know you want to,” she teased. “Believe me, I’m gonna hit you pretty hard and I don’t think you’ll be in any condition to hit me back… ” Her smiled widened and she continued to taunt the elf. “In fact, I bet that after I hit you, you’ll be rolling on the ground crying, ‘Oh Eru, my jaw, my jaw.’ So… this is the only opportunity you’ll have to show how much of a man you are or… ”

WHAM! Salgant threw a right hook at the Slayer while she was still speaking. Buffy wasn’t sure if the shocked expression on his face was from the fact that she didn’t flinch or that he had just hit a woman.

“That did not hurt?!” he questioned with an air of disbelief.

Glorfindel, a gorgeous golden-haired elf, laughingly said, “It looks like Salgant is the one with the strength of a woman.” A chorus of laughter sounded from under the pavilion.

“My turn,” said the Slayer excitedly. For a split second, Buffy detected fear in Salgant’s eyes but he quickly managed to conceal it with what she thought was false bravado.

“You are about to see what kind of man I am, Dagnir. I am a Noldo and we are as tough as the earth,” he boasted with his chest puffed out.

“And I’m just a poor, weak and helpless woman,” she said mockingly before giving him her right hook. Salgant went soaring backwards twenty feet before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

“Oh Eru,” he cried out, “my jaw, my jaw.” He was rolling around on the ground clutching the right side of his face. Many of the Lords had leapt to their feet when they saw the elf go flying. They were amazed by what they had just witnessed and looked at the Lady of Ossir in a whole new light. No elf ever doubted her abilities from that day forward.

“See! Didn’t even break a nail,” said a gloating Buffy as she examined her fingernails. She took her drink from Nestor and sat back down.

Ecthelion and Galdor helped Salgant to his feet amidst the laughter from his kinfolk, including Turgon. “Perhaps next time you will have the wisdom to heed my words of warning, my friend,” the son of Fingolfin commented to a moaning Salgant.

“Leave me be! Leave me be!” bitterly said the injured elf as he sat back down. “She damn near broke my jaw,” he whined. His dignity took a bigger hit than his face and Buffy didn’t nearly hit him as hard as she could have.

“Here’s some advice for you Salgant,” remarked the Slayer. “Never judge a book by its cover. You never know what you’ll find inside.”

He glared at her. “Yes… I’ll keep that in mind, Lady.” A deep purplish-black bruise rapidly formed on his fair face. He refilled his cup and took a deep draught while still being ridiculed by the rest of the company.

“I think that Salgant needs to be cut some slack,” interjected Úrion. “Speaking as one who has trained with Bella, I understand when one doubts her might until they actually see it for themselves… or in this case, are on the receiving end of it.”

“Nay! I say we continue to goad him a little while longer so he does not forget this lesson all too soon,” suggested Galdor with a laugh.

Buffy whispered to Nestor who then handed her a small wooden box from the pouch on his belt. She walked over to Salgant, pulled a little table in front of him and took a seat. His face looked pretty bad and it didn’t help matters any that Buffy had worn rings on every finger.

“Give ‘em a break, guys,” she said to the others. “Same thing would’ve happened if I hit any of you.” She turned her attention back to Salgant. “This is some awesome salve that was devised by my people in the east. It heals just about any injury and removes scars, too.” He looked at her skeptically, leaning further back in his chair. “I swear, I’m not gonna hurt you. I wanna help you.” She started placing the ointment on his bruise.

“What’s that from?” he asked pointing to a scar on her stomach.

“Which one?” she replied. She showed him that she had two; one was two inches below the other.

“Both. Did you get them in battle?” he queried, slightly confounded.

“Hmm, this one wasn’t so much a battle as a fight. Just your average run-of-the-mill vamp. Had an off day… he got lucky,” she answered as she pointed to the top one. “And this one was from a Turok-Han, an über-vamp. Let me tell you, that was one hell of a battle.” Salgant stuck a finger into the salve and went to place the ointment on her scar. Buffy pushed his hand away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she questioned as she leapt aside.

“Let me use your salve to remove the scars,” offered the elf.

“No!” she shot back as she quickly returned to her seat. “I don’t want to lose them. They’re a reminder of mistakes that I’ve made in the past. At least, some of them are.” The Slayer could not help but notice how every elf seemed to be scrutinizing her. For the first time, she felt naked. Their eyes were scanning the numerous scars on her body. One of Buffy’s handmaidens came forward, as though answering an unspoken command, and helped her mistress into a short black jacket.

“You have fought in numerous battles, have you not?” asked a perplexed Ecthelion. “For I deem that you are very experienced when it comes to warfare.”

She smiled weakly. “You have no idea. I’ve been fighting the forces of darkness for nearly thirty-eight years, ever since I was fifteen, that’s when I was Called.” Buffy then explained what a Slayer was and about some of her early battles.

“How is it that one so fair and gifted has no husband?” questioned the elf Lord, Rog. “I reckon that you come from a goodly stock and your children will be very strong.”

Once again, the Slayer laughed. “When it comes to me and love, I don’t fare well in that department. I come and go as I please and I answer to nobody. This world… Middle-earth, it’s so different from the days when I was born. Here, women are docile and obedient to their men. And I most certainly am not like that!” She glanced at the many elves. “Besides, what kind of man is interested in a woman whose thoughts constantly revolve around battle techniques and warfare? Who desires a woman whose sole purpose is to bring death to beastly creatures that lurk in the darkness?”

Dozens of unwedded elves raised their hands, much to Buffy’s amusement.

It was at that moment that Fingolfin, High King of all the Noldor, approached, surrounded by many Knights from his Household. All the elves rose to their feet out of respect for their Lord, Buffy included. He strode up to the Slayer.

“You must be Bellaseth Dagnir,” said the tall dark-haired elf. His gray eyes sparkled with wisdom and she could sense the strength of his fey. “It is with great joy that I make your acquaintance, Lady,” he added with a slight bow of his head. Immediately, a great wooden chair was placed in the center of the pavilion and the King took a seat. He folded his hands in his lap and stared intently at the small woman who sat across from him. “I am eager to learn more about these weapons of yours, Bellaseth,” he stated. “But I would rather wait until we have representatives from all the Houses before we hold council.”

“Sounds good by me,” she replied. She shifted in her seat, the intensity of Fingolfin’s eyes seemed to pierce her very thoughts, making her slightly uncomfortable. She stared into her chalice, her finger tracing the rim.

“You are an emissary of the Valar, are you not?” questioned the King.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she replied uneasily.

“I perceive that your doom is greater than my own. Will you not walk with me?” requested the King.

“I’d be honored to,” she answered as she got to her feet. The King instructed his people to leave them be, he wished to speak to the Slayer in private. They walked due east towards the eaves of the Woods of Núath. “Perhaps you’ll speak more freely with me now that there are not so many ears listening in for I see there is much power about you.” He walked proudly with his hands clutched behind his back, nodding at passing elves every now and again.

“What do you wish to speak about, Lord?” she asked with the utmost respect.

“You, Bellaseth. It is you that I wish to talk about.” He smiled kindly before continuing, “I was born and raised in the Blessed Realm long ago and I have walked amongst the mighty Ainur that reside there. Why is it that I have not seen you there? For you are indeed one of the Ainur, are you not?”

She chuckled. He sounded like Kanafinwë. “I see your not one for beating around the bush either. A man after my own heart.” Buffy fell silent for a few minutes as they continued to walk. She couldn’t believe that she was actually contemplating whether to reveal her true identity to the Elven King. There was something about these newcomers from Valinor that Buffy couldn’t quite put her finger on. They seemed to have any uncanny ability to read people well… maybe too well.

“Your silence speaks volumes and I assure you that your secret’s safe with me,” he remarked. “I would not ask but I see that the day will come when you’ll be closely associated with my own House. And my heart tells me that we’ll have all too few opportunities to speak this privately in the future.”

“No one sees everything, you know,” she commented as she looked up at him.

The sun was glaring in their eyes as they ascended a small knoll that overlooked the pools. They sat down on flower-speckled grass and continued to shoot the breeze. Fingolfin had talked about Valinor and the Ainur as well as Hithlum, his home in Middle-earth. After a while, the conversation came back to her again.

“Why is it that the Valar have sent a woman to combat the forces of Morgoth?” inquired the King.

“Who said that I was sent here by the Valar?” she questioned back.

His intense gaze remained fixed on her for several minutes. It was Buffy who finally broke the silence.

“I’m not a coward… but I fear him,” she confessed softly. “Morgoth has this weird fixation thing with me. He’s done horrible things… ” Her words broke off and she shuddered. “I’m not ready to take him on yet, but I’m preparing just the same. When the time comes, I’ll be ready. I have to.” She fell silent again, saddened by the memories of her earlier torment. Buffy then turned to him and added, “Only a Vala can kill another Vala, you know that don’t you? None of your people will be able to defeat him.” She didn’t know why she said that, it just blurted out of her.

“Perhaps it’s folly but I would rather die trying to defeat the Dark Lord than bow down to him. I fear him not for he is craven,” the King said firmly.

“He knows a lot of magic, Fingolfin,” Buffy warned. “Everything he touches is enhanced so much the greater for it. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it first hand.”

“You have been to the Dark Lands?” he questioned in a shocked tone.

Buffy looked down at the grass. “A few times,” she admitted. “Those were dark days for me and I’ve seen what Morgoth’s capable of. Let me tell you Fingolfin, you’ve got to get everyone in Middle-earth to unite as one or we’re all doomed. It’s that whole ‘united we stand, divided we fall’ thing.”

“That is my intention with this feast. I have sent messengers throughout Beleriand inviting our kindred to join us and you can see for yourself how many representatives from the various tribes have come,” the Noldo King responded gesturing before them.

Buffy looked out at the hundreds of people that were milling around. It was then that she noticed a banner with a familiar symbol on it - an eight-rayed silver star. The same star that was etched into her throne of sapphire back in Folkvang. Her heart started beating fast, she nearly thought it would pop out of her chest.

“Fingolfin,” she started. “That emblem over there, the star,” she pointed towards the pavilion that they had been at before. “What House does that represent?” she queried.

“That would be my half-brother’s House, the House of Fëanor,” he replied.

“The sons of Fëanor are here?” she asked excitedly.

“I was not aware that you’ve met them,” he commented.

“I’ve only met three of them,” Buffy responded, her eyes fixed on the banner.

“Only two of the sons of Fëanor have come; Maedhros and Maglor,” revealed the Elven King.

Buffy whispered the name Maglor under her breath, her heart racing even faster than before. “I don’t want to seem rude, Lord, but I’ve really got to go,” she said as she got to her feet. “We’ll hook up later, okay?” The Slayer took off down the knoll before Fingolfin could answer. He watched her disappear into the throng of people.

The Slayer bypassed the pavilion where Turgon was still holding court and stopped when she came to a group of fifteen elves standing in a semi-circle. A tall broad shouldered elf with long copper hair stood above the others, laughing at something that another elf had just told him. However, Buffy’s attention was focused on the dark haired elf whose back was turned towards her - Kanafinwë, who was called Maglor in the Sindarin tongue. She stood there for a few moments and was soon joined by Kit and Kat who sat on either side of her. She continued to watch the elf as he spoke with Finrod.

It was only a minute later, when Maglor sensed someone watching him. He turned around and his eyes locked with Buffy’s. He looked at her with a surprised expression on his face before his lips curled into a smile. The Slayer thought that her heart was going to pound out of her chest as they quickly closed the gap between them. When they were merely inches apart, Buffy threw her arms around his neck, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Maglor swept her off her feet and she wrapped her legs around his waist as they continued kissing passionately.

“Does she greet every Noldo that way?” asked the copper-haired elf to Finrod, with an air of anticipation in his voice.

“No,” answered a baffled Finrod. “I didn’t know that Maglor even knew Bella.” He was surprised by Buffy’s greeting as much as anyone else.

Maglor placed Buffy back on the ground, his hands cupping her face. “Where have you been? I have looked for you but I could never find you… ”

“I was hit by a poisonous dart during the battle,” she answered as she showed him the red dot on her neck (it looked like a busted blood vessel). “Knocked me out for twelve years!”

“Twelve years?” he exclaimed, slightly dumbfounded. His eyes swept over her body from head to toe. “How are you feeling? You look to be in good health.”

“Yeah, I am now. I can’t believe you’re here!” She then whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Yes, I do… ”

“So Maglor, are you going to introduce me to your… friend or not?” asked the tall copper headed elf.

Maglor had momentarily forgotten about his companions after he had laid eyes on Buffy, but introductions were called for. He took the Slayer’s hand in his and they faced the group of elves.

“I’m Bellaseth Dagnir,” she blurted out. “But my friends call me Bella or Luinil.” She let out a sigh, grateful that she spoke before Maglor, for he knew her by her ‘true’ name, and now was not the time for that little revelation.

“So you are Bellaseth Dagnir,” said the tall elf. “And I see that you and my brother are already somewhat familiar with one another though I have seen you not. I am Maedhros, eldest of the sons of Fëanor,” he announced with a slight bow of his head. Maedhros was nearly the size of Thingol but much broader built. He was the most muscular-looking elf that Buffy had ever seen. “If my memory serves me well, and I deem that it does, are you not also called Maranwë, Luinil?” he queried.

As Buffy was about to respond, she glanced downwards and happened to notice that Maedhros was missing his right hand. Her mind flashbacked to her time in Angband and an early morning discussion she overheard between Sauron and Morgoth:

“It is still intact. We found this on the crags. I thought you ought to see it,” she recalled Sauron saying.

And Morgoth’s response, “Give that to Carcharoth, my favorite of the wolves, as I deem he will savor the taste of the flesh of one of the Noldorin Princes of Valinor.”

Buffy put two and two together pretty fast and felt the blood draining from her face. Oh my God, thought the Slayer. Maglor’s brother is the one that Morgoth hung by his wrist from the precipice of Thangorodrim. While that thought seemed horrendous to her, it gets even worse. Morgoth had retrieved a beautiful ruby ring from the severed hand and had given it to Buffy as a gift. Now when the Slayer had left with Luthor, she didn’t take one piece of jewelry or any other ‘mementos’ from her captivity, but Luthor had. He took all the items that he could find in Morgoth’s bedchamber that belonged to her, the ring included. For many years, the Maia kept this from the Slayer and it was only during her last visit that she discovered this. And now, here she was, face to face with the one that suffered horribly by the command of Morgoth.

“Bella? Bella?” Maglor called her name over and over, shaking her out of her reverie.

Buffy blinked a couple of times, “Sorry… about that.” Her glance went from Maedhros to the dark-haired elf that stood to his left, and back again. “Um, what were you saying?” she questioned with a slightly dazed expression on her face. The Slayer was tripping out, to say the least.

“Are you sure your well?” asked Maglor with concern.

“I’m fine, really,” she answered as she returned her gaze to Maedhros. “Your hand. Is Morgoth responsible for that?” she queried.

His whole demeanor seemed to change in an instant. He furrowed his eyebrows, his body tensed and Buffy could see the fire enflamed in his eyes. Maedhros lifted his right arm, “The Dark Foe is behind all anguish in Beleriand, is he not?” His piercing gray eyes were locked on Buffy. “If it had not been for my dear friend and cousin, Fingon the Valiant,” he placed his left arm around the dark haired elf’s shoulder, “I’d still be suffering from Morgoth’s torments.”

“Damn,” the Slayer said solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for, Lady?” questioned Maedhros. “You are not guilty of committing any heinous crimes.”

“I mean… um, sorry about losing your hand. That’s all,” she responded glumly with a shrug of her shoulders.

The copper-headed elf laughed heartily. “It is but a small price to pay for my folly. I will exact my vengeance upon the Enemy and avenge the House of Fëanor.”

“My guess is that nearly all of us want to ‘exact our vengeance’ on Morgoth,” commented Buffy as she glanced around. “It’s just a matter of who’ll get there first.” She smiled before adding, “And I’m definitely a contender in that competition.”

Maedhros put his arm on his brother’s shoulder. “I like her, brother, the fire of Ilúvatar burns bright within her.”

“Indeed,” responded Maglor. “And it did not take the Lady long to win my heart.”

“How exactly did you two meet?” queried the elf named Fingon.

Buffy wasn’t too keen to discuss her secret visits with Maglor while in the dream state even though it had been many years ago. While the Slayer felt stronger than ever, she had not yet regained that ability. Instead, she focused her energies on more important matters like creating weapons for the upcoming wars.

Luck was on the lovers’ side as the bells sounded that indicated that the feast was about to begin. They were able to dodge Fingon’s question for the time being.

Now Buffy was pretty much a good person, no one doubts that, but when the elves faced West and gave thanks to the Valar before eating, she couldn’t help but feel slighted. For in her mind, she felt that the elves should pray to her and be thankful that she was here to aid them in their fight with the Dark Lord. Did she not help with the creation of Eä, though she had no memory of it? Since she was told to keep her identity secret, that made her all the more envious of her kindred in the Blessed Realm. Would the world ever learn of her deeds of prowess or would she merely fade into obscurity? Suffice to say, the Slayer would have to be content receiving the adulation from those who dwelt in her mystical realms and those of her own Household who already knew her secret.

The competitions started the following morning after breakfast. Among the events that were held that day were archery, wrestling, relay races, javelin, caber (a big log that’s thrown end-over-end) and discus throwing (seriously). Of course, Buffy bested the competition in every event that she participated in. It was too easy for her to defeat her competitors that she actually bowed out early in order to give others the opportunity to win some of Fingolfin’s prizes.

After passing up one of the events, the Slayer fell into conversation with Fingolfin’s younger sister, Lalwen. She immediately took a liking to the dark-haired beauty. She had a rebellious nature, witty attitude and was not at all happy about living in a male chauvinistic society.

“It’s like their obsession with towers,” she had remarked. “It is nothing more than a symbolic reference to the phallus if you ask me. And they compete to see whose is the larger!”

Damn, thought Buffy. I’ve got towers too. What does that say about me?

The elf maiden was captivated by the power and respect that the Lady of Ossir commanded. In Lalwen’s eyes, Buffy was the epitome of ‘woman power,’ for she was the only woman who truly ruled her own ‘kingdom’ in Middle-earth. In her heart, she yearned to join the Slayer’s brigade of warriors and she knew that it time, she would.

After three days, everybody present could attest to Buffy’s affections for the second son of Fëanor. She enjoyed being able to spend so much time with Maglor that she bypassed all opportunities to sleep so they could spend every minute together. Now that they had finally found each other, there was no way they were going to be separated again, regardless of the reason. Buffy knew that she had found the perfect mate for her. She deemed that the time had come in her life where she could say good-bye to loneliness and heartbreak, and hello to companionship and joy. She considered Maglor to be a most wonderful gift from Eru Ilúvatar for all her hard labors thus far, and with him by her side, she could take on the world. It was time for the Slayer to savor the bliss and harmony of a ‘normal’ relationship.

It was when the ‘messengers’ from Doriath showed up that things took an interesting turn. Thingol did not come but sent both Daeron and Mablung in his stead. Buffy had not seen her former lover in a number of years although she was aware that he had paid a visit to Ossir while she was in Folkvang. The former lovers’ eyes had met a couple of times during the day but Buffy managed to ‘get lost’ in the crowd in order to avoid that inevitable confrontation that she knew was coming. She didn’t know why, but whenever she saw Mablung, her spider senses started tingling. And that did not forebode anything good.

After the feast, many of the people congregated into smaller groups throughout the grassy meadow by the enchanting pools of Ivrin. The rushing sound from the waterfalls seemed to provide the melody to the songs sung by the elves, many who danced under the star-studded sky. The air was filled with joy and mirth.

Buffy was sitting with folk from the Houses of Fëanor, Finarfin and with Círdan, and his people from the Falas. She was delighted to meet the ally of Thingol’s that was unfortunately besieged by yrch during the first war in Middle-earth. The Slayer was quite taken aback that the ‘Shipwright’ resembled and old man with lots of facial hair. She had never encountered that ‘aged’ look with an elf before. He reminded her somewhat of Luthor.

It was while Buffy was sitting with her new friends and lover that she heard a song that she recognized from ‘modern’ times. She glanced to her left and saw Mablung, harp in hand, singing a song that she had taught the elves back in her days in Doriath:


“Time, it needs time
To win back your love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, only love
Can bring back your love someday
I will be there, I will be there

I’ll fight, babe, I’ll fight
To win back your love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, only love
Can break down the wall someday
I will be there, I will be there

If we’d go again
All the way from the start
I would try to change
The things that killed our love
Your pride has built a wall, so strong
That I can’t get through
Is there really no chance
To start once again
I’m loving you

Try, baby, try
To trust in my love again
I will be there, I will be there
Love, our love
Just shouldn’t be thrown away
I will be there, I will be there

If we’d go again
All the way from the start
I would try to change
The things that killed our love
Your pride has built a wall, so strong
That I can’t get through
Is there really no chance
To start once again

If we’d go again
All the way from the start
I would try to change
The things that killed our love
Yes, I’ve hurt your pride, and I know
What you’ve been through
You should give me a chance
This can’t be the end
I’m still loving you
I’m still loving you, I need your love
I’m still loving you” *



Buffy sat there, completely dumbfounded. Mablung dropped to his knees in front of the Slayer, totally ignoring or unaware of the fact (she didn’t know which), that she was sitting beside the man whom she loved. Thingol’s Captain seemed oblivious to everyone around him.

“Bella, please,” he pleaded. “I need to speak to you.”

The Slayer looked at his tear-filled eyes and immediately got to her feet. “Okay. Let‘s go where we can have some privacy,” she suggested as she grabbed his hand and led him to her tent. She could feel Maglor’s eyes boring through her as she and Mablung walked away.

When they reached her tent, she ordered her servants to leave. She offered a chair to Mablung as she sat on her bed. He pulled the chair closer to her.

“What’s this about?” she queried uncomfortably. She had an notion especially with him singing that song and all.

“Bella,” Mablung started as he grabbed her hands, caressing them affectionately. “You have been in my thoughts of late. Actually, you’re all I think about… I have made a grave mistake by ending our relationship. It was folly, I now see that. It… it was like some madness overcame me and I lost all reason… and made demands upon you that… that I wish to take back. I have acted foolishly… can you forgive me? I love you. It is not too late to end this estrangement of ours… ” He fell to his knees again, sobbing uncontrollably as he placed his head in her lap.

“Oh God, Mablung.” Buffy attempted to console him. She could feel her own tears running down her face. How could he possibly want to get back together after so many years apart? Especially when he was the one who was adamant about ending their relationship in the first place. And how would he take the news that she had already moved on? She had no desire to return to Doriath nor to him. But that didn’t mean that a part of her would always love and care about him.

Mablung continued sobbing, uttering incoherent phrases. Buffy caught the words, “madness” and “lost my mind,“ but not much else. It was then that she heard the malicious laughter of Morgoth in her head. And all became clear to her. She knew at that moment that Morgoth had found another way to mess with her. He had used his powers to bewitch her lover into ending their relationship. And here was poor Mablung, clueless as to what the Dark Lord had done to him, begging Buffy for forgiveness. It was nearly too much for her to bear. The Slayer felt her anger rising as a loud crack of thunder rang out in the night. Morgoth had crossed the line.



* lyrics by Klaus Meine


Chapter 27 - FOOL FOR LOVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: FOOL FOR LOVE



When Buffy’s people heard the loud rumbling crack of thunder, they all ran to her tent. They understood its meaning. Úrion dashed inside and saw the Slayer holding Mablung in her arms, her eyes were as blue flames and she was starting to emit a white light.

“Come Mablung,” Úrion said as he grabbed the silver-haired elf and hastily pulled him outside the tent. “You must go!” Hordes of green-elves surrounded the tent as Úrion ran back inside. “Calm down, Bella. Calm down,” he begged. Her breathing was labored and the light from her fey was becoming brighter and brighter. He backhanded the Slayer, busting her lip in the process, in hope that that would bring her back to her senses. When that failed, he violently shook her in attempt to rouse her from that trance-like state. She blinked a few times and the rolling sounds of thunder ceased. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you left me no other choice. You cannot go around displaying your powers on a whim,” he added as he carefully wiped the blood from her lip. Her eyes soon returned to their normal state and her body no longer emitted the white light. Úrion continued, “You must not let your emotions get the best of you. Show some restraint when in the company of so many strangers.”

“Morgoth,” she began, as her body still shook from rage. “He bewitched Mablung. That whole wedding thing was His doing. He was behind it the whole time… I was a fool not to see it sooner.”

“Shh,” comforted the elf as put his arm around her. “What’s done is done. Unless you have decided that you want to return to Mablung and your life in Doriath… ”

“No,” she said as she pulled away from her friend. “I feel Mablung’s pain, Úrion. He still loves me. His feelings are real.”

“Mablung is a strong man. He will get over it. Time heals all wounds, you’ve said that yourself,” he remarked as he pulled a strand of her blonde hair from her face.

Once Buffy calmed down, she summoned Orchal and Nestor to join them in her tent. They soon entered along with Kit and Kat, who jumped onto the bed next to their mistress. She instructed her friends to take the Noldorin Lords back to Ossir as planned. She would not be traveling with him. Úrion would be in charge of negotiating the sale of the engines as Buffy had appointed him Minister of Finance.

She asked that Maglor be brought to her as soon as possible. After the debacle with Mablung, the Slayer knew that the time had arrived for her to come clean with her lover. There would be no hope of any future together if she didn’t disclose the things in her past. No matter how much that thought alone frightened her, she hoped that that old adage “love conquers all” would apply here.

Unbeknownst to Buffy, Úrion took it upon himself to deal with Mablung. He informed the heartsick elf that his former ladylove had already moved on to her next conquest and that any hope of reconciliation was out of the question. The Slayer would not have approved of his tactless manner.

Orchal arrived fifteen minutes later with a very confused Maglor. He had enlightened the Noldo about how badly Buffy’s former relationship with Mablung had ended. But that was nothing compared to what she was going to tell him.

Buffy forced a smile when he entered. “Put the skins on the tent. We need a shield,” she ordered Orchal before he left.

“What?” queried a still confused Maglor.

“Do you trust me?” she asked as she rose to her feet. He nodded. “Good. Just trust me here.” They could hear the sound of the animals skins being thrown all over the tent. Buffy pet her kitties as she waited patiently for her people to finish their work. “Coming kitties?” she asked. Kit let out a roar of agreement. “Okay, we’re ready.” She took Maglor’s hand. “I’m taking you to my home on Tol Galen in Ossir.” Gradually the tent became filled with a blinding white light and a moment later, they all disappeared.

“What the…?” questioned a shocked Maglor as they reappeared a moment later inside Lindecoa. “How did you that?”

She took his hand and led him to her Mirror. “It’s magic, Káno, you know that. Do you remember when we first met and you asked me if I was an Ainu?”

He most certainly remembered. “And I was correct in my assessment, was I not?” inquired Maglor with a grin. Buffy nodded. “You are indeed one of the Maiar?”

“Um, no. I’m a Vala,” she confessed. The Noldo was stunned by her admission. “Actually, I’m the Vala of Love.” The Slayer felt her face go flush.

“The Vala of Love?” Maglor questioned, slightly taken aback. His mouth felt dry. “That helps me understand the events that had transpired earlier this evening with that Mablung,” he muttered as he walked over to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. “I would not have guessed that you were one of the Valar though. I am yet amazed that after all these years, we know so little about one another,” he continued, handing her a glass of cordial.

“Yeah, I guess we kinda live in the moment when we’re together,” she replied after taking a sip.

“My heart tells me that’s about to change,” revealed Maglor sadly. “For I deem that the time has come for us to… ”

“Confess the sins of our pasts?” suggested the Slayer.

He sighed heavily. “Yes,” he answered. “A dark cloud hovers over all the Noldor… especially the House of Fëanor,” admitted the Noldo gloomily.

“Maybe that’s what we have in common: dark clouds hovering over us,” said Buffy softly.

“What do you mean?” he queried with a puzzled expression. “Surely a Vala of Light such as yourself is free from a doom of your own devising.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” she responded. “It’s complicated… but you need to know. We won’t know true happiness if we don’t know everything about each other’s pasts, even if it’s dark and… unpleasant.” She grabbed the ewer from the basin and began to fill it with water from the cistern. “I’m not all-knowing; I can’t see everything in the future. But sometimes I see snippets of things to come. And sometimes I see things that have already happened in the past.” As she poured the last bit of water, she added, “There can’t be any secrets between us Maglor.”

“Then the time has arrived for us to bring it all out in the open,” said the crestfallen Noldo.

“I guess that I should go first,” volunteered the Slayer. She spoke of her earliest memories as Buffy Anne Summers since all other recollections from her life as a Vala had been hidden from her. She told him about her life as the Chosen One and the many battles that she had faced while residing in Los Angeles, Sunnydale, England and Rome. She confessed that her first love was a vampire cursed with a soul and how he had turned evil after they had consummated their relationship. She explained how she had loved him so much that even after he had started killing her friends, she still didn’t have the heart to stop him. And when she finally did, it was only after he had regained his soul and was good again.

She told him about all of her lovers from the days of her youth preceding her arrival in Middle-earth, no matter how humiliating the telling. She spoke of her one night stand with Parker Abrams to her violent sexual encounters with Spike upon her return to the land of the living. Perhaps she revealed too much, but she wanted to make sure that Maglor knew everything about her, even if that meant she could possibly lose him as a direct result. She concluded the first part of her tale with her battle with The First and her untimely arrival at Nan Dungortheb over twenty-eight years ago.

Maglor, who had been sitting on one of the overstuffed chairs, remained silent while she rambled on. Before he made any comment, he refilled their glasses once again.

“You have bedded many men, Luinil,” he finally said. Buffy felt embarrassed, especially by the fact that she wasn’t nearly finished disclosing all of her ‘secrets.’ “And you have not yet told me the tale of you and Thingol’s Chieftain… I admit that I’m not pleased to hear all that you have said, but we are talking about your past.” His deep gray eyes looked at her with understanding. “Although there were times when you seemed misguided, you always did the right thing in the end. That’s admirable and noble. You really do not have anything to be ashamed of. You have demonstrated your love for all people in this world time and time again. I consider myself blessed to be worthy of your love. I can only hope that you will say the same after I tell you my tale.”

Maglor was determined to begin his tale even though Buffy wasn’t finished revealing all of hers. She decided to let him have at it since her curiosity was getting the best of her.

The Noldo started his tale with the story of Finwë and Míriel, his grandparents on his father’s side. Buffy discovered that Míriel had died shortly after giving birth to Maglor’s father, Fëanor, leaving Finwë filled with despair for he longed to have more children. Soon he wed another, Indis the Fair, and she bore him four more children much to the chagrin of Fëanor. With the release of Morgoth from Mandos, the evil Vala soon brought dissention amongst the Noldorin Princes over his jealousy and lust for Fëanor’s Silmarils. The lies and malice that Morgoth spread resulted in the eldest son of Finwë drawing his blade on his half-brother, Fingolfin, outside the King’s Halls in Tirion on the hill of Túna. For that crime, Námo banished Fëanor from the elven city for twelve years. With his pride wounded, Fëanor, his father, and his seven sons left their home and headed north where they established the fortress, Formenos.

At this point in his tale, Maglor became disquiet and found it difficult to continue. Buffy got to her feet and walked over to her Mirror. She withdrew a blade from the foot of the pedestal.

“Are you going to kill me?” he questioned, wide-eyed.

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh despite the enormity of the situation. “No, lover, I’m not gonna kill you. Come here.” He rose to his feet and joined her at the basin. “With some of your blood, I can see the events from your past unfold for myself. That is, if it’s okay with you.”

His eyes were filled with sorrow as he offered his hand to the Slayer. “Do as you wish, Lady. I only ask that you do not judge me harshly.” She ran the blade along his palm and allowed several drops of his blood to fall into the bowl. As each drop hit the water, it turned silvery-blue in color. She waved her hand over the basin and blew her breath on it. She clapped her hands together and the contents ignited into blue flames. The images appeared before them like a hologram, complete with sound. She healed her lover before turning her attention to the images that formed before them.

They watched as the fair form of Morgoth visited Fëanor at Formenos, beseeching the Noldorin Prince to seek his inheritance in the wide lands of Middle-earth, where he would be free from the will of the Valar. Fëanor, who saw through Morgoth’s guise, humiliated the Vala by slamming the door in his face. That brought a smile to the Slayer’s face, although she knew Morgoth well enough that the eldest son of Finwë would pay dearly for that deed.

The image changed to a great feast held upon Taniquetil where most of the elves and Ainur were gathered in celebration. For the first time ever, Buffy witnessed the magnificence of the blending of the light of the Two Trees… and then the sudden Darkness that followed, causing great confusion in the Blessed Realm. Then she saw Morgoth and an accomplice arrive at Formenos and the sons of Fëanor fled before the unknown terror. Alone on the threshold stood Finwë, who was then brutally slain by Morgoth. She watched as the Enemy broke through the iron doors of the treasury and stole all the wondrous treasures of Fëanor, including the Silmarils.

The scene shifted to the Ring of Doom before the gates of Valimar and the Valar demanding that Fëanor give up his Great Jewels in order to rekindle the light of the Two Trees, which were now withered. Buffy didn’t blame Fëanor for his refusal, but things went from bad to worse when his sons arrived informing him of his father’s death. The Slayer’s heart was filled with both sorrow and pity at the sight of Curufinwë Fëanáro, greatest of the Noldor, finding out that his beloved father had been murdered in the Blessed Realm.

Fëanor, in the madness of his grief, returned to Tirion and led the Noldor to revolt against the Valar. Now, truth be told, Buffy couldn’t wholly blame him for his reaction. How in Eru’s name did the Valar allow Morgoth to get away with so much shit while in their ‘heavenly’ realm? How could any of The Powers be so blind to their kinsman’s malicious scheming? Or did they simply turn a blind eye to it?

But what made Buffy fall to her knees and weep was the terrible Oath that Fëanor and his sons so eagerly swore. They vowed to pursue with vengeance, to the ends of the World, any who withheld a Silmaril from them, whether they be good or evil, man or elf, demon or Vala. And in their rage, they called upon the Everlasting Darkness to take them if they should fail. The Powers including Eru Ilúvatar were named in witness and Buffy knew that Maglor’s doom was even greater than she had anticipated. As a Vala, she knew that that Oath would bite each son of Fëanor on the ass and that because of her love for Maglor, she too would bitterly drink from that same cup of woe.

The Noldor then started on the long, dark road towards Alqualondë. Buffy witnessed the Kinslaying of the Teleri by the Lords of the Noldor in order to seize their ships and the Doom of the Noldor that was proclaimed by none other than her very own brother, Námo. The Valar directed their wrath on the House of Fëanor and cursed them especially for all the horrible deeds they had committed. She then saw the curse set in motion with the burning of the ships at Losgar that left Fingolfin and his people stranded in the wickedly cold region, Helcaraxë. The image faded until the flickering flames were contained within the basin.

Buffy remained seated on the floor, tears streaming down her face. She knew that her fate had now been sealed. Even with this new knowledge, there was no turning back. She loved Maglor and nothing… not even those atrocities that he had committed would damper the love that she felt for him. She would die first.

Slowly she got to her feet, walked over to Maglor and sat on his lap. She threw her arms around him. “I love you, Káno. I forgive what you’ve done but I’m afraid I powerless to do anything about the Oath. I can’t imagine calling upon Everlasting Darkness… you screwed up big time!”

“We were consumed with grief… and madness… ” Buffy didn’t hear much after that. She wondered if maybe she could convince Námo to remove the curse or perhaps the House of Fëanor could make amends in some way.

They sat in silence for a while before Buffy got back to her feet. “I guess I need to finish my tale,” she said solemnly. “And I’m afraid that you will see Maglor, that yes, a dark cloud hangs over me as well. Even worse, my doom has been brought about by my own hands.” She then sliced her hand and let the blood drip into the blue flames causing them to rise higher and higher until her story unfolded before their eyes.

Her relationship with Mablung played out like a movie until it was interrupted by the guilefulness of Morgoth. Maglor watched in horror as she and his bitterest Foe ‘united’ in more ways than one. His jaw hung open as he witnessed the ‘wedding’ ceremony between the two Valar, the torture of his kinfolk and the birth of their demon offspring, Illyria. He then saw her escape with Luthor as well her ‘reunion’ with Mablung, followed by the humiliating end to that relationship.

While that was quite distressing to Maglor, he also understood that she had been bewitched and powerless to do anything about it. But he could not say the same for the incident with Marto. That happened after she had met the Noldo and she acted of her own free will. That hurt him deeper than all the events that had transpired while she was held under Morgoth’s sway.

“I did it because I was desperate to get back to you,” she explained. “I’ve tried every way I could think of to get back, but nothing worked. You’ve seen that for yourself.”

He downed his drink in one gulp. “Indeed. How can I hold anything against you after all the things that I have done… ”

“It doesn’t matter any more,” she said. “There are no more secrets. Now we can move on.”

“I must say that this has been utterly exhausting,” yawned Maglor. “It has been a long night.” Buffy suggested that they turn in. Much to her dismay, her lover requested his own room for the night. That confused her as they had spent the last three nights together, but never did anything inappropriate. Maglor remained ever the gentleman although Buffy wished otherwise. With a heavy heart, she went to bed.

The Slayer awoke the following morning feeling relaxed and more hopeful about her future with Maglor. As she changed, she could hear the sweet love songs being sung by one of her minstrels. She made her way downstairs and found her dark haired lover outside on one of the porches sipping tea. Lindecoa was nearly deserted as most of her people had not yet returned from Eithel Ivrin. She took it upon herself to cook them breakfast, which they ate in one of the gardens.

Afterwards, Buffy gave Maglor the grand tour of her home and grounds. It was such a beautiful spring morning, the birds were singing happily and the air was filled with the fragrance of many blossoming flowers. They walked through the gardens and ended up at Lanthir Lamath (Fall of Echoing Voices), where they sat and continued their conversation regarding the battle that Fëanor and his sons fought upon their arrival in Middle-earth. Buffy was quite shocked by the description of Fëanor’s death. He was literally ‘consumed’ by his spirit and turned to ash.

“Hmm,” remarked Buffy when she heard that.

“What?” queried the elf.

“Well, it just seems… Your dad didn’t have a couple of puncture marks on his neck or elsewhere?” she asked suspiciously.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, slightly perplexed.

“I mean, he died like a vampire. They turn to dust. And with his odd behavior… you know, the violence, mayhem, chaos… it sounds like he was a vampire,” stated the Slayer.

Maglor chuckled over that. “That’s absurd. I promise, my father was no vampire.”

“It was just a thought,” she replied. It seemed to make perfect sense to her, but she never brought it up again. “So… what do you want to do now?” she queried with a mischievous grin.

He smiled. “Hmm… let me think.” Buffy didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. She became the aggressor and kissed him passionately beneath the mammoth oak tree. Unfortunately, all her attempts at seducing him were in vain. Maglor would have none of it.

The Noldo then explained that it was against the laws and customs of the Eldar to have sex outside of wedlock. Buffy thought that was preposterous considering the other ‘laws’ that he so willing broke. And he was no virgin; he had been with another woman before. Yes, they were betrothed at the time, but their relationship ended when he had left for Formenos long ago.

“I love you and you love me, so why don’t we get betrothed?” she asked directly.

“Are you sure that you’re ready to make that commitment?” he queried skeptically.

“That’s a crappy thing to say. Of course, I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready in my life. We’re meant to be together even I can see that!” she smirked back.

“Then let us plight our troth this very day,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, wait. I mean, we can do the plight our troth thingy but we can’t have the ceremony for another… ” She thought hard about the words that Salmar told her long ago. “Um, we’ve got to wait at least twenty-two more years. Actually, let’s make it twenty-three years.”

“What in the name of the Valar are you talking about?” he questioned.

Buffy then explained about her visit from Salmar years ago and how he had told her not to marry until she had been in Middle-earth for fifty years. Since Buffy was unsure if Salmar meant a specific season or something, she figured they would be better off to wait an extra year. The last thing that they needed was another bad omen.

So, it was on that fair morning on Tol Galen that they pledged their love and devotion to one another. Maglor still rebuffed the Slayer’s advances saying that they had to wait until their betrothal becomes ‘official.’ She was about to pull her hair out over all this Eldar ritual stuff.

“You have no father for me to ask permission,” Maglor remarked. “And I don’t think that your brothers would approve.”

That made Buffy laugh. “Oh, I can just see that: ‘Hey Námo, care to approve the wedding between me and the elf that you cursed to eternal damnation?’ No, I don’t see that going over too well. Besides, I have no memory of him. I’ve only met Irmo and I’m not sure if he would give his blessing.”

“Perhaps your son, Anno. He is the eldest male in your line,” suggested the Noldo.

The Slayer rolled her eyes at that. “That’s not a very appealing thought either. Sometimes I think Anno wishes that his father and me stayed together. I kinda get that vibe from him,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “If you’re so into this ritual thing, then you can ask Luthor. He’s basically been my surrogate father since… well, you know. I love him dearly and he would most definitely approve.”

“And where do we find your surrogate father?” he queried.

“He’s at the Deeper Well,” she answered. “But I don’t want to leave yet. We basically have the whole palace to ourselves. It’s a shame to leave when we’ll probably never have this kind of privacy again.”

“If you are not ready then we shall wait. In the meantime, we can forge our betrothal rings,” Maglor suggested with a smile.

“Betrothal rings?” she queried. “I like the sound of that.” She thought for a moment. “Would these rings mean that our betrothal is ‘official’?”

“Indeed. We each need a simple silver band… ”

“I’ve got silver rings!” she exclaimed enthusiastically as she got to her feet. “I’ve got lots of rings in my treasuries.” She grabbed him by the hands and pulled him to his feet. “Of course, I’ve got more in Folkvang, but we can see if we can find a couple of simple silver bands.”

Buffy nearly dragged the Noldo back to Lindecoa. For some reason, she heard the song Everybody Wants Some by Van Halen in her head. Whom was she kidding? She wanted some, and she hoped that once they exchanged rings, Maglor would want some too. There was nothing like be ruled by ones hormones!

They descended the stairway to the vaults, which were situated underneath the palace. Buffy didn’t have much in her treasuries as most of her valuables were kept under lock and key in Sussrúmnir. She heaved one of the chests off the floor and dumped the contents all over the marble-topped table. “Silver rings, silver rings,” she kept mumbling under her breath. Maglor found her behavior highly amusing. “Here’s one!” announced Buffy as she slipped the band on his right index finger. It was a tight fit, but it fit nevertheless. Out of desperation, the Slayer grabbed a silver hoop earring and handed it to Maglor. “Will this do?” she asked nervously. “My fingers are really small and nothing else fits.”

The Noldo laughed heartily at her words. “Yes, this will work for the time being,” he said as he slipped it on her finger. “Now, we’re officially betrothed.” That’s all she needed to hear. To her amazement, Maglor became the aggressor and kissed her passionately as he picked her up and laid her on the table. She had never expected their first time to be in one of her vaults, and on a table no less. But good things come to those who wait, right?


Chapter 28 - LIFE SERIAL

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: LIFE SERIAL



Buffy absolutely loved the fact that she and Maglor had the entire palace nearly to themselves. She had never really thought about how many people actually dwelt within her Halls until it was empty. She liked it but still preferred having people that catered to her every need. Regardless of all that, the Slayer was having the best time of her life. It’s just a shame that it only lasted one week. That’s when she received two most unexpected visitors - her twins.

“Good morning, mother,” greeted her son on that fateful day.

“Anno. Mirë,” said the surprised Slayer. She and Maglor had been dancing to the tunes of one of her minstrels. “What a pleasant surprise,” she added with a smile, before hugging them both.

“Hail mother,” stated her daughter. “It is lovely to see you again.”

“Let me introduce you to my future husband, Maglor, son of Fëanor,” said the Slayer.

“Yes, the elf,” commented Anno haughtily, as he looked the Noldo over.

Mirë’s cast at glance at her brother and quickly said, “You are needed at Sussrúmnir, mother. Already the first men have arrived and are awaiting your judgment.”

“Already?” questioned Buffy as she looked to Maglor. “I didn’t know that man had awakened.”

“Indeed they have,” replied Anno. “From what we gather these men all fell on the battlefield.”

Buffy felt a cold chill sweep up her spine. “Illyria,” she muttered.

“It seems that your first born is making mischief east of Orocarni,” revealed her daughter.

“And it appears that Melkor has provided Illyria with an army nearly a half million strong,” added Anno.

“What?! A half million?” queried a freaked out Buffy.

To say that she was caught off guard would be the understatement of the century. Buffy knew that she had to go to Folkvang immediately; there was no doubt about it. And there was no way she was leaving Maglor behind, he’d have to come with her. A fearful Buffy had no idea how long it would take to judge all those who were awaiting their doom. Eru only knows how long they’d be gone from Middle-earth.

Within a minute, they all disappeared in a blink of an eye. They reappeared in the vestibule of Sussrúmnir only a moment later. Immediately upon their arrival, Feawë placed a gold and sapphire crown on Buffy’s head and handed her a white pearl scepter. Laurië then draped a white silky cloak over Buffy’s shoulders, clasping it at the neck. The Slayer looked queenlier than ever before. She gave Maglor a kiss and told him to have fun exploring Folkvang while she took care of business.

Buffy then ascended the stairs leading to her Hall of Judgment. All was quiet except for the sound of Antamo’s fair voice in some far away chamber. Four guards stood on either side of the double doors, which magically opened of their own accord. When the Slayer entered the chamber, the doors closed silently behind her. The room was deserted and the only light came from the two vats of burning flame at the bottom of the dais. Her own flesh emitted a soft glowing light as she climbed the steps and took her seat on that magnificent canopied throne. Buffy had come into all her glory and majesty. She was now Maranwë Fëantári, Queen of Spirits Destiny.

“Enter,” declared Buffy, and soon the first fey appeared at the bottom of the dais. Her eyes bore down on the fearful man and soon the images of his life appeared before her. From the moment of his birth to his untimely demise, Buffy saw everything of significance in this person’s life. However, if she saw anything regarding Illyria, she did not speak of it. Not once did Buffy ever share with anyone the information that she had obtained from one of the fey’s that she had judged. Although after a time, she did devise her version of various types of ‘hells’ to punish those who had done great evil in the world. Some did not deserve to be embodied to roam freely in Folkvang and those same ones did not deserve the luxury of solitary confinement within the Halls of Mandos until the breaking of the world. She was judge, jury and executioner rolled into one.

While sitting on her throne, her ‘awareness’ was heightened ten fold. She now realized that the vats of fire contained the essence of Eru, The Flame Imperishable, and that one of its magical properties was remaking the bodies of man. For Maranwë Luinil would grant a new trait to man that they had never before possessed - the gift of regeneration. This was the land where warriors reside and all delight in swordplay. In Folkvang, none will encounter death until the End of Days but that does not mean there will be no loss of limb. It was the will of Eru Ilúvatar that man be given this new ability as one of their rewards.

Buffy passed judgment on sixty-three men in that one sitting; fifty-two were to remain with her and the rest she commanded to Námo’s keeping. While making her pronouncements, the Queen of Spirits had little reckoning of time. She had stayed in her Hall of Judgment for two weeks straight without any breaks or refreshments. Any bodily requirements that they Slayer normally had did not have to be satiated while she sat atop her high seat. She was a goddess, after all.

A great feast was held when she finally did exit her chamber in order to celebrate the arrival of mankind into Folkvang. Great rewards were awaiting those brave and heroic souls who entered her domain. All the pleasures that they had enjoyed in life was theirs for the taking once again.

While Buffy was confined to her Hall of Judgment, Maglor had gone to the forges and wrought for her a silver band to replace the earring that she wore on her finger. She knew that he had met with Marto, but the elf did not disclose the content of that conversation to the Slayer.

When the feast was over, Buffy took Maglor to her armories. He was in awe at the mammoth size of the numerous chambers and the multitude of weapons that were contained therein. She instructed her people to gather hordes of armor and mail into one of the weapon’s chambers. The Slayer was going to see if she could transport the entire contents of one of these chambers to her armories in Lindecoa. She had several crates of precious metals and gemstones placed within the vault so that all of it could be moved at one time. A separate chest wrought of copper was placed in the room by Buffy herself, but she did not tell any what the box contained. She then ordered Marto to make some type of mail for Kit and Kat, and that special attention needed to be paid to their undersides. She would use her wild beasts during wartime and they would most likely do a majority of fighting from the air, so it was imperative that they were well protected.

Buffy uttered a powerful spell and all the contents of the chamber disappeared before their eyes. She hoped that she was successful in stocking her armories at home. Before she and Maglor were to return to Ossir, they had a couple more stops to make. A few moments later, they arrived outside the doorway to the Deeper Well. A couple dozen armed dwarves came through the mystical barrier, ready for a fight, until they saw that it was the Lady Freya. The dwarves bowed low before Buffy and looked upon the elf with great interest.

“My dear Lady,” began Brokk. “What an honor and privilege it is that we are graced with your presence once again.”

Maglor looked at the dwarves with wonderment; he was the first Noldo to set eyes upon them. “These are the children of Aulë,” informed Buffy. “The Naugrim are great craftsmen and I’m sure that you and they have quite a bit in common considering your affection for that mighty Vala.”

“My dear elf, you know our father, Mahal?” queried Brokk excitedly.

“Indeed. We used to frequent his Halls often in the days of my youth,” answered Maglor with a smile. He couldn’t help but notice that the dwarves looked like miniature versions of their father. “The Noldor have learned much from Aulë and his kin,” he added.

They entered the mystical doorway and proceeded down the long winding tunnel that led to the Deeper Well. Buffy was astounded by the dwarves progress in the last two years. “This is the prison for the Ainur that have been corrupted by Morgoth. Right now, we only have one occupant, but the day will come when the Well will house all the heinous creatures that have ever haunted Middle-earth.” She led him across the bridge and through the doors on the other side. The Slayer was delighted to see that there were many dwarves assigned to the task of making sarcophagi. The Deeper Well was useless without them and she was glad that everyone understood how essential those stone caskets were.

Luthor made Maglor feel welcomed from the first moment that they had met, which made Buffy happy to no end. While they were getting to know each other, the Slayer disappeared into her private chambers. She opened the wardrobe and dug underneath her clothing until she found what she was looking for: the gilded belt with little dangling charms that Morgoth had wrought for her years ago. With a wave of her hand, the door to her chamber locked. She sat on her bed, holding this magnificent weapon in her hand, the tinkling sound mesmerized her.

Her thoughts drifted to the upcoming wars. She could sense that it would not be long until blood was spilled in great volumes. She had seen that much while she sat upon her throne in Sussrúmnir. When it came down to a confrontation with her firstborn, Buffy knew that she would not be able to defeat her. That thought made her sick to her stomach and she vomited all over the stone floor. Her body was trembling, beads of sweat formed on her face, and her head felt like it was about to explode. She pushed the belt under the mattress, unlocked the door and rang the bell for assistance. A dwarf maiden soon entered, let out a cry and hurried out of the chamber again. Buffy crawled up on the bed. She felt like she was dying.

Minutes later, Maglor and Luthor came flying into the room, each took a seat beside her. Luthor felt her forehead. “Your burning up, Bella.” As several dwarves cleaned up the mess, Luthor instructed Grer to bring two bottles of tonic from his stores. “Perhaps this is the after effect of passing judgment on man,” said Luthor lightheartedly. “When was the last time you’ve slept, child?”

“Two… two weeks ago. Folkvang time. So, four months in Middle-earth time,” she answered weakly.

“You need sleep. We shall let you rest awhile and see if you improve,” advised Luthor.

“Did Maglor tell you about our betrothal?” she asked the Maia.

“Indeed he did. Congratulations, my dear. And I must say that I most definitely approve. I see that you and Maglor will have many happy years together. But let us save that conversation for later.” When Grer returned, Luthor gave Buffy a dose of tonic from each bottle before she fell into a dreamless sleep.

The Slayer slept for seventy-two hours before waking, completely refreshed. There was still so much that she needed to do. After bathing, Buffy dressed. She slid her hand underneath the mattress, grabbed the belt and clasped it around her waist. She and Maglor enjoyed one last meal with Luthor and the dwarves before they departed to Khazâd-Dum. They did not spend much time with Durin, as Buffy was there to pick up her first order of Orbs. The Dwarf Lord gave her a sack containing three hundred of the crystal spheres before they finally left for Ossir.

It was evening when they arrived at Lindecoa and Buffy’s Halls were once again filled with many people. The chill in the night air indicated that summer was waning and that fall would be coming early this year. She consulted with Úrion, Nestor and Orchal about the engines. The elves had bought four hundred and forty three of them. Buffy instructed them not to sell any more; she would need the rest for the wars in the east.

Maglor was anxious for Buffy to return with him to his realm up north, but before she would agree to depart Ossir, she wanted to meet with her small army of 7,500. That was the number of green-elves that she had managed to convince to join her brigade. She took them to her armories and had them outfitted in mail and provided each with the weapon of their choice. Buffy wanted to take her people out for one more hunt in Taur-im-Duinath prior to her leaving. It was important to her that they practice their tracking skills and master the art of Guerrilla warfare.

This army was the only one in Middle-earth that had both male and female warriors. There was no way in hell that Buffy would discriminate against women that were more than willing to fight for all that they held dear in this world. Not all of her advisors agreed with her, but the bottom line was that she, the Blue Lady of Ossir, wielded the power to do as she wished. And nobody was stupid enough to argue with that!

The elves were broken down into smaller groups that the Slayer referred to as platoons, which contained two squads (ten people per squad). Each unit would be dispatched throughout various regions of the woods and were instructed to bring back the sinew from their victims. They would be hunting wargs. Buffy took it upon herself to take the ‘teenaged’ elves out with her and Maglor. All dressed in green (which was normal for the elves of Ossir, not so normal for Buffy and Maglor), in order to camouflage themselves from the eyes of the enemy.

Thranduil was a part of Buffy’s group. She was amazed at how much he had matured in the last fourteen years. He was quickly approaching manhood and his resemblance to Denethor was uncanny. Ironically, the Slayer had become more like a surrogate father to the elfling even though Orchal was officially his ‘foster’ father. It had only been in the last two years that Buffy had convinced Orchal to learn how to wield a sword. He wasn’t a fan of the weapon and often said, “He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword.” That’s why she took it upon herself to see that the future King of the green elves knew about warfare and combat tactics.

The group climbed into the boat that had been prepared for them and moments later, the rushing current quickly took them down the Adurant River. It took half a day for them to reach the Gelion, where they allowed the stream to push them southwards. They traveled twenty miles before they rowed towards the shoals on the western bank. A second boat was already pulled onto the sandbar, indicating that another platoon had already arrived. The group climbed up the steep embankment with their supplies and entered a natural opening in the woods. Thranduil and Buffy led the team. The young elf seemed despondent.

“What’s wrong, little man? It looks like you have a case of the grumpies today,” observed the Slayer.

“It’s nothing,” he replied sullenly.

“Oh, c’mon. You can tell me what’s on your mind,” she prodded. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise! I’ll even pinky swear.” The ‘pinky swear’ was something that she had done with Thranduil numerous times in the past. He understood exactly what it meant.

He looked down at her (yes, he was taller!) and held out his left pinky. “Pinky swear,” he said as Buffy wrapped her little finger around his.

“Pinky swear,” she said echoing him.

“Your leaving for good, aren’t you?” he queried anxiously. “We’re going to do this last patrol and then you’re leaving for the Noldorin realms in the north.”

“Is that what this is all about?” she questioned with surprise.

“I thought you loved Ossir. Why would anyone want to leave the fair woods and sweet rivers for the bitterly cold plains of the north?” Thranduil asked fretfully.

Buffy smiled. “For love, that’s why,” she replied as they ducked under a limb. “I love Ossiriand. Always have. From the moment that I first entered that land, I totally fell in love with it. And Lindon, the city in the trees, is the most amazing place that I’ve ever seen.” She nudged the elf. “Believe me; I’ve seen many awe-inspiring places like Menegroth and Khazâd-Dum, east of Ered Luin. I hope to take you there one day.”

“But you will not come around after the wedding,” protested the silver-haired elf. “We will see you less and less.”

“How often am I gone now?” she questioned. “I’m a woman on the go, Thranduil. I can’t devote all my time to one place, that’s a luxury that I just don’t have. There’s a vast world out there and someone’s gotta keep things in check. And once again, I’m the lucky recipient of the ‘You don’t get a normal, stable life; you get to hunt demons’ award.”

Thranduil laughed. “You were gone for one hundred twenty-three days last time,” he commented.

“Huh?” she queried, totally forgetting her previous question.

“Last time you left Ossir for one hundred twenty-three days. And before that you were gone for twelve years, four months, three weeks and two days,” disclosed the young elf.

“Hmm,” said the Slayer, casting a suspicious look at the elf. “To the casual observer it would seem like you’ve gone all stalker on me. How in the name of the Valar do you know exactly how long that I’ve been gone? I couldn‘t even tell you that!” His fair face started turning a deep shade of crimson. “Oh,” she replied. It finally dawned on her that Thranduil had a crush on her. She thought that was so cute. “You’ve got the hots for me,” she said teasingly as she went to pinch his rosy cheek.

“Lady! You pinky swore,” the elf whispered as he nervously cast a glance over his shoulder. “You cannot say anything to anyone.”

Buffy smiled, “I know. I know. A promise is a promise. I won’t say a word, little man.”

“Can I come with you?” asked Thranduil straightforwardly.

“No,” she replied. “Your mother needs you. Maybe when you’re older you can come for a visit.”

“Then I will never see you again,” moped the elf.

“That’s not true. You’ll see my plenty. Ossir will always be my home and I’ll come back from time to time,” she countered. “Do you know what will make you feel better?” she questioned. “Killing a warg. I know it always makes me feel better.”

The elf shook his head. “Things will not be the same without you, Lady Luinil. That I can clearly see!”

It was the following evening when they discovered a den of wargs. They noticed that there were some newborn pups in the pack. Buffy had the elves positioned in trees all around the perimeter. Wargs had a fantastic sense of smell and she tried to keep everyone down wind from the beasts. She stood next to the future king on a beech tree limb.

“Keep steady,” she instructed Thranduil in a mere whisper. “Aim for the head.” He let his arrow fly and he nailed the alpha warg right in the eye. The beast yelped and then fell dead. It was a proud moment for the Slayer. “Well done, little man,” she said as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

As the wargs realized that they were under attack, the woods hummed with the sound of arrows whizzing from all directions. When the flying projectiles hit their mark, one could hear the distinctive cries from the dreadful beasts. Some attempted to flee, only to find that they ran directly into the line of fire. The elves made quick work of the wargs, but the fun part hadn’t even begun. After the slaughter, the wolves had to be skinned and their sinew had to be removed. Not a fun task by any means, so Buffy assigned the job to the youngsters.

Four days later, they returned to the port at Lindecoa. The time had now arrived for Buffy to go with Maglor to his land. She would only be bringing twenty-four people from her Household on this first trip including Úrion. Orchal and Nestor would remain in Ossir, seeing to the day-to-day running of things. They left on horseback, but they would not have to travel through all the land that separated the two countries. Buffy used her magic’s to transport them from Tol Galen to the northeastern eaves of Nan Elmoth, just south of the River Celon. She was off nearly a hundred miles in her guesstimate of where Maglor’s lands were located. Since the land was open, they would continue the rest of the journey on horseback. With the elves acute eyesight, it would be a dead giveaway if Buffy used magic’s to get them any closer to the city.

The Slayer constantly looked over her shoulder as they rode to the northeast. She had always wanted to explore the woods of Nan Elmoth but unfortunately, they just didn’t have the opportunity to do to that right now. They traveled across the great open plains of the north until they reached the Little Gelion River. At that point, they crossed the ford and continued northeast until they reached the dwellings of his people. Maglor’s Gap, as it was called, was a far cry from the beautiful land of Ossir. To the north of the ‘city’ were great rolling hills that stopped abruptly for about twenty or thirty miles, thus causing a gap between the hills. Maglor’s people were assigned the post of guarding that opening from the enemy. There were no trees to speak of, which the Slayer found slightly depressing. To the west, were many hills and the fortress of Maedhros. His great tower could be seen from Maglor’s lands even though it was a good seventy miles away. To the east, Buffy could see the mighty peaks of Ered Luin, the same mountain range that formed the eastern border of Ossir. And to their south, the plains stretched on to the convergence of the Little Gelion and Gelion Rivers. The terrain was the complete opposite of what she was used to. And quite honestly, the Lady hated it!

“The things we do for love,” mumbled the Slayer as she dismounted her horse. She was ready to go back home. You can do this, she attempted to convince herself. It’s no biggie!

Buffy understood that it would take her a while to get acclimated to her new surroundings, if at all. After a few weeks, Maglor and members of his Household took her out for her first trip. They rode through the pass (or gap) into Lothlann (the great northern plains), where the horses and kine of the Noldor grazed. It was impossible to miss the sight of Ered Engrin looming in the distance and to the northwest, the Slayer recognized the three peaks of Thangorodrim. The group followed the ‘road’ that ran north of the hills along what they called the March of Maedhros. They were going to Maedhros’ home, Himring, where Buffy was going to meet three of Maglor’s brothers: Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, and partake in another betrothal feast.

The Slayer never told anyone about the creepy feeling that she had while they traveled across the plains. She could feel Morgoth’s eyes piercing through the mountains, watching them intently. Visions from her past flashed in her mind, but she didn’t know if it was Morgoth’s doing or just her mind playing weird tricks on her. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like it.

Maedhros’ land was similar to Maglor’s in that it had no trees. It was a pretty hilly region and not at all to her liking. The eldest son of Fëanor built his fortress on the top of the tallest of these hills. The summit was level and broad and along the perimeter, they had built a stone wall that looked to be over fifty feet high. They entered the gates and then rode on to the citadel.

Once their horses were stabled, they went to the Halls of Maedhros. They were greeted by many people including the brothers. The travelers were given the opportunity to ‘refresh’ themselves before being introduced to the dozens of elves that were most eager to meet the Lady of Ossir and her loyal following. Buffy was thrilled by all the attention that the Noldor gave her; she felt that it was well placed. These elves sensed her power and felt that it was a blessing that Buffy would one day wed one from the line of Finwë. Perhaps she would have the skill and tenacity to retrieve the Silmarils from Morgoth and avenge the House of Fëanor.

After they settled in, Buffy and Úrion were taken to one of Maedhros’ sitting rooms where they would speak with the sons of Fëanor in private. The room itself was more like a library. There were many volumes of leather bound books on the stone shelves and it looked like they were in the process of making maps of Beleriand. Throughout the chamber were many relics that they had brought from Valinor. The room was warm and inviting; everything was decorated wholly in red and gold. Buffy sat on a couch beside Maglor as Curufin poured a glass of wine for everyone.

“We have your payment for the engines that we’ve purchased,” announced Maedhros.

Buffy didn’t keep up with that stuff, that was Úrion’s department.

“Yes,” remarked Celegorm. “One would think that you would give your future kinfolk a discount on… ”

The Slayer turned to Úrion. “You didn’t give them a discount?”

Úrion seemed very uncomfortable. “Well, er, no. Perhaps we can offer them a ten percent discount under the circumstances… ”

“Ten percent?!” questioned the Slayer in disbelief. “They’re my future brothers-in-law, Úrion. Surely, we can do better than that!”

“Nay!” interjected Maglor. “We will pay the same as everybody else.”

“No!” countered Buffy. “I say we just let them have ‘em.”

“Bella!” said Úrion as he leaned forward in his chair. “The sons of Fëanor have purchased one hundred and forty four engines. We cannot merely give them away. We have too much money invested in… ” His words trailed off as he felt the icy stare of the Slayer. “Oh, I suppose we could offer… say a… fifty percent discount. That is fair as we are letting them go at cost,” he suggested gloomily.

Buffy looked at Celegorm to see if he approved. “Welcome to the family Maranwë Luinil,” he said with a big grin.

“Then it’s settled,” said Buffy. Úrion was not pleased by her decision, but it was she that invested her monies into the war machines, not him.

“That is very generous indeed!” remarked Caranthir. “I must say Luinil, that I am quite impressed with those machines of yours. I would never have expected a woman to contrive weapons of that sort.”

The Slayer laughed at his comment even though she found it to be very sexist. “I’m, unfortunately, not like other women. Not many women have to face the nasties that I do… I hate to say it, but my thoughts constantly revolve around death and destruction. It’s what I do.”

“And there is nothing wrong with that,” said Maedhros in agreement. “In fact, we have all discussed the appropriate betrothal gift for you, Muinthel. You do not mind me calling you that, do you?” he asked. Buffy shook her head. The name translates to ‘dear sister.’ “I speak for all the sons of Fëanor when I say that we are honored to have one of such noble blood unite with our House. We are pleased that our brother has managed to capture the heart of one so fair and wise.” His smiled widened. “Though your stature is smaller than that of the Eldar, you possess the strength of ten men.” Maedhros laughed heartily. “And that I’ve seen first hand! We welcome you into the family, Muinthel,” he said as he raised his glass in toast. “May the Valar bless your betrothal and upcoming wedding. To Maglor and Muinthel.”

“To Maglor and Muinthel,” said the other is unison before taking a drink.

“Thank you Russandol,” replied Maglor. (Russandol was Maedhros epessë or nickname given to him by his closest kin.) “I have two gifts for you Maranwë. In keeping with the traditions and customs of the Eldar, I give to you this jewel.” He then placed a package into her hand. She unwrapped the cloth and picked up a large red jewel that hung from a thick gold chain. “This was wrought by both Curufin and my father in Valinor and it is no mere trinket! Hold it up to the sunlight and it will send forth a beam of flame that will penetrate metal, stone and of course, wood.”

“Wow!” exclaimed the Slayer. “Pretty and deadly. That’s right up my alley. Thank you Maglor,” she said as she gave him a kiss and hug. “Thanks to you all,” she added as she smiled at the brothers. “I can’t wait to try it out.”

“Ah, but that is just the first gift,” remarked Maglor. “Curufin.”

Curufin then came forward with a long object that was wrapped in the same black cloth. Buffy knew that it was a sword. He handed it to Maglor. “The exchanging of weapons in not part of the customs of the Eldar, but we all agreed that it was appropriate in this situation. You see, we deem that our father had the foresight to see that this day would one day come for he wrought this weapon long ago in Valinor.” Maglor unwrapped the cloth and Buffy almost fainted when she saw the weapon. He unsheathed the blade and revealed a beautiful sword, sharp and deadly, and just over five feet long. The hilt was inlaid with rubies, diamonds and silver. On one side of the blade were etched seven stars and on the other side were runes that Buffy recognized. “This is our father’s sword, Nacil.” She looked up at her lover; the blood was rapidly draining from her face.

“Your father’s sword is named ‘Slayer?’” questioned Buffy.

“Indeed. This was the first sword that he made and he wielded it in both battles that we had fought in,” answered Maglor. The Slayer knew that meant that this weapon was used against the Teleri in Alqualondë as well as the Orcs and Balrogs of Beleriand. But that’s not what shocked her. This was the same weapon that Allandro had given to her for her birthday in Rome years ago. There was no doubt about it! The Slayer wondered how in Eru’s name her former lover acquired something that was given to her as a betrothal gift.

“Is something wrong?” asked Maedhros with concern. “You do not look well.”

“Oh,” she replied. “I’m… I’m fine. I don’t think I should accept this. I mean, this is an heirloom of your House. It should be on display somewhere within your Halls or something. I can’t take this.”

“We have all discussed it, Maranwë,” countered Maglor. “We all want you to have it. It would insult us if you choose not keep it for it was meant for you,” he added.

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears. She knew how precious this weapon was to the brothers and she was very honored that they would give her something so dear to them. Maglor placed the blade into her trembling hands. “I’ll treasure it always. Thank you. All of you.” She looked closely at the runes. “What does this say?” she asked pointed to the etchings.

The Slayer never heard his response. At that very moment, she heard the voices of Anno and Mirë calling to her in her mind. They told her that she had to return to Sussrúmnir immediately, but Buffy refused. An argument ensued between her and the children although those in the chamber did not know it. That is, until her offspring materialized within that very chamber, much to the astonishment of all those present.

“Mother, why do you speak so harshly to us, your children?” queried an upset Anno.

“Children?” questioned a shocked Caranthir. The brother’s eyes darted from the Slayer to her children.

“What is going on here?” asked Celegorm.

“Maglor, did you know about this?” inquired Curufin.

“What is going on here?” queried Maedhros. “Maranwë?”

Buffy was disappointed that her secret had been exposed to the brothers much sooner than she had anticipated. She was not yet ready to tell them about her past, but what choice did she have?


Chapter 29 - SHADOW

Questions soon turned into accusations as the C-brothers (Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin), attacked the Slayer’s virtue or lack thereof. Maglor, the twins and Maedhros vehemently defended her honor while Úrion appeared to be amused by this whole new development. Buffy felt a deep sense of shame and embarrassment by some of the things that were being said. The irony of it all was nearly too much for her to bear. How dare the C-brothers make any comment about Buffy’s righteousness! They were miffed by the fact that she had had the children out of wedlock. While it wasn’t her shining moment, they sure didn’t have room to talk. Who were they to say a damn word when they were guilty of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë! They were not aware that the Slayer knew all about their past, although at that very moment, everyone’s dirty laundry was being aired.

Buffy and Úrion, who had remained silent throughout the entire debacle, were the only ones left seated. This whole situation was getting out of hand and the Slayer was at her wits end. This was supposed to be a celebration of her betrothal not the circus that it had now become. Without saying one word, the Slayer closed her eyes and disappeared in a blinding light.

A moment later, Buffy arrived in the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir where her maidens outfitted her in her ceremonial garb. As she climbed the staircase, she moved her hand in a circular motion, uttered a spell and placed a mystical force field around Folkvang. No one would be permitted to enter or leave her realm until she lifted said barrier, including her children. The Slayer needed some alone time in order to think things through. It seemed like something always happened to screw up what should be a happy moment in her life. Did she really deserve all this?

Perhaps her brethren were getting back at her or maybe the curse that was placed on the Noldor had begun to work its spell. She entered her Hall of Judgment and sat upon her throne, but did not bid any to enter. This was her time to reflect upon things that had happened, that were happening and that would someday happen. Part of the Doom of Mandos was that all things that the Noldor did would start out well but then turn to shit in the end. Námo also foretold that there would be those amongst the exiles that would betray their own kin but to what degree, the Slayer did not know. She had no idea that she would be betrayed by her own children. Well, that’s how she felt by their untimely appearance.

After a while, the Slayer summoned all of the dead into her chamber, their number totaled one hundred forty-two. Instead of judging them, she simply sent them all to Mandos. No desire did Buffy have to remain in Sussrúmnir any longer than need be. She only came to her kingdom to find answers, to ‘see’ what the immediate future had in store for her.

“You know what needs to be done,” said a melodious voice after all the spirits of the slain had vanished. She recognized that voice; it was the same one that had told her to build the Deeper Well years ago. The Slayer was quite shocked that ‘someone’ was able to break through her mystical barrier.

“Who are you?” she queried. The sound of her voice echoed within the mammoth chamber.

“The time has not yet arrived for me to divulge my identity. In time, all shall become clear to you, Maranwë Fëantári.”

“Why are you here?” she asked again as her eyes scanned the room. She could feel a ‘presence’ but could see no one.

“It is time for you to plant the seeds of dissention amongst the mortal race. For too long they have been under the influence of Melkor and Illyria. They must know that hope truly lies in the West, that there is hope for a brighter future but they must have faith.”

“Faith in what?” she inquired.

“Faith in you, my dear Maranwë, faith in you,” answered the voice.

“I’m not ready to make war with… with my daughter,” she replied softly.

“I did not say anything about waging war against your firstborn! You must fulfill your destiny, Luinil. Cultivate those seeds of dissention… and hope shall be renewed for you as well!” commanded the voice.

“How?” she asked.

“You must seek the lands of Illyria. Go forth and see what you find!” came the response.

“Why me? Can’t the Valar send someone else? I’m not ready for this,” whispered Buffy uneasily.

“Be not afraid, child. No ill will come to you. You are the one destined to deliver mankind from Melkor Bauglir; no other Ainu has the ability to gain their trust except you. The time has now arrived for you to see what is transpiring in that region.” That was the last that she heard from the voice. The Slayer sat there and pondered all that she had heard. She reluctantly concluded that it was now time for her to pay a visit to Illyria’s realm in order to see for herself just what her firstborn had been up to in the east.

Buffy was contemplating how she was going to accomplish that task when she noticed a persistent banging on the double doors to her Hall. “Maranwë! Maranwë! Open up! I know that you are finished doling out your judgments! Open the goddamn door!” That voice belonged to none other than Marto, who seemed to be highly agitated. She shifted her gaze from the vats of Fire to the double doors and willed them open. Marto entered the chamber in a huff. “How dare you!” he shouted as he crossed the massive room towards her throne. “How can you lock our children out of their home?” Marto demanded angrily.

The Slayer rose to her feet and descended half way down the dais before stopping. She furrowed her eyebrows at the Maia; she wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

“And was it not you, Marto, that sent them to interfere with my betrothal celebration in the first place?” she asked coldly. Her eyes bore into his. He broke eye contact for a second, which indicated to Buffy that he was the culprit behind the fiasco at Himring.

Marto stood taller. “Indeed, it was I,” he replied. “That Maglor will only cause you pain… ”

Buffy yelled, “Who the hell are you to make a call like that?!” She descended the last few steps. “You have no right… ”

“Yes, I do. You’re the mother of my children… ”

Instead of replying, the Slayer punched him in the face, sending him flying across the chamber. He collided with the wall and fell into a heap onto marble floor as Buffy quickly crossed the chamber.

“How’s that for some pain?” she queried angrily as she pulled him to his feet. When Buffy caught sight of the blood dripping from his mouth, her anger began to ebb. “Don’t you realize that if Melkor discovers them that he will have them killed?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Then that’s more the reason to bring them home in haste,” he responded dazedly.

Buffy let go of him and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve got too much to deal with right now, Marto. You can’t be sending our kids all over Middle-earth like messengers. It’s too risky. I love them and don’t want them to get hurt… or worse, killed.”

“Then bring them home straight away,” he pleaded, rubbing his jaw. “PLEASE!”

The Slayer sighed heavily. “I will. But let me tell you something, don’t ever let them leave Folkvang again! I’ll figure out… Just… keep them here and safe. Promise me,” she ordered.

“I promise,” he answered.

Buffy walked passed Marto towards the doors. She stopped as she placed her hand on the knob, her eyes remained fixed on the door before her and she quietly said, “I know what life has in store for me and Maglor. I see that there will be pain, but that’s part of love. I will relish every moment that Eru grants to us.” She became melancholy and took a deep breath. “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,” she added before leaving the room.

“And what about me?” uttered Marto sadly, his voice echoed in the empty chamber. A few seconds later, his spirits were lifted when the twins entered the Hall. “Mirë! Anno!” he exclaimed as he embraced his only children.

After the Slayer removed her garb, she left for Ossiriand. She had decided that the best way to scope things out in the east was by using her falcon coat. The lions would be too obvious and she had not yet retrieved their mail from Marto’s forges. She didn’t want them to risk injury especially since this was only going to be a reconnaissance mission.

The members of her Household were quite shocked by her sudden arrival. Buffy explained all that had happened at Himring and was already regretting her hasty departure, but under the circumstances, she had to get away from that whole situation. She thought that maybe after some time, the C-brothers would calm down and see that she was merely a victim of circumstance more than anything. She did send messengers (her doves) to Maglor explaining that she had to tend to ‘Slayer business’ in the east and that she would reunite with him at Himring when she had finished. She didn’t expect to be gone for more than a few days.

When she clasped the last button on her magical coat, the Slayer instantly transformed into a falcon. She flew out the opened door and took off towards the peaks of Ered Luin and beyond. It had been a long time since she had last used her coat and she found that flying was as exhilarating as ever. Nothing comes close to the feeling of soaring through the air; it was the epitome of freedom.

The Slayer did not fly all the way to Orocarni and she did make a couple of stops, one at Khazâd-Dum and the other at the Deeper Well. The only reason for her brief visits were so she could enjoy a hot bath and a hot meal. Hunting other birds or small beasts for food was not her favorite aspect of being a bird of prey but it kind of went with the territory.

Illyria’s lands were well over a twenty-four hundred miles from Beleriand. Buffy materialized on a ridge on the eastern face of the Red Mountains so that she could look down upon her daughter’s kingdom. The Slayer was floored by the vast size of the city, which was still under construction. It appeared that she had managed to enslave the entire human race to do her bidding. The sight was reminiscent of hundreds of thousands of worker ants laboring for their Queen, who was at ease within the confines of her citadel. Thousands of men, women and children were busy at work, whips cracked on their backs if they failed to move speedily enough for the demon overlords.

Buffy needed to get a closer look, but was unsure of how to proceed on. She couldn’t ignore the fact that her sweet daughter had an army a half million strong. At the age of fifty-three, she had enough wisdom to know that if she went all Rambo, she’d be killed in a heartbeat. The wall that surrounded the city was not yet complete and easily scalable. Unfortunately, it was well guarded by yrch who were stationed every five feet around the entire perimeter. Dispersed throughout the city were the flaming bodies of the Balrogs; they glowed even in daylight. The Valaraukar, (Quenya name for Balrogs), seemed to be mostly situated within close proximity to the citadel of the city, the home of Illyria. The many pillared stone structure looked to be the only one completed.

The city of stone was built facing the north east between two rivers, one to the north, the other south. Approximately two hundred miles to the east was the Great Eastern Sea. One blessed with good eyesight could see the eastern chain of Morgoth’s Iron Mountains about one thousand miles to the north. But to mortal and elvish eyes, the only mountains that could be seen were the Red Mountains to the west, for the city was built at its feet.

Where the rocky surface ended, arose groves of fruit trees, great fields and farmland that now lay barren with the approach of winter. Oxen, sheep, kine and horses still lazily grazed on the dying grass within their corrals. It was apparent that the beasts were well cared for, at least from what Buffy could see. There were many houses and outbuildings scattered throughout this farming area, which was located about twenty miles from the wall of the city.

As she focused her attention on the ruralists, she couldn’t help but notice that these people were not under the ever-constant eye of the demon overlords. Not one orch or Balrog was stationed in that part of the country. It was apparent to Buffy that she had to somehow get in with one of those farmer types in order to obtain information about the goings on with Illyria. But how?

She supposed that it made the most sense to attempt to eavesdrop while in her current state. Hopefully, the Hildor wouldn’t feel threatened by her presence and kill her. The Slayer thought it was worth a shot so she flew off the ridge towards the nearest homestead. She landed on the limb of an ash tree and watched as a golden haired, broad-shouldered shepherd tended to the sheep. Buffy cocked her head and listened intently to the song that he was singing; the words were in a language different from all others that she had heard in Arda. However, it only took her a few moments before she understood the lyrics. She spent the rest of the day watching this man interact with the others on the homestead.

At nightfall, the smell of roasting meat permeated the evening air making Buffy rather peckish. The thought of having to hunt and kill something to eat was not an option after smelling that aroma, but the Slayer had no idea how to approach the strangers in a peaceable way. She flew to the ground and suddenly found herself in a totally new and unrecognizable form - that of an old lady!

Buffy first observed her hands, which looked bony and wrinkly. As she stood upright, she noticed the long, gray hair that framed her face. The Slayer was stunned by her metamorphosis. She found her new visage to be very disconcerting; Buffy assumed that she would always remain young and beautiful, never would she have imagined herself as an old hag! This was not done intentionally on her part. Even her magical coat was affected; it resembled a black fur cloak.

She decided that this was the work of her brethren and that perhaps this was the best ‘form’ to use when approaching the Hildor. Slowly, Buffy walked from the edge of the woods towards the well-lit house. Her anxiety increased with every step; she had no idea what to expect. The Slayer knocked on the door and a few moments later, it swung open.

A tall dark haired man dressed entirely in black stood on the threshold. “What can I do for you, mother?” he asked in a friendly manner.

Buffy kind of played the part of someone with Alzheimer’s; she acted confused and lost. The stranger looked at her with pity and invited her in. Bingo! It looked like her plan was going to work. She was seated at the table with the fifteen other people that resided there and her hosts graciously offered her both food and drink. All were dark haired, grey eyed except for the matriarch and one of her sons (the golden-haired man that Buffy had seen earlier.)

Brolach was the name of the lord of the homestead. It soon became apparent to the Slayer that despite their fair facade, a shadow lay upon these mortals. They were devout followers of the “King,” - Illyria. Buffy found it rather odd that her daughter would take a title of masculinity, but then again, Buffy referred to herself as Dagnir, which was a masculine form of ‘Slayer.’ Regardless, it looked like her beloved daughter had a bad case of ‘penis envy.’

The family happily conversed with Buffy as they ate their meal but the more she heard, the more disturbed she became. Wickedness ruled in these parts, and man had already been corrupted to do evil, one onto the other. All those that had passed through Sussrúmnir so far, had been killed for the sole amusement of the King. In essence, they did die on the battlefield although they were battling each other as a form of entertainment. It was very much like the gladiators in ancient Roman times. Buffy’s appetite quickly diminished and it took everything she had not to weep as she heard the stories that the people of Brolach had told.

The Slayer spent the next three days with these individuals. It was on that last night, after all had gone to bed, that Buffy sat in a rocking chair in the main living area, weeping uncontrollably. She was unsure of what to do next. Mankind worshiped Illyria and Melkor and the things that they had done in their name were horrendous. She was definitely not ready to attack Illyria; that was quite obvious to her, but she had to do something to create some type of rift between man and the ‘gods’ that they revered. But she had no idea about how to do it. She prayed for guidance from above.

Orran, the eldest son of Brolach, entered the chamber and found the Slayer in tears. He attempted to comfort her but had little success. Before long, she woke the entire household with her wailing.

“What is it, mother?” asked Brolach, who crouched before her chair. “It disturbs me to see you anguish so.”

Buffy looked deep into the man’s grey eyes and knew now was the time to act. She had to reveal herself and see if she could convince these people to change their ways. With a wave of her hand, all the curtains in the house closed. The occupants gasped in shock to see such magic’s from an old woman. Little did they know that they hadn’t seen anything yet. The Slayer started to emit a soft light that gradually became brighter and brighter until all were blinded and had to shield their eyes from her radiance. When the light faded, Buffy stood there in her ‘normal’ youthful form. The words that came out of her mouth were spoken with such authority that even the Slayer was amazed to hear them.

“Ill deeds you have committed people of the house of Brolach. Now is the time for you to change your evil ways or you will suffer horrible torments for the rest of eternity. For I am Maranwë Fëantári, and all who die must pass through my Halls and face my judgment!” The people fell to their knees, trembling in fear. Buffy’s power radiated from her, they knew that she spoke the truth. “Only through me can you find salvation,” she continued as she conjured images of her Blessed Realm before their eyes.

“Great rewards await those who join with the forces of Light,” she began again. “I believe in repentance. I believe in second chances when others do not. Illyria and Melkor have enslaved you; they have taken control your will and tainted your fey’s. The path that you have chosen leads only to Darkness.” Buffy’s eyes burned with an intensity that filled all present with love, hope, and fear.

“Do you wish to sacrifice your firstborn in the name of evil?” she asked the pregnant daughter of Brolach. She then looked at the others. “Do you desire to slaughter those of your own bloodline? Or do you wish for your line to continue unsullied through the ages of the world?” she asked.

The sobbing pregnant woman crawled on all fours towards the Slayer. She grabbed the bottom of Buffy’s feathered coat. “Forgive us, Lady. Show us mercy. Please! Forgive us!” she pleaded. Buffy looked at the woman sympathetically.

“Rise, my child,” she heard herself say, much to her own surprise (the woman looked to be a few years younger than the Slayer). “I will pardon the sins of your past… all of you, but in return you must help me.”

They all groveled at her feet. Brolach then tearfully spoke up, “My dear Lady, we will do as you bid. None of us want to be cursed to eternal damnation. We want our line to continue through the ages of the world. We repent of our past deeds, Lady… Lady Astarte.” Yes, Buffy was given yet another name.

“Rise. All of you,” she commanded. They did as they were told. “Atonement I will grant unto you when I deem that you have proved your faithfulness to me. It is always easier to take the road of hatred and evilness than it is for love and goodliness. But the rewards are just for whichever path you choose; the Light or the Dark.”

They all cried out, “The Light! The Light! The Light!” Buffy answered their prayers by filling the room with the essence of her fey. All felt the warmth of her love and the faith that she had in them. They vowed not to let her down. The Slayer then gave a sapphire cross to the patriarch of the family.

“Keep this hid from the eyes of the enemy. It has been blessed by me and is a token of my House. Spread the word of love and hope, but be weary of those who are truly wolves disguised in sheep’s clothing. The enemy runs rampant throughout this entire region, so use care. But rejoice in knowing that there are others out there that are seeking the Light as well. Find them. Unite. And be prepared to fight. When the appointed time comes, I will gather my armies and together we will defeat this power and bring back the Light.”

Before Buffy departed, she told Brolach and his kinfolk that she would return from time to time to check on them and their progress. She enjoyed one last home cooked meal with the Hildor and asked many pertinent questions that she was unable to before. One of the most important things that she had learned was that the overlords checked on the farmers once a week and that tomorrow would be the day that they would paying a visit to the homesteads. The Slayer made a mental note of that, she hoped that she would be able to keep track of the overlords’ schedule once she returned home. She had now been gone for nine days and was quite eager to get back to Himring and Maglor.

It was late at night when she finally left the homestead. She transformed within the house of Brolach before disappearing in a blinding light. The Slayer reappeared just west of Ered Luin, close to the borders of her own land. She felt that her trip was a success even though she really didn’t accomplish much. Her faith was placed in man and she hoped beyond hope that they would not disappoint her.

Buffy was in a fantastic mood and soaring through the cool night air invigorated her spirit even more. It was then that she noticed a group of people far below about ten miles north of the River Ascar. Since they were so close to Ossir, she thought that she’d take a closer look and began to descend from the sky. The moon was out in all its glory and from that height, the Slayer could only make out shadows and nothing else. Her excitement grew when she realized that these were dwarves, probably her friends from Belegost or perhaps Nogrod, on their way to visit her land.

The Slayer’s eagerness to see her friends was ill-fated, because these were not the dwarves from Belegost or Nogrod. She was unaware that this was a wandering band of petty dwarves, evil and greedy beings that were banished long ago by their kin in Orocarni for committing atrocious acts against their own kind. There were nearly seven hundred of them in this group from what Buffy could see with her keen eyes, yet she continued to descend even lower.

The petty dwarves beckoned the falcon to come closer and Buffy, thinking that they were friendly, obliged. When she was only fifty feet above them, one of the evil dwarves hurled a throwing axe at her. The Slayer was so shocked that had no time to react. The axe met its mark and imbedded itself into her chest. She squawked in pain as she ascended towards the heavens in an attempt to escape the other objects that were thrown at her injured form. Her thoughts immediately turned to Maglor and that’s when she vanished within a brilliant blue light.

Things only got worse for the Slayer when she reappeared in a burst of blue flame outside the gates of Himring, while mid-air. Her magical button that caused her mystical transformation had come undone and Buffy was now plummeting to the earth in her wounded mortal body. She tried to prepare for the impact as best she could, all the while keeping an eye on the axe in her chest. Her inner voice told her to leave it alone and the Slayer could only hope that she landed on her back.

CRASH! Buffy landed against the slope of the adjoining hill, knocking the wind out of her. Her body rolled about thirty feet before coming to a halt. The pain was excruciating! She then heard the sound of a single horn blast ring out in the cold night air. Her glazed over eyes looked up at the moon above, it seemed to be snickering at her new misfortune. The words that the Voice had spoken earlier echoed in her mind: No ill will come to you. Buffy saw that as treachery, her feelings of hostility towards the Powers had now been ignited. And then she saw no more…


Chapter 30 - OUT OF MIND, OUT OF SIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY: OUT OF MIND, OUT OF SIGHT



The horn that rang out was a signal that something was amiss in the land of Maedhros and only minutes later Faron gathered an assembly of men and went to investigate the strange blue light that they had seen to the west of Himring. It was nearly an hour before sunrise and the Noldo was excited that there was something unusual going on during the last few minutes of his watch. A group of twelve men left the city hastily on horseback; all was silent except for the sound of the hooves of the horses beating against the stone street.

“It’s a woman!” shouted Faron when they rounded the knoll to where Buffy’s body lay. His heart pounded in his chest. Surely, she did not spring forth from the sky, he thought to himself. But that is exactly what we witnessed! The raven haired Noldo dismounted from his steed and got the shock of his life when he saw that it was Buffy that lay on the ground, axe imbedded in her chest. “Oh my Eru! It’s Bellaseth Dagnir, Maglor’s intended!” He uttered a prayer as he grabbed a lamp, and squatted down next to the Slayer in order to examine her more closely. “She’s alive!” he exclaimed when he felt her heartbeat.

The Noldo carefully lifted her from the ground, taking care not to disturb the axe. With the aid of one of his men, he brought her back to the healers at the citadel. It was Faron’s duty to notify the son of Fëanor of the tragedy. He now wished that this whole ordeal had transpired after his watch was over. He had no desire to deliver such grim news to Maglor.

Hweston was the chief healer of Himring and it was he who tended to the unconscious Slayer. As he was cutting her tunic off, Maglor came rushing through the door with Faron at his heals.

“What has happened to Maranwë?” he queried before actually seeing her traumatized body. His face went even paler when he noticed the axe sticking out from her chest. He gasped in shock.

“Get him out of here!” ordered Hweston agitatedly.

It took the strength of three elves to pull a grieving Maglor from the chamber. He cried out Buffy’s name repeatedly as the elves dragged him to another room down the hall to await the news of her condition. None thought she would survive, except her beloved, for he was the only one amongst them that knew she was a Vala. That thought did not ease his sorrow because he knew that she must have suffered terribly with such an injury.

The chief healer was readying himself to pull the blade from her breastbone. He was amazed that there was not much blood with such an affliction. In one swift motion, Hweston extracted the axe from her sternum. He was mystified that it was stuck in the bone and had not, in fact, penetrated any vital organs. Immediately afterwards, the Slayer’s body began to emit a white light and began to heal itself.

“Do you see what I see?” asked one of Hweston’s associates.

“Indeed!” replied the mystified master healer. “Bellaseth’s body is healing itself! Surely, she must be one of the Holy Ones. I do not think that any can doubt that.” His assistants nodded in agreement.

“Do you think that Lord Maglor knows?” asked his helper.

“That I do not know, my friend,” answered Hweston as he continued to stare at the Slayer’s radiating form. “But I deem that the time has now arrived for me to inform him.” He peered closer and watched as the gash on her chest began to close before his eyes. “That is amazing,” he whispered. “Unbelievable! I do not think that any have yet to witness the Ainur healing themselves,” Hweston continued with an air of awe in his voice. “Truly we have been blessed to behold such a marvel.” It was then that he noticed the strange dark mark on her breast. “That is odd. What does that look like to you, Amdir?” he asked as he looked up at the elf.

“I cannot rightly say,” replied the fellow healer, as he looked closer. “It could be some kind of hammer or possibly a weapon of some kind,” suggested Amdir. Their eyes darted from the mark to the wound, which had now sealed itself up. All that remained was a scar that was about six inches long and a fraction of an inch wide.

The door then flung open and Faron entered the chamber. He stopped suddenly when he noticed Buffy all aglow.

“Close the door, Faron!” ordered Hweston. The warrior elf stood there for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the Slayer, before he realized that the healer was speaking to him.

“Sorry,” he said as he closed the door. “What’s going on here?” he questioned incredulously. The healers told him all that they had seen and pointed out both the scar and the strange mark. Amdir asked Faron what he thought the mark resembled since he was skilled in weaponry. “May Maglor forgive me for looking upon his future wife’s nakedness,” he proclaimed as he approached the Slayer cautiously and examined the odd marking. “It appears to be some sort of weapon, perhaps a mace, but I cannot say for sure. I hope that it does not portend doom for the Lady.”

“I believe that we should tell Maglor about this. What do you think?” questioned Hweston.

“I agree, but surely he knows that his beloved is blessed with… supernatural abilities,” he answered, returning his gaze to the healer. “It all makes sense to me now. How is it that Maglor is betrothed to a woman, who is no elf, I might add, that we had not seen before Mereth Aderthad? And my eyes did not deceive me when I saw how they greeted each other! They’ve had to have known each other for awhile and I have no knowledge of Maglor ever visiting Ossiriand before that time, for he always travels with Russandol when they go abroad.” He glanced back down at Buffy’s still glowing form. “I deem that he has known about Bella’s true identity all along but for some reason he is keeping it secret from the rest of us.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Amdir.

Faron shifted his gaze to Amdir. “That is not our business,” he answered. “But I do believe that the time has arrived for us to speak with Maglor regarding this matter.” It was decided that Hweston, Amdir and Faron would seek out the son of Fëanor while the two other healers remained with the Slayer. As the warrior left the room, he glanced out the window and for the first time, noticed the raging blizzard outside.

When they entered Maedhros’ library, the other brothers were already gathered there as well as the chieftains from Buffy’s Household. Hweston spoke first.

“May we talk openly, my Lord?” queried the healer to Kanafinwë. Maglor glanced around the room before nodding his head. He seemed bereaved. “Then you do know that the Lady will be fine,” affirmed a grim-faced Hweston. He paused before continuing. “As a matter of fact, the wound that Bellaseth had received is already healed. And I must say that it was not done by my hands nor any of my fellows. Her wound healed on its own! Right now she lies in bed all aglow!”

Everybody in the chamber remained silent, but their eyes spoke volumes. It was finally Úrion who addressed the healer’s comments.

“It is apparent that you all have discovered Bella’s secret. Yes, my friends, she is indeed one of the Ainur,” he said with a grin. “No weapon wrought by elf or dwarf can kill her but that doesn’t mean that the pain she endures is not real. Those from that race have the ability to heal themselves or make their flesh anew, if need be.” He took a sip of his tea. “Now that you know, we would appreciate it if you would keep it confidential. We do not want all of Beleriand to know.”

“I had my suspicions,” remarked Faron. “She is unlike any maid that I’ve ever encountered.” He poured himself a stiff drink.

“From which House is she?” queried Amdir. “Is she one of the servants of Vána and Estë like Melian?”

“No,” answered Maglor. “She is not a Maia; she’s a Vala and sister of the Fëanturi.”

That revelation shocked the healers and warrior. They had no idea that Maglor was betrothed to one of the Mighty Ones and they were quite taken aback by the fact that Buffy was the sister of the one who had laid the curse upon them. They viewed her in a completely new light and saw her as a means of thwarting both Morgoth and the curse. Before Maglor would let the threesome leave the chamber, they had to vow never to reveal Buffy’s true identity to anyone.

It was not long afterwards, that all left the library except for the sons of Fëanor.

“You know what this means, don’t you brother,” commented Caranthir. He did not allow Maglor time to respond. “You cannot wait twenty some odd years for the wedding. Too much can happen in that time. You must convince your beloved to wed now!”

“I cannot do that,” he responded. “Salmar told her to wait and she has no intention of… ”

Celegorm jumped out of his seat, interrupting his older brother. “Why should a Vala heed the words of a Maia?” he questioned bitterly. “She is far greater than Salmar, and from what I’ve been told; he is probably looking out for Ulmo’s interests. Is it not true that the Lord of Waters is in love with Bella?”

“From what I’ve been told, yes, it’s true,” answered Maglor. “But surely Ulmo would never stoop to that level… ”

“No?” queried Celegorm disapprovingly. “Little love does Ulmo have for the House of Fëanor after what transpired in Alqualondë! He may have the foresight to know that if Bella waits, something can happen that could end your betrothal. Did that not happen with the other elf? Was she not betrothed before?”

“That thought had never occurred to me,” replied a stunned Maglor.

“I believe that our brother is correct in his assessment, Maglor,” remarked Curufin. “Salmar wants to waylay your approaching nuptials with the Slayer. He is only doing as Ulmo ordered. Do not let father’s death be in vain, brother. If you wed the Vala, only good will come of it, I deem… ”

“And do not forget the children,” interjected Maedhros. “I cannot fathom what kind of offspring that a Vala and an elf would produce, but having witnessed Bella’s strength, mighty shall be your children, Maglor. Mighty indeed!”

“We have already seen the powers that her other children possess,” chimed in Caranthir. “To have our blood mingled with one of the Valar would be a reward beyond belief.”

“I cannot make any promises,” answered Maglor. “I will speak with Bella about having the wedding sooner, but if she’s not in agreement… ”

“Who says I’m not?” queried Buffy, who stood in the doorway, much to the brother’s surprise.

“Ah, Maranwë, you’re awake,” said a delighted Maglor as he hurried to his lover’s side. “How do you feel?” he queried as he took the Slayer’s hand and led her to one of the couches.

“Like I’ve been hit in the chest with an axe, but I’m okay. Just a little sore,” she replied as she rubbed her breastbone. The brothers had no idea that she had been standing there, listening to their conversation. They hadn’t heard her enter the chamber.

“What happened? Tell me who harmed you, my love, and I will see to it that you are avenged,” said Maglor.

Buffy did not tell them about visiting Man in the east, only that she was conducting business at the request of The Powers. A simple recon mission that ended up causing her a great deal of pain, both physically and emotionally. No ill had she done to those dwarves to justify their actions, but that was about to change.

“A shadow lies upon those dwarves,” she said venomously. “These sons of Aulë are rotten to the core and I want every last one of them hunted down even if I have to do it myself. They have no place in Middle-earth.”

The C-brothers looked at each other with wicked grins on their faces. Bellaseth Dagnir would surely fit in perfectly with those of the House of Fëanor.

“It will be done, my dear Maranwë,” replied Maglor affectionately. “Justice will be served. We will send messengers throughout all of Beleriand notifying our kin of the dastardly deed that was committed against you.” He kissed the top of her hand. “Can I get you something? Tea perhaps?”

“I need something stronger than tea!” she answered, still rubbing her chest.

Caranthir poured Buffy a glass of wine and handed her the drink. “Did you hear our conversation earlier?”

“About the wedding?” Buffy asked after taking a sip.

Maglor looked slightly uncomfortable. “We were talking about having the wedding sooner, but I understand if you want to wait… ”

The room fell silent. All eyes were fixed on the Slayer. Buffy sat there for a few minutes before replying.

“My last thought was of you,” she said with a small smile as she tightened her grip on Maglor’s hand. “I love you as I’ve never loved anyone, but before I commit to anything, you need to hear what I‘ve got to say.” She paused. “No longer will I follow the orders of anyone! That includes the Valar, Maiar, Elves and Men. I have been betrayed by those who claim to love me for the last time. I now see that I’m a lone wolf in this world. I can only truly trust me!” She smiled at her lover. “No offense hon. It’s just… I don’t know. I’m so over being told what to do. Screw ‘em all! From here on out, I’m marching to the beat of my own drums… or is it drummer?” she questioned as she thought hard about that old saying that she had heard long ago. The Slayer shrugged her shoulders.

“So, you still wanna move the wedding up, huh?” she inquired. Her lover nodded. “How soon?”

“Yesterday,” Maglor responded with a wide grin. Buffy chuckled, as did the brothers.

“Well, seeing as we can’t alter time, that’s definitely not gonna happen,” said the Slayer good-humoredly. She glanced at the brothers before she continued. “I’ve always wanted a big wedding ever since I was a little girl and I have no intention of not realizing that dream.” Her gaze returned to Maglor. “I’m more than willing to move the wedding up, but only under certain conditions.”

“Such as?” asked Maglor, who was determined to accommodate his beloved in any way.

“First off, our wedding is going to be the event of the century, so I’ll need time to prepare,” she started. “I’d say in… hmm, two years. Spring. I can’t have everything done before that time.”

“That sounds fine by me,” replied her future husband. “I assume there are more conditions?” he queried light-heartedly.

“Yep. Secondly, we will hold the wedding at Lindecoa,” she stated.

“What is wrong with my own Halls?” asked Maedhros. “Surely a son of Fëanor should wed in his own land.”

Buffy turned her gaze to the eldest brother. “Did I mention that these ‘conditions’ are not negotiable?” She looked back at Maglor. “Maybe I should’ve mentioned that.”

“I have no qualms about that,” came her lover’s reply.

“Good! Third, and most important, to me any way, is that we don’t leave Lindecoa until we produce an heir. I’m more than ready to become a mother… a real one, this time,” disclosed Buffy in all seriousness.

That last request or demand took Maglor by surprise. His beloved had never expressed a desire to have children immediately after the wedding. It became apparent to him that the whole ordeal that she had just gone through must have affected her deeply. The Noldo was no fool, he loved Buffy greatly and nothing would please him more than to have a child with her.

“It looks like we have a celebration to prepare for,” agreed Maglor with a kiss.

Maedhros insisted that the lovers remain at Himring instead of departing back to their home in the east. Buffy decided to stay, as this was a perfect opportunity for her to get to know her soon to be brothers-in-law better. Besides, her caravan had traveled to Himring on horseback; they would need to return home the same way they had come because most elves did not know who she really was.

Buffy spent most of the day in the library speaking with the sons of Fëanor. She learned that the brothers knew all about her past, much to her chagrin. They did not harbor any hostile feelings towards her, despite the Slayer having borne Morgoth’s only child. They were delighted in knowing that the only one that the Dark Foe ever loved had now joined forces with them. It seemed befitting when one took into account all the pain and sorrow that he had caused the entire House of Finwë. The C-brothers often spoke in private about Buffy. They had the foresight to see that it would be the Lady that would one day bring down the biggest and baddest evil to ever set foot in Arda. Her wrath rivaled Morgoth’s.

Later that afternoon, the Slayer dressed from head to toe in fur and proceeded outside. She had an overwhelming desire to go outdoors even though the weather was ghastly. Not many people were of the same mindset as Buffy. The only ones outside were those on guard duty. The blizzard was over, yet snow continued to swirl around her.

As she made her way down the paved street, she eyed the wall that ran along the perimeter. She stopped, looked up at the bulwark, jumped and landed on the smooth topmost surface. She stood there in the howling wind and stared at the snow-covered hills. For the first time, she saw the beauty of that land. It looked entirely different when under several inches of snow.

It was not long afterwards, when a single white dove appeared out of nowhere. A small smile came to Buffy’s face as she watched the dove fly directly towards her. This was not one of her ‘normal’ messengers, but something very different. The Slayer held her hand out as the bird landed on her gloved finger.

“I didn’t expect to see you, Feawë,” said Buffy as she stroked her feathered friend. “What brings you to Himring?”

“I have come at the request of your children, my Lady,” the Valkyrie responded. “Believe me, nothing but that would have me endure the cold winds of Melkor.”

“I just saw you materialize. It’s not like you’ve flown all the way from Folkvang,” remarked the Slayer.

“Truly, but I did not know exactly where to find you. I thought that you would be in Lord Maglor’s lands, but suffice to say, you were not. So here I am,” answered the Maia.

“What news do you bring?” inquired Buffy.

“I am here to see if you are well. The Oracles, which is what your children call themselves nowadays, had seen you suffer horribly at the hands of the Naugrim. Is that true? Have the children of Aulë turned evil?” she queried with dismay.

“No, not really. There is a band of evil dwarves on the prowl. Rejects from Orocarni. Actually, there are several groups of them,” replied the Slayer. “How are Anno and Mirë?”

Feawë did not immediately answer. “They are worried about you, my Lady. Your children have been blessed with greater foresight than most, and see things that others cannot. They are greatly disturbed by some of the visions they have been experiencing. They say that you will not come back to Sussrúmnir even if they implore you… ”

“Well, it does seem that they can at least see things in the immediate future,” said Buffy with a chuckle. “No, Feawë, I will not be going back to Folkvang until I’m ready. The times, they are a changing, my friend. You can let the others know what I’m about to tell you. No longer will I do the bidding of the Valar; I’m on my own… ”

The Maia squawked and her eyes welled with tears. “No!” she cried out. “You cannot turn your back on your kin! They are only looking out for your best interests… ”

Buffy frowned. “My best interests?” she questioned with disdain. “Getting an axe to the chest is not looking out for my best interest, Feawë. The Valar have no idea what real war is… ”

“How can you say that?” asked the Maia. “You know good and well that they fought Morgoth long ago… ”

“And what the hell are they doing now, huh? They’re sitting on their blessed asses in Valinor mourning the loss of those two goddamn trees.” Feawë was taken aback by Buffy’s words. “My dear brother, Námo, knows what’s gonna happen in Middle-earth… yet they still do nothing! All they care about is protecting themselves from the Darkness that’s going to inevitably take over this world,” continued the Slayer angrily. “It’s my job to fight Morgoth and I intend on doing just that, but on my terms. Everything that I do will be done my way. I will not take the counsel of others nor will I be commanded to do anything from anyone ever again. I’m the Slayer. The Chosen One. And I’m also the Queen. My word is law! Those who do not wish to follow me can take their happy asses back to Valinor and never set foot in Folkvang again unless they want to feel my wrath.”

The dove cried out even louder. “No! This cannot be happening,” sobbed Feawë. “When did the Darkness take you, my Lady?”

Buffy laughed. “I’m not of the Dark but I’m not wholly of the Light either.” She moved the bird closer to her face and whispered, “I walk in the gray, Feawë. Sometimes we have to fight fire with fire, even if some consider it an abomination.”

“What has happened to you, Lady? Ill words you speak!” she cried.

“I’ve seen the Light,” replied Buffy with a smile. “This is my time. I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen and I’m entitled to a break every now and again.”

“And what of Man and Illyria? Will you turn a blind eye to the things that your daughter is doing?” queried Feawë.

“The time is not upon us to make war with Illyria… ” started Buffy before she was cut off by the dove.

“You are coddling her. You are allowing her to get stronger whilst you… ”

“I advise you not to finish that sentence. Do not question the decisions that I make. You are my servant and it will do you well not to forget that, dear, dear Feawë,” sneered the Slayer.

“Forgive me, Lady, but you have always allowed us to speak our minds,” apologized the dove with a slight bow of its head. “What about Man? When will you return to judge them?”

Buffy considered her words for a few moments before replying. “When I’m ready… and that will not be anytime soon. Let them wait in purgatory until I feel the need to return.” She lifted her hand up and said “Out of sight, out of mind!” The dove disappeared after she spoke those words.

It was not the Slayer’s intention to upset Feawë so. But it was time for all to realize that Buffy was playing by a new set of rules - her own. It had been many years since she had last thought about her past life in ‘modern’ times, but the Valar reminded her too much of the Watcher’s Council. Their only desire was in giving orders while Buffy was the one responsible for carrying them out. Yeah, they’re mighty fine Guardians alright! thought Buffy. The images of the Horrors that transpired in Valinor flashed in her mind. She shook her head in disgust.

“And what will you do?” she queried aloud. “Send Tulkas the dim-witted to scold me or even better, Oromë, the half-hearted. They couldn’t even get past the meshes of Ungoliant,” she snickered. When she turned to leave, she was startled to see Maglor standing on the bulwark, only a few feet away. Buffy jumped back. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were there,” she said with her hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“Who were you talking to?” he queried suspiciously.

“Oh, no one. Just talking to myself,” she answered. She smiled and then cheerfully added, “But I promise, I’m not crazy or anything.” Maglor continued to look at her, grim-faced. “What?” she asked.

“Why would you say those things about Tulkas and Oromë? That is not like you,” he remarked.

Buffy looked deeply into Maglor’s eyes. “I’m just venting,” she replied in a somber tone. “Feawë paid me a little visit and kinda rubbed me the wrong way. Apparently, she’s not too enthused by the fact that I’m the maverick amongst my kindred.”

“It does not bode well to speak of the Valar like that,” her lover said somberly.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders. “When they take an axe to the chest, I’ll be more respectful,” she smirked. “Until then, they can just leave me the hell alone. I don’t need them.”

“What about Folkvang? Long the Ainur must have labored to build your heavenly realm,” countered Maglor.

The Slayer chuckled. “You mean my prison. It’s an illusion, nothing more!”

“That is no illusion, my love,” he said wondrously. “It is heaven.”

“No, it’s hell and I’m the gatekeeper,” Buffy replied. A chill crept up her spine. “I’m cold… and hungry. Let’s go back inside.”

The son of Fëanor knew that Buffy was not having the best of days and disregarded her disparaging comments regarding the Valar. Maglor smiled, then took her hand and together they walked along the top of the wall and descended the nearest stairway leading to the citadel.


Chapter 31 - THE REPLACEMENT

After a hot meal and bath, the Slayer remained in her bedchamber with Maglor. They lay on the bed kissing passionately. Despite her numerous attempts at seducing the elf, he was not receptive.

“What’s wrong?” asked the dejected Slayer.

“You have suffered a terrible wound, Maranwë. I don’t think you should exert yourself just yet,” he replied with concern.

“I feel fine, Maglor,” she whined as she tenderly caressed him. “The only thing I’m feeling is amorous.”

Maglor rolled out of bed. “I’m sorry, my beloved, but I really feel we need to wait until you’re better.” He seemed restless. “It has occurred to me that I need to discuss something of the utmost importance with Russandol.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I will be back soon.”

“So, that’s it!” she said with an air of annoyance in her voice. “You don’t care about my needs, do you?” she queried as Maglor was about to leave the chamber.

The Noldo stopped. “That is not true, Maranwë. I love you but you need to rest.” He smiled before leaving the room.

Buffy was not happy that her feminine wiles had not worked on Maglor. She got to her feet and looked at her reflection in the mirror. How vile, she thought as she studied the numerous scars on her naked body. The Slayer opened a drawer, pulled out a small box that contained her miracle salve and began applying it to the various scars. No wonder the elf doesn’t desire me, she thought. The salve removed all the scars that she could reach except for the mark on her breast, no matter how hard she tried that one would not come off. Since she was unable to remove the marks from her back, she decided that she would need a little assistance. Buffy pulled on her robe, put the box in her pocket and left the room.

A few minutes later, she arrived outside Úrion’s bedchamber. She knocked on the door.

“Enter,” said the voice of Buffy’s confidant. She entered the room and saw the elf sitting in a chair perusing one of the books from Maedhros’ library. When he saw the woman, he immediately put the book to the side as a huge smile came upon his face. “You were successful, I take it,” commented a hopeful Úrion.

The Slayer’s lips curled into a mischievous grin as she disrobed and walked seductively towards the ‘elf’. Without saying a word, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. “Take me, now,” she purred.

“I have been waiting for this day for so long,” he replied as he carried the Slayer to his bed. It had been too long since Úrion had last experienced the simple pleasures of the flesh. His excitement grew even more when she literally tore the clothing off his body. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction then reuniting with his long time love…

When they finished their passionate lovemaking session, Úrion held his lover tightly in his arms. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my sweet Angwen,” he whispered breathlessly in her ear. “So, tell me, is Maranwë safely back in Angband?”

“No! She is far, far away where no one will ever find her,” she replied as she placed many kisses on his chest.

“You did not send her back to Melkor?” he queried. “That was part of the plan.”

The woman sat up and looked at her lover. “Hmm, that’s right,” she said as she ran her fingers through her hair. “You didn’t hear my little speech that I had with the sons of Fëanor. We have a change of plans, love. To hell with what Melkor says. This is our only chance to bring Middle-earth to its knees,” revealed Angwen excitedly. “I do not understand why our Lord is so infatuated with Maranwë. It is folly but he does not see it, does he?” She shook her head in disgust before she continued. “My dear Úrion, it’s time for us to claim the Lordship over this world. No longer will I heed the words of our Master nor anyone else… ”

“You fool!” barked the enraged Maia as he leapt out of bed and began to dress. “You cannot go against the will of Melkor. What were you thinking?”

Angwen looked at him sheepishly. “I’m doing what’s best for us,” she said as she crawled out of bed. “It is unfair that Maranwë wields so much power yet she does not properly put it to use. With me in her body, we’ll be able to gather the strength of these elves and dwarves and make war with Melkor… ”

Úrion backhanded the woman, sending her to the floor. “You’re a stupid bitch!” he said through clenched teeth.

“That sounds like something that Luinil would say,” she whimpered.

The Maia seized the woman by the hair, bringing her back to her feet. Her left cheek was already turning deep red from the slap. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers dug deep into her flesh.

“You are a fool! I will not stand by and allow you to thwart the plans of my Lord. I’ve worked too hard to earn the trust of Bella… ”

“So, its Bella now, is it? I’m beginning to think that you have more on your mind than just Melkor’s plan. It sounds like you’re infatuated with the Vala as well… ”

Úrion slugged her this time. Blood spewed from her nose. “I’ve always found you to be rather endearing, Angwen, but now, it appears that I am having a change of heart. For fifteen hundred years we’ve been together, and now, I deem that you are devoid of all common sense!”

Angwen mopped the blood up with one of her lover’s tunics. “And it seems that you’re ready to toss me aside in order to cozy up to Maranwë,” she spat out angrily.

Úrion did his best to regain his composure. He poured them each a glass of miruvóre. “Your assignment is to wed the elf and bear his child. Those are Melkor’s orders! And that is exactly what you will do!” he declared as he handed her a drink. The Maia sighed heavily before he continued in a much calmer tone of voice. “Listen to me, Angwen. I don’t want to hurt you, but you must do as you’ve been told. I command it.”

“The elf rejected my advances,” she whispered with shame.

“Then you will continue to try. I have a backup plan if all else fails,” replied Úrion.

Angwen sat on the bed, nursing her miruvóre. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in this… this shell,” she confessed solemnly. “No matter how hard I wash, I’m covered in Maranwë’s scent and it repulses me to no end. I have all her memories… I know her desires, her fears… ” She smiled when she said the word ‘fears.’ “Her essence has left behind traces of love and goodliness. It makes me want to vomit. I’m the one who’s suffering here, Úrion. I do not understand why I can’t wreak a little havoc in her life. It’s only just, if you ask me.”

The Maia sat beside his beloved. “If you run afoul, you will leave me no other choice but to kill you,” revealed Úrion coolly. Angwen looked at him with an appalled expression on her face. “Melkor has labored endlessly to see that his designs come to fruition. He had the foresight to coordinate everything from the vampires in Brethil to Maranwë’s break up with Mablung. Our Lord knew exactly how she would react to every situation, and the outcome has always been as he expected. Do not think that he doesn’t have the ability to see what you are up to, my dear. Melkor is the greatest Vala of them all. None can surpass him when it comes to deception and deviousness.

“You must carry out his orders! I cannot stress that enough, Angwen. I do not want to lose you, but we must follow his orders… Now, tell me, where is Maranwë?”

“She is locked away in a mystical prison,” she replied with a laugh.

“Where is this prison?” he queried. His annoyance was apparent.

Angwen got to her feet. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that,” she answered. “No, I think that Maranwë should suffer. It has not been nearly long enough.”

“What has she done to you to cause you to hate her so?” asked a perplexed Úrion.

“It is not what she has done but what she will do,” replied the worried woman. She glanced at the ‘elf’ and added, “Her elven lover needs to die.”

Úrion threw his glass across the room; it shattered against the wall. “Damn it! I’m not playing games here, Angwen,” he growled as he got to his feet. “If Maglor dies, I will see to it, personally, that you are taken back to Angband where you will suffer horribly at the hands of Melkor. Do not doubt my words. My loyalty to my Lord bests my love for you on any given day.”

His words frightened Angwen. She knew in her heart that he spoke the truth.

“I am imbued with all this power, which is new and extraordinary to me. It will not be long before the residue of Maranwë’s essence fades. I will not sit idly by and not put it to proper use. Farewell, my love. Until we meet again,” she said with a wicked grin, before vanishing in a blinding blue light.

“Shit!” exclaimed an infuriated Úrion. What the hell was he going to do now?



Maglor found Maedhros in his private chambers. “Russandol? Russandol?” he called as he went from room to room.

The copper-topped elf stood in the doorway between one of his sitting rooms and his workout room. He was wearing only breeches and his upper body glistened with sweat.

“What is it, Maglor?” queried Maedhros, as he entered the chamber. “You do not look well. What troubles you?”

“It’s Maranwë,” he said nervously. He started pacing. “I know my beloved, Russandol. I am no fool. But that woman in there is NOT my future wife,” he disclosed as he pointed towards his chamber. “She may look like her, and speak like her, but the words that spew out of her mouth… that is not my Maranwë. It is an imposter!”

“Surely, you jest,” laughed Maedhros. A moment later, the elder brother realized that Maglor was speaking the truth. It was not in his nature to lie. His mirth was quickly replaced with distress. “How… how can that be? I have not heard of a Vala being… possessed by another fey.”

“Until now,” replied Maglor.

“You’re trembling,” remarked Maedhros as his eyes scrutinized his brother carefully. “Come, sit down,” he instructed, as he walked his brother to a chair. “Let me get you a drink,” he continued as he prepared them both a glass of wine. “What do we do? Should we inform our brothers and Úrion?”

“NO!” exclaimed the dark haired Noldo. “No one can know save you and I,” he stated nervously. “I don’t know what’s going on here or what to do… We need to think this through before we do anything rash.” His gaze met his brothers. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with here, or what she hopes to achieve by impersonating my lover.”

Maedhros handed his brother a drink before taking his from the crook of his arm. “Bella is the most powerful woman in Middle-earth,” stated the copper-topped elf as he took a seat on the settee. “It appears that someone is trying to usurp that power. Does she have any enemies?”

“She’s the Slayer. Of course, she has enemies,” answered Maglor. “This has to be the work of Morgoth… or possibly Illyria. That would make more sense since she is female.”

“If this demonic fey is possessing Bellaseth’s body, where is Bellaseth?” asked Maedhros.

Maglor looked up with tear-filled eyes. “That’s what frightens me the most, brother,” whispered the dark haired Noldo. “My heart aches when I think of the torments that await her. I would freely exchange places with her, if I could. She is good, Russandol, and filled with such joy and love,” sobbed Maglor into his hands. “I fear the worst is yet to come.”

Maedhros was saddened by this whole ordeal. And it did not help matters any, that one of Morgoth’s minions was currently residing within his own Halls. He found that to be quite unsettling.

“What of Luthor?” he queried, in an attempt to find a possible solution to this dilemma. “Is there any way that we can send a messenger to him?”

“I do not know where The Deeper Well is located,” answered Maglor as he wiped his eyes on the cuff of his tunic. “Bella transported us there by means of magic. I’m afraid we can rule out that option.”

“Very well,” replied Maedhros, as he rose to his feet and began to pace. “Let me think… How about the doves? Surely, the birds that Luinil holds dear will be able to find her,” suggested the copper-topped elf.

Maglor snorted in frustration. He appreciated his brother’s good intentions, but winter had already arrived in full force. No birds were to be found this far north at this time of year. However, that gave Maglor another idea; Buffy had taught him how to summon the doves. Surely, if they heard it, they would come, especially for him.

With his hope renewed, Maglor and his older brother quickly grabbed their cloaks, and climbed to the top of Maedhros’ tower. The dark haired Noldo surmised that the sound of his call would travel further if he climbed to the highest point of Himring. He knew that the doves were many leagues away, nesting in the mammoth trees of Ossiriand. Using the gift that was bestowed unto him, Maglor’s voice then traveled far and wide over Beleriand. In time, the doves would answer that summons.



Angwen was of the race of the mighty Maiar, and was one who did not normally possess the ability to teleport herself. She was quite shocked when she arrived at Folkvang. Immediately after her arrival, Buffy’s handmaidens dressed the Queen in her ceremonial garb in order for her to pronounce her judgments on those that had been slain. A wicked smile came upon Angwen’s face as she ascended the staircase leading to the Hall of Judgment. She saw this as an opportunity to exact her vengeance upon the Slayer.

The Maia relished the power that she commanded while she sat upon that throne of lapis lazuli. She had the ability to do whatever she wanted to with those that had been slain. Angwen was held in awe as she watched each individual’s life unfold before her very eyes. That was something that she had not yet experienced in her many years of life. Good men she left to sit in waiting, fearing that if she sent to them Mandos, Námo would discover that she had infiltrated his sister’s body. All those that had committed evil deeds in their past lives, were re-embodied and free to live life once again. Angwen was assured by the wicked men that they would run amok in the Blessed Realm, which meant more sorrow for Maranwë and her people. So enthralled was she with this power, that she gave little consideration to time, and to how swiftly it moves in Folkvang.

When the Maia finished proclaiming her judgments, she was stunned by the sudden arrival of the twins. She knew who they were from the memories stored in Buffy’s mind, but she truly did not understand the powers that they possessed. She found them to be strange yet beautiful, and their essence was filled with both joy and sorrow. To her dismay, she also noticed that they were very wise and quick to anger, especially Anno.

“Well, if it’s not my two favorite children, Anno and Mirë,” she said sweetly as she descended the steps of her dais. “They have come to welcome me home.” The siblings eyed each other.

“How dare you speak to us as though you’re our mother,” declared an angry Mirë. At that moment, the twins used their magic’s to ensnare the woman in a mystical net. She was suspended above the floor, uttering curses under her breath.

“Have you gone mad?” asked an alarmed Angwen. She tried her best to hide her fear, but the twins were very perceptive and not easily deceived.

“Do you think that we do not recognize our mother?” yelled Anno. “She gave us life!”

“I am your mother!” proclaimed Angwen. “Someone must have cast a spell of enchantment upon you, which is causing your ignorance. Can’t you see that?”

Anno walked up to the captured Maia. He violently grabbed her by the face, and looked into her eyes. She could now feel his power and his ire.

“You reek of foulness,” he said with contempt. “Mother had the foresight to prepare a special place in Sussrúmnir for the likes of you.”

“You will reveal our mother’s whereabouts, one way or another,” declared Mirë, who now stood beside her brother.

In an instant, the trio disappeared, only to reappear a moment later, in one of Buffy’s ‘Dungeons of Doom.’ The empty chamber was located in the bottommost level of Sussrúmnir. The room itself looked to be constructed from large blocks of black shiny stones. On the western wall was a large icon of a lion constructed from copper and gold. There were no windows, the only light came from a single moonstone, (a device wrought by Aulë and his people in Valinor that gives off a dim light), mounted to the ceiling.

Angwen was not at pleased to find herself in this situation. She had enough foresight to see that things did not bode well for her at the moment. Yet, she continued to proclaim that she was the ‘real’ Buffy and mother to the twins.

Buffy’s children stood on either side of an enmeshed Angwen. Their calm disposition frightened the Maia even more; she frantically tried to break out of the mystical net.

“You will not harm me!” she cried out fearfully. “It’s not in your nature, I know it isn’t.”

“Your conclusion is correct,” replied Mirë. “We are seers, not torturers.”

“That is why Failo will assist us in this matter,” informed Anno.

Suddenly, a tall, broad-shouldered man, nearly eight feet tall, sprung from the mouth of the lion on the wall. He was dressed completely in black and had a hood pulled over his head that concealed his face. On his hands were wicked-looking gloves that most surely were meant to inflict pain. It was covered in numerous little, sharp spikes from the knuckles to the elbow.

“We will return in one hour,” declared Mirë. She then took her brother’s proffered arm, and together they left the chamber. When the door closed behind them, both it and the net that ensnared Angwen, disappeared. The evil woman trembled in fear knowing that her own magicks were useless as long as she remained confined in that tomb-like room.

“As you’ve heard, I am Failo the Just, and I will be the one to extract the information that the Lord and Lady have requested of me,” revealed the huge man. The woman cowered in the corner as the huge form of Failo descended upon her…



Over one thousand miles to the west of Hildórien is a region known as the Hither Lands; the place that now comes into this tale, lies over one hundred miles to the south of the Inland Sea of Helcar. There, the region is barren and devoid of all vegetation and streams. It was a vast desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. This was the home of Thurin, a former ally of Melkor’s that revolted against the Dark Foe ages ago. So great was his fear of the wrath of Morgoth, that he hid himself in this desolate wasteland, demanding tribute from any that wished to cross his territory. Great and turbulent sandstorms are his specialty, the kind that can bury any man in a matter of seconds.

Seldom, did any wander into his domain, but those that attempted to undermine Morgoth’s reign of power were always most welcomed. That is why long ago, he allowed entry to a group of wicked Maiar that planned to seize the lordship of Endor (Middle-earth) from Melkor. Thurin liked the idea of distributing the power amongst many smaller kingdoms as opposed to the tyrannical regime that was now in place.

There were no structures located in this arid region except for one - a pyramid. The tall menacing building was, in fact, a tomb. It contained many chambers on several levels, but it was in the deepest subterranean vault that the ‘real’ Buffy had been imprisoned for many years.

She remembered nothing after getting hit by the dwarf’s throwing axe. When she awoke, she found herself naked and alone on the dust-covered floor of the pitch-black chamber. All the magic’s that Buffy had possessed had been quelled, and she could find no means of escape. She attempted to use her slayer strength to punch an escape route through the thick brick wall and was quite successful. That is, until she reached the wall of iron, something that her strength alone could not penetrate. The floor was made of thick stone that she only had the might to crack, but could not break through. The room was sealed shut.

Buffy sat on the floor, exhausted. Her knuckles were swollen, bruised, bleeding and probably broken. Without food and water, she no longer had the energy to continue to ‘beat’ her way out. All hope in finding a secret passageway had faded. She collapsed onto the ground, the realization that she was really trapped finally sinking in. If she had had the strength, she’d cry, not for herself, but for those that would inevitably suffer by her absence. Surely, Melkor was behind this new torment.


Chapter 32 - WRECKED

Angwen endured the torments of Failo for many years. One thing that she came to realize was: Failo’s bark was much worse than his bite! He was an amateur when it came to inflicting pain. She was given food, water and at times, allowed to rest in order to heal from the ‘mortal’ wounds that she had received. Not once, did he ever come close to breaking her. The Maiar at Folkvang did not have a clue about pain, nor how to dole it out properly. She could teach them a thing or two.

The only thing that she feared in that Blessed Realm was the possibility of the Slayer returning. While Angwen felt confident that she would never be found, there was still that nagging doubt in the back of her mind. The Maia did not truly know how many allies that Buffy had in Arda until after she had entered her body. That was the source of all her doubt. Maranwë Luinil had formed many bonds in Middle-earth. A great many people were willing to fight to the death if she gave the word, including some that now dwell in Angband. That’s what infuriated the Maia the most. The “bitch” had allies everywhere.

After she had finished eating, Angwen waited impatiently for one of the Maiar to arrive to take away her tray. She was used to that little ‘ritual’ at this point. For some reason, she had an overwhelming feeling that something odd was about to happen. Angwen could not convey what she felt into words, but it was in fact, what some call déjà vu.

When she heard the sound of the key unlocking the mystical door, she moved to the furthest corner, which was part of the procedure when anyone entered the chamber. To her amazement, Anairë crossed the threshold. She smiled to herself, knowing that her fortune was about to change. Never before had the white-haired Maia entered this chamber. Not once. Quickly, Angwen formulated a plan in her mind.

“I take it that everything was acceptable,” remarked Anairë after she had entered the room, the key clasped in her left hand.

Angwen snickered to herself. The former servant of Manwë spoke to her as though she were a houseguest, not a prisoner. If it were the other way around, Anairë would be damned lucky to receive a hefty serving of warg dung for her meal!

“The food was delicious, as always,” she replied in her kindest voice. Angwen then let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head against the stone wall.

“What troubles you?” asked the ever respectful white-haired Maia. It became apparent to Angwen that Anairë saw her as the ‘good’ Buffy, not as some prisoner that was locked in one of the Queen’s mystical dungeons.

This is going to be too easy, thought the evil Maia. “Oh, what I’d give for a breath of fresh air, or a chance to glance at the stars… or sun.” She shrugged her shoulders and added, “I’m not really sure if its day or night. Don’t get out much, nowadays.”

Anairë’s eyes scanned the room and her heart went out to the woman. She knew that it wasn’t the Queen, but it was still one of her kindred. After all, isn’t it Maranwë’s mantra to believe in forgiveness and redemption? She concluded in her mind. Surely, Folkvang of all places would remain free from evil. Unlike Valinor, Melkor had not marred this Blessed Realm. No blood had been spilled. That is, until now…

“It is not permissible for me to take you from this chamber,” answered Anairë after much thought. “But I will tell you that it is daytime and that the sun shines brightly today.”

Angwen’s face lit up. “The sun!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how I miss the sun! I can’t remember the last time I bathed in its rays.” Her eyes sparkled as she fixed her gaze on the holy Maia. “Do you remember all those times when I used to bathe naked on the roof of Sussrúmnir?” she questioned reminiscently. “It seems like it has been ages since I’ve felt such warmth on my skin.” Angwen held her exposed arms out before her. “And look how pale I’ve become? If I were only a bit taller, people might confuse me for elf… or an elfling,” she added with a laugh.

Anairë smiled. “I suppose there’d be no harm in a quick peek,” she surmised. “You do look rather ashen. A bit of sunshine may be just the thing to rejuvenate your soul.” She offered her right hand to Angwen. The evil Maia smiled warmly before forcefully snatching Anairë’s arm with both hands. She twisted it behind her back causing the holy Maia to cry out and drop the key to the floor. It was only a second later when a loud crack rang out in the chamber. Anairë’s neck had been broken. The limp form of the white-haired Maia fell onto the floor with a thud. Angwen picked up the key and hastily made her way to the door.

“You’re just like Manwë, Anairë. You are naught but a simple fool!” she said with a laugh as she imprisoned the holy fey in the dungeon. She hurried down the corridor, anxious for her magic’s to return. As she rounded the corner, she disappeared in a flash of blue light…



Now Maglor did not sit idly by while his beloved was missing. He and Maedhros had sent messengers throughout all of Beleriand informing them that an ‘evil’ Buffy was on the loose. Since Thingol refused to allow their messengers entry, Maglor sought the aid of his cousin, Finrod, who was always welcomed in Doriath. Finrod’s mother was Eärwen, daughter of Olwë, Thingol’s brother, and the children of his niece were the only Noldor allowed to cross the border of his land.

Both Maglor and Finrod had been close friends since the days of their youth in Valinor. The golden-haired Noldo had not forgotten the horrific deeds that Fëanor and his sons had committed against him and his kinfolk, but he had forgiven them. All of them. As far as Finrod was concerned, all wounds were healed when Maedhros renounced his claim to the kingship of the exiled Noldor. The House of Fëanor was ever after known as the Dispossessed because the lordship passed from their line to the second son of Finwë, Fingolfin. However, not all the Noldor had forgiven the sons’ actions.

“How can this be?” queried a worried Finrod. He had always thought highly of Buffy since their first meeting in Doriath, and their friendship had blossomed over the years. In such a short span of time, he had come to love her dearly.

“I don’t rightly know,” replied a frustrated Maglor. “All I can say is that the imposter is not my beloved Bellaseth. I have sent the doves as messengers, and only hope that they will find Luthor in time.”

“Luthor? Who is this Luthor?” asked the perplexed golden-haired Noldo. He had never heard the name before.

“Oh,” whispered Maglor. He had assumed that Buffy had spoken to Finrod about Luthor. It was now obvious that that was not the case.

“You can tell me anything, Kanafinwë,” reassured the son of Finarfin. “Whatever is said within this chamber will be kept between you and me. No one else will ever know, including my own brothers. That I will swear to you.”

Maglor was reluctant to reveal Buffy’s identity. He felt that it would be best if Finrod heard that revelation from her own lips, if or when that time ever arrived.

“I trust you like a brother, Findaráto,” he finally answered. “I can only tell you that Luthor is one of Bella’s kindred. He is Lord of her realm in the east.”

“I have only heard her speak of the east but I did not know that she had a realm there,” he said with surprise. “Have you ever been?”

“Yes, once,” he answered hesitantly. “But I will say no more. Forgive me, but I cannot betray Bella’s trust. Perhaps one day soon you will be having this conversation with her, not me.”

Finrod smiled. “Be at ease, Maglor. I hold no ill will towards you. Your loyalty to your future wife is both admirable and worthy of praise. We will speak no more of it. Nevertheless, I will speak with Thingol regarding the disappearance of Luinil and the malevolent double that has taken her place.” He sighed heavily before continuing. “Perhaps the wisdom of Melian will aid us in the search for Bellaseth. I deem that I should prepare to depart Minas Tirith as soon as possible.”

Maglor warmly hugged his cousin. “You know how much this means to me. I don’t think I can thank you enough. Bella has many friends in Menegroth, influential friends that will be most grieved to hear such disturbing news. I can only hope that they will put aside their differences and help. For her sake.”

“Where will I find you?” asked Finrod as he placed a comforting hand on Maglor’s shoulder.

“Ossiriand. Bella always comes back to Ossir. Always… or so Orchal says,” answered the dark-haired Noldo. “I will wait for her there.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Finrod said before leaving the chamber.

“Finrod?” called the dark-haired Noldo. “Remember, if any come across either Bella, hold her captive until I get there. I will not be deceived by the false one.” Finrod nodded his head and left the room.

Shortly thereafter, Maglor returned to Ossiriand. He refused to depart that land until Buffy was by his side.

One year turned into five, five into ten. Maglor was filled with such sorrow for Buffy. Often he was seen walking along the shores of Tol Galen, or sitting upon the cliffs that overlooked the mighty Gelion, singing songs of lamentation. He longed to see his beloved once again, to hold her in his arms, to feel her touch. It seemed to have become a fleeting dream, for his anguish grew with each passing year.

Many messengers passed through the doors of Denethor’s Hall in Lindon. It seemed that news about Buffy had indeed reached all of Beleriand. Maglor had spoken with the heralds of every elven realm in Beleriand, as well as the dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod. Never before had all the kingdoms of Middle-earth united for a single purpose. Unfortunately, it would be both the first and last time.



Twelve years after Buffy had gone missing, Luthor finally arrived at Lindecoa. It had taken years for the doves to find the Deeper Well, and he came as soon as he had heard the news. The Maia had left Dvalin in charge, despite his protests. The dwarf wanted to accompany Luthor to Buffy’s lands in Beleriand; he had never been there before. But the Maia knew that he would have to search the darkest recesses in Arda for the Slayer, and that was no place for anyone except himself.

“My dear friend,” said a worried Luthor as he quickly approached a sullen Maglor, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “What is this that I hear about Bella having a double?” he asked.

Maglor looked at Luthor with grief-stricken eyes. “Have a seat, Luthor, and I shall tell you all that I know,” declared the Noldo as they took their seats. While he told the story, many of the green-elves in Buffy’s Household looked at Luthor in awe. They knew of him, but this was the first time that they had actually seen Buffy’s “Middle-earth father,” as she had sometimes referred to him. All present could clearly see that he was truly one of the mighty Lords of the West. His outward appearance of an old man was an illusion that attempted to mask his power and strength. They treated him with the utmost respect, as they knew that his loyalty to their mistress was unyielding.

Luthor’s hands clasped the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He found Maglor’s tale most disturbing and could only hope that the ‘real’ Buffy was in Folkvang as Orchal had suggested. Unfortunately, his heart told him otherwise. When the messengers from Maglor had reached Luthor, he knew immediately that something was wrong with Buffy. He sensed that she was alone and in pain, but nothing else. He had no idea where she could be. The fact that there was an evil ‘Buffy’ running around in Beleriand was a secondary concern to him. The Lord of the Deeper Well’s priority was in finding Bellaseth Dagnir.

“I see your dilemma,” said Luthor after hearing Maglor’s story. “None here have the ability to travel to Folkvang in order to confirm that Bella is indeed there.” The room erupted into murmurings of agreement. Twenty-five of Buffy’s top chieftains had joined Maglor and Luthor in the large chamber.

“That is correct,” answered the Noldo. “I only hope that you will be able to verify whether she’s in Sussrúmnir or not.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you,” replied Luthor somberly. “I have never been to Folkvang and I do not know its location.”

“But you’re an Ainu! Can’t you utilize your magic’s to find it?” queried a heart-broken Maglor.

“It is not that simple, my dear Maglor,” answered the Maia. “You see… ”

Luthor stopped abruptly when Thranduil pushed the door open and came rushing into the room, laughing.

“Damn it, Thranduil!” shouted an angry Úrion. “We are holding a council. Take your mischief-making self out of here!”

Thranduil was out of breath and it became evident why this was so. Only a couple of moments later, Kit and Kat came dashing into the room and pounced on top of the elf. They had been playing a game of chase throughout the many hallways of Lindecoa.

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you Úrion?” asked the boy. He was sitting on the floor stroking both lions behind their ears. “It was only for a laugh.” A few days before, Thranduil had cut the legs off Úrion’s favorite chair in his study. When Úrion sat down with his cup of coffee, the chair collapsed to floor and the hot liquid scalded him. He was still livid over that.

“GET OUT, BOY!” barked Úrion in a severe tone.

“Let him be, Úrion,” said Maglor firmly. “He is the Prince and heir of the House of Greenleaf and has every right to be here.”

“He is still a child, Maglor. Thranduil has no business… ”

“I’m in agreement with Maglor,” chimed in Luthor. “Come here, young man. Let me get a good look at you.” Thranduil walked across the chamber to where Luthor sat, Kit and Kat were at his side. “Well, now,” started Luthor, as he looked the silver-haired elf over. “You are indeed a little rascal, aren’t you?” he queried with a smile.

Thranduil was puzzled by the old man. Círdan was the only old-looking person that he had ever seen and he was an elf. Luthor was altogether different.

“Who are you?” asked the elfling.

“My name is Luthor,” replied the Maia. Thranduil’s eyes lit up. He was part of Buffy’s Household and he knew about both Luthor and the Deeper Well.

“My Lord,” he said in his most respectful voice. He bowed his head, which was protocol when meeting a mighty lord. “It is an honor and privilege to make your acquaintance.”

A smiling Luthor turned his gaze to Úrion and said, “This is a fine young man. He shall become a great King one day.” He then looked back at the elfling. “I see that Bella’s lions have a new companion.”

“Yes, since Luinil has been gone, I’ve been keeping them company,” responded Thranduil as Kit playful nipped at his hand. “They’ve been great fun.”

“We’re getting off topic here,” interjected a frustrated Úrion. “We’re supposed to be finding a way to get to Folkvang in order to confirm that Bella is there. Instead, we’re watching the antics of the boy and the beasts!”

“Lighten up, Úrion,” spoke up Nestor. “It’s as Maglor said, the boy has every right to be here.”

Thranduil fell back to the floor when Kat threw her front paws on him. He laughed as he nuzzled his face in hers.

“Seems quite obvious to me,” the boy said as he rolled on top of Kat, only to have Kit nudge him off his mate. He laughed again. “Bella’s lions have been to Folkvang. Why don’t you send them?” he suggested as he resumed playing with Buffy’s kitties.

The room fell quiet with the exception of the noises coming from Thranduil and the lions. All the elves and Luthor eyed one another.

“I must say, that is a wonderful suggestion, young man,” laughed Luthor.

“You see, Úrion,” started Maglor. “It appears that young Thranduil was key to solving this riddle.” Úrion stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He did not hide his scorn for the boy.

“Happy to help out,” the elfling replied. “But I must say that Bella would hate to see all of you moping around here like this. She hasn’t nearly broken her record for being gone the longest yet. We still have another four months, three weeks and two days before she hits that mark.

“And if I recall correctly, I believe the Lady’s birthday is coming up soon. I say that we should throw a feast in her honor. Let us put aside our grief for one day and celebrate her life and heroic deeds. I’m sure that would please her very much,” added the elfling.

Maglor laughed heartily. “Out of the mouths of babes, they say. Indeed!” he laughed. “You are wise beyond your years, young Thranduil.”

“Not really,” he replied. “The lions don’t speak now, do they? I don’t know the runes of Daeron nor do I know the High Elven Tongue, but I reckon a letter of some sort will do the trick.”

Who would have thought that the solution to their problems would come from a forty-eight year old elfling!

Maglor rose from his seat and grabbed some parchment and an ink pen. “I’m convinced that Anno and Mirë will be able to read Quenya. We’ll put our request in writing and have the lions take it to Sussrúmnir,” said the Noldo hopefully.

While Maglor drafted the letter, Nestor left the chamber in order to find a pouch that could be tied to the neck of one of the lions. When he returned, Buffy’s future husband perused the letter one more time before sliding it into the pouch and securing it to Kat’s neck. It was decided that Thranduil should be the one to make the request of the cats since they seemed to be rather fond of him. The young elf did as he was told and soon the lions disappeared in a blink of an eye.

“Now, all we have to do is wait,” stated Maglor as he sat back down in his chair.

While they waited for the reply, Luthor remained at Lindecoa; Maglor gave him the grand tour. He couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed by that place, and a little envious. The fortress where he resided didn’t even come close to matching the beauty of Buffy’s dwelling on Tol Galen.

Two weeks later, the lions returned carrying the response. Maglor summoned Luthor and the chieftains to an emergency council. When all were present, he broke the seal and read the letter aloud:


“‘To Kanafinwë Makalaurë, son of Curufinwë Findaráto, beloved consort to the Holy Queen Maranwë Luinil,

On behalf of my sister and myself, we send our greetings to our future stepfather. Your letter troubles us so, as our mother currently sits atop her throne passing judgment on those that had been slain. She has been in that chamber for the past two years without respite! According to decree number thirty-seven: None may interrupt the Queen while performing her sacred duty unless they are of the race of the Valar or Eru himself! Mother wrote this herself years ago. There is a specific clause attached to this that excludes “all other races, known and not yet known.” We will not be able to speak with her until the last fey has passed through her Hall. We will notify you, at once, after we determine the truth of the matter.

With affection,

Anno Pythius & Mirë Delphi’”


Maglor re-read the letter one more time before placing it on the table. “It looks as if the twins will be of no help to us. Not for a while, at any rate,” he said with a sigh. “What course of action do we take now?”

“Hmm, I believe that the time has arrived for me to begin my search in the east,“ announced Luthor. “There’s a vast world out there, my friends, vast indeed! No easy task will it be to search every nook and cranny in Arda. I deem that it is an impossible feat, yet one that I must undertake.”

“I’m willing to go with you, Luthor,” offered Maglor.

“I know, my friend,” replied the old man. “But I’m afraid that you do not have the ability to travel by the roads that I must tread. Stay here. If the opportunity presents itself, Bella will return to you. I do not doubt that. I must bid you good people farewell as I have need for haste.” He rose from his seat; the others did the same. “A word, Maglor, if you will,” he remarked as he headed for the doors.

“What is it, Luthor?” asked the dark-haired Noldo when he reached the threshold.

Luthor linked his arm with Maglor’s and quickly headed down the hallway. When all were out of sight, he pulled the elf into an empty chamber.

“Why all the secrecy, Luthor?” queried a puzzled Maglor in a hushed voice.

“Who is this Úrion character?” the Maia asked in all seriousness.

“Úrion?” Maglor was quite taken aback by Luthor’s questioning of Úrion of all people. “Well, he is Ossir’s Minister of Finance and he is one of Bella’s most trusted councilors… ”

“I don’t like him,” interrupted Luthor. “I don’t like him one bit.” He locked his brilliant blue, wisdom-filled eyes on the Noldo. “There is darkness in him,” added the Maia.

“You said the same thing about me!” countered Maglor, slightly affronted.

“Oh, that was different,” said Luthor, waving his hand dismissively. “I like you, Maglor, and I trust you. If I did not, I can assure you, that you would not be with my Bella! I know that you have her best interests at heart. But that one… ” He chewed on his bottom lip before adding, “I do not trust him.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Maglor, still dumbfounded by Luthor’s observations.

“Keep an eye on him,” he answered as he started to open the door. “And keep an eye on the boy, too. My heart forebodes danger for Thranduil.”

Maglor smiled. “Thranduil has a fondness for dangerous escapades,” revealed the Noldo.

“Indeed!” replied Luthor. “Just the same. I’ll be in contact. Should you hear any news concerning Bella, please let me know as soon as possible.” He put his hand on Maglor’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is not always bliss to love a woman with great power. It will not be long before she earns the title Vala of War,” revealed the Maia. “Do not despair, Bella will return to you!”

“And so my heart tells me. I only fear what torments she’s being subjected to,” disclosed the Noldo sadly. “Every time I bend my will towards her, all I see is darkness.”

Luthor understood Maglor’s pain for he was going through the same thing.

“Then let us bring the Light to her. Farewell, Maglor, son of Fëanor,” said the Maia, as he embraced the Noldo.

“Be careful, Lord. May the blessings of the Valar be with you,” whispered Maglor in Luthor’s ear.

The old man gave a slight nod of his head before he took off down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Maglor stood there for a moment. He was still stunned by Luthor’s comments regarding Úrion. The Noldo knew that the elf could be a little abrasive, but he had demonstrated his devotion and loyalty to Buffy on numerous occasions. It was her decision to appoint him as the third highest-ranking official in Ossir’s government. Surely, Buffy trusted Úrion implicitly to grant him such power. And who was Maglor to question her authority in her own land? He would heed Luthor’s words but he was not ready to question the appointments made by his beloved.

Maglor acted on Thranduil’s suggestion about hosting a feast on Buffy’s birthday. Even though she was not present, thousands of elves from all over Ossir attended. For one day, everybody put aside their grief and honored Buffy, and all that she had accomplished since her arrival in Middle-earth. There was singing, dancing, storytelling, and contests of strength (another Thranduil suggestion). At the elfling’s urging, this would become an annual tradition in Ossir that would one day spread throughout all of Arda.

In the meantime, it was decided amongst Buffy’s chieftains that half of her Household would remain in Lindecoa and the other half would depart for Lindon. Those were the Slayer’s two favorite places in Ossir and she was bound to return to one or the other. Orchal was still acting as regent and took up her throne in Denethor’s House. Maglor remained behind in Lindecoa and saw to the running of Buffy’s Household on Tol Galen.

As the years continued to pass by, many messengers came and went. None had seen or heard any news regarding either Buffy in all of Beleriand. It would be another eight years before Buffy returned. That day is forever marked in the annals as one not to be forgotten.

Angwen materialized in Buffy’s bedchamber in Lindon. Her heart was pounding in her chest; she couldn’t believe that she had escaped Folkvang unscathed. She stood there, slightly disoriented, longing to speak with Úrion. After she had arrived at Denethor’s house, an ominous feeling crept into her heart. Angwen focused her energies on her lover, but she did not disappear. The residue of Buffy’s essence had in fact, finally left its hröa (body) completely. The evil Maia was stuck.

Knowing that her time was almost up, Angwen began rummaging through Buffy’s things. She wanted to change out of the rags that she now wore. Her anger and resentment grew even more when she saw all the beautiful things that Buffy had in her possession. While the Maia had always thought that she was lucky to have three outfits, the Slayer’s many wardrobes were full to capacity with lovely flowing gowns in a variety of colors and fabrics. Some were even adorned with jewels!

Despite the temptation to dress herself in one of the Vala’s exquisite gowns, she decided to dress entirely in black - leather pants, sweater and boots. The sun was already beginning to set and although the weather was temperate, Angwen felt a chill in the air. It was wintertime in Ossir, after all.

The evil Maia’s eyes scanned the room. She needed to arm herself before leaving the chamber, and what better place to look than the Slayer’s inner sanctum. Even though all of Buffy’s homes had armories and training rooms, she always kept weapons in her private chambers. Life’s lessons had taught her that long ago. Angwen sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the nightstand. She grabbed the handle and pulled too hard, causing both the drawer and its contents to spill out onto the floor.

“Damn it!” Angwen uttered as she crouched down and began picking up the items. Under some parchment, she found a wicked-looking dagger. “Ah, just what I’ve been looking for,” she said, unsheathing the weapon. Evil Buffy took a closer look at the blade; its beauty captivated her.

“Is someone in there?” she heard a voice call out from the adjoining room, startling the Maia. “Hello?”

It was Orchal! The Maia threw the sheath into the drawer and slid both under the bed. She had safely concealed the dagger in the waistband in the back of her pants as the door opened. “Is someone… ” started the silver-haired elf as he entered the room. He stopped when he saw Buffy jump to her feet. “Oh, my! Look who’s finally come home,” he said sarcastically.

Angwen trembled with fear. Did he know? Could he tell?

A large smile came to his handsome face before he continued. “It’d be nice of you to check in every now and again, you know.”

“Miss me?” she queried innocently.

He crossed the room in only a few strides and wrapped his arms around his dear friend. “I always miss you, you know that. You’ve had all of Beleriand in an uproar! Maglor, not the least!” He pulled out of the embrace, and grabbed Angwen’s hands.

The mere mention of Maglor’s name filled her with fear. She was confused that the elf was in Buffy’s realm. Hadn’t she just left him a few weeks ago at Himring? Did the Vala bestow special powers upon her lover that allowed him to travel by roads not normally taken by the children of Eru? The Maia was beginning to panic.

“Maglor’s here?” she queried uneasily.

“What’s wrong?” asked Orchal. Buffy was trying to free herself from his grip, which he playfully tightened. “Bella?” It was then that the elf saw something in her eyes, a shadow of darkness. It was only for a split second but it cast doubt in his heart. It was beginning to dawn on him that this was not the real Buffy but the imposter.

Orchal’s facial expression must have changed because the Maia became aware that Buffy’s close friend had recognized her for what she really was. Within a fraction of a second, she freed her right hand, grabbed the dagger from her waistband and plunged it deep into the elf’s chest. His face contorted into one of pain and shock, but he did not cried out.

“Guess again!” she mockingly answered before stabbing him again. “Luck is not on your side today, my friend,” added the evil Maia.

He stood there for several moments teetering from foot to foot, gasping for air. The elf’s eyes never left the Slayer and the image of her killing him was forever imprinted on his fey. The Light was quenched from his eyes as they rolled backwards and his body fell on Angwen. She knocked him aside letting his body fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

With her adrenaline pumping, she ran and grabbed some towels from the cabinet in the bathing chamber. Quickly, she wiped off her weapon and returned it to her waistband. Angwen looked down at Orchal’s body as a pool of blood formed beneath him. As she glanced around the room, she noticed that the door was still ajar. Immediately, she dashed across the chamber and closed it as quietly as she could. The Maia jerked up the rug by the door and threw it on the floor beside the dead elf. She then rolled him on to it, grabbed the towels and began cleaning up the mess. When she had completed that task, she tossed the bloody towels on top of Orchal’s body, rolled him up in the rug and slid him under the bed. Angwen returned to the bathroom and washed away all evidence of her evil deed.

The Maia was desperate to find her lover. After this incident, she was unsure about whether Buffy’s people would be able to see through her countenance or not. Angwen preened herself before the mirror, took a couple of deep breaths and then exited the chamber. She had to find Úrion. He was her only hope.

She breathed a sigh of relief every time she passed through a chamber that was unoccupied. The nerve-racking part was walking down the hallway. Angwen would peek in each room that she passed, hoping that Úrion would be behind the door. The Maia did not find her lover on that floor and had no other choice but to descend the staircase to the level below.

As Angwen descended the steps, Thranduil was climbing them. They met half-way up. “Lady Luinil,” he called out with glee.

“Out of my way, boy,” barked the Maia as she quickly pushed the young elf aside. She took the steps three at a time. Thranduil stood there for a moment. His eyes narrowed as he watched the woman disappear. Immediately, he ran upstairs and disappeared into one of the chambers.

Angwen was horrified that the boy would sound some type of alarm. She opened the first door that she came to and crept inside. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, panting. A smile came to her pasty face when she realized that she was in one of the Slayer’s training chambers. Weapons were everywhere. Some were displayed on the walls, and at one end of the room were several glass cases that were loaded with various tools of the trade. One weapon in particular caught her attention - Buffy’s scythe. It was attached to the far wall in a crisscross pattern with an axe. Without hesitation, she ran towards the weapon.

Only seconds later, the door flew open and Gúrchim along with the two dwarves, Drór and Ordon the Old entered. Buffy’s old friends, in anticipation of her upcoming birthday celebration, had wrought a couple of new weapons as a gift from the Lords of Belegost. There were placing them in her training room as opposed to her armories, to ensure that the Slayer would one day try them. They did not immediately notice Angwen’s presence.

The Maia perceived the intruders first and did not hesitate. In one hand, she wielded the axe; in the other was the scythe. The trio was so engrossed in their conversation that none saw her stealthily approaching. By the time that they had finally become aware of her presence, both the axe and the scythe were flying through the air. The weapons hit their mark and both dwarves fell to the floor.

An angry Gúrchim let out a cry as he picked up one of the axes and charged the evil Buffy.

“Bring it on!” she taunted. Her heart was racing.

“Death is upon you!” shouted Gúrchim as he swung the axe with all his might. Angwen ducked, grabbed the elf around the waist and knocked them both off balance. They hit the floor together, rolling several times, wrestling for the weapon in the councilor’s hand. The Maia managed to get the upper hand and found herself sitting atop the dark-haired elf, the weapon still clutched in both their grasps. Gúrchim had his arms stretched high above his head as Angwen tried to push the handle down to crush the elf’s throat.

All of the sudden, an arrow hit the woman just below her heart. She looked up to see Thranduil on bended knee, re-loading his crossbow. Angwen had to think fast. Her glaring eyes looked down at the councilor for a second before she mustered all her strength and pulled the weapon from his grip. She brought her head crashing down on the elf’s, momentarily stunning him. That allowed her a few seconds to break the arrow that protruded from her chest.

This time, she heard the click of the trigger mechanism of the crossbow and dived on top of the elf as the arrow whizzed over her head. She tried to use her weight to subdue the powerful elf underneath her, but it was impossible.

Angwen managed to get the elf in a chokehold and then positioned him so that he acted as a shield from Thranduil’s repeated attempts to shoot her. She held the axe to Gúrchim’s throat.

“Stop it, boy or the elf gets it!” she shouted.

Thranduil saw the look of terror on the councilor’s face. Even though Buffy’s form was much smaller, the Maia was able to overpower and subdue the elf.

“Put the weapon down!” she ordered.

“Don’t… don’t do it,” sputtered Gúrchim. “I’m good as… dead any way.”

The elfling was frightened. He didn’t know what to do. Everything was happening so fast.

“Put it down, boy!” the evil Buffy barked as she inched forward with her hostage, the blade of the axe now drawing blood. “I’ll kill him!” Thranduil slowly put the weapon on the floor. “Kick it over!” He did as he was told. When he kicked the weapon, it slid across the wooden floor and came to a halt halfway between them.

“Run… ” started Gúrchim before his words were replaced with gurgling sounds. The Maia pushed the blade deeper into his neck, nearly severing the elf’s head from his body. A stream of blood gushed forth from the deadly wound.

“You’re next!” she hissed through gritted teeth as she shoved the elf’s body to the floor. The woman was covered in blood although it was only visible on her hands and face. Blood dripped from the blade as she headed for the unarmed elfling. “Think you’re a man, Thranduil,” she continued.

The elfling was paralyzed by fear. His thoughts turned to the real Slayer and immediately he felt his courage return. He dove towards the dwarves and pulled the scythe from Ordon’s lifeless body. At that moment, the evil Maia was at his feet, the axe was coming down. He flipped onto his back, holding the scythe’s wooden handle in front of him, preparing for the inevitable blow. He faced his greatest fear with bravery.

“I believe in you, oh mighty Maranwë, holiest of the Valar!” cried out the elfling. He knew for sure that the axe would cut the handle in two, and then him!

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Kit leapt atop the woman sending her and her weapon to the floor only inches from Thranduil’s weapon. The elfling heard the sound of the axe sliding across the floor. He got to his feet and saw the woman wrestling with the lion. Kat then appeared at his side and started pushing the boy towards the exit. Thranduil could not take his eyes off evil Buffy and the lion. He stood there, resisting the powerful nudges of Kat as he saw the woman pull a dagger from her pants. His jaw dropped when he witnessed Kit chomping down on the armed hand and the ear-piercing scream that the Maia let out.

Angwen used her magic’s to summon the axe back in her left and only hand. She was crying in pain as she hit the lion on the side of the head with the broad side of the blade. The dazed lion went flying about fifteen feet. The Maia’s stump was bleeding profusely and with Thranduil still standing; she didn’t have a chance to tend to it.

“No more games, boy. You think you’re a man. Well, then you can die like one,” she hissed as tears streamed down her blood-streaked face.

“I’m… I’m not afraid of you… you… skanky ho!” shouted the elfling. He had heard Buffy use the highly offensive term to describe one of her old enemies, Glory. Kat growled ferociously at the Maia and moved in front of the boy.

Angwen was in so much pain, she just wanted to get out of there. She knew that others had heard all the commotion, and that it would be only a matter of minutes before they arrived in full force. The lioness continued hissing and growling as she protected the elfling. The Maia charged at them both and Kat leapt at the woman. Angwen did a somersault over the creature and landed in front on Thranduil. The boy quickly swung the scythe with all his strength. She ducked, which the elf expected. He then kicked her bleeding stump and the woman instinctively dropped her weapon and grabbed the throbbing appendage.

“Not too bright, are you?” queried Thranduil condescendingly.

The fire within the Maia burned ever the greater at his words. The pain was nearly unbearable and now she was being subjected to the taunts of a mere child. She backhanded the boy with all her force sending him flying a good thirty feet before his head slammed into the corner of one of the cabinets. He fell to the floor unconscious. The lions now stood side-by-side as the Maia backed slowly towards the door. She grabbed the crossbow off the floor and aimed it at Kit. She pulled the trigger; the cats vanished in a blink of an eye. The arrow flew across the room and became imbedded into the wall. Angwen turned round and round, looking for the beasts to jump out at her. They were nowhere to be seen, so she took off out the door.

It was only a few moments later when the whining Maia ran into her lover in the hallway. Úrion nearly fainted when he saw her. His eyes saw the trail of blood on the floor and he quickly grabbed the woman and shook her violently.

“What the hell have you done?” he asked through clenched teeth. His anger surpassed his compassion.

“Help me, Úrion,” she pleaded. “Please! I swear I’ll listen to you from here on out. Just get me out of here. Please!” she cried.

He wrapped an arm around Angwen and quickly took her up the stairs to the floor above. Úrion uttered curses at her as they made their way to Buffy’s private chambers. Tears of pain continued to spill down her face. They had no effect on her lover.

“How dare you show your face here!” he shouted once they were safely locked in Buffy’s bedchamber, the scene of the first murder. He didn’t let her answer. He continued ranting as he threw a small wooden box at her. Angwen hurriedly opened it and smeared the yellowish looking ointment onto her still bleeding stub. Úrion used one of Buffy’s scarves to make a tourniquet. His only thought was getting Buffy’s doppelganger out of the house before anyone could link her to him.

“Maranwë would most definitely kill me if she knew that I gave this to you,” revealed Úrion as he helped put Buffy’s falcon feathered coat on the evil Maia. “Once you do the top button, you’ll change into the bird. Fly south. Far south. And wait to hear from me.” He helped with the buttons. “And Angwen, if I see you in Beleriand again, I will dismember you piece by piece. You cannot fathom the kind of pain that I can inflict!” She saw the fire in his eyes, and only nodded in agreement. A moment later, the Maia transformed into a falcon. Úrion opened the door to the porch and let her fly out. Angwen never set foot in Beleriand again.

Úrion left the door open and walked back to where the blood trail ended. He could hear the sound of a distant scream and then the rumblings of many voices on the level below. He let out a heavy sigh as he unsheathed the dagger on his belt. After taking a deep breath, he thrust the weapon into his own stomach. Úrion moaned slightly before positioning himself on the floor. He smeared the pools of blood on the floor with his legs so that it looked like he had put up a struggle. It would only be a matter of minutes before the others followed the trail of blood that led to his wounded body. Úrion deemed that this stunt would cover his ass…



Meanwhile, the ‘real’ Buffy was still imprisoned in the darkened pyramid in the far east. The suffering that she had endured was a true testament to her strength. With the slow passing of years, the Slayer withered down to nothing more than skin and bones. No matter how much she prayed for death to release her from her current torment, her body still lingered on. She was so weak that she could no longer sit up. Hope had faded long ago, that is, until a strange series of events occurred.

The first thing that the Slayer had noticed, and it was not long before she was rescued, was the cooing of the doves. Her mind was so hazy that she could not clearly make out their messages, but the sound of their voices was like music to her ears. They renewed her hope.

Since Buffy was unable to perceive time in any fashion, it was deemed that shortly after the arrival of the doves, they departed once again. That’s when the violent storms erupted. Buffy could hear the howling of the wind followed by loud rumblings deep in the earth. When it turned into a full blown earthquake, the Slayer’s despair grew even more. Earthquakes always forebode doom for the Slayer.

Fragments of brick that Buffy had at one time loosened had fallen from the walls as the rumblings continued beneath her. That was followed by loud banging noises that came from the chamber below. Someone was in the pyramid! At long last, Buffy felt that the time had finally arrived and someone, perhaps her knight in shining armor, had come to rescue her. Unbeknownst to the Slayer, she had to be imprisoned in this hell hole for 7,326 days, but this would be the last of those days.

A large section of the floor began to rise. A brilliant orange light beam shot through the opening causing Buffy to shield her eyes with a skeletal arm. The light burned her eyes terribly. Regardless of that pain, her heart rejoiced that she was about to be freed. That is, until she heard a voice say, “Melisse… ”


Chapter 33 - OLDER AND FAR AWAY

Buffy was horrified when she heard Morgoth’s voice. She only hoped that he would show some mercy and kill her quickly. Nothing was worse than being trapped in a withered body. In all the Slayer’s years of life, no pain or heartache could compare to the bitter experience that she had suffered over these last twenty some odd years. Nothing!

Her body started trembling from the gust of cool air that had entered the chamber from the enormous opening in the floor. It had been somewhat stifling in the pyramid, and the sudden change in temperature was affecting the Slayer dramatically. By the sound of Melkor’s approaching footsteps, she could tell that he was in his ‘monstrous’ incarnation. Buffy continued to shield her eyes when she felt his enormous form beside her.

“Melisse,” he repeated. “What have they done to you?”

Huh? Thought the Slayer. Maybe she was having another ‘delusional’ moment, but to her, his voice sounded full of empathy. She felt him place something over her naked body, a blanket or cloak, before lifting her up in his arms. Buffy moaned softly. When the fabric touched her skin, it felt like thousands of razor blades slicing her flesh. The pain was so intense that she blacked out. Morgoth carefully wrapped her up. He was shocked when clumps of her once beautiful hair came out by the handfuls.

“I’ll always find you, my love. Always,” he whispered. Melkor Bauglir then jumped through the hole and headed down the secret passageway. “Destroy it!” he ordered the Balrogs that had accompanied him.

When their master was safely some distance away, his servants used their mystical whips to bring down the pyramid, thus closing the Hellmouth on which it stood. Thurin and his minions had barely escaped the destruction of their lands.



It wasn’t until Buffy was in Angband that she regained consciousness. For the first time in years, the Slayer felt no pain. Her body was numb. She lay there with her eyes closed; all she heard was the popping sounds from what she assumed was a fire. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and it took a few minutes for it to clear up. That’s when she saw Morgoth sitting beside the bed; her hand clasped between his two blackened ones.

“You’re awake, at last,” he said joyfully.

Buffy was flummoxed by his strange behavior. She was so weak that she was unable to vocalize her thoughts, but that did not mean that Morgoth could not understand them.

What have you done to me? She asked in her mind. The Slayer’s body was bandaged from head to toe with the exception of her eyes and mouth. She looked like a mummy. The cloth strips had a pungent odor that lingered around her body.

“I am healing your wounds, Melisse,” he replied softly. “The bandages have been soaked in a mixture of opiates and mineral oils that will restore the health of your skin. You have many deep sores that need mending. I will see to it that you are healed, personally.”

He didn’t know it, but Buffy was scowling at him beneath the layers of bandages. So many questions ran through her mind.

Why did you imprison me? What did you do to my powers? Why am I… Morgoth cut her thoughts off.

“Shh, calm down, my love,” he said as he kissed her bandaged hand tenderly. “I had nothing to do with your imprisonment! That I swear to you,” he said persuasively. “I love you. I could never do anything that vicious to my beloved. Ever.” Buffy snickered weakly. “When the rumor that you had disappeared reached me, I did not hesitate to send forth my spies to look for you. When that failed, I took it upon myself to join the hunt… and it was I who found you! So frail was your condition that it filled my heart with such sorrow that I had wept. It was then that I vowed that I would do everything in my power to heal your wounds, and seek vengeance against the culprits behind that malicious act,” he added as he continued to caress her hand.

“I will always find you, Melisse. Do you not remember me telling you that no barriers will separate us?”

Buffy was puzzled by his comments. While she knew that Melkor was one who took pleasure in mixing lies with truth, she perceived that he was speaking truthfully.

I remember, she answered. She locked her eyes on his fair form. If you didn’t do this to me, then who did? She queried.

He let out a heavy sigh. “That I do not know, but I promise you, that I will find out. And whoever is behind this will pay dearly. That is another vow that I will make to you,” replied Melkor. “Since you’re awake, we need to see if we can get some food in you. I shan’t be long,” he added as he placed a kiss on her forehead before leaving the chamber.

Melkor? She called after him. He stopped and faced the Slayer.

“What is it, my love?” he queried.

Kill me. Please,” she requested in a faint voice. Buffy didn’t see how she could possibly recuperate from this ordeal. She knew that it would be agonizing, and preferred dying so that she could remake her own body.

“I cannot do that, Melisse,” he replied in a somber tone. “You do not yet have the strength to remake your flesh, but do not fret, I will help you.” Melkor gave her a smile before departing the chamber. She let out a heavy sigh knowing that she had only moved from one prison to another.

After he left the room, a gloomy Buffy finally took in her surroundings. She was relieved that she was not in Morgoth’s bedchamber. The Slayer did not trust the Dark Foe, but at this point, she was powerless to do anything about it. As soon as she was strong enough, she’d escape. She did it before and surely, she could do it again. There was no way on Eru’s green earth that she would become his ‘bitch’ again. One demon child was one too many.

True to his word, Morgoth returned carrying a tray in his hands. None of his servants entered the chamber, but Buffy saw many standing outside the room in the hallway. He placed the tray on the bedside table and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He picked up the steaming bowl and turned towards Buffy.

“Let us start with some broth,” suggested Melkor, as be brought a spoonful of the brownish-colored liquid to her lips.

Buffy tightly pressed them together. Do you think I’m freakin’ stupid? I’m not eating that! It’s probably poisoned or… or enchanted or something, she said defiantly in her mind.

Morgoth chuckled, taking care not to spill the contents of the spoon on his beloved. “I assure you, Melisse, that the broth is not poisoned.” Buffy tightened her lips even more. “You do not believe me,” continued Melkor, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. The Slayer’s eyes answered that question loud and clear: hell no! His smile widened. “I shall prove to you that my intentions are honorable,” he said before slurping the liquid from the spoon. “See. It is not poisoned. You need to eat. Come now.” He refilled the spoon and brought it to her mouth. Buffy obediently accepted the proffered soup. It was the strangest sensation to feel the warm liquid sliding down her throat. She was amazed that that one spoonful of broth had managed to awaken her dormant taste buds.

Tastes vitaminy, she commented as she licked her lips, eager for more.

“I have enriched it in order to provide you with the nourishment that your body needs,” Morgoth replied as he continued to feed her. “It will hasten your recovery.”

Apparently, neither one of them had considered that it had been a really long time since the Slayer had last eaten anything. Even though she gladly consumed the broth, her body wasn’t too keen on keeping said broth down. She vomited all over Morgoth. When her stomach was emptied, she continued to suffer from the ‘dry heaves.’ Melkor then had one of his servants retrieve a tonic from his stores to settle Buffy’s stomach. It would be a painfully slow recovery.

Six days later, the bandages were finally removed. Her skin appeared to resemble that of a newborn’s; it was pink and supple. The sores that had covered Buffy’s body had indeed been healed by Melkor’s ‘secret’ remedy. But the Slayer was still greatly disturbed by the frailness of her body. Despite her pleas, Morgoth refused to present her with a mirror. Losing all her muscle mass and hair (it had fallen out), was a tough pill to swallow, but she had an overwhelming desire to see how grotesque her actual appearance had become. No matter how much she persistently asked, her request was denied time and time again. Buffy concluded that she must have looked hideous. That would explain why Morgoth was working so diligently to nurse her back to health; he must have been disgusted by her appearance.

It took nearly two weeks before the Slayer was able to keep food down and start gaining some weight. Her weight had dwindled down to a measly seventy-eight pounds, and her muscles had atrophied so badly that she could not walk yet. Buffy literally had to relearn how to do the simplest of tasks. Regaining her powers was at the bottom of her list. She concentrated all her efforts on getting healthy so that she could return to her one true love, Maglor.

Morgoth’s waiting on her hand and foot was quite strange, but not once did he make any type of demand or threat; he was actually rather pleasant. Melkor even provided her with the motivation to endure the rigorous therapy sessions that he himself had designed. But do not think that the Slayer wasn’t skeptical of his intentions. She knew that he had to have some ulterior motive and that it would surface soon enough.

After five weeks, the Slayer’s weight had reached a paltry ninety pounds but she felt that she was strong enough to travel. Neither her strength nor magical powers had returned, but her heart ached to see her loved ones back home. Her love for Maglor and her people roused her to take action, weak or not. Buffy knew that she would only find ‘true’ healing back home in Ossir.

The Slayer had spent all of her time confined to her personal chamber preferring not to wander about in Melkor’s house of horrors. She knew that she was unable to help save those poor souls that were enduring their own torments deep in the bowels of Angband. Buffy didn’t want to happen upon some abused elf in one of the many passageways, so she refused to leave her chamber, until now. Perhaps she was having a ‘dumb blonde moment,’ or perhaps it was the effects of her imprisonment, but Buffy decided to approach Morgoth and ask him if he would release her.

Immediately, the Slayer noticed that she didn’t hold the same sway over the servants as she had last time when she was bewitched. There were guards posted outside her door, and they informed her that she was not allowed to move freely about the fortress without Morgoth. Buffy instructed the Balrogs to take her to their master. She was then taken to the great hall where he sat on his mighty throne in all his demonic glory, the bright jewels of Fëanor burned brightly on his brow.

“Melisse,” he started in a cheerful voice. Buffy found it strange to see him in that form, especially with that look in his eyes. “It is good to see you up and about. It seems that your strength is slowly returning.”

“Yeah,” she replied before clearing her throat. “That’s why I came to see you. I want to go home,” she said. Her voice sounded so small and many of the occupants in the chamber began to snicker and laugh.

“Silence,” ordered Morgoth. The room fell quiet. A small smile came to his face as he fixed his eyes on the Slayer. “I do not think that you are ready to depart these lands, my dear. It is mid-winter and you do not have the strength to make such a long journey.”

“I feel I’m ready,” she countered as cordially as possible. “If you could provide me with a horse, some furs and food for the trip, I should make it alright.”

“That is a bold request, Melisse, and one that is… costly,” answered Melkor.

“I’ll… I’ll pay you. When I get home, whatever you want… I’ve got gold or silver, jewels. Name it and it’s yours,” offered the Slayer. “I promise I’ll deliver the goods.”

“Hmm,” he began as he clasped his blackened hands together. “What I truly want, you did not mention.” Buffy shuddered at the thought. He studied her for several minutes before he spoke again. “I will grant your prayer.” She stood there in absolute shock as Morgoth ordered his servants to gather the items that the Slayer had requested.

An hour later, Buffy was escorted by a group of demonic creatures through the tunnel beneath Thangorodrim to its southern gates. Once outside, she discovered that the weather was atrocious! It was frigid, snowing and the wind blew from the northeast with such ferocity that the Slayer contemplated turning back. She figured that her safest bet was going to Himring, which was the closest realm of her lover’s kin. Surely, she would find welcome there.

The horse that she was riding seemed more eager to leave the Dark Lands than Buffy. She had only gone a couple of miles when she was bucked off the beast, who then took off with all her provisions. As the Slayer lay in the snow, she looked up at the heavens as the flurries continued to fall from the sky.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she queried aloud. She slowly got to her feet. Buffy was so screwed. There was no possible way that she that could continue the journey without food. Even though the Slayer was wrapped in furs, she still found herself shivering from the cold. With no body fat, there was no insulation to really protect her from the weather.

It was not long afterwards, that an embassy was sent from Angband to bring the Slayer back. Buffy had no other choice but to climb atop a warg and retreat to the fortress of Morgoth. It was unfortunate timing though. At that very moment, high above them flew Thorondor, mightiest of Manwë’s eagles, and with his keen eyesight, he watched with amazement as the Vala of Love willingly entered the Dark Lands. He perceived that the former lovers had indeed reunited and formed an alliance at long last. Quickly he headed to Valinor in order to deliver the grim news to the Powers, the northeastern winds hastening his pace.

With a heavy heart, Buffy entered Angband once again. She had no other choice but to wait until she was strong enough to survive in the wild. It didn’t help matters any that her powers had not returned, but the Slayer didn’t want to wholly rely on them either. Wits and strength had been the key to overcoming the many obstacles in her life. She couldn’t depend on magics to save her in every instance; they proved to be too unreliable.

Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that Morgoth knew that her attempt to leave would fail. It now dawned on her that he seemed all too willing to let her depart, which was very unlike him. She would have to bide her time until she could find a weak link in his Household.

Morgoth held a great feast later that night and ordered Buffy to attend. Normally, she would have refused, but she thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to see if she could find another ‘Luthor’ to aid her in her eventual escape. Her hopes were soon crushed when Melkor insisted that she sit next to him as opposed to the opposite end of the table. This lessened her chances of finding a minion with wavering loyalty towards the Dark Foe.

Regardless, Buffy discovered many new faces in Melkor Bauglir’s hierarchy. She was taken aback to see that several of the demons that she and Morgoth had created on her last visit now held high positions within his realm.

“I see that you’ve noticed some of our offspring at the board,” he had said after they had begun the meal. He looked down the long table and nodded approvingly as he chewed his victuals. “You were essential, Melisse. Never would I have been able to put such fair faces on evil without you.” Alas, he spoke truly.

Many of those ‘offspring’ were seated at Melkor’s table; the beautiful ones had the ability to shape-shift. Some resembled elves, some men. These good-looking demons possessed hearts that were imbued with coldness, cunning and cruelty. Morgoth treasured them, for they served his purposes well. It would not be long before they entered Middle-earth with the sole purpose of earning the trust of its denizens, only to betray them. Buffy remembered all too well that that was the reason why they were brought into existence in the first place. What she didn’t know was that Morgoth had already sent his first embassy of spies into Beleriand, and they had already begun to integrate themselves with the elves in the various lands, including her own.

There were also those seated at the table that looked vicious and intimidating; one glance at them would instill fear into the hearts of those of the lesser races. Yet Buffy noticed something peculiar about these monsters, even from afar. Their hearts were not as cold as their brethren. There was an air of goodliness about them that had to come from her essence. Even though she was bewitched and doing evil deeds at that time, somehow Buffy was able to pass on to these creatures some of her own positive traits. But what really floored her was the fact that Morgoth didn’t seem to have a clue. He couldn’t perceive this ‘weakness’ in them. Finally, things seemed to be looking up for the Slayer.

After the meal, Morgoth rose from his seat and offered his hand to Buffy. He had never done that before, but she reluctantly took it due to his recent acts of kindness.

“There’s something I want to show you, Melisse,” he said as they left the chamber. Her heart was racing as they headed down passageway after passageway. They finally came to a large room constructed entirely from black marble - the entrance to his private chambers. Buffy definitely was hesitant to continue any further.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! Why don’t I wait here while you get that thing you want me to see, and bring it back here,” she suggested as she pulled her hand from his grasp.

Morgoth looked at her with amusement. “You still do not trust me,” he commented as he returned to his ‘fair’ form for the first time since they had eaten.

“That’s right,” she replied as she folded her skeletal arms across her chest. Buffy’s attempt at being intimidating was too laughable in her current state; it only amused the evil Vala more.

“That is good,” replied Melkor, nodding approvingly at her response. “I could have crushed you a million times over since I’ve brought you here, I’m not about to start now. You are the mother of my only child, Melisse. Do you think that does not account for anything?” he asked. Buffy didn’t respond. “And I must say that I’ve noticed that you haven’t mentioned our daughter since you’ve arrived at my fortress. Do you not care about our child… or is it that you only care for the twins you’ve had with my former servant, Marto?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open when she heard that. A cold chill swept over her body causing her to quiver. “How in the hell do you know about them?” she queried in an alarmed voice. She was freaking out over that revelation.

Morgoth chuckled. “I know everything that you’ve done. We are bound together, Melisse,” he reminded her. “I deem that you truly do not understand the significance of that, yet.” He put his blackened hands on her shoulders before continuing. “I know everything from Sussrúmnir to the Deeper Well to your upcoming wedding with Maglor, son of my bitter foe.” He softened his tone before he added, “But I don’t care about that. Not now, at any rate. There’s something of the utmost importance that I want to share with you. You’re entitled to know… since you helped in the making. Come with me. I hold true to my word. No harm will come to you while you’re in Angband.” His eyes seemed to be pleading with her.

“No funny business,” she answered wearily. “And no touching,” she added as Morgoth went to take her hand again.

“As you wish,” he replied. He opened the door to the spiral staircase. “Lady first,” offered Melkor. Buffy slowly ascended the stone stairs. By the time she reached Morgoth’s chamber, she was utterly exhausted. He helped her to one of the couches in his sitting room before retrieving a roll of parchment. He took a seat next to the Slayer, unrolled the scroll and laid it upon their laps. It was a map of Arda, but unlike anything that Buffy had ever seen before. Actually, she had only seen maps of Beleriand, none which were as detailed as this one.

“It’s a work of art,” muttered the Slayer under her breath. “The details… How’d you do this?” she queried.

He smiled proudly before answering. “I have worked on this for many years now, but that’s not what I want you to see. Take a closer look,” instructed Morgoth.

Buffy’s eyes scanned the parchment. That’s when she noticed these odd flame-looking markings all over the map. She pointed to one located in Angband. “What does that mean?” she asked, slightly bewildered.

“Do you not know? Come on, Melisse, of all people you should know,” Melkor replied with an air of surprise to his voice.

As she looked at the markings again, it finally dawned on her what she was actually seeing. “Oh, God,” she began as her gaze shifted to Melkor. “These are Hellmouths, aren’t they?”

“Ah, yes. You are correct, my dear,” Morgoth answered delightedly. His smile widened even more and for the first time since she had arrived here, she saw a sparkle in his eyes. He was excited. “They are more than just gateways to Hell; they are the gateways to other dimensions… ”

As he prattled on, Buffy recalled her last battle in ‘modern’ times when she and the other Slayers fought Morgoth’s armies in Cleveland. She saw herself running towards Willow’s portal, and then felt herself being pulled backwards through the Hellmouth into Middle-earth. The Slayer already knew this stuff, but Melkor had only recently discovered this new phenomenon. She was brought out of her reverie when she heard Morgoth say the following words:

“I have learned to master the art of traveling from Hellmouth to Hellmouth. That is how I was able to find you, Melisse,” said the evil Vala. His tone turned solemn before he continued. “Your own magics were used against you… as were mine. That strange structure where you were held captive… ”

“Was on a Hellmouth,” Buffy whispered, finishing his sentence.

“Yes,” he simply replied.

The Slayer sat there, totally dumbfounded. Who would go to such lengths to use Buffy’s own powers against her and why? Her eyes glanced back down at the map. To her horror, she counted over fifty Hellmouths in Beleriand alone! There were four Hellmouths in Melkor’s territory, and the Slayer couldn’t help but notice that two bordered Ossir, one to the north, the other to the west. They were everywhere. It then occurred to her that Beleriand was sitting on top of a time bomb. A time bomb that she and Melkor had created together. In that moment, she came to realize that sometime in the future, this part of Middle-earth would be obliterated from the face of Eä. Buffy’s eyes welled with tears as she became consumed with guilt. She shifted her gaze to the east. A tear fell from her eye when she noticed that Illyria’s realm was also located on a Hellmouth.

“I did not mean to upset you,” said Melkor as he pulled the map away before her tears could smudge it. He put his hand on her knee in an attempt to comfort her. “That was not my intention. I want to share this with you. You have a right to see the things that I’ve seen. I want to show it to you… to take you to worlds that you couldn’t even fathom.” His eyes were really sparkling now. “Let me you take you there… ”

“I don’t want to go. I want to go home to the people I love and who love me,” she whined as the tears spilled down her face. What the hell was Morgoth thinking? Buffy didn’t love him and there was no way in hell that she was going to take some trip with him to some mystical realm.

“I’m afraid that you’re in no position to argue,” he sternly replied. His tone had totally changed. Buffy assumed that his patience with her was running out. “You will go with me to these places because I say so. I am Lord of Arda and you cannot contest my will.” He stood and helped Buffy to her feet.

“You mean we’re going now?” she asked in disbelief. “I’m obviously in no shape to travel.”

“You didn’t say that a few hours ago. Let us go,” he replied before changing into his monstrous form. His bulky arms picked the Slayer up and he proceeded down the spiral staircase. When they arrived at that bottom-most chamber in Angband, they were greeted by an assembly of demons. It appeared that there would be many accompanying Buffy and Melkor on this trip. She remained passive, in his arms as silent tears streamed from her eyes. She couldn’t imagine what new horrors awaited her.

Sauron performed the spell to open the portal. One hundred demons entered, followed by Melkor and Buffy, and then another hundred demons. The sensation was as Buffy remembered except that she had no need to worry about staticy hair; all she had was peach fuzz. Even though Morgoth was new to the world of inter-dimensional travel, he damn sure managed to land gracefully on the other side. Something that Buffy had always found extremely difficult.

When the Slayer saw that new world, she couldn’t help but smile. Her smile was soon replaced by muffled laughter as she buried her face in Melkor’s tunic. As she glanced around again, she couldn’t contain her amusement any more. For the first time in years, Buffy was laughing hysterically. Morgoth and his followers looked at her as if she were consumed by some madness. They were unsure how to react.

“What is it?” questioned Melkor, half-laughing himself as his eyes scanned the landscape. “What is it that you find so amusing?”

Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes. “Let’s go,” she suggested. “It smells horrible here.” There really wasn’t anything of worth in that land unless one were obsessed with small crustaceans. Anya was right. There was a world with nothing but shrimp. The Slayer pinched her nose as she beat on Morgoth’s shoulder encouraging him to leave that smelly world. It was awful.

Melkor ordered his cronies to go back into the portal. They entered in the same order that they had arrived, and journeyed to the next land. Buffy’s reaction was quite the opposite when they reached their next destination.

“Put me down! Put me down!” she instructed Melkor, wriggling to get free. He set her on the ground. The Slayer shielded her eyes as she gazed towards the heavens. Not one, but two suns burned brightly in the clear blue sky. Buffy was in awe. They stood amidst a rolling valley of pastureland dotted with a variety of huge shade trees: oak, elm, maple and sycamore. “Pylea,” she uttered under her breath.

“What was that?” queried Morgoth. “Pylea? You’ve been here before, I take it.”

“Huh?” Buffy was taking it all in. Her eyes surveyed the landscape as she spoke. “Oh, no. I knew some people that had been here before … long ago.”

It turned out that Melkor brought her here because of her love of the sun. He had thought that since this place had two, she would be doubly pleased. And she was. It had seemed like ages since she felt its warmth on her skin. It was delightful! Buffy could never have imagined that that excursion would have brought her any happiness; it was the first time she had experienced any since her imprisonment. She lay on the soft grass and basked in the suns’ rays of warmth, paying no mind to what the others were doing.

Buffy had no idea that Melkor had planned on them visiting that dimension for one week. While his servants were busying themselves with assembling camp, Morgoth took off over one of the hills and disappeared for a time.

“You’re in my light,” Buffy had said when she didn‘t feel the sunbeams any more.

“There’s something I want to show you, Melisse,” answered Morgoth who had reverted back to his ‘fair’ form. The Slayer looked up at him with squinted eyes. “I assure you that you will be most pleased,” he replied, with his hands held out. Buffy grabbed them and Melkor pulled her to her feet.

“My Lord, Lady,” started an orch that was carrying a tray with a bottle and two goblets. “Would you care for some wine?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied Buffy. Morgoth filled a goblet and handed it to her before filling his own. He grabbed the bottle and he and the Slayer took off over one of the hills. “Ooh, that’s so good,” she said after taking a drink. “So, where are we going?” she asked as they neared the top of the hill.

“You’ll see,” he answered. Buffy’s eyes didn’t have to search the landscape long to see what Morgoth wanted to show her - a gorgeous crystal clear river that dropped over a forty foot bluff. At the bottom of the falls was a large pool surrounded by boulders of varying sizes. It was so picturesque that the Slayer yearned to sit on one of those rocks with her feet dangling in the cold water. Pylea was like heaven when compared to the likes of Angband; it was untainted and beautiful.

After Buffy found a flat rock that bordered the pool, she pulled off her boots and plunged her feet into the cool water. She drained her cup as Melkor sat beside her. “This is so pretty; feels like summer,” observed the Slayer before refilling her goblet.

“Do you want to go for a swim?” he asked.

“Hmm, no I don’t think so,” she replied lazily.

They sat there with their feet in the water, talking and drinking the afternoon away. As the day progressed, so did Buffy’s mood. Maybe it was the wine, but Buffy felt at peace, even in Morgoth’s presence. It was that whole comfort thing. By late afternoon, she acted as though she didn’t have a care in the world; something that she hadn’t done in a long while. It was at this time that Morgoth again suggested they go for a swim. This time Buffy said yes. She never gave it a second thought as she stripped right there on the rocks and dived into the cool clear water. Melkor soon joined her and they spent the last hours of the daylight swimming and frolicking under the falls.

It was Sauron who summoned them to return to the camp at sunset. When Buffy and Melkor reached the rocks, the Maia handed each of them a robe.

“The meal is nearly ready, my Lord,” said Sauron to his master before casting a hateful look at Buffy. “Your accommodations have been prepared as well,” he added with a slight nod of his head.

The Necromancer led the way back to camp. Buffy could see that many torches and lamps were lit in anticipation of the oncoming darkness. The camp reminded Buffy of a small village. She was definitely impressed with the ‘tent’ that belonged to Morgoth; it was ten times the size of all the others.

“Oh, Inanna, your garments have been laid out in a different tent. Let me escort you there,” announced Sauron as he linked her arm with his. Melkor gave a nod of his head before heading in the opposite direction.

Once they were inside the tent, Buffy saw a beautiful red gown lying over a chair. Immediately, she grabbed it and held it up to her body as the evil Maia stood there scowling at her.

“It’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “I don’t think red’s my most flattering color, but it’s the thought that counts.” She looked up at Sauron. “I know Melkor has an aversion to red.”

“Do you hear yourself?” he asked in a disgusted tone as he folded his arms across his chest. Buffy ignored him as she let her robe drop to the ground. Sauron averted his eyes as she slid into the dress. “You are thick, Inanna.”

“I don’t know where that’s coming from,” she replied.

“No?” he queried. “Let us take a look at things shall we. Why do you think you’re here?”

“Oh, well, Melkor said that we needed to take a little holiday after everything that I’ve been through. And I have to say that I agree,” she answered. “How do I look?” Buffy asked after she was dressed.

Sauron turned around and looked at her angrily. “You cannot tell that you are under Melkor’s thrall once again,” he commented with a shake of his head. “Let me tell you why you’re really here… here in this world as opposed to our own. Melkor has taken you far away from your… allies so that none can save you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped back. “He’s my husband!”

The Necromancer rubbed his temples. His anger was growing. “Your husband, huh?” He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. “Listen to me, woman. Melkor has brought you here to impregnate you. He truly desires a son. Illyria has proven to be too troublesome. Why he has this obsession with you is beyond my reckoning, but he has it, nevertheless. I’ve toiled long and hard for his royal evilness and I will not be pushed aside for the likes of you or your offspring.”

“I don’t believe you,” she countered.

“No? Of course you don’t. Let me enlighten you a bit, dear Inanna. Melkor knows all that you’ve done. I wish that you could have witnessed his wrath when he found out about your children with Marto. And mark my words, any children that you bear that he hasn’t fathered will be killed! He has been manipulating you these many weeks, trying to earn your trust, and I see that he has once again succeeded.

“I will not have you thwart my plans! I have no other choice but to aid you in your escape again,” he said with a heavy sigh. “My master will see that I’m only looking out for his best interests.” Sauron then kissed Buffy. He broke the spell by giving her some of his own power. She could feel it coursing though her body, she felt stronger. When he broke away from her, he spat on the floor and wiped his mouth. The taste of the Slayer revolted him to no end.

“What… what happened?” asked a dazed and confused Buffy.

“Just shut up and listen to me,” instructed Sauron. He then told her how to open the portal and lock it on the other side. The Necromancer was more than capable of unlocking the gateway, but he wanted to make sure that she was far from Angband when that happened.

Buffy was hurt by Morgoth’s deception yet again. She couldn’t understand why she kept giving him the benefit of the doubt. It always backfired in one way or another. But now, she was ready to get the hell out of here, the sooner the better.

Sauron told her to remain in the tent while he created a ruckus to divert Melkor’s attention. When Buffy heard the commotion a few minutes later, she dashed out of the tent to the place that the Maia had instructed her to go. She performed the spell, entered the portal, and came out in the bowels of Angband. She used what power she had left to seal the Hellmouth shut. When Buffy turned around, she noticed about twenty-five demons standing there.

Shit, she thought to herself. Those two spells had drained her strength and she was in no condition to fight with anyone.

“Ishtar,” they all chanted as they fell to their knees out of respect. That stunned the Slayer. Regardless, she smiled, having recognized that name from ‘modern’ mythology.

“My dear Lady,” said a scary looking beast. “We are here to aid you in your escape. We are in fact devoted to you, the woman who gave us life. But you must come quickly before Melkor’s servants discover us.” It turned out that these were good demons although one could not tell by a mere glance. “I am Bellion,” the demon snarled as they quickly began climbing the stairs. “We have made all the necessary preparations for you, Lady. I deem that you’ll need warmer garments for the journey,” observed the beast as he gave her the once over. Buffy was still barefoot and her dress didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Buffy’s mind was racing. She couldn’t understand why all this crazy shit always happened to her. If it wasn’t Morgoth, it was Illyria, or someone else. How was it possible that she had made so many enemies in Middle-earth in such a short amount of time? And for the love of Eru, why couldn’t these people just leave her alone?

Bellion and his fellows garbed her in a thick sweater, breeches and boots. Apparently, Sauron’s powers had done something to her physically, as her hair was now shoulder-length. She didn’t feel as strong as she did before locking the gateway, but she was most anxious to get home. Buffy was given a sword, a knife, a bow and a quiver of arrows as well as enough provisions to make the journey to Ossir. There was no turning back this time. If the horse bucked her off, she’d continue the trek on foot. She was grateful knowing that she had her own ‘spies’ in Angband, and vowed to bring them to her realm one day.

Twenty minutes later, the Slayer galloped out of the gates of Thangorodrim. She was grateful to be covered in furs, as it was still very cold in northern Beleriand. The snowing had stopped and was already beginning to melt, making the ground slushy. Buffy had to go a bit south before turning east towards Himring. She couldn’t believe that she was free at last. Her hope grew the further south she went, but it didn’t last too long.

It was mid-afternoon when Buffy noticed a great number of riders heading in her direction. She counted nearly a hundred of them coming up from the south. She decided to stay her course, but it didn’t take long for the elven warriors to catch up to her. She was relieved when she saw the emblems that represented the House of Finwë, but she was not treated as a future member of that House.

The elves quickly formed a circle around her causing her horse to stop. The warriors had their weapons drawn and the Slayer was completely stunned by their behavior.

“Off the horse, witch!” she heard the leader say. She looked closer and saw that it was Fingon.

“Fingon,” laughed Buffy. “It’s me, Bella.”

A spear was pressed against her throat. “Do not make me repeat myself,” he said with such contempt that Buffy obediently leapt off the horse with her hands held up.

“What’s going on?” she asked. There was no reply. “Here we go again,” she muttered under her breath as the elves took all her weapons and supplies.


Chapter 34 - THE WITCH

“C’mon Fingon, is this really necessary?” queried Buffy as he shackled her wrists. “Why all the animosity? What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?”

“I think that you should gag her,” remarked Aegnor, who was also present. “The witch might attempt to cast some type of spell upon us.” Buffy could not believe what was she was hearing.

“Will someone tell me what the hell is… ” she started before Fingon gagged her. They hoisted the Slayer on top of his horse. The son of Fingolfin seated himself behind her before they started riding south.

“You will face the judgment of Fingolfin, King of the Noldor,” revealed the Prince. He did not say another word to Buffy for the remainder of the trip.

The elves behavior greatly disturbed the Slayer. She was beyond pissed that nobody would explain to her what she had done that was so horrible. All she could think about was all the crazy shit that seemed to be happening to her, one ordeal after the other. It almost seemed like there was a contest to see who could capture Buffy and inflict the worst punishment on her. She was finding that it was becoming too much for her to handle, especially in her current state of health.

It did not take long to reach Fingolfin’s Halls by the shores of Lake Mithrim. After Buffy dismounted from the steed, the elves placed shackles on her ankles as well. She found it strange to see all these people looking at her with such loathing, and the worst part was that nobody would tell her anything.

Unfortunately, Fingolfin was not around when she arrived, so they took Buffy to the dungeons to await his return. Even with her behind iron doors, the guards refused to remove the shackles; they only un-gagged her when she ate. The cell was about ten by ten and its only contents (other than Buffy) was a stone bench, which was hard on the Slayer’s bony ass. She spent most of her time pacing back and forth, annoyed that she found herself in such a predicament, again.

It was evening when the guards finally escorted her to Fingolfin. Buffy hoped that she could convince the son of Finwë that she was innocent of whatever deeds that she supposedly committed. At least now, she would find out.

“Who are you?” the Noldo King asked. The Slayer was amazed that he was questioning her identity. Fingolfin knew her. Why the hell would he ask her that?

“Are you for real?” she questioned, slightly perturbed. “Fingolfin, you know damn well who I am.” The room burst into rumblings from the spectators who deemed that the Slayer’s response was rather boorish and disrespectful. Buffy glanced around the room before she continued. “Will you at least tell me what’s going on? What crime have I committed against you or your people?”

“I have been informed that there is someone out there impersonating Bellaseth Dagnir. A witch they say,” answered a frowning Fingolfin. “You, maiden, were seen leaving the Dark Lands.” He motioned to a member of his Household, who then brought forth the weapons that Buffy had on her when she had left Angband. “And did my men not find you armed with the weapons of the enemy?” questioned the King as his eyes scrutinized her.

“Of course, they did,” answered the Slayer. “How else am I supposed to survive in the wild without weapons?”

“How did you acquire such an array of weapons?” he queried skeptically. “Surely, Morgoth doesn’t arm his prisoners,” he added sarcastically. Many people chuckled at his comment.

Buffy stood there silently. She was unsure of how to answer that question. There was no way that she could reveal that those who aided her escape were in fact her offspring. This sure wasn’t the time or the place for that. She needed to come up with something, and quick.

“Morgoth is not currently in Angband,” disclosed the Slayer. “Some of his… people helped me escape.”

Even Fingolfin had a good laugh over that. “So, you are telling me that Morgoth’s own minions, who fear their master’s wrath beyond anything, helped you to escape.”

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Now tell me then… why would they help you escape?” asked the King. He didn’t believe one iota of her story, but he still wanted to hear her response to his questions.

Without skipping a beat, Buffy answered, “Because I have been unjustly incarcerated, that’s why.”

“I hate to interrupt, my Lord,” said an elf whom the Slayer didn’t know. “But I think that I may be able to help determine whether this maiden is the real Bellaseth Dagnir or the imposter,” said the stranger.

“How is that, Faron?” asked the King.

“When the imposter was at Himring, Hweston had to remove an axe from her chest. There was a mark on her breast… ” he sneered at the Slayer. “The mark of Morgoth, I deem. Surely, if she possesses that mark, we will be able to confirm that we have in fact, captured the witch.”

When Buffy heard that, she felt weak kneed. She had no idea who this Faron was, and the idea of pulling her boob out in front of a roomful of men was not the most appealing of thoughts. Of course, everybody else in the room agreed with the elf, including Fingolfin. The Slayer attempted to wrestle with her captors when she felt that they were manhandling her. There was no way they were going to get a peak that easily! Buffy was desperate, she had to resort to her most lethal weapons: her teeth and fingernails. Sadly, someone hit her from behind, knocking her out cold.

Buffy awoke the following morning in her darkened chamber. Her head was throbbing and she felt a huge knot on the back of her head. The pain was excruciating. There was no doubt in her mind that they had seen the mark. That would explain why the elves kept her shackled, gagged and behind bars. The sound of her chains rattling together when she moved caused the pain in her head to increase threefold. As she rubbed her temples, she couldn’t help but think about how well Morgoth had treated her during her confinement at Angband. Buffy hated to admit it, but she would rather endure his torments than the elves.

It was mid-morning when four guards brought Buffy her breakfast. The throbbing in her head had suppressed her appetite, but she was quite eager to drink the tea they had brought. Nothing would make her happier than having the cloth removed from her mouth.

“You need to eat,” said one of the guards after un-gagging the Slayer.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied somberly. “I’ve got a splitting headache.” She awkwardly picked up the cup and took a sip of tea as one of the guards ordered another to get some medicine for Buffy. The three other guards remained in the dungeon, their weapons at the ready.

The Slayer eyed the men, who were intently watching every move that she made. “So, what happens now?” she asked wearily. No one said a word. “What? You guys aren’t allowed to talk to me. Can you at least tell me what the King’s verdict was?” she queried. Still, nobody answered. Buffy’s frustration was growing.

An image flashed in her mind. She saw herself hurling her tray of food at the guards, which caused mayhem in the dim chamber. She then saw herself wrapping the chain around one of the guard’s necks, choking the life out of him. As the scene unfolded in her head, the teacup fell from her hands and broke into many pieces when it hit the stone floor. The smashing sound shook her out of her reverie.

It was at that moment when the guard returned with another dark-haired elf. They instructed Buffy to stand facing the wall while the men hurriedly cleaned up the mess. The newcomer then approached her.

“I’ve been told that your head hurts, maiden,” he said kindly. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Buffy turned and faced the elf. Her hand instinctively went to the back of her head. “No,” she replied. “Just give me something to ease the pain. Please.”

“Oh my,” he began as he touched the knot on her head, causing the Slayer to wince. “You have a big goose egg,” he remarked.

“You don’t say,” she shot back sarcastically.

The elf disregarded her comment and had her sit back on the bench. He opened the satchel that he had brought with him and pulled out a bottle and some cloth. A fragrant smell filled the chamber as he poured some of the liquid onto the cloth.

“The skin has been broken,” the elf said as he pressed the dressing gently against her head. Buffy grimaced. “I will give you something for the pain as soon as I’ve finished tending to your wound,” informed the man. The pain was already lessening.

“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” asked Buffy.

“That I am,” replied the man. “I am Hweston, from the House of Maedhros.” She looked up at the elf with surprise.

“You’re from Himring,” she commented excitedly. “Is Russandol here? What about Maglor? Can I see them?” she questioned.

“Russandol and Maglor are currently in Ossiriand, I’m sorry to say. I have come here with my brother, Faron,” revealed Hweston.

As soon as she heard that name, her hope faded. That was the son-of-a-bitch that had told the elves to look at her breast. She became sullen after that. The healer did give her a dose of elixir and instructed her to eat. Buffy refused.

“You look malnourished. When was the last time that you had a decent meal?” Hweston asked as he looked at her closely. Buffy shrugged her shoulders. The desire to overpower the guards came to her mind once again. It took everything that she had to repress that thought.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” she asked as she looked up at the elf.

“The King has sent word to Maglor about your capture. It will be he who determines your fate,” answered the healer. “You will remain here until he arrives.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbled under her breath. Since Buffy refused to eat, they re-gagged her and left her in solitary confinement. While Buffy was not thrilled about being locked in the dungeon, she felt confident that Maglor would recognize her once he arrived. She just had to be patient and wait.

It was not wise for the Slayer to refuse the food of the elves, especially since she was already skin-and-bones. Her powers had not yet returned and her health began to rapidly deteriorate more so. By mid-afternoon the following day, unbeknownst to the elves, Buffy was consumed by a raging fever. Her mind had become so hazy that she thought that the white dove that sat perched on the bracket on the wall was but a mere illusion.

Buffy lay curled up on the stone bench, shivering uncontrollably, with only a thin blanket. The only light came from the small opening at the top of the iron door. She could make out the flickering flame of a torch in the outside passageway through the bars in the small opening; its dim rays did not penetrate the gloom of her chamber. Nevertheless, the Slayer was born with the ability to see well, even in complete darkness.

She then heard the soft cooing sound of the dove, and only a moment later, she heard another cooing in unison. Buffy thought that perhaps she was close to death, but that was not the case. The room then became aglow with a brilliant white light, and amidst it stood both Anno and Mirë. Their illuminating forms quickly approached their mother, each wore a look of horror and sorrow on their fair face.

“Mother! Mother!” they cried out, drawing the attention of the guards. The children carefully sat Buffy upright on the bench as Anno undid the gag.

“I would never have thought any of the Eldar capable of treating any living being with such cruelty,” seethed her son. “They will pay for this, mother. I swear!” he vowed in his anger. The Slayer was in a dream-like state; everything seemed to be moving in extra slow motion.

“She is burning with fever, Anno,” announced a worried Mirë. “We need to get mother to Folkvang at once.”

“HALT RIGHT THERE!” came a booming voice from the threshold of the door.

“INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS!” yelled another.

“THE WITCH IS ESCAPING!” screamed yet another, whose footsteps echoed as he ran down the passageway.

Three of the guards entered the chamber with Buffy and the twins. As Fingolfin’s men charged with their weapons drawn, Anno raised his right hand, all three dropped their weapons and became suspended mid-air. Buffy’s son cast an invisible noose around each one’s neck, deeming that death was the just reward for their mother’s current state of health. The Slayer became frightened, for she did not blame her misfortune on the elves.

“NO!” cried out Buffy as she feebly reached out for her son. Mirë quickly steadied her mother as tears rolled down her cheeks. Anno turned his head towards the Slayer.

“These elves deserve death for their mistreatment of you, mother,” he answered, before turning his attention back to the floating men. “Even Námo himself would agree with my conclusion. How dare one of the lesser races treat a Holy One in such a manner. May they reside long in the Halls of my uncle.” The men continued to gasp for air as their hands frantically attempted to pull on the invisible bonds.

“Don’t Anno,” pleaded Buffy weakly. “They’re not guilty of any crime. My condition wasn’t caused by the elves.”

“The elves are the ones who’ve locked you up in their prison! The elves are the ones who’ve chained you up as a criminal. The elves are the ones that stuffed a dirty rag in your mouth! The elves are the ones who’ve left you here to wither and die from fever!” Anno spat maniacally, the fire in his eyes burned fiercely.

“Mirë, please, stop him,” implored the Slayer to her daughter. “That’s not the way it is. He’s wrong. Don’t let him do something he’ll regret later.”

Her daughter glanced at the men and saw that their faces were starting to turn blue. She placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder and uttered, “Enough.” As soon as had she said the word, the men fell to the floor in a heap. It was then that they heard the footfall of several men heading towards the chamber. The twins used their magic’s to slam the iron door shut, and mystically locked it. The weapons on the floor then went sailing across the room, colliding with the stone wall. Their implements of war shattered upon impact.

The elves outside the room pounded on the door yelling to their kinfolk, who remained reeling on the floor, dumbfounded by all that had happened. The two doves flew towards the window in the door, cooing softly, before disappearing before the stunned elves’ eyes.

Anno and Mirë stood Buffy up, positioning her between them. They were greatly dismayed by her emaciated appearance and frailty. The children’s hearts ached for their mother; they knew that no matter which home they took her to, tragedy awaited. The doppelganger Buffy had brought great evil to the House of Maranwë Luinil, Fëantári of Mortals.

“You can tell your Lord, Fingolfin, that I hold him personally responsible for Bellaseth’s condition,” declared Anno angrily to the elven guards. He glanced at his ailing mother before he continued. “You people have brought shame and disgrace onto yourselves. How dare you lesser beings confuse the Lady of Light with one of the Dark Ones! You have proudly waved your banner of ignorance, and woe shall come to this House, as it is fated to be. The day will come when sorrow and darkness befalls the House of Fingolfin and your Lord will pay the ultimate price in penance.”

The elves trembled upon hearing Anno’s words, yet one within the chamber spoke up.

“The Lady has the mark, the mark of Morgoth on her bosom,” said the guard, who finally got to his feet.

“And what do you know of this mark, elf?” inquired Mirë in a hostile tone. Her eyes bored into the man, who then fell to his knees, shaking in fear. “It is as I thought. You know nothing. Mother’s fate is greater than you deem. How dare any of you pass judgment on her when she will be the one to deliver us all in the end.”

“But we were told that there was an evil twin of the Lady let loose in Beleriand,” countered the same guard. “She was seen leaving the Dark Lands. Surely, you can see how that would make us conclude that she was the evil one. Why else would the Lady be in Angband?”

“Our mother has been unfairly imprisoned for over twenty years… ” started Anno before his mother interrupted him.

“What?” queried the Slayer weakly. “Twenty years?” Buffy could not believe it.

“Shh, nana,” said her daughter as she put a comforting arm around her mother.

“She was a prisoner of the Dark Lord! Did she not tell you that? Look at her!” yelled Anno. “It is by the grace of Eru Ilúvatar that she had managed to escape, and my heart tells me that there were those that aided her from within. They realize that she is their only hope for redemption, and perchance yours as well.”

“Let us depart this dreary place, Anno,” suggested Mirë. “Mother is in desperate need of Istahiro’s skill. I do not think we should wait any longer.”

“No, don’t take me to Folkvang. Take me to Maglor,” requested the Slayer before losing consciousness. Anno picked his mother up in his arms and planted a kiss on her burning forehead.

“Heed my words, elves. Heed my words,” remarked Anno before him, Mirë, and Buffy disappeared in a blinding white light.

Once they were gone, a loud clicking noise echoed in the chamber as the door unlocked itself. The guards hastily fled the chamber and sought out the King in order to deliver the ominous words of Anno. When Fingolfin heard about all that had transpired in his dungeons, he became deeply troubled. It now seemed obvious that he had caught the good Buffy, not the evil one. The elven King retreated to his private chambers so that he could mull over all that had happened.

The son of Finwë stood before the arched window in his sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back as he absentmindedly gazed at the large body of water. Gray clouds filled the sky and only a moment later, heavy drops of rain began to fall. All Fingolfin could think about was Bellaseth Dagnir.

How could that be the same woman that I had met at Mereth Aderthad? He asked himself. Buffy’s appearance had changed dramatically since that time - and for the worse. He could not fathom the agony that she must have suffered to weaken her so.

A sudden flash of lightening followed by a loud crack of thunder caused him to jump back from the window. He heard someone gasp from behind him, turned, and found his sister, Lalwen standing there.

“I see that the thunder has startled both of us, my Lord,” she said as she approached her brother.

“What is it that you want, Lalwen?” he asked as he turned to face the window. The rain now lashed against the windowpane making it impossible to see out. He walked to the sideboard and poured each of them a drink. He knew that he was about to get an ear-full from his sister. “Have you come to inform me that I have acted too rashly?”

“You are King, my brother, and your word is law. I only wish that you would not cast aside my opinions so hastily. There is wisdom to be found in the women of the House of Finwë, it would do you good not to forget that,” chastised the dark-haired beauty.

Fingolfin forced a small smile as he handed her a glass of wine. “I only wish to protect you, little sister,” he answered.

“Protect me from what?” she queried defensively. “From peril? From the Doom of Mandos? I have traveled the same roads as you Fingolfin, yet I still live. I am stronger than you give me credit for.”

“I do not doubt your strength, but you would have been of no use…”

“No use!” she angrily interjected. “There is such a thing as women’s intuition, brother. I have heard not the same thing applied to those of the male gender!” She took a sip of wine.

“I did not mean it that way. Forgive me,” apologized the Noldo King. “I was unclear with whom we were dealing, Lalwen. We assumed that she was the witch.” He turned his glance away before adding, “Alas, we were wrong… but a shadow of doom lies upon her, we could all see that… ”

“Indeed! For I deem that that same shadow lies upon the Noldor as well,” she commented. “We would never treat any of our kindred in that manner, would we?” questioned Lalwen.

“You are right,” Fingolfin answered as he swirled the contents of his glass. “What’s done is done.”

“No, my Lord. That’s where you’re wrong,” countered his sister. “Change the law. Even if we one day capture one of the enemy, they should be treated as we would want our people treated.”

“And what of the enemy? Do you think that Morgoth will show the same mercy to our people?” he queried agitatedly.

“No, I don’t. But we do not answer to the enemy, we answer to Mandos,” she replied.

He sighed heavily. “I do not know what to do,” he whispered.

“I do. I say that we pay a visit to Bellaseth in Ossir,” suggested Lalwen. “She is understanding, Fingolfin, and filled with such love. I felt it when I first met her.”

“You revere her, don’t you?” inquired the King with a half-smile.

“Of course, what woman wouldn’t!” she answered excitedly. “She has it all.”

“Yet for some reason, I deem that the Lady herself would disagree with your sentiment.” Fingolfin didn’t realize that he spoke his thought aloud. “I will heed your advice and leave for Ossir at once.”

“Good. I’m going with you,” she remarked with a smile. There was no way she would remain in Mithrim while Fingolfin traveled to southern Beleriand.



Anno and Mirë had decided to take Buffy back to Lindecoa, it was the only place that had not been defiled by the evil imposter. Besides, it was at that fortress that Maglor waited impatiently with his six brothers. The children, with their mother in Anno’s arms materialized in the Lady’s bedchamber. While Anno placed her in bed, Mirë tracked down Nestor and informed him of Buffy’s arrival and ill health. As Nestor ran to retrieve the various tonics to aid in the Slayer’s recovery, he literally ran into Thranduil.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Thranduil,” apologized the healer breathlessly. He helped the young man to his feet. “Bella’s back and she is ill,” he shouted as he continued to run down the hallway. “Please find Maglor and let him know.”

The silver-haired elf stood there for a moment, totally stunned. “She’s back,” he uttered under his breath. He turned on his heal and headed for the staircase. Instead of descending the stairway, the young elf, slid down the banister in order to reach the lower level faster. He ran down many hallways before flying out of a set of doors leading to the back yard.

The sons of Fëanor were sitting in one of the many gardens when the heir of Greenleaf arrived, panting.

“What is it, Thranduil?” questioned Maglor. The elf leaned against Celegorm’s chair, rubbing the stitch in his side. He was having a hard time catching his breath. “Is something wrong or are you playing another game of chase with the lions?” he asked with a laugh.

“My Lord,” he gasped. “The Lady has returned. Bella is back, and she is ill. Nestor is tending to her now.”

“Bella!” exclaimed Maglor as he jumped to his feet. His brothers followed suit. “Where is she?” he asked.

“In her bedchamber,” replied the silver-haired elf. The seven brothers and Thranduil then took off towards the mansion. Maglor was at the forefront of the group.

The news that Buffy had returned spread quickly through Lindecoa. The many people of her Household were making a mad dash to her rooms on the upper floor, congesting the hallways even more. Maglor made his way through the throng in her chamber, he gasped when he saw his beloved’s appearance.

“What in the name of the Valar has happened to her?” he queried despairingly as he edged closer to the bed.

“I need room here, people,” declared an annoyed Nestor. “Get back!”

Anno leapt up from the bed, pulled his future stepfather aside, and tried his best to console him. He told him everything that he knew, which wasn’t much. They would not hear the tale in full until the Slayer woke.


Chapter 35 - THE HARSH LIGHT OF DAY

Buffy remained in her bed, asleep throughout the duration of the day. Maglor was comforted knowing that she was now safely at home, but the things that Anno had told him greatly disturbed him. He was dismayed even more by the fact that his own kinfolk had treated her so horribly, yet he could understand Fingolfin’s position somewhat. Surely, there was no way his uncle could differentiate between the two Slayers. Hell, even Maglor had been fooled by the witch’s deception, that is, until they had kissed. Therefore, he could not hold any grudge against him, no matter how much his younger brothers had voiced their disapproval.

Anno and Mirë insisted on staying at Lindecoa until they felt assured that Buffy’s health had improved. They had not told anyone in Middle-earth about the chaos that had been unleashed in Folkvang with the evil men. The twins did their best to handle the situation, but their mother was desperately needed in that Blessed Realm. The Maiar and men that had been subjected to the horrors of the evil men that Angwen released into that world would need some reassurances from their Queen that all would be fine. The good men would only be able to find healing through the love of Buffy, and the evil men needed to get a taste of her wrath. At least, that’s how Anno saw it.

Later that night, when Maglor climbed into bed next to the Slayer, he noticed that her fever had finally broken. That brought him much relief, as he knew she was on the road to recovery. As soon as she awoke, he’d have the cooks prepare all her favorite foods, so that they could begin packing the weight back on her. The Noldo couldn’t imagine what hardships she had to endure during her imprisonment.

After planting many kisses on her face, he fell contently to sleep.

It was some time in the middle of the night when Maglor was roused from his slumber. “Wake up, Maglor,” he heard Nestor say, as the elf gently shook him. “You need to wake up,” the healer repeated.

“What is it?” the Noldo replied with a yawn. “Is something wrong with Bella?” he asked as his eyes went to the woman who lay next to him. She was still sound asleep.

“Get Bella!” ordered Nestor. “Ulmo paid a visit to me in a dream and showed me how to heal her, but we must take her to Lindon as quickly as possible.”

The Noldo rubbed his face in an attempt to wake himself up. “Alright,” he added with a yawn. “Let me dress and then we’ll go,” the dark-haired elf replied as he got out of bed. “Have you informed Anno and Mirë?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re waiting outside with Thranduil and Úrion. They say they’ll transport us to Lindon instead of taking a boat. We’ll be able to get there much quicker with their aid,” replied the healer before exiting the chamber.

Maglor quickly changed, wrapped Buffy in a couple of quilts and then picked her up in his arms. He couldn’t believe how light she was. “It won’t be long now, my love,” he whispered. “Then we’ll find out who did this to you and we’ll exact our revenge.” He left the room and joined the others in the sitting room. A few moments later, they disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

It was nearly two in the morning when they had arrived in Lindon. Nestor refused to allow any to go with him, except for Maglor and of course, Buffy. The rest of their party ascended the ladders that took them to the city in the trees. The healer led the Noldo, who carried his beloved, through the woods behind the Halls of Denethor. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach the enchanted spring of Ulmo. The golden-haired elf instructed Maglor to toss the Slayer into the cold water.

“Are you mad?” questioned the outraged Noldo. “She’ll drown!”

“I assure you, Maglor, Bella will not drown,” replied the elf. “She has been here before, surely you know that. If you want to hasten the healing process, you need to do as I say!”

The Noldo stood at the edge of the pool with Buffy in his arms. He had mixed feelings about whether he should toss his sleeping beauty into the water. Nestor gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he pulled the quilts from around her. Maglor looked down at Buffy. Despite her frail appearance, she seemed to be at peace. He kissed her forehead, took a deep breath and then threw her body into the spring. Both elves dropped to their knees and peered into the clear water. Buffy’s body emitted a soft white light as it plummeted to the bottom, leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake.

The jolt of cold water had suddenly awakened the Slayer from her deep slumber. When her eyes popped open, she saw Maglor and Nestor peering into the water from above. She recognized the familiar sensation of being nothing but dead weight as she sank to the bottom of the pool. However, something unexpected happened once she hit the floor. Her fey glowed brightly before shooting out of the water like a rocket.

Buffy continued to soar upwards towards the heavens at great speed; her essence resembled a shooting star and all those who happened to be outside at that hour could see her in all her glory. She ascended for miles upon miles, enjoying the rush and freedom that astral projection brought. It was then that something collided with her fey causing it to shiner even brighter; it flashed to blue, then back to white, before the light faded altogether.

The Slayer came to a standstill upon impact, her fey remained hovering high above the earth. The collision was not a bad experience by any means. She found it be quite euphoric, orgasmic even. Every molecule of her essence tingled. She felt invigorated. Revived. For the first time in years, she felt whole, complete. There was no doubt in her mind that her powers had reunited with her fey. Finally!

When the euphoric feeling wore off, Buffy’s rejuvenated fey returned to her body and she swam to the surface. She was happily greeted by both Maglor and Nestor. “How do you feel?” asked Maglor, as he wrapped the quilts around her.

“In a word - famished!” she replied, slipping her feet into a pair of sandals.

“Let us see if we can remedy that,” said the delighted Noldo.

Instead of teleporting back to Denethor’s Halls, the trio walked. Buffy savored every moment of the trip. Even though it was chilly, she found the gentle breeze to be rather refreshing. Lindon was peaceful and tranquil, especially at night. She inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of the dirt, trees and grass. Buffy was home. And in later years, Lindon would always be remembered as her favorite abode, more so than Folkvang. The memory would live on.

Buffy was heartbroken over how much time she had missed with her loved ones. All those years were lost. When the Slayer gets her hands on the one responsible, they’re going to rue the day they ever gave her second thought. Buffy would show no mercy, even if the guilty party was her own daughter.

Maglor took his lover straight to the kitchens, which she found peculiar. Instead of changing into dry clothes in her bedroom, Nestor went to retrieve her something suitable to wear. Her beloved’s priority was getting her fed. Buffy ended up changing in one of the pantries, a first for her. By the time she re-entered the dining hall, thirty people of her Household were present. She and her companions sat down to a smoked ham dinner. As she ate, she told her tale in full. The elves were horrified by her story and totally astonished that Morgoth was the one responsible for rescuing and healing her.

The elves had held a council in Lindecoa while Buffy was unconscious and determined that they would not tell her about the mayhem that the evil doppelganger had caused during her absence. They deemed that is could adversely affect her health. It was decided that they would not tell her until after she had recovered completely from her torments. While some of the councilors had misgivings about that decision, the greater number agreed to keep quiet.

After the Slayer finished eating (she ate a five-pound ham by herself!), she patted her belly and declared, “I’m so full… and sleepy.” She yawned. “I think its time for bed,” she added as she rose from her chair. Buffy was then informed that her bedchamber was currently ‘under renovation’ and that she would need to sleep elsewhere for a few nights. With a shrug of her shoulders, she and Maglor bid goodnight to the others while Nestor led them to another bedroom. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out.

It was still dark outside when the Slayer found herself wide-awake. She need not look at herself to know that she was completely healed. At least, physically. Buffy looked as beautiful as she ever did. Her hair had returned to its normal length and her body was shapely and toned once again. As she lay in bed, she became inundated by feelings of both dread and grief. It was unnerving. She glanced at Maglor’s sleeping form before slipping out of bed.

Buffy pulled on a robe as she quietly left the chamber. Her feet acted as her guide and soon she was heading down the stairways and out of the house. She still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling. In fact, it seemed to be escalating. After she climbed down the ladder, she took off towards the east. The sun was beginning to rise and the sky above the treetops shone golden.

The Slayer was surprised when she ended up at the graveyard. Granted, she had been in too many for any lifetime, but this time a feeling of woe befell her. The Slayer’s feet instinctively led her further east through the many barrows, most had markers wrought of wood, yet four had elaborate marbled headstones. Those had caught her attention.

Oh, no, she thought to herself. Two children had died. Buffy could easily see that two of these graves were much smaller than the other two. She crouched down and looked at the runes engraved on the stone. Her hand automatically reached out and her fingers traced the symbols. The Slayer did not know the runes of Daeron or Fëanor, yet when her fingers touched that cold stone, she knew that Drór rested there. Her eyes welled with tears and her body began to tremble.

Buffy felt a deep sense of foreboding as her gaze shifted to the ‘bigger’ barrows. Slowly, she rose to her feet, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wearily walked to the other tombstones. The next ‘small’ stone belonged to Ordon the Old and the one after, to Gúrchim. When she reached the last one, she sat on her knees and bowed her head. She didn’t have to touch the headstone to know that Orchal’s body was buried there. The Slayer’s silent tears turned to uncontrollable weeping. She threw herself atop his grave as the small glade became filled with the song of many birds. Their melody was filled with grief.

A loud crack of thunder rang out in the early morning, and soon the black clouds blocked out the golden light. The earth shook as the sound of thunder began to rumble uncontrollably. Sheets of rain poured down from the sky, drenching the Slayer in a matter of seconds.

Images of Orchal’s death flashed in her mind. She saw herself stabbing him in the chest. She felt his anguish. His pain. “I’m so sorry,” Buffy blubbered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” She was grieved by all of her friends’ deaths, but Orchal’s touched her the most deeply. While she had known Drór longer, she had spent more time with the silver-haired elf than the dwarf. Orchal was her most trusted confident, and her dearest of friends in all of Beleriand.

As she lay on the barrow, sobbing, small red flowers called seregon began to spring up from the mounds of her four dead friends. “Bella,” Buffy heard shakily from behind her. She recognized Thranduil’s voice. He placed a cloak over her shoulders and head. “You need to come inside, Lady. This rain will only worsen your health.” Buffy turned and faced the young elf; he let out a gasp when he saw that she looked ‘normal.’ “You’ve been healed. Glory be!” exclaimed the elf with momentary enthusiasm. Once he saw her eyes, his demeanor immediately became somber.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me?” she asked as the rain lashed against her face. Buffy was experiencing so many emotions at one time: anger, sorrow, pity, vengeance, and shock. She couldn’t believe that everyone in Ossir had concealed this news from her. The sky remained alit by constant flashes of lightening as the thunder rolled in what seemed to be a loud, continuous mournful moan.

Thranduil fell to his knees, his eyes locked on the Slayer. “We wanted to wait until your health improved. It didn’t seem appropriate for us… ”

“Appropriate?” questioned a traumatized Buffy. “You didn’t think that it was appropriate to tell me that four of my best friends had died!” Her voice broke as she spoke.

Thranduil felt her pain. He grabbed her hands as the storm raged on around them, and told her all that had happened since she had left. The story that he told seemed horrific to her ears, especially since it had taken place in her own Halls. These were her people. They were part of a core group of her closet friends and business associates. She was amazed to learn that only Thranduil and Úrion had survived their confrontations with the doppelganger. Her heart ached for the young man knowing that he had witnessed such brutality at the tender age of seventy-five.

Buffy’s contempt towards her loved ones for withholding that information from her was soon replaced by understanding and forgiveness. She could see how the opportunity really hadn’t presented itself, but also felt that under the circumstances, they should have told her.

The rain continued to pour down on them as Thranduil pulled Buffy to her feet. They were both drenched to the bone; their bare feet stood in puddles of dirt, leaves and grass. Even after hearing the young man’s tale, the Slayer could not shake that feeling of dread that now seemed to encompass every fiber of her being. She knew that the worse was yet to come.

She stood side-by-side with Thranduil staring at the graves of her people. Buffy sang the same song of lamentation that she had heard Thingol sing years ago after the first war in Beleriand. The young elf bowed his head and clung to the Slayer’s left hand. The birds provided the mournful melody to her sorrowful tune. She followed that by a prayer.

“Drór and Ordon are lost to me forever,” she said after a long pause. “And I fear that I’ve lost another.”

“What do you mean?” queried Thranduil as he faced her. “Gúrchim and Orchal are bound to you. You can remake their flesh.” Buffy made no answer. “What’s going on, Bella?”

“Let’s go,” she said sadly. They made their way though the rivulets running along the soggy ground to the ladders that led to the city in the trees. By now, the entire Household was awake. Buffy refused to speak to any as she made her way directly to the Hall of the Lord. On her way, she grabbed a cloak that was draped over the banister of the staircase.

When she reached the chamber, the doors swung open on their own accord. Buffy ordered all the occupants to leave the room as she took her seat on the throne. When the doors had slammed shut, she summoned the spirit of Gúrchim to come forth. His fey appeared before her, eager to be re-embodied. The Slayer used her powers to make a replica of the dark-haired elf’s body. A blinding white light filled the chamber. When the light faded, there stood the naked elf.

“Thank you, my dear Lady,” he said as he fell to one knee.

Buffy rose from her seat, cloak in hand. “I’m sorry that you had to die, Gúrchim. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here to stop… her,” she replied sadly, as she draped the garment over his shoulders.

The elf stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is no need to apologize to me, Bella. It was not you. I know that. My love and loyalty to you will never waver. I am indebted to you. Wherever you go, I will follow, for now I have a better understanding of the life that you lead. A councilor I am, yet a mighty warrior I wish to be.”

The Slayer smiled before kissing him on the forehead. “I see a new man before me,” she commented as she cupped his cheeks with her hands. “I love you, Gúrchim, and value both your friendship and loyalty. I will see to it that you are rewarded for your bravery. But now you must eat. Nourish the body, nourish the soul.” The elf kissed her hand before departing the chamber.

Buffy sat back down on her throne and summoned Orchal. Yet he did not come. She concentrated harder, but still, he refused to come. The Slayer left the room and headed straight for her bedchamber. When she opened the door, it was like a scene out of Poltergeist or The Exorcist. Almost everything in the room was flying around - clothes, brushes, chairs, paintings. Many beautiful things that Buffy had possessed now lay in ruins on the floor. Her bedchamber was under renovation, indeed!

Death greatly traumatized Orchal. He refused to come to Buffy. She ducked as a dresser drawer soared at her, only to crash into the wall. She crawled on the floor, fragments of glass and porcelain stuck to her wet gown. She searched through some of her clothing until she found an Orb of Thezula.

“I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice,” she said aloud. Buffy lifted the Orb and summoned Orchal’s spirit to enter the mystical crystal. A moment later, the stone shone bright orange. She trapped him. All the activity in the room stopped, and it became quiet once again. The Slayer shook her head as she glanced around the chamber. The room felt different to her. At one time, it was warm and inviting, but now evil had invaded it, leaving its imprint forever. Buffy picked one of Maglor’s robes up off the floor and she left her bedchamber, the Orb clasped in her hand.

Once she returned to the Hall of the Lord, she smashed the Orb onto the floor thus releasing Orchal’s spirit.

“Come before me, Orchal,” Buffy commanded from her seat. The elf hesitated. Grief and rage emanated from his essence. “Please, Orchal. I want to help.”

His fey appeared at the bottom of her dais. “Release me,” he demanded. “I no longer wish to be bound to you. Let me return to the Hall of Mandos where I can live… in peace.”

The elf’s comments dumbfounded Buffy. “Orchal, I can remake your body. I can make you whole again,” reasoned the Slayer.

He shook his head. “NO!” he proclaimed as a gust of wind blew through the room. “You killed me!”

“No!” she exclaimed as she rose to her feet and descended the steps. “It wasn’t me Orchal. Deep down, you know that. It was an imposter. A witch. I can help you. I can heal you. We can get through this, together.”

“I can find no healing here. I demand that you release me. You do not have the authority to keep me bound to you,” he said heatedly.

Tears began to stream down the Slayer’s dirt streaked face. “I won’t do it,” she whispered. “Irmo said that there would be elves that refused to leave me. You are accounted amongst them, my friend.”

“Friend?” Orchal questioned angrily. “No, Bellaseth. I am no longer your friend. You are naught but a temptress of evil. You have despoiled the House of Denethor and all its inhabitants.” His words stung the Slayer. “Your aura is beset with darkness, and it will reside with you as long as you remain in Arda.”

Despite her own sorrow, the Slayer refused to listen to Orchal’s words. She re-embodied him any way. His naked body trembled before her. She handed him the robe. He glared at her for a moment before snatching it from her hand and put it on.

“I love you, Orchal. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” she queried tearfully.

“There is nothing that you can say to make this any better,” barked the elf as he did the clasps on the robe. “I did not wish to be embodied again. I have no desire to live in a world filled with such wickedness and hate. And you… you Bellaseth, attract it as a moth to light. No matter what you proclaim, you long for the darkness. You seek it out as much as it seeks you and you care not for those who are caught in the crossfire.

“No desire do I have to remain in your presence, much less your House. I hereby resign my position as regent of Ossir and Minister of Public Relations. I will depart these lands at once… ”

Buffy’s world was crumbling before her very eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Yes, she understood his grief, but Orchal was acting unreasonably. Crazy even. She desperately tried to pull herself together. The Slayer couldn’t lose her friend, not this way. He needs time, she reassured herself. In time, he’ll see the truth.

“Don’t leave, Orchal,” she pleaded as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her wet robe. “Ossir’s your home. If you don’t want anything to do with me, fine. I’ll grant your prayer, but don’t leave your home.”

“I no longer have a home,” he replied before turning on his heal. He stormed out of the Hall, never to return again.

When Orchal left, Buffy collapsed to the floor, sobbing. His words hurt her deeply and she didn’t know how to make it better. The Slayer saw no possible way to repair the hurts that were done to her people.

Soon, many people came into the chamber, Maglor at the forefront. He dropped to his knees and pulled his beloved into his arms, reassuring her that everything would be alright. Buffy felt numb.

“Come, Bella,” instructed Maglor as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” The throng parted as the couple left the chamber.

After the Slayer bathed and dressed, she returned to the Hall of Lord, which was now packed to full capacity. The three glasses of wine that she had drunk while taking her bath had calmed her nerves considerably. Buffy knew that Maglor was anxious for them to return to his land in the north, but at this point, there was no way she could possibly leave Ossir right now. She took her seat on her throne. Maglor stood to her right, Anno and Mirë to her left.

“Any of those that wish to leave with Orchal are permitted to do so. I will hold no ill will towards any that depart with him,” she proclaimed to the elves. There were rumblings from the crowd, but none left the chamber. “The House of Denethor has been marred. Evil has passed through these doors and left its stain. That is something that I cannot undo. This House is nothing but a reminder of the pain and anguish that had invaded it. I hereby order that these Halls be disassembled and burned. A grander house will be erected in its place.”

Buffy had nothing else to say. The elves were taken aback by her orders, but they understood where she was coming from. Everyone knew how close she was to Orchal and it upset them greatly to see her so heartbroken. It was not long afterwards, when the Slayer and many of her people returned to Lindecoa. There she could work towards recovering from this new grief.

Over the next two days, Buffy remained morose and despondent. No words could ease her pain. It was something that she needed to work through on her own. Only time would heal this wound. Perhaps the Slayer’s mood had to do with the ominous cloud that still lingered over her House. Even her children sensed something was not quite right, for they refused to return to Folkvang. And it soon became clear as to why.

Four days after arriving at Tol Galen, the Slayer’s mood had improved along with the weather. She sat with the sons of Fëanor, her twins, and a few others from her Household in one of the gardens beside Lanthir Lamath. Spring was in the air, and the fragrant blossoms were blooming in a myriad of colors. The birds chirped merrily in the trees, as they watched Kit and Kat play with Celegorm’s dog, Huan.

It was then that they saw someone with long silver hair rise from the pool beneath the falls. For a split second, Buffy thought that it was Luthor, but she was wrong. It was Salmar, servant of Ulmo. The Slayer hadn’t seen him since her days in Doriath and was quite surprised by his sudden appearance. It usually didn’t bode well when he appeared. That’s all she needed - more bad news.

“What do I owe the pleasure… or should I say displeasure?” questioned Buffy suspiciously.

“I have come on behalf of the Valar,” informed the Maia grimly. “It is of the utmost importance that I speak with you… alone.”

“You can speak freely here, Salmar. I hold no secrets from my family,” she replied as she joyfully glanced at the group of elves.

“I am sorry, but I need to speak to you in private,” he answered as he eyed the sons of Fëanor. “Will you take a stroll with me?”

Buffy, with eye brows raised, looked at Maglor questioningly. He gave a slight nod of his head.

“Fine,” she replied as she rose to her feet. They took off down a tree-canopied path leading north of the falls. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Salmar began to speak.

“I sense some hostility towards me. Why is that?” he queried as his blue eyes studied her intently.

“Hmm, let me think… Perhaps it has something to do with me being locked up in a mystical prison for over twenty years and you show up after I’ve been freed!” snapped Buffy. The Maia stopped in his tracks.

“I have heard nothing about you being imprisoned,” said the stunned servant of Ulmo.

“Then why are you here?” asked Buffy apprehensively. She had a bad feeling about this.

He stood there for a moment in silence before he resumed walking down the path. “We were informed by Thorondor that you were seen entering Angband only days ago,” revealed Salmar.

“Who the hell is Thorondor?” questioned an annoyed Buffy. She had never heard the name before. She thought that it might be an elf, but they only saw her leaving Angband, not entering it.

“He is Lord of the Eagles,” answered Salmar. “He was flying above Angband when he saw you being escorted through the black gates of Thangorodrim. He said that you willingly entered the Dark Lands, atop a warg no less.” He shook his head disappointedly. “Is it true?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on Salmar? What’s with the interrogation?”

He glanced down at the ground before answering. “I was instructed to find out if it was true… that you were with Melkor. Alas it grieves me to know that it is.” The Maia returned his sorrowful gaze to the Slayer. “There is talk amongst some of those in Valinor of bringing you before the Ring of Doom… ”

“On what grounds?” interrupted the Slayer angrily.

“Fraternizing with the enemy,” answered Salmar solemnly. “Some of the Valar deem that you’ve made an alliance with Melkor… ”

“What?!” questioned Buffy in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” She couldn’t understand why the Powers’ attitude towards her had changed all of the sudden. Surely, she didn’t do anything to justify appearing before their ‘court.’ If they didn’t do anything, years ago, after she created demons with Morgoth, why act so harshly over a simple misunderstanding? Regardless, Salmar was ticking off the Slayer. Big time.

“How dare you come to my home making unfounded accusations,” she started through gritted teeth. “For your information I’ve spent the past twenty years alone, naked and powerless in some mystical dungeon. And who do you think rescued me? It damn sure wasn’t anyone from Valinor, now was it, Salmar? No, they left me to wither to nothing but skin and bones while they lived in bliss.

“Melkor found me. He nursed me back to health,” she confessed in a calmer tone. “I know he’s the biggest and baddest in Arda. I haven’t forgotten. I just find it ironic that even Morgoth has done more for me than my own brothers. You can inform those in the West that if they want to put me before their Ring of Doom, they better gather an army. I won’t come willingly,” Buffy fumed. She turned and started to walk off.

Bella,” Salmar called after her. “Surely, you do not want me to deliver that message to the Valar!”

She stopped and looked over hear shoulder. “No?” She thought for a moment before nodding her head and adding, “Tell them to fuck off!” She continued down the path, leaving Salmar, stunned and speechless.


Chapter 36 - LOVER'S WALK

The seething Slayer returned to the rest of the group in the garden. Without saying a word, she grabbed a bottle of wine, refilled her goblet and downed it in one gulp.

“What in the name of Eru Ilúvatar happened?” inquired Maglor.

Buffy plopped down into her seat while her lover refilled her cup once again. “Apparently, some of the Valar think that I’ve gone over to the dark side. There’s talk of me appearing before the Ring of Doom.”

“What?!” exclaimed several in unison.

When Anno heard his mother’s reply, he leapt up from his seat and took off down the path in search of Salmar. Buffy didn’t bother chasing after him. She would not prevent him from defending her honor. Not this time, any way. The Slayer then revealed all the details of her conversation with the Maia.

Later that night, Buffy, dressed in her nightgown, stood on the balcony off her bedchamber. The moon enmeshed the entire landscape in a silver light, but the Slayer focused her attention on the doves, her messengers. She had received news that Orchal intended on setting up his new abode between the Rivers Legolin and Brilthor, in Ossir. She was relieved to know that he was still in those parts, and only a good 146 miles, as a crow flies, from Tol Galen.

Maglor slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Any news about Luthor?” he asked after the doves took flight. They were heading north again, carrying out Buffy’s orders to keep an eye on Orchal.

“No, not yet,” she replied as she placed her hands atop of his. “I wish he were here. I really need to talk to him.”

“About what had happened to you?” whispered the Noldo.

“What else? My options for aquiring information are kinda limited right now. He knows more about me than me!” she answered.

“I deem that Morgoth knows more about you than even Luthor,” said the dark-haired elf. “Do not put much faith into him, Maranwë. Black is his heart no matter how kindly his demeanor may seem… ” Buffy turned and faced him.

“Why would you say such a thing?” she asked, slightly taken aback.

Maglor rubbed her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her before replying in a soothing voice. “You speak often of how well he cared for you. Do I not have cause to be concerned?” The Slayer felt her face flush.

“It’s only because people keep asking me about it,” she said defensively. “I mean… maybe I’m humanizing him a bit.”

“A bit?” he questioned with raised eyebrows. “He is cunning, my love. I’ve known him longer than you and have seen first hand how he weaves his webs of deception, mayhem and death. And to know that his greatest desire is to rule the world with you at his side troubles me deeply. I fear that he will whisk you away from me, bewitched or not.” Both the tone of his voice and facial expression were serious.

Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist. “Believe me when I say I don’t want that to happen any more than you,” she said as she rested her head against his chest. “That’s something that I want Luthor to help me with. I have all these powers and have no idea what the hell I’m doing half the time. I need to learn how to wield them properly.”

“That is something that I agree with wholeheartedly,” said Maglor as he wrapped his arms around her tighter. “Although I think that I have a better solution.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” she questioned, drinking in his scent.

“I shall always remain by your side as your personal guard. I will see to it that no harm comes to you,” he said as kissed the top of her head.

“Ooh, I love that idea,” she said as she looked up into his gray eyes. “My very own elfin champion. What more can a woman ask for?” Maglor then whispered something deliciously naughty in her ear. “Now I know why I love you so,” she giggled as he swept her up in his arms, and carried her back inside.

“Off the bed Kit, Kat,” he ordered the lions. “Mommy and daddy need some alone time.” The beasts leapt off the bed and ambled slowly across the room before disappearing in a blink of an eye. Buffy could see the yearning in the Noldo’s eyes, which excited her even more. She hadn’t felt desirable in a very long time. He kissed her hungrily, and in one swift motion, had her gown off. This was the first time that the Vala of Love had been intimate with her lover since she had returned. Buffy had nearly forgotten how pleasurable sex was. She was glad to be reminded again. And again!

The following morning, Maglor woke her up. “Bella, Bella,” he said as he gently shook her.

“Hmm,” she sounded with a yawn. Buffy was still half-asleep when Maglor explained that when he woke up he discovered that he had dried blood on his penis.

“It’s not from me. It’s from you,” he had said before leaving the chamber. The Slayer could hear him shouting Nestor’s name repeatedly in the hallway.

It took a few minutes for his words to register. Buffy quickly sat up once his words had finally sunk in. She threw the covers back to look at the sheets. There was a little blood, but not that much. Oh god, she thought as she looked towards the heavens. Are the Valar punishing me for my sass?

“Please Eru,” she prayed with her hands clasped together. “Don’t give me the curse again! Please!” Buffy was referring to her period. Since she had arrived in Middle-earth, she hadn’t had a menstrual cycle. Only once did she bleed from her nether regions, and that was after giving birth to Illyria. But now, it appeared as though she was having one after all these years. The Slayer was still praying under her breath when Maglor returned with the healer.

Nestor walked over to Buffy, who immediately pulled the covers up to hide her nakedness. After washing his hands, the healer insisted on examining the Slayer.

No words could describe how embarrassed Buffy felt by having her best friend (who happened to be the greatest healer in Middle-earth), looking between her legs. It didn’t help matters any when all the sudden he started laughing uncontrollably. That made her even more self-conscious.

“What is it?” she asked with concern. “Am… am I deformed or something?”

“No, not at all,” laughed the healer as he washed his hands in the basin.

“She is not ill then?” inquired Maglor.

“No, Bella is not ill,” replied Nestor with a laugh.

“What is it then?” Buffy asked again, as she got out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her.

“Maglor has broken your hymen,” he declared with a grin on his face. “You have lost your virginity.”

“But I’m not a virgin,” said a very confused Buffy.

“Indeed!” remarked Nestor. “That I know.” The Slayer scowled at him.

“Bella, did you die?” queried Maglor somberly. “Isn’t that the only time that you can remake your body - when you die?”

The room fell silent while Buffy stood there deep in thought. She was reflecting on the last few moments after the evil dwarves had hit her with the axe. She remembered the shock of it, but then nothing else. The next thing she knew, she was naked, powerless and locked away in that mystical prison.

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “I don’t remember anything after getting hit by the axe.” She chuckled to herself. “Surely, I’d know if I died. Wouldn’t I?” she questioned with confusion. “I mean, I’ve died before and I remember. I remember how, where and when. But I’m drawing a blank here.”

Maglor’s gaze met Nestor’s. “I do not think we can rule out the possibility,” remarked the healer. “You appear to be in good health. I don’t think it’s something that you need to concern yourself with,” he added reassuringly.

“Hey, I’ve got no problem as long as I don’t have to deal with a period again,” said Buffy as she headed towards the bathroom. “I’m taking a bath. Care to join me, honey?” she asked Maglor as she looked over a shoulder. The Noldo quickly dismissed Nestor before following his beloved into the adjoining chamber.

Buffy always loved bathing with any of her lovers. It was intimate, and good hygiene rolled into one. Many an elf in Ossir could be heard quoting the words that the Slayer spoke often, “Cleanliness is next to godliness!” There were many times in the past when she was ridiculed for bathing so frequently. Now, all her in Household bathed at least once a day, something quite uncommon in Middle-earth, even with the elves.

“Are you really not concerned about the possibility that you may had died?” Maglor had asked as he rinsed her hair.

“No. Been there, done that,” she replied. “My only concern is with the here and the now.” She stopped speaking for a moment as she was dowsed with water. “And the future. There’s nothing I can do about the past.”

“I suppose that when one has died as many times as you, the shock factor wears off after a while,” stated the Noldo.

“You have no idea how true that is,” said the Slayer as she climbed out of the tub.

After breakfasting with the rest of the Household, Buffy and Maglor went for a leisurely walk through the woods and gardens of Tol Galen. They had been talking about the sons of Fëanor remaining in Ossir. The Slayer figured that they would return to their respective homes after she had arrived back at Lindecoa.

“I believe that my brothers stay in anticipation of our wedding day,” remarked Maglor as they sat beneath a willow tree.

“I see,” she said with a chuckle. “And have you indicated to them when this wedding might take place?”

“That is not for me to say. I will wed you today, if it’s your will,” he answered.

Buffy then noticed for the first time since she had returned that she had lost her silver betrothal ring. She held her right hand up. “I’ve lost my ring,” she said. “I can’t believe I haven’t noticed until now.”

Maglor took her hand and kissed it. “Do not fret over that. It may turn up sooner or later,” he replied. “Curufin has already wrought us golden bands to exchange on our wedding day.” He pulled her into his arms.

“You know what? I think I’m ready… to be your wife that is,” confessed the Slayer. “We’ve lost so much time already; I don’t think we should wait any longer.”

“Nothing would make me happier than having you as my wife. Do you still wish to hold the wedding at Lindecoa?” he asked.

“Lindecoa?” asked the perplexed Slayer. “I don’t recall ever saying that. I’d always thought that we’d have the wedding in Lindon.”

The Noldo realized the error of his words after he had spoken them. The evil imposter wanted the wedding in Lindecoa, not his beloved. “Oh,” he remarked, slightly embarrassed. “But didn’t you order the Halls to be destroyed? Or do you have something else in mind?” he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“I’d be amazed if the elves dismantled the house that quickly. They were told to remove all the furnishings first,” she answered with a sigh. “I think I need to check on their progress,” she added as she rose to her feet. She grabbed Maglor’s hands and pulled him to her.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he queried.

Buffy smiled. “Of course,” she replied. “After everything that we’ve been through… It’s time for us to have some happiness.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said the Noldo before kissing her.

“I’m gonna go check out things in Lindon. Will you see if you can find Kit and Kat? I haven’t seen them all morning.”

“Surely. Will you be gone long?” he asked as he grabbed her hands.

“Nah. I’ll be back shortly.” Buffy gave him a kiss before disappearing, leaving Maglor alone. He began singing to himself as he made his way back to the mansion.

The Slayer arrived in Lindon only seconds later, and indeed the elves were already busy dismantling the house. Their progress stunned her. Regardless, the Slayer still wanted her wedding here. Instead of having it in the treetops, they would hold it by the banks of the Gelion. The setting was gorgeous, especially at sunset. But there was no way that everything could be readied by nightfall. Buffy instructed the elves in what they needed to do. It would take them a fortnight to have everything prepared according to her wishes.

Gúrchim led Buffy to one of the buildings where her belongings were being housed. She was looking for her scythe. After thirty minutes of searching, she found it locked away in one of her trunks. She brought the weapon back with her to Lindecoa.

Buffy then summoned Maglor to the music room. She notified him that they would be having the wedding in two weeks time, but that wasn’t the reason why she called for him.

“You have given me one of the most precious gifts that I’ve ever received,” she said lovingly. “Your father’s sword is an heirloom that will be treasured by me always. So, in keeping with that new tradition, I want to present a gift to my future husband that holds the same value to me.” Buffy reached behind the couch and pulled the scythe off the table. She handed it to Maglor.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Bella?” questioned Maglor in awe. “This means so much to you.”

“I know, but you mean a lot more,” she replied with a smile. “I want you to have it. I know your traditions say that we should exchange jewels, but I kinda like the weapon part more.”

“This weapon is a jewel as far as I’m concerned,” replied the Noldo with a grin. “Thank you so much for this gift, my dear Luinil. I will treasure it always.”

Instead of teleporting her Household to Lindon on her wedding day, Maglor suggested that they take boats and sail to the city in the north. He wasn’t opposed to traveling by that means, but he so loved Ossir and Middle-earth that he preferred to travel in a way that was customary for the elves. Over fifty large boats were traveling at great speed downstream on the river Adurant. It took them only a few hours to reach the Gelion. Buffy used her magic’s to aid them against the current of that mighty river. Ten days later, they arrived at the port at Lindon.

To Buffy’s surprise, Fingolfin, Finrod, Fingon, Lalwen and many others from northern Beleriand were already waiting in the city in the trees. They were not there for her wedding, but to compensate the Slayer for their treatment of her while they had her captured. Buffy had met with a repentant Fingolfin privately.

“I cannot express my regrets for the mistreatment that my people showed you whilst in my stronghold. I am truly sorry and beg your forgiveness,” he had started before Buffy stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it, Fingolfin. It was a case of mistaken identity,” she said as she poured them both a chalice of wine. “It could’ve happened to anyone.” She handed him a drink. “Let bygones be bygones,” she added before taking a sip.

He let out a heavy sigh. “I have brought you many gifts wrought by the Noldorin smiths to atone for… ”

Buffy shook her head. “There’s no need,” she said as she sat down. “For what I really want, you won’t give me freely.”

The Noldo King seemed bewildered by her statement. “My Lady, ask and it’s yours,” affirmed the son of Finwë.

The Slayer looked at him keenly for several moments before replying, “Lalwen.”

“My sister?” questioned a startled Fingolfin. “Why her?”

“It’s her destiny,” she replied as she fixed her gaze on the king. “I realize that by now, nearly all the Noldor know who I am. Who I really am. Your sister is meant to be with me, Fingolfin.” She rose to her feet, walked over to the window and looked out. “I understand your attachment to her. She’s the only one that has sung your praises all her life. Your father always loved Fëanor best, and your mother Finarfin.” She returned her gaze to the stunned elf. “You’re the odd man out. I know what that’s like; I’m in the same boat, too.

“But you underestimate Lalwen’s abilities. You do not know what she’s truly capable of. I do. ”

Fingolfin rose to his feet and joined the Slayer by the window. He was astounded by the truth of her words. “I understand that Lalwen is a strong woman, but she is not ready to face the darkness that you must face, Lady. She does not have a true understanding of the evil that lurks in this world. I will not willingly let her fight in any battles. My heart will not allow that,” said the Noldo King softly. “I love her too much.”

Buffy smiled reassuringly at the elf. “I know,” she answered. “We’ll let fate runs it course. But know Fingolfin, that when that fateful day comes to pass, Lalwen will come to me of her own free will, and I will put the sword in her hand. Through sorrow and pain, she will find strength and courage beyond your reckoning.” Buffy’s face became grim before she softly added, “Lalwen will deliver me in my darkest hour.”

“Ominous words you speak, Bellaseth. I deem that you have the gift of foresight though you may not reveal all that you have seen. Yes, I know who you are: the Vala of Love, sister of the Fëanturi. You seek peace, yet it seems that it will always be out of your grasp,” said Fingolfin. “You are like me in one respect: you will fight for what you believe in, out of love and devotion for the people of Arda. That is indeed highly commendable… ”

“We are alike in more ways than that, Fingolfin,” she interjected. “Although in some regards, your boldness is greater than mine. We all have our weaknesses, don’t we? I’m not infallible,” she added with a laugh.

“I must say that you are quite unlike your brethren,” commented the Noldo, grateful that the conversation was no longer focused on his sister.

“How’s that?” she asked as she walked past him and returned to her seat. The king followed suit.

“It’s hard to put into words, but you are more approachable than they,” he answered. She chuckled when she heard that.

“I actually find that rather flattering,” said a beaming Buffy. “I think that I possess qualities that they don’t. You see, I live in the ‘real’ world, not in some mystical haven. The Valar can send as many emissaries as they want to Middle-earth, but they’ll never really understand everything that’s going on here. They have no comprehension of what this world is like. It’s a whole new experience and one gains much perspective by living amongst the children of Ilúvatar.”

“Do I sense some bitterness towards those in the West?” questioned Fingolfin.

“Maybe,” she answered coyly. “But we’ll leave it at that… for now. My brethren are not my favorite topic of conversation nowadays.” Her smile widened. “That would be my upcoming wedding to Maglor.”

“A Vala wedding an elf! I never thought that I would see the day,” said the son of Finwë.

“A Vala is no different from an elf except in conception and power,” commented Buffy. A knock sounded on the door; it was Úrion. “Excuse me, Fingolfin, but I’ve gotta go. I will gladly accept your gifts, but let’s call them wedding presents instead. We’ll talk again, soon.” She then left the chamber.

Úrion informed Buffy that someone was waiting to see her on the porch before he departed. She squealed with delight when she saw Luthor seated there, both Kit and Kat at his feet. “LUTHOR!” she exclaimed as she ran over to him.

“My dear Bella,” he said as he hugged her warmly. “I am sorry that… ”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said as she clasped his hands. “I’m just so glad that you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”

Luthor studied her carefully. He was amazed to find her in such high spirits after everything that she had been through. “Your resilience boggles the mind,” he said as they sat down. “I expected to find you broken yet that’s not the case.” A huge grin came to his face.

“Love has a way of mending a broken heart… and body.” Buffy was so excited to see her old friend. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been back for nearly a month.”

“I have been searching for you, child,” Luthor replied as he rubbed Kit’s head. “If it hadn’t been for your cats, I would still be traveling the lands.”

Buffy looked at the lions. “So that’s where you two have been all this time!” She sat on the floor and rubbed them affectionately. “You’ll get a special treat as a reward.” The Slayer looked up at Luthor. He was still studying her closely. “Not now, Luthor,” she said quietly. “Let’s save that talk for after the wedding, okay?”

“Alright,” he answered with a smile. “So, the big day approaches at last. I deem that Kit and Kat wanted to make sure that I was a part of it.”

“I’m glad that they did, because there’s something that I want to ask you. A favor… ” she started before he interrupted.

“I would be delighted,” he said.

“Um, you haven’t heard my request yet,” remarked the Slayer in a puzzled voice.

“You would like for me to ‘give you away’ as they say in modern times,” revealed the perceptive Maia. “I would be honored.”

“God, I’ve missed you,” said Buffy as she gave him another hug. “And thanks.”

Even though Buffy had many last minute preparations to see to regarding her wedding, she spent the rest of the evening with Luthor. They didn’t discuss what had happened to her, but she did tell him about Salmar and the unpleasant message from the Valar.

When the Slayer awoke the morning of her wedding, she was filled with nervous anticipation. She hoped and prayed that nothing would ruin her big day. In the past, it always seemed that whenever she and Maglor took their relationship to the next level, Morgoth had always found a way to intervene. Yet this time her gut told her that she had nothing to fear. She only hoped she wasn’t being deceived.

“Nervous?” asked Maglor as they lay in bed.

“A little. You?” she questioned.

“No,” he responded.

“C’mon, not even a little? We’re talking a lifetime commitment here! Me for the rest of eternity and you’re not even the slightest bit nervous?” she queried teasingly.

“Hmm, since you put it that way… ” he said playfully.

Buffy rolled on top of him and held his arms down over his head. “I’ll never let you escape my clutches, Káno. Even death won’t separate us.”

“I hope not,” he replied as he flipped her onto her back. “You have made me the happiest man in all of Arda.”

“I love you,” she replied before kissing him.

Later that afternoon, Lalwen, Mirë and Buffy’s handmaidens helped ready the bride. The Slayer didn’t have a gown made for this special occasion as she had quite a few elegant ones that would fit the bill nicely. She chose a long flowing white satiny dress inlaid with pearls on the bodice. She would wear the matching headdress with her crown of luinil flowers over that.

She sat on a stool, sipping wine, as Mirë did her hair. Maglor wanted her to wear it down, but Buffy wanted it to be done in a beautiful French twist. The couple of glasses of wine that she had had while she got ready definitely helped steady her nerves.

“I have a gift for you,” said Lalwen as she handed Buffy a small box.

Buffy opened it and inside was a strand of pearls. “Ooh, it’s lovely,” she said.

“My father gave it to my mother on their wedding day,” revealed the daughter of Finwë. “It holds a lot of sentimental value, but I want you to have it.”

“I’ll borrow it, Lalwen. I’m not about to keep a family heirloom,” protested the Slayer.

“You are about to become part of our family, Luinil,” argued Lalwen, Buffy’s future aunt.

“This is something you need to pass onto your own children one day. I’ll be honored to wear it, but after the feast, I’m giving it back,” declared Buffy with resolve. When the elleth continued to protest, Buffy added, “I’m the ruler of these lands Lalwen, and my decision is final.”

“What do you think, mother?” asked Mirë once she had finished her hair.

“It’s perfect, Mirë,” said Buffy as she admired herself in front of the mirror. “Will you help me with my dress?”

“Of course,” answered her daughter. The ladies assisted Buffy with her gown and the rest of her ensemble. When she was outfitted in her wedding garb, the Slayer inspected herself in front of the mirror. “You look beautiful,” commented Mirë.

“Thanks,” replied a delighted Buffy. The ladies were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Go away, Thranduil. No men allowed!” said one of Buffy’s handmaidens as she tried to slam the door on the elf when he attempted to enter.

“OW!” he exclaimed as she shut the door on his leg, which was partially in the chamber. “Open the door, woman! I need to see Bella.” He began to slowly push the door open.

“It’s okay,” Buffy said over her shoulder before she continued to look at her reflection.

Thranduil stuck his tongue out at the maiden as he entered. In return, she gave him a gesture with her middle finger. “Well, that’s not very lady-like, Meldis! And in the company of the Lady, no less. Shame on you. You should be locked in the dungeons for your cheeky behavior,” chastised the elf mockingly.

“You best watch your tongue, Thranduil!” she said angrily.

“That’s enough! Both of you,” ordered Buffy, who stood glaring at them with her hands on her hips. Thranduil turned his attention to the bride-to-be. His jaw hung open when he laid eyes on her. The Slayer’s smile widened. “Just the reaction I was going for. So, what’s up, little man?” she asked as she carefully took a sip of wine.

“You look breathtaking, my Lady,” said the young man as he approached her. “Maglor is one lucky man.” He glanced at Meldis before adding, “I’m jealous. I only hope to be so lucky one day.” The young elleth leered at the silver-haired elf. It appeared that there was something going on between those two.

“Thanks, Thranduil,” she said as she gave him a hug.

“I’ve learned a bit about the customs of the Eldar,” he started. “You and Maglor are supposed to return your silver bands to one another… ”

“Yeah, I know,” uttered Buffy disappointedly. “I’ve lost mine.”

“No, Lady. It has only been… misplaced,” answered Thranduil with a smile. He opened his hand, and on his palm lay Buffy’s silver betrothal ring. The Slayer was flummoxed.

“How? Where did you find it?” she asked as she picked it up and placed it on her right forefinger.

“The imposter had it. When Kit bit her hand off, I took it after I came to,” revealed the silver-haired elf. “I knew that you would want it nonetheless.”

“You’re a life saver, Thranduil. I could just kiss you,” said a joyful Buffy.

“Be my guest!” proclaimed the young man. Buffy grabbed his face and planted one right on his lips. The elf turned a deep shade of red. He cleared his throat before saying, “You’re most welcome, my Lady.”

“Now, be off, young Thranduil,” commanded Mirë. “It is nearly time for the ceremony.”

“Young?” queried the elf in an affronted tone. “I am older than you, my dear golden-skinned friend. As a matter of fact, I’m the same age as your mother! Young indeed!”

“OUT!” she shouted, “or I shall turn you into an orch!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he mumbled as he started for the door. He stopped and turned towards Buffy, who was fingering the silver band on her finger. “Oh, by the way, Bella. I do hope you bear in mind that it was I that brought you your betrothal ring. Please don’t forget that.” Thranduil had an impish grin on his face. The Slayer found that a bit disconcerting.

“Why? What did you do?” she asked suspiciously.

His smile broadened and he no longer bothered to hide his amusement. “What?” he called out with his hand cupped around his ear, pretending that someone was calling him from outside the room. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear Lady, but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment.” He started for the door again. “See you at the ceremony,” he added before leaving the chamber. His laughter could be heard through the door.

Mire looked at her mother. “Would you like for me to question the scamp and find out what he’s up to?” she asked.

Buffy’s eyes were fixed on the closed door, the young man’s laughter could still be heard. “No, Thranduil’s pranks are harmless. Usually.” She turned to one of her maidens. “To be on the safe side, will you check and make sure there’s no warg dung in my bedchamber. That boy’s up to something.” One of Buffy’s maiden’s nodded before quickly leaving the room.

“It’s nearly time, Bella,” said Lalwen. “I deem that we should get a move on or you might be late for your own wedding. Look! The sun is starting to set.”

“Saddle up, ladies,” ordered the Slayer as she slipped her feet into the platform sandals that she would be wearing. Buffy then left the chamber with her maidens.

The betrothed had agreed upon combining the traditions of the Eldar with those of Man. Buffy’s only memory of any type of wedding ceremony had been what she recalled in her seventy-five years of life. As far as she was concerned, her way was the ‘proper’ way. They did argue over certain aspects of the vows, especially the naming of Manwë and Varda in witness. Buffy was dead set against it, especially after the threatening message that she had received, but Maglor vehemently refused to omit it. She did not worship the Valar and had no intentions on starting. They were merely guardians of Arda, the same as Buffy. Her equals. She believed that only Eru Ilúvatar should be named in witness for he is Lord of All.

Maglor remained steadfast regarding his position on the vows. Since Buffy had her way in every other respect, she gave in. Marriage was about compromise and it seemed that she had better start getting used to the idea of not having her way all the time. Unbeknownst to Buffy, both the King and Queen of Arda wholly supported her; they had not forsaken their ancient friendship. Otherwise, Oromë would have been sent to take back her back to Valinor.

Thousands of people from all over Ossir turned up for the feast of the century. Buffy was amazed at how quickly word had spread throughout the land regarding her wedding. It seemed that even Melian had heard the news somehow, as hundreds of nightingales were perched in the trees surrounding the glen. They were greatly outnumbered by the doves, the birds of Maranwë Luinil.

The ceremony itself cannot be told in detail as it is against the laws of the Eldar. They consider marriage a sacred ritual that should never be shared with any from another race (except for the Ainur). It can be said that both the father of the groom and the mother of the bride play an important role in the ceremony. Since neither of those people were around, Maedhros and Luthor took their place. Buffy had learned that the phrase ‘tying the knot’ that is used in modern times, actually had its roots in the customs of the Eldar. But no more can be said about that.

So it was on April the fourteenth of the fortieth year of the First Age, Buffy united with Maglor in holy matrimony. It would be the only time throughout the history of Arda in which a Vala wed an elf. All in Lindon were filled with great joy by this momentous occasion. It rekindled their hope for a brighter future for all the elves in Middle-earth. The celebration would last for days.

Of course, the best part for any newlywed is the act of bodily union that takes place after the ceremony. According to elvish custom, that’s what ‘seals the deal’ in regards to their ancient ritual. Buffy was surprised to see what her maidens had done to the bedchamber. It was filled with hundreds of flowers and candles. It was so romantic and beautiful.

Buffy lay on the bed as she watched her husband strip for her. He was acting incredibly silly (perhaps from too much wine?); she loved every minute of it.

“Now I get to ravish my wife!” he growled excitedly before leaping onto the bed and Buffy. As soon as he made contact, the entire bed collapsed to the floor and the heavy wooden headboard came crashing down on Maglor’s head. He howled in pain as Buffy tossed the heavy object to the side. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you okay?” she laughed as she tended to her wounded husband.

“Thranduil!” he muttered as he continued to rub the back of his head.

Buffy used her magic’s to levitate the mattress and move it onto the floor. She looked at the frame of the bed. “The dowels have been removed,” reported the still chuckling Slayer.

“That boy! I’m going to… ” he started as he went to get up. Buffy stopped him.

“Don’t you dare, mister,” she said as she climbed on top of him. “Let’s see what I can do to ease your pain,” added Buffy before kissing him passionately…


Chapter 37 - SEEING RED

Buffy, the sons of Fëanor, and the rest of her Household remained in Lindon for two weeks before returning to Lindecoa. The brothers were most anxious to go back to their realms in northern Beleriand, but they understood that the Slayer had things to tend to before she would willingly depart Ossir. They had all planned to make the long journey together.

It was now time for the Slayer to get her life back on course. Her unexpected absence had put a halt to all her preparations regarding the upcoming battles in Middle-earth. Buffy had lost her momentum, and it was imperative that she get it back. Despite her embittered feelings towards the Valar, she was not about to forsake her mission in this world.

Illyria plagued her thoughts more so than Morgoth of late. She was eager to pay another visit to her daughter’s lands in the east, but knew that Maglor would be most displeased if she took off so soon after their wedding. Instead, she sent out her doves to spy on Illyria and to check in with Brolach and his clan. She feared for mankind and was deeply concerned with how she could possibly assemble an army big enough to defeat her demonic daughter’s legions of monsters.

The Slayer also had to give thought to the evil doppelganger that was lurking somewhere within the confines of Arda. It brought her no comfort knowing that she could be raising hell somewhere, leaving Buffy to suffer the consequences of her double’s actions. However, she could not focus her attention on that at the moment. There were more pressing issues at hand, such as Folkvang. The Slayer knew that she had to return to her mystical realm soon, but the difference in the movement of time made her hold off on doing that as well.

Right now, Buffy needed to work on herself before even contemplating any of her other plans. It seemed like it had been ages since she had last trained for combat. While she had endured Morgoth’s rigorous physical therapy sessions in Angband, she had not worked on her slayer skills at all. Before she could take on any of her foes, she would have to be able to master her own body - the greatest of her weapons. That led to daily, strenuous workouts with her husband, brothers-in-law and the warriors of her Household. It soon became clear that she lacked the intensity and agility that she had had before her imprisonment. The Slayer’s number one priority was mastering her own strength.

Luthor’s attempts at cornering Buffy alone seemed to be impossible; she and Maglor were inseparable. He was anxious to hear about all that had transpired since they had last seen each other, but preferred speaking to her alone. After much coaxing, he was able to get the Slayer all to himself.

“I cannot stay much longer,” he announced as they headed to Buffy’s private chamber that contained her Mirror. “Dvalin is beside himself by now, I’m sure. I have sent some of your messengers to notify him of our whereabouts, but his mind will not be eased until I return.”

“How are the dwarves doing?” she asked as they climbed another set of stairs. “Do we have any babies yet?”

“Indeed!” laughed the Maia. “I take it that was your intention all along.”

“Just thinking ahead. It’s that whole two birds, one stone thingy,” reasoned the Slayer. Luthor gave her a curious look. “Female dwarves work as fervently as the males, plus they bring forth life, thus increasing my army of immortal dwarves. See, two birds, one stone.”

“I see,” he replied with a nod. “That’s rather clever of you.”

“Not really. Everyone wants some good old-fashioned lovin’. The dwarves are no exception.”

The Maia studied her carefully as they walked. “You’ve been having visions, haven’t you?” he asked, his blue eyes fixed on her.

“Yes, indeedy,” she answered. “I am a Vala after all. I should have the ability to see some things.”

“When did you start getting them?” inquired Luthor.

“When I got my powers back. I haven’t told you about that, have I?” she queried. The Maia shook his head. She told him about Nestor’s dream, the mystical pool and re-uniting with her powers. “I mean, it’s not like I can see a bunch of stuff, I just get bits and pieces here and there,” added Buffy.

“Sounds reminiscent of what you experienced in Folkvang… ” he commented.

“Pretty much, except they’re not all morbid visions,” revealed the Slayer. “I’ve seen good things. You know, happy stuff.”

Buffy unlocked the door to her chamber. They entered the sparsely furnished room. “So that’s the infamous Mirror, I take it,” remarked the Maia as he inspected the basin on its marble pedestal. “How does it work?” he asked. The Slayer explained to him how, but was very reluctant to give him a demonstration. “Why won’t you show me how it works?” he asked when he saw her hesitancy.

“I’m afraid Morgoth will see me if I use it,” she replied with a sigh. “He’s seen me in it before and that never leads to anything good.” She placed her hand on the rim of the bowl. “I’ve actually been thinking about destroying it. I fear one day he’ll come jumping out of it or something.”

“If Melkor truly wants to come to Lindecoa, he will come, Mirror or not,” answered the old man. “I suggest that you keep this glorious device, but do not throw caution to the wind.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buffy replied as she sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, propping her legs over the arm.

Luthor stood there for a moment, watching the Slayer intently. “How ‘bout a drink, Bella?” She nodded her head as she fiddled with her wedding band. “And then you can recount your tale for me in full,” he added as he poured them each a glass of wine.

“C’mon Luthor,” she protested, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard that story a million times since you’ve been here.”

“Not from you!” he answered as he handed her a drink. “I want to hear it from you, my child. Tales tend to become taller in the telling. You’d be amazed at how many different versions I’ve heard over the last few weeks,” said Luthor with a shake of his head as he sat in the other chair.

“Such as?” asked an apprehensive Buffy.

“Well, there has been talk that you and Morgoth have had another child, and I believe that Sauron too, fathered a babe with you,” he said with a chuckle. Buffy was appalled. She couldn’t believe that her own people were spreading such gossip.

“That’s a crock of shit!” she blurted out angrily. “There was nothing beyond kissing!”

“Oh, so that version is true,” said Luthor with raised eyebrows. “Come now, Bella, the time has come for you to tell me the tale in full.”

Buffy then revealed to the Maia all that had happened since their last meeting. He listened with rapt attention, interrupting only a few times with questions. The Maia felt uneasy about Sauron aiding the Slayer in her escape, especially with the kiss. That did not portend any good, he deemed. Morgoth’s lieutenant never expressed any interest in any woman. At least, not during Luthor’s stint in Angband.

“Hmm,” sounded the Maia after hearing her story. “After what I’ve been told by your husband… ”

“Ooh, I love hearing that. My husband!” said a joyful Buffy. “And I’m a wife, Luthor. Can you believe that?”

“Yes, yes,” grumbled the old man. “We need to address the issue of this evil imposter. The witch.”

“How?” queried the Slayer. Luthor’s head turned towards the Mirror. “No! I don’t want to use it.”

“You must!” ordered the Maia. “Maglor had told me that you used that device in order to see his past, and yours as well. That is key to showing us what happened at that fateful moment when you were hit by the axe. We have no other choice… unless you want that question lingering in the back of your mind for the rest of eternity.”

Buffy stared down into her glass, idly swirling the contents. “No, I don’t want that,” she said with resignation.

“You must learn to confront your fears head on, Bella,” stated Luthor firmly. “You’re not alone, here… ”

“See, that’s what you guys don’t get. I’ll always be alone. I was alone in that mystical prison for twenty years, I was alone in Angband with Morgoth, I was alone… ”

“That was then, this is now,” he argued. He grabbed her hands and held them tightly. “We will make you stronger so you will not have to fear being imprisoned by Melkor or anyone else. I will help you, my child.”

“There’s no way I’ll ever have enough strength to bring him down. Morgoth’s the firstborn of the Valar and he’s stronger than all the rest, including me. Hell, I don’t even think I can defeat Illyria and deliver mankind like I’m supposed to. How in Eru’s name can we defeat an army nearly a half a billion strong, Luthor?” she questioned with an air of dread in her voice. She didn’t give him the chance to respond. “I can’t muster that kind of manpower. Even if I could unite all the elves, men and dwarves, we’re still outnumbered.

“So what are my options, here? Shut the Hellmouth that Illyria’s kingdom’s on and allow mankind to perish? Or should I just destroy the world altogether and save everyone from a bunch of heartache? I know what’s coming, Luthor. And I’m not ready to face it… not by a long shot. I need more time!”

“Bella, I am not suggesting that we storm the fortresses of Illyria or Melkor on the morrow,” reassured Luthor calmly. “I understand that you have a long way to go before you’re ready, but you must continue preparing as you’ve always done. It is not time to throw in the proverbial towel.”

“Am I not entitled to some peace? Don’t I get to ride into the sunset with my prince?” she questioned with tear-filled eyes. “I’ve suffered horribly, Luthor. I haven’t been back that long. Can’t this wait? Can’t I enjoy what I’ve worked so hard for?”

“My child, you are the Chosen One. You don’t have the luxury to forgo your sacred duty,” the Maia said kindly. “We are not going to engage the enemy in any battles, but we must work on honing your skills. That means that we need to figure out exactly what happened on that fateful day years ago. I understand your anxiety, really I do.” Luthor’s eyes had become filled with tears. “Do it for me, Bella. I need to know what happened even if you have no interest in finding out. I will have no peace of mind until I learn what happened, then we’ll be able to deal with the situation wisely.”

Buffy knew that Luthor was looking out for her best interests. She relented. They walked over to the Mirror, and she began filling the basin with the water from the cistern. “Why did you have to get all teary eyed on me, Luthor?” she asked.

“Because you love and care about me deeply,” he answered with a half smile, “As I do you. We will make you stronger, once we figure things out.”

“I guess that remains to be seen,” said the Slayer as she slit the palm of her hand with a dagger. The blood spilled into the water and for the first time, it turned red, blood red, not blue. She waved her hand over the bowl and then blew on the contents. With a clap of her hands, flickering flames of orange and blue sprang out of the basin until it turned to the image of her flying in falcon form. They stood side-by-side, as Buffy licked her hand, healing herself in the process.

“You are close to Ossir’s borders here?” questioned Luthor as he watched the hologram-like picture.

“Yeah, there are the dwarves,” she commented. “I’m gonna start descending in a minute.” They watched as she flew lower and lower. Then the axe came hurling through the air towards her breast. “Here it comes.” It happened so fast that Buffy didn’t notice.

“Stop the image!” ordered Luthor, furrowing his eyebrows. The image continued to play.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” she queried.

“Will it! All you have to do is will it. I want to see the impact again… and slower,” instructed Luthor.

“Like I can play it in slow motion,” she mumbled under her breath. Buffy thought hard. The image went into reverse and it replayed slowly before them. “That’s totally cool. I didn’t know that I could do that!” she added delightedly.

“There’s a lot of things that you can do that you haven’t given thought to yet,” answered the Maia, as he looked closer at the image. “Play it slowly, Bella.” The image slowed down dramatically. It was like watching a movie frame by frame. “Look!” he exclaimed as he pointed to a dark shape that lurked over her shoulder. She had never seen it before. “That is the fey of the imposter. I can see it plainly now. Back it up again and play it again at the same speed as before.” The Slayer was stunned that she had never perceived the imposter’s presence at that time. They watched that scene several times.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know she was there,” uttered an alarmed Buffy.

“I’ve seen enough,” said Luthor as he refilled their glasses with a shaky hand.

“What is it?” queried the Slayer upon noticing his trembling. “What’s wrong, Luthor?”

“Come and sit with me,” he instructed. They returned to their overstuffed chairs. “I believe that I understand what happened to you, Bella,” the Maia began before taking a deep drink. “It appears that when the axe struck you, your fey momentarily left your body due to the trauma. In that split second, the imposter took possession of your hröa, forcing you to remake another body to house your fey.” Buffy sat there with her jaw hung open. The realization that she was not in her ‘real’ body kind of freaked her out a bit.

“But Luthor, how did I get there? To that dungeon, I mean?” queried a bewildered Buffy.

He chewed on his bottom lip. “It was magick, Bella,” he started. “Did you not notice that you were engulfed in a blue light as opposed to white?”

“But I thought that blue was my sacred color,” commented the Slayer.

“True, but have you ever vanished in a blue light before?” he asked.

“Not that I remember. When I went to Lindon before the wedding, there was no light. What does that mean?” she asked with concern.

He shook his head. “That I do not know. Your fey resembles a blue flame, which is why you are known as Luinil, but I deem that you are entering a new phase in your life. I see red in your future.”

Buffy’s thoughts immediately turned to Morgoth. She knew that he had an aversion to that color yet last time she was with him, he had a red dress made for her. Did he know something that she did not?

“What exactly does red represent?” asked the Slayer.

“Obviously, blood and passion,” answered the Maia. “It also symbolizes power, speed, strength and aggression. It is no mere coincidence that you happen to possess all those traits, Bella.”

“So, I’m going through some type of change,” suggested a confused Buffy.

“I prefer the word ‘phase.’ You are entering a new phase is all,” replied Luthor. “I believe that you’re stronger than ever.”

“How so?”

“The body that you had before was created by the mortal ‘parents’ of Buffy Summers; it was weak, flawed,” revealed the old man. “This form was made by you, your essence.” He smiled. “You have perfected your flesh!”

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, right,” she said skeptically. “If I’ve perfected my body, how come I didn’t fight with the same intensity when I was sparring with the guys like I did with my old form? Why wasn’t I able to break out of my prison?” she questioned with a shake of her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense, Luthor.”

“There are a few possibilities. Great magicks were used against you, Bella. And I deem that that witch did not act alone. No Maia possesses that type of power over a Vala. Your kindred were made greater than the Maiar. It would take many of my kind to keep you in limbo.” Luthor rose to his feet and began pacing. “Yes, it’s all making sense to me now. This conspiracy is greater than I’ve ever thought, and surprisingly, I don’t think Melkor was behind it, not this time.” He started mumbling under his breath. “No, he rescued you. He would not torment you in such a manner. We need to ask ourselves who would go to such drastic measures to get you out of the way and why?”

“What about Sauron? Or Illyria?” suggested Buffy.

“It’s possible,” answered Luthor as he absentmindedly stroked his beard. The room fell quiet as the Maia continued to pace. Buffy herself began to recall things from her past. One of the things that came to her mind was the dire warning from Salmar years ago about waiting fifty years before wedding Mablung.

“Salmar knew,” she blurted out, breaking the silence. Luthor stopped and faced the Slayer. It seemed like everything was becoming clearer to her. “Salmar knew that something was going to happen to me,” disclosed Buffy incredulously. “Do you think that the Valar could be behind this? Maybe they wanted me out the way, fearing that I would join forces with Morgoth. It seems that they’ve already jumped to that conclusion any way.”

“But Salmar said that they were unaware of your imprisonment… ”

“Just because he said it, doesn’t mean it’s true,” protested the Slayer. “Why else would he tell me to wait fifty years before marrying? He knew something, Luthor. And I bet he got his info from Ulmo.”

“Why would Ulmo want you imprisoned?” questioned a disbelieving Luthor.

Buffy thought for a moment. “Cause he didn’t want me to marry someone else. We’d supposedly loved each other at one time - it could be jealously.”

“That’s preposterous!” barked the Maia. “If that were the case, why wouldn’t Ulmo prevent your wedding to Maglor? No. I do not think that the Valar are behind this. This is a new foe we’re dealing with here.”

The Slayer was slightly miffed that Luthor shot down her idea. She wasn’t about to rule out the possibility. She couldn’t. Buffy was finding it difficult to differentiate between the good guys and the bad ones. It seemed as if she were being attacked from all sides.

“Okay, so we figured out how the witch hijacked my body… so what happens now? I hate the thought of an evil me out there somewhere. She can cause a lot more problems than she’s done so far, Luthor,” said the nervous Slayer.

“For now, we can only pray that she does not hinder any of the bonds that you’ve formed with the people of Middle-earth.” He looked up at Buffy, grim faced. “That would be disastrous for us. We must work on your magics, Bella. You must send forth your powers so that your former hrör recognizes that the wrong fey resides in its house.”

“What will that do?” queried a puzzled Buffy.

“Once the body is aware it will begin to fade into nothingness,” he said solemnly. “At that point, we can only hope that she’ll resume her original form, not yours.”

“You mean she can remake herself to look like me?!” exclaimed the distressed Slayer. The glass that she was holding shattered as a direct result, spilling wine all over her lap. She brushed the fragments from her hands and dress as she stared at Luthor, waiting anxiously for his response.

“Of course, she can. It’s a skill that we all possess,” said the Maia while blotting the liquid with his handkerchief. “You can take any form that you wish, Bella. How do you think you turned into that old woman when you first approached the men in the east?”

“I assumed the Valar were responsible,” she said quietly. “I mean, they instructed me to go in the first place, so I figured that they thought that it was the most non-threatening form… ”

“Do you not see?” questioned Luthor as he fell to his knees and looked earnestly into Buffy’s eyes. “You said it yourself. You figured out that appearing to mankind in the guise of an old woman would be less threatening, and that’s exactly what you did. The Valar played no part in that.”

The Slayer was amazed to hear that. She really did think that they were responsible, not she. “So, you’re telling me that I can change my appearance to anything that I want?”

“Yes, indeed. The only thing that you cannot change is your gender. A female will always remain a female, a male, a male. Therefore, whether you wish to soar through the air in the likeness of Manwë’s eagles or if you wish to float upon the waters of Ulmo as a swan, you will always remain female.”

“Damn, what else can I do?” she asked slightly dumbfounded. She never dwelled on what she was capable of doing with magic. Maybe, it had to do with past life experiences. One thing that she knew for sure was that the more powerful the magic, the weaker it makes you. And strength was something that Buffy wasn’t too keen on giving up. She valued her strength greater than magic.

“We need to take things one step at a time, my dear,” said the Maia as he rose to his feet. He pulled her up as well. “One must exercise one’s gifts or they become dormant. And I daresay that you have fallen into the dormant category. Have you used any magics lately?”

“Well, it’s not like I use it all the time, but yeah, sometimes. I mostly use my powers to teleport. It’s my favorite means of traveling although my husband prefers the old fashioned way,” said the Slayer with a chuckle.

“Oh, yes, teleporting. I wish I possessed that gift,” sighed the old man. “I deem that you need to practice shape shifting. That is a wondrous skill that you must learn to master. It will be advantageous to you in the future.”

Luthor then showed Buffy how to change her form at will. He made her change into a variety of different creatures including a swan, falcon, bee, bear, lion and even a tree. She also learned how to make herself taller, shorter, older and younger. It was amazing and draining all at the same time.

“Excellent, Bellaseth, excellent,” said Luthor proudly. “It is now time for you to send forth your powers. Give me a minute to prepare.” The Maia pulled a stick of charcoal from his pocket and proceeded to draw a large circle on Buffy’s beautiful marble floor.

“Hey old man!” she shouted. “You’re ruining my floor.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “I’m merely drawing a Ring of Protection.”

“It looks more like graffiti to me,” she said with an air of disdain in her voice. She mumbled some choice words under her breath. The circle was twenty feet in diameter and in the center stood the Mirror on its marble pedestal. She had no idea what the hell Luthor was doing other than destroying the craftsmanship of the dwarves.

“This represents the essence of the female,” the Maia finally said when he had finished.

“That doesn’t resemble a… ” she started before he cut her off.

“It’s symbolic, Bella,” said the Maia with a shake of his head. “The female represents home and hearth, and this symbol is used as a means of protection. You only need to step outside to see that Lindecoa is enclosed by a circular wall… very much like Valimar, the city of the Powers in the West.”

“Gee, all this time I thought the wall was for keeping intruders out,” quipped the Slayer. “Silly me!”

“This is important, child, and it’s not a matter for jest!” chastised Luthor.

As the Maia droned on about the significance of this symbol, Buffy sort of spaced out. Her own mind went back to that momentous day many years ago in Sussrúmnir; the day that the twins were born. She recalled the spell that she had done with Marto in order to re-energize her spirit. It then dawned on her that she intuitively had a greater knowledge of casting spells than she had originally thought. Back then, she automatically knew that the only way to increase her powers was by uniting with one from the opposite sex within the circles. It was very similar to what she had done in Angband with Morgoth except with totally different results.

Luthor instructed Buffy to sit in the circle while he walked around the perimeter. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax.

“Concentrate, Bella,” advised the Maia softly. “Focus your energies on your hröa. Search for it in your mind. Call to it,” he spoke slowly. Time seemed to come to a standstill. Buffy had no idea how much time had elapsed when suddenly a white light shot out of her body and soared upwards, disappearing through the ceiling of the room. It left her feeling a little woozy. “Well done,” said a happy Luthor as he entered the circle. “That’s enough for today.” He helped Buffy to her feet.

“I really do need to get a move on,” he said after they left the chamber.

“I’ve got something that I want to give you before you leave. Do you have time to come with me to the armories?” she asked tiredly.

“I will make the time,” he answered with a smile.

They entered one of the vast chambers. Buffy led him to the back wall where a large copper trunk sat. She pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the chest. “I made these years ago with Marto in Folkvang,” she said as she pulled a glove out of the box. “It’s a very powerful weapon that shoots out electrical impulses that will obliterate anything in its path.” She placed it in his hand and retrieved another before relocking the case . “C’mon, I’ll show you how to use it.”

Buffy led Luthor outside to a private area where no elves were lingering about. She demonstrated how the glove of Myhnegon worked. “This is the most extraordinary device that I’ve ever set my eyes upon,” remarked the astonished Maia. Nothing delighted her more than hearing those words from someone that she considered not only a mentor, but also family.

After the afternoon meal, Luthor departed Tol Galen for the Deeper Well.

Before the Slayer would leave, she needed to appoint a new Regent for Ossir. That is why she summoned Úrion to her private chambers.

“I feel like I’ve neglected you since I’ve been back,” she had said to her dear friend. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Bella. You’ve had much to do with the wedding and all,” answered the elf.

“Well, Maglor’s eager to get back to his lands in the north, but I can’t leave Ossir without someone acting in my stead during my absence,” revealed the Slayer. “It would mean a lot to me if you would accept the position of Regent.”

Úrion smiled. “I’m honored that you trust me so,” he replied. “But I do not wish to leave you. I vowed to remain by your side and I want to accompany you to the north. Perhaps Nestor would be better suited for that position. He is a green-elf after all.”

Buffy’s heart sank. “True, but he really doesn’t know how to handle government affairs,” she replied dejectedly. “I mean… when the dwarves were murdered, you took it upon yourself to compensate the people of Belegost. Nestor didn’t even know that that was the appropriate thing to do.” She let out a heavy sigh. “It would mean so much to me if you would stay for a while to keep things running. Maybe you could train Nestor for the role and then rejoin me in the north,” suggested Buffy.

“But I do not wish to leave you, Dagnir,” pleaded Úrion. “I love you and wish… ”

“What if I sweeten the deal for you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’ll double your salary plus I’ll have the elves and dwarves erect a fine home for you… anywhere you want it,” offered the Slayer.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” the elf questioned in a hurtful tone.

“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.” She got up and hugged him reassuringly. “I love you, Úrion, and I really want you to go with me. But I don’t really trust anyone to run things here like I want them run. You have a mind for business and finances. You know how to handle the bartering and whatnot with the Noldor and dwarves. No one is better suited for the position than you.” She looked at him pleadingly. “It’ll only be for a few years. I expect to be back soon.”

“Maglor has been here for many years, I do not think he will be eager to return so soon,” replied Ossir’s Minister of Finance.

“My child will be born in Ossir. That’s one thing that I won’t make any concessions about,” disclosed the Slayer.

“Bella, are you with child?” asked the shocked elf.

“No, not yet,” she replied. “But it won’t be too long before I am. I’ve seen that in my future… Actually, I heard it as opposed to seeing it. The visions are strange sometimes. Regardless, I know that an infant will be born unto me and Maglor in the very near future, and I will return at that time.” Her smile widened. “You can come back with us at that time. I want the little one to be raised with his Uncle Úrion, you know.”

“Uncle, huh?” questioned the councilor with a chuckle. “Alright, Dagnir. I will stay, but only until you return. After that, I refuse to be left behind.”

“Thanks, Úrion,” she said as she gave him another hug. “By the way, I’ve got a special gift for you.” She disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a Glove. “This is a very powerful weapon that I devised in Folkvang. It’s yours, my friend.”

The elf looked wide-eyed at the weapon. As he examined it, Buffy explained what it was and how it worked. She didn’t have time to show him how precise and effective it was, but she knew that he would test it out the first chance he got.

“This is magnificent, Bella,” he said in an awe-filled voice. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Just keep things running smoothly while I’m gone,” she answered with a smile. “You’re now Lord of Ossir.”

“I will do my best, my Lady,” he replied courteously. “And I will miss you dearly.” He pulled her in a tight embrace, a wicked grin on his face. Úrion was just given an all access pass to every military installation in Ossir, as well as Buffy’s home.


Chapter 38 - CONSEQUENCES

The following morning, after bidding good-bye to her children, Buffy and the caravan of more than one hundred elves set out from Tol Galen. Once again, they would travel by boat to Lindon, and then proceed on by horseback to northern Beleriand. Buffy didn’t mind, as the journey along the river was most beautiful, especially at that time of year (beginning of summer.) All the vegetation flourished along the riverbank and a variety of birds zoomed back and forth singing their merry melodies. A dozen or so swans accompanied the ships on the River Adurant. They looked graceful despite the rapid current of that stream.

Buffy savored every moment of the trip. Although her beloved husband forbade her to sunbathe naked on the boat, she spent all day basking in the sunlight, tanning herself as much as possible. She wore the skimpiest outfits that she possessed in order to achieve the maximum effects from the rays of the sun. That, Maglor begrudgingly permitted; he hated the way the men leered at her when she dressed that way. Nevertheless, he sang sweet love songs to his wife from beneath the canopied area of the deck.

The group spent two days in Lindon before they set off again, this time on horseback. It had been a long while since Buffy had last rode and it took a couple of days for her body to acclimate to the most unpleasant feeling of being atop a horse. She was beginning to think that she made a mistake by not taking her chariot, but that would have required her to stand throughout the journey. And Kit and Kat seemed pleased to be roaming the countryside freely. Her butt would just have to suffer.

On the forth day of their leisurely journey, they set up camp at dusk just north of the Dwarf Road and the River Ascar. They were now in the region known as Thargelion or Dor Caranthir to the Noldor, for this was the domain of the forth son of Fëanor. As the sun set, a cool breeze blew from the east through the gap in Ered Luin. Many fires were lit and the smell of roasting meat permeated through that wooded area. Maglor continued to strum on his harp and the magnificence of his voice drew many Enyd from the depths of the forest. The Noldor that were present were excited by their first encounter with the Shepherds of the Forest. Buffy was delighted to see that Thônel was among them.

When nature called, the Slayer retreated into the woods. After peeing, she became consumed by the strangest feeling. So strange was it that the hair on her arms and neck stood on end. As she looked around, she noticed a clearing through the trees about four hundred yards to the east. Without alerting anyone, she took off in that direction. It was as if she were being called even though she heard no voices other than those at the encampment. When Buffy reached that area, she saw no one, yet the feeling didn’t leave her. She looked upwards at the star speckled sky and saw a phantom image of herself in falcon form. It appeared that that tragic moment that she had experienced years ago was replaying before her eyes. That or the wine she had drunk had really gone to her head.

It was then that she saw something fall from the sky. She couldn’t clearly make it out but she recognized the tinkling sound. Buffy began to examine the ground looking for the ghostly object. She nearly fainted when she came across the gilded belt that Morgoth had given her years ago. It had been trampled into the earth, but was not damaged. She picked it up and began cleaning it off; the chinking sound of the charms still captivated her. The Slayer couldn’t imagine what the chances were that she would stumble upon that mystical weapon after it’s having been lost for so many years.

It was then that Buffy felt a hand on her shoulder, which caused her to jump. She nearly knocked the hell out of her husband.

“Damn, Maglor,” she said breathlessly, holding her hand to her chest. “Don’t creep up on me like that. You scared the hell out of me.”

He found her reaction rather amusing. “I was worried. You have been gone a long time and I wanted to make sure everything was alright,” he responded, as his eyes went to the belt. “What do you have there?”

“Oh,” she answered. “Um, it’s the belt I had lost when the dwarves attacked me.” She held it up, the charms jingled in the process. “I thought it was lost for good, but amazingly, I just found it.”

Maglor looked closer at the belt. “Oh, yes. I remember that. Surely, it must be a stroke of luck for you to happen upon it after all these years. I can’t believe no one had found it before now.”

“Me too,” she replied as she clasped it around her waist. Buffy felt slightly uncomfortable. She had never told Maglor the truth about the belt. He believed that it was made by the smiths in Folkvang, not Morgoth. If he knew the truth, he’d want it destroyed, and quite honestly, the Slayer loved that weapon and intended on using it in the upcoming battles in Middle-earth. She would not part with it for anything.

“I take it this is the place where you were assailed,” remarked the Noldo as he looked towards the heavens.

“Yep,” she answered, following his gaze. She pointed upwards. “Right up there.”

“How I would love to get my hands on those evil dwarves!” he said through gritted teeth. “I would show them no mercy for what they had done to you.”

Buffy looked at her husband with a huge grin on her face before wrapping her arms around his waist. “Something tells me that that opportunity is going to present itself sooner than you think,” prophesied the Slayer. “Nothing will please me more than fighting with you by my side.”

“You’ve had another vision, haven’t you?” he asked as he pulled her closer. “What is it that you’ve seen in that beautiful head of yours?” Maglor asked as he caressed her cheek tenderly.

The Slayer gestured to the north. “There’s a group of them about three days ride north of here.”

“You mean to say that they’re in Caranthir’s lands as we speak,” said the shocked Noldo.

“Uh-huh,” she replied.

“Well, it appears that luck is on our side,” said Maglor with a laugh. “Those dwarves will rue the day that they ever set foot in Beleriand. Should we inform the others?” he questioned.

“I’d rather keep it quiet, for now,” answered Buffy. “I want to give the young ones a chance to hone their skills. They need to learn how to recognize the good dwarves from the bad.” Her smile widened.

“Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be Thranduil’s shining moment?” queried the dark-haired elf.

“Because you’re perceptive, wise… and mine!” said Buffy, as she stood on her tippy toes and kissed her husband ravenously. The prospect of actually fighting again greatly aroused the Slayer.

“Here?” whispered Maglor anxiously, as Buffy continued to plant kisses on his face. “With so many people close by?”

“We’re newlyweds. We’re supposed to be wild and care free,” she answered before covering his mouth with hers once again. The Noldo didn’t need any more convincing. He took her right then and there…



On the morning of the third day, Buffy informed Maglor’s brothers and some of the high-ranking warriors in the group of the upcoming skirmish. Before they set out, she wanted to send the youngsters ahead as scouts. They would not be put in harms way as the dwarves were outnumbered by the elves 2:1. Both the Slayer and the Noldor could smell the foulness of the evil sons of Mahal in the air, leaving no doubt that they were tracking the Noegyth Nibin (Petty Dwarves.)

Twenty-two young people would be sent ahead of the caravan. Some of these were women and Buffy was anxious to see how well they would do in a confrontational situation. Even though the dwarves were outnumbered, they were a hardy folk and these in particular, were especially cruel and vicious. The young ones were already dressed appropriately in their battle gear, eager for any type conflict that would require them to utilize their skills of combat.

As the youngsters (some of them were older than Buffy!) took off down the road that meandered through the foggy woods, the others stayed behind. Celegorm, who had the ability to understand the language of all beasts, was conversing with some squirrels who had spied upon the evil dwarves. They were nearly five miles to the north-west of the elves current location, decimating a grove of rowan trees. The Noegyth Nibin took pleasure in destroying everything in their path.

Thirty minutes later, the group started down the road. Buffy and the sons of Fëanor were at the forefront while the carts laden with their provisions were at the rear of the train. All the elves were armed, but none wore any mail. These were experienced warriors and the Noldor did not feel threatened by the dwarves. Of course, they had no idea how steadfast they could be. Buffy knew that her people would only suffer minor injuries; none would perish at the hands of the Petty Dwarves. If she needed to use her magics to subdue them, she would.

The early morning fog was a blessing in disguise as the elves eyesight was the most acute of the children of Eru Ilúvatar (or Aulë, for that matter,) and it did not hinder their ability to see the dwarves. It was not long afterwards when the scouts excitedly returned. Thranduil was the one who gave them the report since he was heir to the throne of Ossiriand.

“Bella,” he said from atop his steed. “There are sixty-two dwarves up ahead. My heart tells me that these are the evil sons of Aulë. They are hacking and burning the forest as they go.” Thranduil was a lover of trees and it upset him greatly to see its needless destruction.

Buffy smiled at the young silver-haired elf. She felt so much pride that he was able to detect their true nature. “I believe you’re right, little man.”

“Then these are the creatures that incapacitated you?” he queried gravely.

“Yes,” she responded. “The time has come for us to engage the enemy.”

The youngsters unsheathed their weapons upon hearing Buffy’s words. “Death to the evil ones!” proclaimed Thranduil as he raised his blade into the air. “The House of Bellaseth Dagnir shall be avenged this day.”

The Slayer turned to her husband. “His words are like music to my ears,” said a beaming Buffy.

“He will make a great King one day,” answered Maglor.

“Muinthel,” interjected Maedhros. “I suggest that we let the youngsters approach the dwarves from the road while we take to the woods. Let them rout the enemy straight to us.”

“Great idea, Russandol,” replied Buffy. “We need to make sure that we form a blockade to prevent them from escaping.”

“Will do,” added Curufin, as he, Celegorm, Caranthir and several Noldor took off to the west.

“Stick to the road, Thranduil,” instructed the Slayer. “Approach the dwarves as stealthily as possible. We’ll lie in wait for your signal.”

“And what will that be?” asked the young elf.

Buffy smiled. “The blood-curdling screams of the dwarves, of course,” she answered with a wink. “Good luck! And for Eru’s sake, be careful!” She looked at all the youngsters and added, “All of you.”

The elves then took off into the woods. Buffy, Maglor, Maedhros and their people would cover the north, while the other sons of Fëanor defend the west. Thranduil and the rest of his group would strike from the east off the main road, while the green elves would form a line of attack to the south. The Slayer wanted to make sure that there was no chance for the dwarves to escape.

Everyone’s adrenaline was pumping as they rode through the trees. The further north they went, the denser the fog and smoke became. The smell of the burning trees and foliage was heavy in the air. Buffy wondered if the Enyd were around, as they would react very violently to the unwarranted molesting of their charges.

It took the elves another forty-five minutes before they reached their positions. Only minutes later, the clamor began. The gruff voices of the Petty Dwarves sounded through the forest and the sound of metal clashing against metal echoed throughout that region. Some of the green elves that had accompanied Buffy’s group dismounted from their horses and worked feverishly in putting out the brush fires that had been started. Many of the elves covered their noses and mouths with handkerchiefs, which reminded Buffy of bandits in those old western movies from the modern times.

Many in the company were now on foot. They watched the youngsters wage their war of revenge on the barbarians. A number of Noldor, led by Maedhros joined the fray. Buffy watched Thranduil closely. She wanted to be there when he made his first kill, which was a momentous occasion for any warrior. The dwarves had formed themselves into several rings, one inside the other. That formation was a telltale sign that there was someone of significance within the center of the circle.

Buffy was quite impressed with Thranduil’s gumption. Despite his youthful age, he aggressively pursued his opponent with an intensity that floored her. She moved in closer and watched as the young elf’s sword pierced through the jerkin of his enemy thus squelching his life.

Her eyes welled with tears; she was so proud of Thranduil. “That’s my boy,” she uttered to Maglor, who was most anxious to jump into the thick of things.

“I don’t know if I can restrain myself any longer, Luinil,” said her husband. “I wish to avenge my beloved.”

“Go for it!” she replied excitedly. Maglor withdrew his blade from its scabbard and joined the others in the fight.

The Slayer continued to watch as the frontline of dwarves fell, only to be replaced by the next. She closed her eyes for a few moments, and inhaled deeply. When her eyes popped open again, they shone with the fire from within her. The one who threw the axe that had hit her was the one being protected by his brethren. That dwarf would be Buffy’s kill. She charged the ring of dwarves at great speed. Their weapons bounced off an invisible shield that surrounded her, leaving them both mystified and horrified. When she reached the center, she grabbed the culprit by the beard, and easily disarmed him. She then dragged the squirming, wicked dwarf from his fellow evil doers.

For once in her life, she looked rather intimidating. Buffy was over a foot taller than her adversary and after what he had just witnessed, he was terrified. “Remember me?” she queried in a hostile tone.

“I’ve never seen you in my life,” sputtered the dwarf, who whined every time the Slayer pulled on his beard.

Buffy roughly grabbed the dwarf by the head with both of her hands. She placed her forehead against his sweaty and smelly one causing him to experience the visions that had haunted her for years. He saw that she was indeed the falcon that he had maimed for his own amusement long ago. The dwarf cried out, as he knew that his doom was finally upon him.

The tussle with the dwarves was nearing its end. The elves had already begun gathering the slain and tossing their corpses into the fires that had been ignited. They deemed that it was the most befitting way to get rid of those wicked beings.

There were a few elves that day that thought what Buffy did to that dwarf was unconscionable; although most believed that it was just. She viewed the ‘man’ as the one who pulled the trigger that set off the series of events that had happened to her thereafter. Her wrath could not be quelled, for the Slayer wished to torment that creature by the harshest means possible.

She whistled in a high pitched tone, and a moment later, Kit and Kat appeared at her side. The dwarf trembled fearfully at the sight of the beasts. Kit let out a terrible roar as Kat made a hissing sound that caused the hair on the dwarf’s body to stand on end. Buffy snatched the dwarf by the beard and lifted him off the ground, as high as her arm would stretch.

“Have you met my darling kitties,” said the Slayer with contempt. “They’re ferocious beasts. Wanna see?” she asked.

“NO! NO! PLEASE!” shouted her foe.

Buffy made a couple of kissing sounds before the lions each clamped down on one of the dwarf’s legs, sinking their teeth deep into his flesh. Loud cracking noises rang out in the wooded area. The Slayer continued to hold the villain as Kit and Kat shook their heads violently, pulling at the appendages with all their might. The cries of the dwarf alerted the others to the gruesome scene that was unfolding before their eyes. Only moments later, the lions successfully removed his legs as the man continued to howl in pain. Blood spurted all over the Slayer, but she was not yet finished.

She lowered the dwarf so that he was eye level with her. His eyes had already glazed over and his face had become as white as a ghost. His life force was pooling around her feet, but he still lived. The dwarf mumbled a prayer in his native language between gasps. That disgusted the Slayer even more.

Without saying one word, Buffy balled up her fist and punched a hole into the dwarf’s chest. She gripped his still beating heart in her hand before ripping it from its cavity. The Slayer then threw his lifeless body onto the flaming heap of his kinfolk. Blood ran down her arm as he held the heart aloft, and she fell to her knees. She turned her head upwards, and allowed the stream of crimson liquid to fall into her mouth. While that may sound revolting, the Slayer was actually gathering information from the dwarf’s ‘life force.’ As the blood ran down her throat, images of the dwarf’s past life flashed in her mind. When she discovered the location of the Petty Dwarves hideout, she tossed the organ into the fire and wiped her mouth on the bottom of her tunic.

The elves stared at Buffy with shocked disbelief. None had ever witnessed someone rip out another’s heart before. Her fist had gone through his mail like butter, but her hand was wounded in the process. She remained on her knees, panting hard as the wind shifted and she became enclosed in a thick haze. That’s when the Slayer rose to her feet and sang a song of power. Dark, looming clouds appeared out of nowhere and a moment later, a torrential downpour rained down from the sky. Buffy stood there with her hands outstretched towards the heavens as the shower washed the blood off her.

“You’re hurt,” said a drenched Maglor as he gently inspected his wife’s right hand.

“I’m alright. It’s nothing,” she answered, still breathing heavily.

The elves started gathering around Buffy. “We rejoice knowing that you’re our ally and sister-in-arms,” said Maedhros as he squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “There is no doubt in my mind that you’re Morgoth’s bane.”

“Maybe,” replied the Slayer. “I guess only time will tell.” She gave him a half smile before turning her attention to her husband. “I know where the rest are hiding out… ”

“Then let us hunt them down,” volunteered Maglor.

“I need to go alone,” she answered as the rain continued to pour down on them. “You guys keep heading towards home. I’ll be back soon.” She didn’t allow any the chance to protest. Buffy kissed her beloved good-bye before vanishing with Kit and Kat.

Only moments later, she and her kitties reappeared in Western Beleriand outside the caverns on the River Narog. “Nulukkizdîn,” she said aloud. “This is the home of the Petty Dwarves.” Buffy looked at Kit and Kat. “Let’s see if these dwarves wish to live or die. C’mon.”

They passed through the chink in the rock wall and entered the darkened chamber. The Slayer waved her hand and the chamber became filled with a white light. She could hear the scurrying sound of some dwarves hiding behind the natural columns within that hall.

“Come forth, Noegyth Nibin,” she commanded. Her voice sounded powerful as it echoed throughout the entire cavernous system.

Gradually, dwarves began emerging from the dark recesses and passageways of that fortress, hundreds upon hundreds of them. She stood waiting with Kit and Kat on either side of her.

“I have killed your lord,” she finally said. “I literally killed him with my bare hands for what he had done to me. You, his people, have done great evil in this world. The time has come to pay the piper.”

“What does that mean?” asked an old gray-haired dwarf.

“It means that you are now going to suffer the consequences of your actions,” the Slayer replied, much to their dismay. “Unless… you seek my pardon. That I will grant to you under certain conditions… ”

“KILL HER!” yelled one, as he came at her with an axe.

Buffy shook her head disappointedly as the axe fell from his hand and he rose high off the ground. His quivering body then came sailing towards the Slayer, causing the others to gasp in shock. They recoiled before her.

“I can kill you, dwarf without raising my hand. I can spill your entrails all over the stone floor in a matter of seconds. I advise you to shut up and listen to my proposition, or I’ll kill everyone present. Shall I let it be your call?” The dwarf began to apologize profusely. He had never encountered anyone with such power. None of them had. Buffy let the groveling dwarf fall to the floor.

“Come with me and do my bidding and I shall reward you richly,” she proclaimed.

“We don’t have an option here, do we?” asked the old dwarf.

Buffy smiled. “No,” she replied. “You can live, if you serve me… or you all can die. The choice is yours. I’ll give you thirty minutes to discuss it amongst yourselves.” She nodded her head before leaving the cave. She sat on the ridge that overlooked the river, basking in the sunlight.

Fifteen minutes later, several dwarves exited through the fissure in the stone wall and joined Buffy. They agreed to her demands. They really didn’t have a choice, did they?

“You’ve made the right choice. Get your stuff together,” she instructed. “You’ll need lots of tools and provisions for the road. We leave within the hour.”


Chapter 39 - BLOOD TIES

“Oh, god, Maglor!” cried out Buffy in the throes of passion. Her husband answered with a throaty moan as a wave of ecstasy swept over their glistening, intertwined bodies. He collapsed on top of her, utterly spent. She could feel his warm, shallow breath on her neck.

“Tell me, we were successful that time?” he asked breathlessly before rolling back onto his side of the bed. The Slayer was unable to respond, she was trying to catch her breath. “And you said three time’s a charm!” he added as he placed his hand on her still trembling thigh.

“Okay, so I called it wrong,” she gasped, before falling into a fit of giggles. She cuddled up against Maglor. “I recant what I said before. But it looks like our twenty-third time was the charm.”

“You are with child then?” he questioned excitedly as he turned his hopeful eyes towards his beloved wife.

“Yes, indeedy,” she said before placing a kiss on his chest. “We’ve got a bun in the oven!”

“Praise Eru!” he replied as he wrapped his arms around Buffy. “I do not nearly have the stamina that you do. I thought conceiving this child would lead to the death of me!” Maglor added with a chuckle.

She climbed on top of him and looked lovingly into his bright grey eyes. “I’d just bring you back. Remember, you’re bound to me… forever,” she planted another kiss on his chest, “and ever,” Buffy added before kissing him again.

Maglor’s smile widened. “Do I have your permission to sleep now?” he queried with a yawn. “After four times and it’s only… ” His gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. “Half past three! I need rest. You have worn me out, Maranwë!”

“Sleep, my dear Káno,” she said as she kissed him softly on the lips. “You’ve fulfilled my greatest desire, and have earned your rest,” added the Slayer before climbing out of bed.

“Do you not want to join me? Surely, you must be weary,” remarked Maglor with yet another yawn.

“I’m wide-awake,” she replied, pulling on her robe. “I feel like I’ve been re-energized.” She smiled at her beloved. “I’ll see to it that no one disturbs you.”

Maglor fluffed his pillows. “I’ve never met a woman as tireless as you,” he commented as shifted his position to the center of the bed.

“What can I say? I’m one-of-a-kind,” responded Buffy before leaving their bedroom. She caressed her belly tenderly as she made her way to the bathing chamber. The Slayer felt the life of her child at the moment of conception. Finally, she was able to choose the time when to become a mother, although it took a little longer than she had expected; Buffy and Maglor had had sex twenty-three times in the past five days.

The Slayer then summoned for her handmaidens and instructed them to prepare her bath. She decided not to tell anyone about her pregnancy until Maglor awoke. There was protocol to follow in these types of situations, and it was only appropriate that the people of the Gap should learn that joyous news from their Lord.

After bathing and dressing, Buffy headed downstairs to the kitchen. As she descended the steps, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned just in time, catching the dagger that Thranduil had sent flying her way.

“I must say that you have the most extraordinary reflexes that I’ve ever seen in my life,” remarked the silver-haired elf as he climbed down the stairs, taking two at a time. “It always amazes me that you can intuitively tell when I throw something at you.”

Buffy didn’t notice that her empty hand had automatically gone to her belly. She smiled warmly at the elf. “I think you might need to hold off on attacking me unawares for a while,” she said matter-of-factly as she handed the weapon back to its owner.

Thranduil gave the Slayer a peculiar look, his eyes widened. “Oh, Bella!” he exclaimed. “You and Maglor were successful in your attempt to conceive, right?” His eyes were fixed on her stomach, which she continued to stroke lovingly.

“Shh,” she sounded as she linked his arm with hers. “Not so loud. I don’t want anyone to know yet,” she whispered. She looked around making sure that nobody had overheard his words.

“Congratulations,” he said softly as he embraced her small form. “I’m so happy for you and Maglor, really I am.”

Buffy looked closer at Thranduil. She could tell that he was putting on false airs; his eyes clearly showed both sadness and jealously. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested, grabbing his hand in hers. “It’s so beautiful outside today.” He reluctantly let the Slayer lead him out of the Halls. “You know, Anno and Mirë won’t be around the baby much,” she continued when they were out of earshot from the members of the Household. “They’ve got their duties to tend to in Folkvang. He’s going to need someone to look up to… a big brother… ”

“So, it’s a boy?” he queried, his grip tightening on her hand.

“Yeah, I think so,” she answered. “I expect you to play that role, Thranduil.”

He stopped. “But with the baby, you’ll love me less,” he said tearfully.

“You said the same thing when Maglor and I became betrothed, but that didn’t happen, did it?” queried Buffy.

“No,” he replied dejectedly, kicking a stone on the ground.

“So, why would that change now?” Buffy raised his chin, forcing him to make eye contact with her. “Nothing or no one will ever take away my love for you. I’ve always considered you one of my own, and that won’t change once the baby comes. I’ll even pinky swear,” she said as she held that finger aloft. He stared at her for a moment before wrapping his pinky around hers.

“I believe you,” he answered. They resumed walking before Thranduil continued. “Besides, I’m getting older and at some point in time, I’ll have to stop with all my pranks. Nothing will give me greater joy than passing my legacy for mischief onto your son.”

“That, little man, is a scary thought,” she replied with a laugh. “Just go easy on the kid. I’m sure you won’t do anything stupid like putting him in the spoon of a catapult, for example… ”

“Oh, no!” replied the silver-haired elf. “I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.” He fell quiet for a few moments. “Does this mean that we’ll be going back to Ossir soon? The Gap is alright, but I sure miss the beautiful woods and rivers of Lindon and Tol Galen,” he remarked as they both scanned the landscape with their eyes. They had returned to northern Beleriand three years ago, yet it seemed like thirty.

“I’d go now if Maglor’s willing. I do miss our home there,” Buffy replied with a sigh. “This child will be born in Ossir. That’s one thing I won’t budge on. I want him to grow up in the woods with all the animals and birds.” The Slayer shook her head. “The only time we ever see birds in the Gap are when they fly south for the winter.”

“Or if your doves come to deliver messages from Úrion,” he added with a smile. “I deem that Ossir’s the fairest of all the realms in Beleriand, even if I’ve only seen a small portion of it,” he remarked as they continued their leisurely stroll.

“I second that! I’ll even go further and say it’s the prettiest place in all of Middle-earth, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of it,” interjected Buffy.

“But it’s not fairer than Folkvang, is it?” he asked. Thranduil really wanted to pay a visit to Buffy’s mystical realm.

“No. Folkvang is an amazing place,” she answered, glancing up at the elf. “I’ll take you there one day, but not yet.”

“Why?” he inquired.

“Because you won’t want to come back after you’ve seen it,” she responded with all seriousness. “When the time comes that you no longer wish to dwell in Middle-earth, then I’ll take you there.”

“Maybe I’m tired of Middle-earth already. Have you given that any thought?” he queried sarcastically.

“I know that’s not true, Thranduil Greenleaf! You love it here!” declared the Slayer. “I don’t blame you, I do too. I actually love Middle-earth more than any place in the world. Folkvang may be fairer, but I love the people here more. I dread the thought of leaving it.”

“It’s been a long while since you’ve last visited Sussrúmnir. I’m sure you have many fey’s waiting for your judgment,” commented the elf.

“I know, but I’m not ready. Not yet. I’ve lost so much time,” she uttered softly with a shake of her head. She deeply inhaled the cool spring air. “Anno and Mirë will keep things running smoothing until I return. It won’t hurt the men to hang tight for a while. I mean, that’s what they would be doing in Mandos.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I wonder… and I don’t mean to change the subject, Bella, but do you think that the baby will have blue skin and tentacles like your firstborn or do you think he’ll have the golden skin of the twins?” queried Thranduil in a serious tone.

It was Buffy who stopped dead in her tracks this time. She had never given thought to what she might end up giving birth to. The blood quickly drained from her face at the thought. “Oh god! Why did you have to go and say something like that?” queried the Slayer anxiously. Images of her offspring in Angband flashed in her mind. The good ones looked demonic and the demonic ones looked fair. She felt nauseous.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Thranduil as he wrapped an arm around her waist. He was concerned that she might faint. The young elf was correct in his assessment. She did.

Buffy awoke in one of the healing chambers. “How do you feel?” asked Amdir, the former healer of Himring.

“I’m okay,” she replied as she sat up. “I’m thirsty.”

Amdir turned to one of his associates. “Bring the Lady some wine,” he instructed.

“NO!” ordered Thranduil, who sat at the edge of Buffy’s bed. “Bring her juice… or milk.”

The Slayer shuddered at the thought of drinking milk. “Juice, please,” she requested.

Amdir looked at her for a moment. “My dear Bella, are you expecting?” the healer inquired incredulously.

“Keep your voice low, man,” hissed Thranduil. “That information is not to be revealed until the feast tonight.”

Buffy swigged down a chalice of juice before leaving the chamber. She was still greatly disturbed by Thranduil’s earlier comments about her unborn child. Now don’t look at the Slayer in a bad light - she loved all her children dearly, even Illyria, but she did wonder what kind of child she would have with Maglor.

After locking herself in one of the private sitting rooms, she fell to her knees, clasping her hands and prayed to Eru Ilúvatar. She prayed for a ‘normal’ child. She wanted the baby to possess both her and Maglor’s greatest attributes, not their flaws. Buffy didn’t want to give birth to some freakish being again. Surely, after everything that she had been through, she had earned that right. By the time she left the room, the Vala of Love felt assured that Eru would answer her prayer. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew.

A huge celebratory feast was held later that night. It was Maglor that made the announcement, much to the joy of their people. All the bells in the Gap chimed in accord when he made his proclamation; the sound traveled as far away as Himring. When Maedhros heard the harmonious ringing, he knew what it meant. He planned to leave his fortress the following morning for the Gap. There was no way on Eru’s green earth that he wasn’t going to be there for both his brother and sister-in-law. This was a momentous occasion for all the Noldor.

The following day, Maglor and Buffy sent many messengers out to deliver the news. Kit and Kat were sent to Folkvang (carrying a letter written by Káno), elves were sent to the sons of Fëanor, Finrod and Fingolfin, and doves were sent to both Ossir and the Deeper Well. Buffy decided not to share the news with those in Menegroth even though she had many friends there. If Thingol would not welcome Maglor, then he surely wouldn’t welcome his child, Buffy surmised.



After four months, Maglor finally agreed that the Household could return to Ossir. There would be no long journey this time, as Buffy demanded that she transport them by a new means - the portal. She chose to use the portal as a way of traveling to Lindecoa instead of teleportation for it was less draining on her. She had learned to master that new skill since her arrival at the Gap. Maglor was in charge there, not she, so that left her with much free time to develop her innate abilities. She couldn’t imagine what other skills she would learn over time, but anything that would be advantageous in warfare was of the greatest interest to her. Utilizing the portal was a plus as it virtually required no demand on her fey like transporting a great number of people or objects.

There was no doubt that her powers were increasing the further along her pregnancy went. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. It was like all the synapses within her body were going off at the same time, all the time. It was a most wonderful experience to the Slayer.

Nothing could have made Buffy happier than returning to the fair island of Tol Galen. They had arrived at the time of the fall harvest when much celebrating takes place. The green elves were overjoyed at the Lady’s return, especially since she was carrying the child of one of their kinfolk. It was history in the making; something that none had ever thought possible.

What made the occasion even more special for the Slayer was seeing the dwarves who happened to be guests in her home at the time. Buffy had not seen them since the deaths of Drór and Ordon, and she rejoiced in knowing that they held no animosity towards her. Surprisingly, Úrion had not been stingy when he compensated them on her behalf for their loss. Ossir’s alliance with Belegost was still intact. Grundin had now become the Lord of Belegost; his friendship with Buffy went back to her days in Doriath.

Nestor and Úrion informed the Slayer that her new halls in Lindon were nearly complete. They assured her that it would be finished by the time she gave birth (Buffy wanted her child born in the city in the trees.) In the meantime, she, Maglor and the rest of their Household would remain at Lindecoa, which the Slayer didn’t mind in the slightest.

When Buffy’s pregnancy progressed to the six month, she literally began to glow. It was very much like what she had experienced when she first discovered the Deeper Well, but this time, the faint light of her fey never faded. She teasingly referred to this condition as ‘Noldoritis’ to her husband and his kindred since the elves that had dwelt in Valinor always emitted a soft light.

It was during this time, on the cusp of winter, that the parents-to-be were alone in one of the gardens outside Lindecoa enjoying the mid-morning sunshine before the inevitable rainy season started. They often spent their time sitting beneath a towering oak or beech tree enjoying the natural beauty of the isle amongst the fragrant flowers that bloomed year round. Many birds chirped merrily in the boughs as they watched Kit and Kat playfully roll around on the ground together. It was moments like that, that the couple relished - the simple pleasures in life.

While Maglor sang and played his harp, the baby seemed to dance along inside the Slayer’s womb. The child was most active when he heard his father’s music. Buffy would spend hours on end watching the movement within her bulging belly during those ‘music’ sessions. Daddy Noldo hoped beyond hope that his son would have the same passion for music that he had, whereas Mommy Vala prayed for a mighty warrior with a gentle heart. Of course, they both desired the child to be of the non-tentacled variety. Regardless, they already loved their baby deeply and would accept him no matter how hideous his appearance.

It was on that particular day, that the Slayer discovered a whole new and most unexpected type of skill. As she talked with her beloved, he casually strummed the strings of his harp. When they had reached a lull in the conversation, Maglor leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed, and began playing with an intensity that Buffy had never witnessed before. She crawled on her knees so that she sat facing him, her legs folded beneath her. The melody that she heard totally captivated her. It was filled with such passion.

The Slayer was so moved by the music that she lifted her voice in song, which happened very seldom unless she was casting a powerful spell. Maglor’s eyes darted open when she began to sing; he felt the power in her voice and knew that something extraordinary was about to happen. Even the little one within her became still. It was then, right there between them that a single red rose crept out from the earth. Maglor continued to play in the same fervent fashion as Buffy continued to weave her spell. The stem climbed nearly two feet high before stopping, and the bud slowly opened. Never before had the rose or meril, as the elves in Middle-earth would come to call it, appeared anywhere in Arda. As the petals opened, the scent of that fragrant flower permeated the entire garden.

Both Maglor and Buffy fell silent for a moment. “Wow!” she finally exclaimed. “A rose!” She reached out for the stem when suddenly thorns sprouted out from it, biting the Slayer’s hand in a few places. “OUCH!” she exclaimed as she quickly withdrew her hand and shook it. As the droplets of blood hit the ground, several more shoots sprung out from the green grass.

“Look!” shouted Maglor in amazement. “Your blood is bringing forth more.” Sure enough, several roses began to appear. The whole thing thrilled Buffy. “What a wonderful scent it has,” remarked the Noldo as he sniffed a blossom.

“I can’t believe that I made them,” said a flabbergasted Buffy. She inspected her hand, already the tiny holes had scabbed over.

They were even more surprised on the following day when they discovered that that entire garden had become overgrown with red roses. They had intertwined with the other greenery as well as with the benches and gazebo that were situated in that area. It was a spectacular sight to behold. The rose would become the most cherished flower in Ossir, more so than the tiny blue blossom, luinil, for it was brought into the world by the Lady herself.



When Buffy reached her ninth month of pregnancy, she was ready to return to Lindon. She was quite sure that she’d be delivering her son any time despite Maglor’s protests.

“An elleth carries a child for twelve months, Bella,” he argued. “Our son will be born one year from the date of conception.”

“I’m not an elleth,” contested a very pregnant Buffy. “I’m a Vala. Besides, I delivered Illyria during my ninth month!”

Maglor furrowed his eyebrows at the mere mention of Illyria’s name. “Mark my words, you’ll carry this child for three more months,” he said resolutely.

“No way! I’m about to pop any day,” rebuffed the Slayer before teleporting herself, Maglor and their entourage of sixty elves to Lindon.

The group reappeared outside the large double doors to her new Halls. She was pleased with what she saw. Everything was built out of wood and blended into the scenery. It was the typical green elf construction with some modifications. Unlike Denethor’s former halls, this one had bathrooms with plumbing and running water but the house itself was still built around the boles of the trees. It had more open areas to it, both inside and outside. Long covered walkways and porches were found on all seven levels. There were planters of flowers and small trees scattered amongst all the chambers in the sprawling house. Nearly every room blended with the outside in some fashion or another whether it be walls of large arched windows that faced the exterior or atrium ceilings that opened to the sky above in the interior chambers. This new design allowed messengers of the winged variety to enter the house at all times.

“I don’t want to hear it,” barked the Slayer as she joined her loved ones on the porch. A gentle rain was falling on that winter morn and the sky was still quite dark.

“I told you so,” chuckled Maglor under his breath before sipping his tea.

Her husband was right once again. Buffy’s ninth month passed by without so much as a labor pain. And then the tenth month and eleventh. Those last three months were the most draining on her. All she did was eat and sleep. She was grateful that she wasn’t as huge as she was with Illyria, but she still waddled when she walked. The Slayer was more than ready for the baby to be born.

Buffy awoke on the morning of the one-year anniversary of the conception of their child. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that the child would be born sometime that day. Maglor sang a song reminiscent to ‘Happy Birthday’ to the Slayer’s bloated belly. The elves did not view a child’s life as beginning once it’s born into the world; it’s always from the moment of conception. So, in their eyes, when the child is born, it is already one year old.

The elves excitement was overwhelming. There were banners strung all over the house and great care went into the preparations for the feast that would be held after the child was born. As Buffy and Maglor made their way to the dining hall, many elves congratulated them. They were delighted to see that Gúrchim and kinfolk had made the trip to Lindon to be there for the happy couple on their special day. As they entered the dining hall, all eyes were fixed on Buffy. She stopped for a moment before everyone started applauding. It was then that her water broke all over the tiled floor.

“Eww,” said the Slayer as she moved from the puddle.

“It’s time!” shouted Maglor gleefully.

Then Buffy felt the first contraction. Nestor was by her side in a flash. “Come, Bella. Let’s get you back to bed.”

“But I’m hungry,” she whined as her husband and the healer led her to a chamber that was set up specifically for the birth (she didn’t want to have the baby in her bed!) “Can’t I have a muffin or a piece of toast or something?” she begged as they led her down the hallway.

“I suggest that you eat nothing else until after the birth,” advised Nestor.

Already a group of elves and dwarves were following them down the hallway. Some of them were still eating, which vexed the Slayer somewhat. She was really hungry!

Now, they had to wait. The contractions were ten minutes apart and painful as hell. At this point, Buffy was no longer embarrassed when Nestor peered between her legs although she could’ve done without his reports to those waiting outside the room on how much she had dilated. That seemed like way too much information for her friends to hear.

With every contraction, the Slayer either groaned loudly or cursed at Maglor. It became clear that her emotions were running high as a raging thunderstorm appeared out of nowhere. When the labor pains were two minutes apart, Nestor informed them that it was nearly time.

“I’ll see you after the delivery,” said Maglor as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

Buffy grabbed his arm. “You’re not leaving me!” she exclaimed. “You did this to me. You’re staying.”

“I have no desire to see… ” he started before he was interrupted by his wife. She was experiencing yet another painful contraction.

“Even Morgoth stayed with me,” she bellowed through clench teeth. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted saying it.

Maglor scowled at her. “How dare you mention that name!” he snarled before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.

“MAGLOR!” she screamed. “COME BACK! PLEASE!” Tears started rolling down her cheeks. Buffy couldn’t believe how stupid she was to say something like that, especially while giving birth to the Noldo’s child.

“Relax, Bella,” instructed Nestor.

“MAGLOR!” she howled again. The door came open, but it was Úrion and Thranduil that entered, not her beloved. Their faces were pale.

They each ran to her side, holding one of her hands. “We’re here, Bella,” said Úrion. “We won’t leave you alone.”

“Why won’t he stay with me? Why doesn’t he want to see our child come into this world?” she questioned tearfully.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” said Thranduil softly as he wiped her forehead with a damp cloth. “You need to stay focused here. Everything is alright.”

Another contraction hit her causing her to squeeze her friend’s hands. It was they that screamed that time, not her.

“It’s time, Bella,” declared Nestor. Two nurses were on either side of him. “It’s time for you to push. Push for me, Bella.” Buffy did as she was instructed. Her tears mixed with her sweat. “That’s good. I need for you to do it again. Give me another big push. Come now. You can do it.”

“Maglor. Maglor,” she uttered under her breath as she pushed again.

“Here it comes, Bella,” said an excited Nestor. Buffy collapsed onto the pillows when she felt the child pulled from her body. “You’re right, Luinil, you have a son.” The sound of the baby’s cries filled the chamber.

“Is he normal?” she asked meekly.

The nurses were busily cleaning Buffy’s son. “He’s beautiful,” informed Nestor as he washed his bloody hands.

“I want to see him,” she said softly.

“Congratulations, Bella,” said Úrion and Thranduil in unison. They each placed a kiss on her forehead.

Nestor then came over carrying Buffy’s bundle of joy. “Here you go, mommy,” he said as he placed the infant in her arms.

He was beautiful. He had dark hair and his pale skin had a pinkish hue to it. His little hands were balled into fists as he continued to cry. Buffy counted ten fingers and ten toes. There were no tentacles or any other weird protuberances from his body. He looked like Maglor except that he had her eyes and mouth. He even had elven ears. He was perfect.

“Get Maglor,” she instructed Úrion. “Tell him it’s time to meet his son.” Buffy hoped that he would come in. She felt horrible mentioning Morgoth’s name. It was an unintentional slip of the tongue.

Only a few moments later, the Noldo entered the chamber. Buffy immediately started apologizing.

“Not now, Bella,” he said softly. “Let me see my son.” He took the baby from her arms. As Maglor softly sang to the infant, his squalling ceased. “He’s beautiful,” said Maglor as he placed a kiss on his son’s forehead. He looked at Buffy. “We did well,” he added with a smile. “Our little Olofinwë. It’s time for you to meet your family.” The Noldo then left the room with the baby, leaving Buffy dazed and confused.


Chapter 40 - A NEW MAN

“Out! Both of you!” shouted one of the nurses.

“I don’t want to leave Bella alone,” protested Thranduil.

“I’ll be with her,” said Nestor reassuringly. “We’re not quite finished here, yet, and believe me, Thranduil; I don’t think you want to see what comes next.”

“See what?” questioned the naive elf.

“We must expel the afterbirth… ” stated one of the nurses, who was then abruptly interrupted by Buffy’s chief advisor.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” remarked Úrion. “Come, Thranduil. Let us see if we can get a turn holding the babe.” He grabbed the young silver-haired elf by the arm and led him out of the room. “We’ll just be outside, Bella.” She nodded and gave them a half smile before they left.

When the door closed, Nestor took a seat next to Buffy as one of the nurses pushed on her abdomen while the other pulled the placenta from her body. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“You did well, Luinil. I take it that this delivery was much easier then your last,” he commented.

“In some ways,” she answered sadly.

The golden-haired healer studied her for a few minutes. “Do not dwell on what you cannot change,” he said with concern. “Maglor loves you dearly, my friend, and I daresay that he’ll forgive your… lapse in judgment. You have given him a son! And I can tell you that that child is no mere elfling!” He smiled and shook his head. “No, he’s much more than that.”

“As long as he has no plans on taking over the world,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Oh, Bella, now you’re being ridiculous,” answered the healer. “That child is in no way, shape or form remotely similar to Illyria; even I have enough foresight to see that!”

“I know,” she replied as she pushed a tuft of damp hair behind her ear. “This should be one of the happiest moments in my life, but I feel like Maglor ripped that away from me.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re both to blame for this,” chastised Nestor. Buffy leered at the healer. “Oh, don’t give me any of that, Bellaseth Dagnir! You were the foolish one to mention Morgoth’s name!” He shook his finger at her as he spoke. “Have you forgotten that he has slain Maglor’s father and grandsire? Do you know how that must have made Maglor feel?”

“Technically, Morgoth didn’t kill Fëanor,” she mumbled.

“It’s semantics and you know it,” countered Nestor. “And why does it seem like your hostility towards Morgoth has lessened? Have you forgiven his past deeds since he rescued you from that mystical prison?” he queried with his eyebrows furrowed and his arms folded across his chest.

Buffy immediately broke eye contact when she heard his questions. It made her feel very uncomfortable. She uneasily began pulling the creases out of her blanket.

“He may have scored some points with me,” she answered softly, refusing to look at her dear friend. “He took care of me, good care, no less, and I’m supposed to act like that never happened.” She finally raised her eyes to meet his; Nestor sat there with his eyes locked on her.

“I can’t explain away Morgoth’s strange obsession with you, but that’s what it is. I cannot fathom that Vala comprehending what love is… ”

“I think he knows,” she answered quietly. “He’s demonstrated it to me before… ”

“When? When he bewitched you in order to have you carry his seed. Or was it when he slaughtered the entire House of Denethor? Or better yet, his love for you led him to kill Finwë and his kinfolk?” queried an upset Nestor.

“That’s kinda harsh, Nestor,” countered an agitated Slayer.

“He’s the villain, Luinil, and it would do you good not to forget that,” added the peeved elf.

“So, now you’re gonna turn on me, too,” she said meekly.

“No, of course not,” he answered in a much calmer tone of voice. “I can understand why Maglor is wroth is all. And I can also see things from your perspective as well. If my wife demanded my presence at the birth of our child, I would most definitely be there. I hate to compare myself to Morgoth, but yes, I would even bring the child into the world myself. But you have to remember that you are no longer living in the world that you came from. Things work differently here as you should be well aware of by now. It is not custom for a husband to be present at the birth of his child. That’s not the way it works. In all my years of life, I have yet to deliver an elfling in the presence of the father, and believe me, my dear; I have delivered many an infant!” He placed his hand comfortingly atop hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps you can convince him to be present next time.”

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes welled with tears. “See, that’s the problem. There won’t be a next time. This was the only time.” She took a deep breath; she didn’t want to cry any more. “There will be no more children for us in the future.”

“You have foreseen this?” questioned a shocked Nestor. “Why have you not said anything about this before?”

She shrugged her shoulders and replied, “I don’t think it would’ve made a difference.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized the golden-haired elf. “I feel even worse for saying all that I have said to you.”

“You’re my friend, Nestor,” said the Slayer as she placed her hand on top of his. “It’s your duty to tell me when I’m being an ass.” Buffy forced a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Well, you know me, I’ll always be here to call you an ass… when necessary,” he chuckled in response. Buffy actually did too.

Nestor then took her on a trip down memory lane, and they spoke fondly of earlier days with Orchal. Not one day passed by when the Slayer didn’t think of her old friend. It was times like these when she missed him the most. At least the healer did his job; Buffy no longer felt saddened by Maglor’s absence during the delivery. At least her husband stayed until the last minute, and returned shortly thereafter. In the big scheme of things, it really didn’t seem that important.

With the placenta purged from her body, the Slayer asked, “Can I take a bath now? I feel kinda nasty.”

“Of course,” answered Nestor. “However, I do have one request. This might sound somewhat strange, but… ” the healer’s words trailed off.

“What is it?” she asked, her interest peaked.

“I would like your permission to keep your afterbirth,” replied Nestor. His request stunned the Slayer. “Since your blood has such unique magical properties, I deem that the same could be said for your placenta. I would like the opportunity to see if I could utilize it in some potions and such… Of course, it would be used strictly for healing purposes.”

That made Buffy laugh, which she really needed at the moment. “Knock yourself out,” she answered as she sat upright. “You know, they say that it’s good for ones complexion.”

Nestor laughed. “I have bigger things in mind than keeping one pimple-free,” commented the healer. “Let me instruct your maidens to prepare your bath,” he added before leaving the chamber.

Buffy’s caretakers would not let her leave until they had the blood flow under control. They placed a bundle of linen between her legs that fastened to a belt that had been secured around her waist. That was the elvish version of the dreaded maxi-pad. It made Buffy even more thankful that she wasn’t subjected to the monthly curse like every elleth in Middle-earth. She made a mental note to discuss with Nestor the possibilities of making the tampon for the women of her Household.

The nurses helped the Slayer to her feet. “How do you feel, Bella?” one of them asked.

“I’m a little dizzy. Gimme a second,” she answered as she closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for the ‘head rush’ to subside. “I’m okay now,” she added before they wrapped a robe around her.

“Take it slowly,” instructed the other nurse.

When they left the room, the antechamber on the other side of the door was packed with elves and dwarves. So many people came up congratulating Buffy with hugs and kisses.

“There’s mommy,” said Maglor, who refused to let anyone hold his son. “How do you feel?” he asked when he had reached his wife.

“Icky… and hungry,” she replied as Olofinwë’s little fingers grasped her much larger one. She planted many kisses on his tiny hand. “I need a bath,” she said, before starting to walk off.

“Bella?” called Maglor after her. She glanced over her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” responded the Slayer, who then disappeared down the hallway, assisted by the nurses.

Nothing felt better than submerging herself into the steamy bath water. Buffy allowed her maidens to tend to her. She was tired and grateful that she didn’t have to expend any more energy at the moment. If she hadn’t been so hungry, the Slayer could’ve easily fallen asleep in that marble tub.

After she dressed, Buffy left for the porch off the dining hall. The storm had abated and the sun shone brightly through the boughs of the trees. It was a beautiful day. The Slayer ate her meal in the company of her maidens, and no one else. She especially enjoyed drinking wine again. Once her belly was full, the Slayer deemed that it was nap time, so she took off to her private chambers.

Buffy had no idea how long she actually slept before Maglor came in with a crying Olofinwë. The sound of her baby’s wailing jolted her awake.

“I think he’s hungry, Bella,” said Maglor as he handed the infant to his mother, who still lay in bed.

“Oh, okay,” she replied. As her son suckled her bosom, she asked, “Are you still angry with me?”

“Your words cut like a knife, Bella. The last thing I wanted to hear as you’re delivering my son is how Morgoth was with you when you delivered… his child,” the Noldo answered as he crawled in bed and lay next to her. He caressed her arm and added, “But no, I’m no longer angry at you, just hurt.”

She lovingly placed her hand on his cheek. “I just wanted you in there with me, Káno, to experience the birth of our child,” she said in earnest. “It was important to me… Besides, men from my world don’t think twice about it. It’s normal.”

“But this isn’t your world, nor am I from the race of Man. I am an Elf. And we do not watch our wives giving birth to our children, no matter how much we love them. It is elvish custom,” countered the Noldo.

“It’s a stupid custom,” uttered a sulking Buffy under her breath as she readjusted Olofinwë in her arms.

“Perhaps to you, but it’s the way of my people. And if you cannot respect our laws and customs, then you do not respect me,” stated Maglor reservedly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” apologized the Slayer. “I totally respect you… but what’s done is done. I can’t undo any of... ”

“I know,” he interjected, as he started twirling some of the Slayer’s hair with his fingers. “I suppose it has to do with my own insecurities.”

Buffy’s glance shifted from the baby to her husband. “What insecurities?” she asked, her facial expression reflected her surprise at hearing such a comment.

“All my fears revolve around you, my love,” confessed Maglor. “I fear the day when the Veil is removed from you and all those memories of times of yore are restored, will you still love me as I love you? Or will your heart turn back to Ulmo, or even worse, Morgoth?” he questioned in a voice full of sorrow. The Noldo became teary-eyed as he continued. “I am but an Elf, I cannot compete with a Vala, whether he be good or evil.

“And no words you speak can reassure me, as you don’t wholly know who you are. I have taken a leap of faith with you, Maranwë Luinil, and only time will tell if my choice was sound.” A stream of tears ran down his face. “As far as I’m concerned, I will never regret taking that leap, and I would do it all over again, if given the opportunity, for you complete me. You make me whole as no one has ever done before.”

The Slayer felt the tears running down her own face. She affectionately cupped his cheek with her hand, her fingers caressing his smooth skin. “I love you Kanafinwë Makalaurë and, no I can’t make any promises… none of us truly knows what the future holds, but as long as there’s a part of me in here,” she pointed to her heart, “I will love you and no one, not even Eru Ilúvatar, can take that away.” She pressed her lips against his, tasting the salt from his tears.

“We’ll always be haunted by our pasts,” she began again softly. “That’s our fate. What matters is how we deal with it when confronted by it. We can conquer our fears because we’re champions, and that’s what we do. We’ll overcome the odds even when it seems impossible. As long as we’re together, we can get through anything.”

Maglor wiped the tears from his wife’s face. “I believe you, Bella,” he answered with a smile. “Let us put this whole ordeal behind us and let no new grief divide us.”

“United we stand, divided we fall,” she added.

“From this day forward, we shall always remain united,” pledged Maglor. He kissed his wife passionately; nearly forgetting that little Olofinwë was still clutched in her arms. He glanced down at his son, who had fallen asleep a few minutes before. The Noldo carefully took the sleeping baby from Buffy, and placed him in the cradle next to the bed. Now he was given the opportunity to embrace his wife properly and to feel the warmth of her body next to his. That’s what wedded bliss was all about.

It was later that evening, when a great feast was held to welcome the child of Buffy and Maglor’s into the world. The festivities started with a ceremony that was held dear to all the Eldar, Essecarmë, which meant ‘Name-Making’ in the high-elven tongue. In keeping with elvish tradition, the father decided the child’s first and most important name (known as the father-name.) Olofinwë, which meant ‘Dream of Finwë,’ was the name that Maglor chose for his son. Although most in Middle-earth would come to call him Olofin in the language of the ‘dark-elves.’ The child’s second name was referred to as the ‘mother-name,’ or Amilessi tercenyë, and hinted at some unique quality that he possessed. Buffy had not yet devised the ‘second’ name for her son. It would be many weeks later before she declared publicly that her son’s second name was Tirnon, which meant ‘Watcher’ in Sindarin.

Over the next few days, Buffy savored every moment of motherhood. She refused to allow the nurses to tend to her son and didn’t mind getting up every two hours for feedings. The Slayer had not experienced that whole bonding thing with Illyria or the twins, so this was completely new to her. However, after only one week, certain changes began to take place with her son.

The first ‘weird’ thing that Buffy encountered was waking up to find her son suckling on her breast. She hadn’t gotten up and brought him to bed nor did Maglor. When Olofin noticed the bewildered look on his mother’s face he said, “I was hungry, mommy.” That totally floored the Slayer and her husband. Her child did not have a first word, but a first sentence!

“Did you get out of your crib all by yourself?” asked a shocked Buffy.

Olofin removed his lips from her nipple, causing milk to drip down her chest and simply answered, “Yes,” before he resumed nursing again. She turned towards Maglor, who sat there with his jaw hung open.

“I suspect he gets that ability from your side of the family,” said the dumbfounded Noldo with a shrug. “None of my kinfolk talked or walked at that age!”

“Expect the unexpected,” she heard herself mutter under her breath. “Something tells me that little Olofin has some more surprises in store for us,” she added in trepidation.

At one year, one month (as defined by the Eldar, the child is one year old at birth), Buffy’s son had a dramatic growth spurt. He now ate solid food (although he still took a nip of mother’s milk); he could carry on a conversation with an adult and was now potty trained. Olofin, in appearance, resembled a two-year-old mortal child.

Buffy had always heard about how fast children grew, but this seemed preposterous. After residing nearly fifty-five years in Middle-earth, she still wasn’t accustomed to the concept of ‘anything can happen’ in that world. One would think that Buffy, of all people, could keep an open mind when it came to the unfolding of the future. Yet something always seemed to amaze her when she turned a corner in Arda, especially when it came to her children. She found it remarkable that even though her blood ran through all their veins, they all looked so vastly different (save the twins.)

It was not long after this time that Buffy awoke early one morning to find her son missing from his bed. She quickly alerted her Household and a massive search ensued. Hundreds of people searched the city, the rivers, springs and forests. The Slayer was nearly at her wits end. She had almost reached the point of jumping into the mystical spring, so she could search the lands in fey form.

Maglor was the one that finally found Olofin in the forges beneath the city. He nearly fainted when he discovered what his son had accomplished during the night. The youngster had been up all night devising a new musical instrument, thrilling his father beyond words.

“You’ve given us a terrible fright, Olofin,” scolded Maglor as he lovingly picked up his son. “Your mother has been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry, daddy, but I wanted to make a different kind of music,” replied the boy, clutching the wooden device in his arms.

Maglor carried him out of the forges as one of the members from the Household blew two blasts on the horn indicating that the boy was no longer lost.

“You can’t leave your bed without informing a member of the Household,” warned the Noldo. He was relieved that Olofin seemed to be in good health. “What did you make there, my son?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I call it a lyre, daddy,” replied the boy. “I can make beautiful music on it.” Maglor placed the child on the grass as his son showed him the instrument. “I made it from a tortoise shell that one of the lions left behind,” added Olofin proudly. “It took me all night to finish it. Why don’t your try it?”

“Nothing would please me more, son,” answered the Noldo, as he began to strum the strings on the lyre. “It’s lovely, Olofin, just lovely.” Maglor was grateful that his passion for music had passed on to his son.

Buffy and nearly two dozen people of her Household then appeared in that small grove. She held everyone back as they watched that tender moment of bonding between father and son. It brought tears to her eyes, watching her son showing his father how to play his new ‘toy.’ She was reassured in her heart that all was well, so she and her friends backed away allowing Maglor to enjoy that bonding experience with his only son. There was no doubt that Olofin inherited that skill from his father, Buffy only hoped that he possessed her skill for warfare as well. Only time would tell…


Chapter 41 - HELL'S BELLS

When Olofin reached his second birthday, the twins paid a visit to Ossir, much to Buffy’s annoyance; they weren’t supposed to be traveling to Beleriand any more. Despite that fact, the Slayer welcomed her children, who were most anxious to meet their little half-brother, for they came bearing gifts to commemorate the anniversary of his birth.

“Why do you both look so strange?” little Olofin asked the twins. He turned to Maglor. “Daddy, why don’t the twins look like me?” The Noldo’s face flushed. He and Buffy never told him that the twins had a different father; they deemed that he was too young to understand.

“Our father is not Kanafinwë, but the Maia Marto,” answered Anno as he sat the child on his lap. “But we have the same mother, Maranwë Luinil.”

“Is that why your skin is gold and blue?” asked a curious Olofin.

“Yes, although the blue color comes from our mother, not our father,” replied Buffy’s eldest son. Olofin touched a smiling Anno’s face.

“I like it, though it’s slightly off-putting at first,” revealed the child. He turned to his mother. “Can I have blue skin one day?” he asked.

“Not permanently,” replied Mirë. “Your fate is tied with the people of Arda, little brother. One cannot have blue skin and integrate into society without causing suspicion.” Olofin seemed crestfallen upon hearing that.

“You were born with great skills, Olofin Tirnon, much like us, though different,” declared Anno. “In time, you will perfect your skills and shall be accounted amongst the mightiest warriors in all of Arda.”

“Like mommy?” queried the boy enthusiastically.

“Very much so,” responded Anno, who then looked at his mother. “Have you put the blade in his hand yet, mother?”

“What does your mind’s eye tell you?” she queried wryly.

“I’m the son of the Slayer,” replied Olofin proudly. “I have skill with the blade, axe, bow and spear… although daddy will not let me hunt yet. He says I’m too young.” He gave his father the ‘puppy dog’ eyes that worked so well on his mother.

“There will be plenty of time for that when you’re older, Olofin,” said Maglor with a smile. “You are but a boy, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“We have brought you gifts, Olofin,” stated Anno before turning to his twin. “Mirë?” The youngster’s gaze shifted from the man to the woman; neither had any presents that he could see.

Mirë waved her empty hands before her and a large canvas bag appeared at her feet. She picked it up and handed it to her twin brother.

“Is all that for me?” queried the boy excitedly when he saw the size of the sack.

“It’s all for you, brother,” answered Anno as he rubbed Olofin’s head affectionately.

Inside the bag were implements of war, wrought by Marto in anticipation of the upcoming battles. Judging by the small size of the mail and sword, the war was much closer then Buffy would have guessed. That made her slightly nervous as she had put all thoughts of warfare out of her mind since Olofin’s birth. She devoted most of her time to nurturing her young son.

As the party continued, Anno and Mirë pulled their mother aside. They begged her to return to Folkvang with them. So many men had perished in the last decade and Buffy needed to tend to her duties as the Fëantári. They continued to plead with her as she watched her young son, dressed in his new mail, dueling with Gúrchim.

“I can’t go. Not yet,” she had replied in a brusque voice. “War’s brewing, I can feel it.”

“That’s still years away,” whispered Anno. “You are truly needed there, mother.” He did not conceal his sense of urgency.

“I said no,” answered Buffy gruffly before walking off, leaving Anno frustrated by his mother’s stubbornness.



Twelve years later, Buffy, Maglor and their respective Households returned to the Gap. The Slayer had now been in Middle-earth for over sixty-seven years. One thing that she could say with confidence: she looked damn good for ninety-two! In fact, she didn’t look a day older than when she had first appeared in that world many years ago.

The Slayer enjoyed motherhood and doted most of her affections on her young son and Maglor. Even though she wasn’t crazy about living in the frigid regions of northern Beleriand, as long as her family was together, she was happy. The desire to have a normal, stable domestic life had made her put all thoughts of visiting Folkvang and Illyria’s realm out of her mind.

Now, it has been said that many of the elves in Middle-earth were aware of Buffy’s true origins (being a Vala), but most did not know all the intimate details of her past. Only the sons of Fëanor and high-ranking officials within their Households knew about Morgoth, Illyria and the other offspring that she and Melkor had brought into being.

It was three years later when many from Maglor’s Household learned some of the ‘secrets’ that the Slayer had harbored.

It was a bitterly cold morning, in the heart of winter, when Buffy awoke with a heaviness on her heart. She attempted to push it aside by joining Maglor and Olofin in one of their ‘study’ sessions. The patriarch of the house was teaching his son how to read and write in the High-elven tongue, Quenya. Although the Slayer understood all tongues spoken in Arda, she didn’t know how to read or write in the ancient runes that had been devised by Rúmil during the blissful days of the Two Trees in Tirion (Valinor.) Maglor, as all the Noldor, had a special fondness for that script since his father had perfected it long ago.

They had been sitting at a small round marble table beside the roaring fire in the library when a series of horn blasts rang out in warning. The trio sat there momentarily stunned before running from the chamber, eager to find out what was going on.

As soon as they appeared in the hallway, Maglor was informed that Morgoth had sent a band of demons to attack the Gap. Buffy’s spider senses tingled when she heard that. Immediately, she ran to her room and garbed herself in the appropriate attire to withstand the cold. The only weapon she carried with her was the belt that Melkor wrought for her years before.

The cavalry had already been dispatched by the time Buffy rejoined her husband. “I’ve ordered the kill,” he told his wife. The blood drained from the Slayer’s face when she heard that. Her gut told her that that was a terrible mistake. Without saying a word to Maglor, she disappeared in a blink of an eye.

The slaughter had already begun by the time that she had reappeared. “STOP!!” she screamed in a voice that sounded so commanding that all stopped fighting mid-action. Even the horses ceased moving and resembled living statues. “NO!” she screamed as she ran towards the monsters. The elves were shocked by her demeanor, but they followed her orders since she was the wife of their Lord, and a mighty warrior in her own right. Moans from some of the other fallen creatures carried on the wind, a low mournful sound that brought tears to the Slayer’s eyes.

Buffy ran up to one of the beasts that lay on the ground; he was near death. “Bellion!” she cried out as she pulled a dagger charm from her belt. It instantly turned into the real thing.

The demon’s eyes opened, “Ish… Ishtar,” he sputtered.

“Shh, don’t talk,” she said anxiously, cradling his head on her lap. Her hands shook as she pulled up the sleeve of her coat, pulled down her glove, and slit her wrist. “Drink!” she instructed as she placed the bleeding appendage over his mouth. The elves watched the scene in shocked disbelief. Little did Buffy know, that many more from the Household were coming, Maglor and Olofin were among them.

“Give me your helm,” she ordered the nearest elf. By now, Maglor had arrived, and the elf looked questionably at his Lord. “God damn it! I said, give me your helm!” she yelled when the warrior did not immediately do as she requested. Maglor gave a slight nod of his head, and the elf quickly handed Buffy his helmet. She moved her wrist over the vessel, allowing her blood to pool in the bottom. The Slayer hastily made her way to the brethren of Bellion; those not yet dead drank her blood either from the helm or directly from her wrist.

Those that were lucky enough to consume her blood would survive the clash. After she had helped all those that she could, she returned to Bellion, licking her wrist as she walked. Seventeen of the fifty beastly creatures perished in the attack.

“Ishtar!” he started weakly. “Ishtar, I’ve come to warn you. Melkor is about to make his war. Already legions of yrch are marching towards the gates of Thangorodrim.” The Noldor elves gasped when they heard Morgoth’s true name spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she hesitantly inspected the wound on his neck. She was more concerned with the welfare of her ‘spies’ than she was with Morgoth at the moment. Already the magic contained in her blood was healing the injured beast. “They didn’t know,” added Buffy sadly.

“I gathered that,” replied Bellion with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Can you stand?” she queried, gripping his arm. He nodded as Buffy helped him to his feet. She looked around at the others that still lay on the ground. “Help them up, and bring them to me,” she ordered the elves.

Olofin came walking up to his mother and Bellion. He looked at the creature curiously, his head cocked to the side, before taking his hand. “You’re my brother,” said the youngster nonchalantly. Buffy suddenly became aware of the outbreak in murmurings from those around her.

“He’s my offspring,” she said, attempting to play it cool. The horrified looks on the elves’ faces made her nervous and extremely uncomfortable. “As in, sprung from my blood… not my… loins.” Buffy wanted to make it perfectly clear that she didn’t carry that creature within her womb. Their reactions convinced her that none of the elves could ever discover the truth about Illyria.

“What do you think you’re doing?” queried a slightly agitated Maglor. “Surely you’re not bringing them back to our dwellings.” He cast a contemptuous look at the creatures.

That had been her plan, but she could see that if she followed through with that, it would create much dissension within the Household.

“Of course not,” she replied, refusing to meet her husbands gaze. “But I can’t let them go back.” An idea then occurred to her. “I’ll take them to the Deeper Well. They’ll be safe there,” uttered Buffy under her breath. She looked up at Maglor. “I won’t be gone long. Alert Maedhros and the others.”

“Can I go, mommy? Please!” pleaded Olofin.

“No, sweetie,” she replied as she crouched down to her son’s level. “Mommy won’t be gone long. You stay here and help daddy ready the war machines. Okay?”

His eyes lit up at the mention of Buffy’s weapons. “Alright, mommy.” She kissed him on the forehead before she stood up again.

“Do you think it wise to wield your magics before the battle?” asked her husband after pulling her aside.

“I have to get them to safety, Maglor. If I let them go, they’ll be killed, and I won’t let that happen. They work for me, not Morgoth. If you can’t see that they’re good, then that’s your problem, not mine.”

Once the demons were huddled around Buffy, they all vanished in a blink of an eye, leaving the bewildered elves behind. Only moments later, they arrived outside the mystical doorway to the Deeper Well. Immediately, armed dwarves appeared, ready to attack.

“Oh, it’s only Freya,” commented Dvalin, as he instructed all to lower their weapons. “Welcome, my dear Lady, welcome.”

“It’s good to see that you’re protecting the fortress, my friend,” she said with a smile. “I’ve brought some people with me that need shelter here.”

“People?” queried Dvalin, looking suspiciously at Buffy’s companions. “They look like they crawled out of the bowels of Angband!”

“They’re okay, Dvalin. They’re… my people,” revealed the Slayer. “I’ve brought them here for protection. Maybe they can help you guys in some way.”

Buffy did not stay long. She spoke briefly with Luthor before departing back to the Gap.

When the Slayer arrived back home, she half expected to see legions of yrch marching across the plains of Ard-galen (Green-Region) towards their home. The Gap was the most direct access into Eastern Beleriand and there was no doubt in her mind that Morgoth would send a great force there in order to assail both Maglor and Maedhros, two of his bitterest foes.

Without consulting any, save Maglor, the Slayer visited Fingolfin at his fortress, Barad Eithel (Tower of the Well), and informed him of the impending attack. The High King of the Noldor did not question her ominous words, and was grateful for the warning. She revealed the strategy of the House of Fëanor, and as long as they worked together, victory would be theirs.

The war began thirteen days later in the middle of night. Buffy and Maglor were sound asleep when all of a sudden the earth shook violently causing them both to leap out of bed.

“Oh my god!” cried out Buffy, her heart pounding in her chest. “It’s the end of the world!” The sudden rush of adrenalin combined with the tremors made the Slayer flash back to her life in Sunnydale. To her, earthquakes always portended that someone or something was trying to trigger the apocalypse. It turned out that it wasn’t an earthquake; Thangorodrim had erupted and was spewing out flame and rock, which shook the ground beneath their feet.

“We need to dress quickly,” said Maglor as he pulled open his wardrobe. Buffy was already pulling on a pair of leather pants as the sound of bells, followed by the calling and answering of horn blasts, echoed throughout that entire region. She had just pulled on a thick wool sweater and her boots when Olofin came running into their chamber, garbed in his mail and helm, the miniature sword in his hand.

“Let’s kill some yrch!” he said excitedly as he brandished his weapon. Despite the severity of the situation, Buffy couldn’t help but plant many kisses on her young son’s face. Although he was now seventeen years old, he resembled an elfling of about seven or eight. His early growth spurt had almost come to a standstill. He was too cute for words.

“No, Olofin!” declared Maglor as he pulled on his boots. “You’re much too young to fight in this battle.”

“No, he’s not,” protested the Slayer as she clasped the mystical belt around her waist. “I was younger than he when I fought in my first battle.”

“I’m not going to have this argument with you again, Bella. He’s too young,” affirmed her husband.

“I say he fights,” she countered, pulling on her coat and gloves.

“I’m Lord of these lands, not you!” he said angrily as he tied back his long dark hair. “My word is law.”

“Mommy?” whined Olofin. “I can fight.”

“And you will, my darling, you will,” reassured Buffy. She affectionately placed her hand on his cheek.

It only took Maglor a few long strides to cross the room. He grabbed his wife by the shoulders, a little too hard to her liking, and shook her. “I said my son will not be fighting…”

Buffy brushed his hands off her. “He’s my son, too!” she yelled back. “My blood runs through his veins and if I say he fights, he will fight.” Her eyes furrowed and her nostrils flared as she scowled at her husband. “He’s got Vala blood in him. My blood. He’s a born warrior, like me.”

“That may be, but he is still much too young… ” argued Maglor.

“And so was I, but look, I’m still here. He won’t die. He won’t… ”

“You can’t guarantee that… ”

“STOP!” yelled the boy, covering his ears. “Don’t fight. Please don’t,” he cried as the tears spilled from his eyes.

“See what you did,” snarled the Slayer venomously to her husband before attempting to comfort her son.

Maglor leered at her for a moment. “I said no and we shall speak of it no more,” he said before leaving the chamber for the armories.

Olofin howled when he heard his father’s final words, breaking Buffy’s heart. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy says you’ll fight and you will… by my side.” She wiped his tears away with a gloved hand.

“But daddy will be mad at you,” he sniveled.

“I think he’s already mad at me,” she replied with a half smile. “I’ll handle daddy. Come on.”

They left the room and went in the opposite direction of the armories in an attempt to avoid Maglor at all costs. Who was he to say whether their son could fight or not? It was Buffy’s call, not his. Or so she deemed.

The war machines were already assembled and in working order. Over the last several days, the elves had gathered large stones and vats of Greek Fire in anticipation of that fateful day. Buffy’s eyes pierced the night and in the distance, the flickering flames of the yrch torches could be seen. Great clouds of dark smoke from the volcanoes of Angband hovered above the lands, obscuring what should have been a star speckled sky.

“Where’s your mail?” queried Gúrchim who wished to fight beside the Lady.

“I’m a Vala, I don’t need mail!” she replied, pulling the knitted cap on her head lower so that it covered her cold ears.

“That is folly, Bella,” said the disgruntled green-elf. “You can still perish. Do not waste your magics needlessly, my Lady. Please, let me bring you your gear. It will do my heart well to know that you are protected from the weapons of the enemy.” Gúrchim continued to plead his case until the Slayer relented. She hated wearing that stuff.

The cavalry were anxious to ride out and meet them, but Maglor wanted to wait until the enemy had passed through the Gap. The yrch were still a good forty miles away and it would be a good eighteen hours before they reached Maglor’s land. To the west, they saw that Maedhros’ troops were assembling and the war machines were being positioned behind the white walls of Himring. Russandol understood that his brother’s land was the hardest to defend so he had additional warriors on horseback sent to his aid. The elves of the Gap could see them riding in the distance.

Buffy and her people grabbed a bite to eat as they watched the progress of the marching yrch. She was confronted by Maglor again on the plains, and their exchange became quite heated. The Slayer was adamant that her young son was more than capable of fighting. She had personally trained him herself, and he was skilled way beyond his young years. It infuriated her that her beloved didn’t have that much faith in their son’s abilities. Their argument had become so fiery that many thought that it would put an end to their love affair.

“Don’t tell me my business,” shouted the enraged Slayer. “How many wars have you fought in? One? How many kills have you made? Well, let me tell you something, lover, I’ve fought in a hell of a lot of battles and I’ve slain thousands by my own hands. This is what I was made to do. My son has that same gift and I will not allow him to sit idly by when his strength is needed… ”

“He is only seventeen years old!” Maglor yelled back. “There will be plenty of time in the future… ”

“I’m not gonna tell you again. If you deny my son, I will take him away and you’ll never see him again,” threatened Buffy through gritted teeth.

“You wouldn’t dare,” sneered Maglor.

“Try me. I’ll remove him to Folkvang so fast, your head will spin.” It was then that Buffy noticed all the elves looking at her, their faces showed how appalled they were at hearing those words. All of them, including her own Household, thought that she had taken things too far.

Buffy needed to calm down, so she simply walked off. She had to let Olofin fight. It was almost as if something inside her was screaming that it had to be. And there was no way she wasn’t going to trust her instincts. As far as taking Maglor’s son away, she was bluffing. Never in a million years would she do something that cruel and heartless, but it needed to be said in order for her to make her point. That boy was going to fight with or without her husband’s support.

Feeling increasingly restless, the Slayer changed into falcon form and ascended into the darkened sky. From the air, she witnessed legions of yrch crossing the vast plains; most would be descending upon Dorthonion (Land of Pines,) which was the territory of Angrod and Aegnor (sons of Finarfin.) She could see that the main cavalry of Maedhros’ had long departed Himring and were now riding along the eastern eaves of the forest in preparation for the assault. Fingolfin and his people had been deployed from Hithlum, and were both marching and riding through the plains just north of the eaves of the same wood.

Several smaller bands had broken off from the main host and were heading towards the Pass of Sirion and Maglor’s Gap. As the Slayer soared through the opening close to her own home, she noticed that the vast rocky hills offered great cover. It then occurred to her that it would be advantageous to place snipers throughout the pass in order to lessen the number of the enemy before they reached the homes of the elves.

Once she landed and changed back into ‘human’ form, she immediately sought out her husband. They both put aside their differences regarding the rearing of their son, and talked amicably about altering their strategy somewhat. Buffy explained to him all that she had seen from above, and wanted to employ Guerilla tactics to thwart the enemy before they had passed through the Gap. Maglor reluctantly agreed to allow Olofin to go with his mother, but the Slayer had to promise to get him out of harm’s way, should it come to that (something she would do without question.)

Buffy summoned most of the archers to go with her to the clefts in the hills. Olofin and Thranduil stayed by her side at all times. While Thranduil was old enough to be considered an adult, the Slayer still felt responsible for his welfare, more so than the other elves. Perhaps it had something to do with her maternal feelings for the young man or the fact that he was still rather immature for his age.

After concealing themselves amongst the rocky terrain, the elves waited amidst the darkness. The thick, dark plumes of smoke from the volcanic eruptions had totally obscured the sun from view. Morgoth had deemed that that would give his yrch the advantage since they detested the sunlight more than anything.

It was late afternoon when the yrch approached the pass. There was no possible way for them to get them all as the pass was miles wide. It would be the responsibility of the elves stationed south of them to obliterate all the yrch that managed to get past the first attack.

“Aim for the neck,” instructed Buffy in a whisper to the youngsters. She, Thranduil and a handful of others chose to use their crossbows instead of the elvish bows.

Only moments later, arrows went whizzing through the air, some met their mark while others made a loud dinging noise as they collided with the armor of the yrch. Buffy could hear the captain of the fell beasts calling for his ‘men’ to stay away from the rocky hillsides as the elves continued to shoot at the fleeing monsters, causing many to drop to the ground. Buffy was impressed with the accuracy of both Olofin and Thranduil’s marksmanship.

The Slayer seemed dismayed although she did not share her feelings with anybody else. She was expecting Morgoth to send a greater force, but that wasn’t the case. The elves of the Gap only had to contend with small bands of yrch (about 500 in each group); their numbers were not nearly as great as those that were descending upon Dorthonion. Buffy desperately wanted to jump into the thick of things; she hated fighting from afar. It had been too long since she had last dueled with the minions of Morgoth. But that was out of the question considering that her young son was by her side.

Those of the enemy that made it through the pass then had to deal with the cavalry of the House of Fëanor and Buffy’s engines. The yrch did not fight unless confronted, but continued heading south into Eastern Beleriand. Morgoth was not only testing the vigilance of the Noldor, but he also wanted to get as many of his spies into the heart of the land. Some of the yrch were actually shape-shifters in disguise, but none would discover that for many, many years.

Unfortunately, many of the war machines had somehow been sabotaged, the sinew cut in two or bolts had been removed so that when they were armed with a large boulder, the entire engine collapsed. Maglor found that to be most peculiar as they were in working order only days before. Úrion could not explain it even though it was his duty to oversee those weapons of destruction. That allowed many yrch to get deeper into Beleriand. It was with great joy in Maglor’s heart that he heard the horn blasts sounded by the people of Caranthir who were coming from the east. They waylaid those that had gotten past both Maglor and Maedhros’ forces.

Fingolfin and Maedhros had both worked well together. Their combined forces were so great that the terrified yrch attempted to retreat back to Angband. The elves pursued them and annihilated every single orch within sight of the gates of Thangorodrim. It took the elves only three days to achieve a complete victory against Morgoth.

It was the King of the Noldor who coined the term Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, at the feast that was held afterwards in Hithlum. The elves heeded the warning of Morgoth, tightened their leaguer, and thus started the Siege of Angband, which would last nearly four hundred years. Fingolfin declared that Morgoth would never be able to catch the Noldor at unawares, and that the only way they could be defeated would be by treason.


Chapter 42 - NIGHTMARES

WARNING! Please note that the rating of this chapter has increased to "R". This chapter contains imagery that readers may find offensive and repulsive (that’s my goal!) Before you call me some sick twisted pervert, please note that most of these ‘scenarios’ are based on ‘historic accounts,’ and merely have been tweaked to fit the context of this story. This chapter explicitly describes ‘sexually deviant’ and ‘immoral’ behavior, but it is imperative to the story itself. If you are easily disturbed by such imagery, you can skip this chapter and still get the gist of the story, although it will not pack the same punch. I consider you people hereby warned. With that said, I now present for your reading enjoyment:


Chapter Forty-Two: Nightmares



The words of Fingolfin haunted Buffy’s thoughts since her return to the Gap. There was no doubt in her mind that the Doom of Mandos was already at work; someone within the House of Fëanor had to be the saboteur of the war machines. That also explained how Morgoth was able to obtain intimate information regarding the Slayer’s personal life. Until she discovered the identity of the mole, Buffy would refrain from sharing her ‘secrets’ with any save her closest of confidents: Maglor, Olofin, Úrion, Gúrchim and Thranduil.

After Dagor Aglareb, Buffy and Maglor had a heart-to-heart about their son and his promising future as a warrior.

“Indeed Olofin has proved his might in battle,” Maglor had told her one night while they lay in bed. “I didn’t expect to see such skill from our son.”

“I told you,” replied the Slayer, her voice filled with pride. “I was younger than him when I started fighting. Although surprisingly enough, I was bigger,” she added with a laugh. Her tone then turned very serious. “I would die before I let anything happen to Olofin, Káno. There’s no way on Eru’s green earth that I’d ever let anyone hurt him. I love him as I love all my children, and I’d do anything to protect them.

“But you have to keep in mind that he’s the son of a Vala, which makes him more special. Olofin is needed in this world as much as I am. He has a role to play in the great scheme of things, and that means fighting with me when the need arises. And at some point in time, he’s gonna do that on his own, we won’t be able to restrain him. It’s in his nature. He’s a Noldo for god’s sakes,” she said with a smile. “You elves have that whole wanderlust thingy going for you, Olofin will be no different. We must encourage him every step of the way in order for him to reach his full potential.”

“From now on, I shall be more supportive when it comes to our son and his involvement in combative situations,” he answered sweetly. “I guess I’ve been guilty of judging the book by its cover.”

Joy and bliss had returned to the Slayer’s Household once again. One thing that the war did show her was that the pass needed to be more secure; elves were not enough. It was at that time that Buffy suggested that they erect a large stone wall, fifty feet tall, in that most vulnerable spot in Maglor’s realm. The councilors all agreed with her idea, and on the following morning, the Noldor began their labors on constructing a wall that would span over twenty miles.

As the years rolled by, the Slayer continued to flout her sacred duties. She was unwilling to return to Folkvang and indeed turned a blind eye to the rumors that she heard in the east. Every time Buffy thought about returning to her magical realm, a feeling of woe encompassed every fiber of her being. That alone was enough to make her shuck her responsibilities.

It was one hundred years later when Buffy’s dreams were invaded by nightmares. Night after night, she experienced the same horrific visions. It became intolerable on the tenth night; the Slayer found herself wide-awake. She turned to Maglor, who lay on his side; his deep breathing indicated that he was still sleeping soundly. The clock on the wall showed that it was still early, three o’clock. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep after experiencing such a nightmare.

Later that morning, after sunrise, the Slayer changed into a navy blue gown and a pair of sandals. While Maglor was in a meeting with his counselors, she sat at her husband’s desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote him a note stating that she had to leave in order to tend to ‘slayer business.’ She reached out the opened window and cut a single red rose. Before departing, she placed the flower on top of the letter.

Only a moment later, Buffy found herself amid the darkness, standing upon the shoulder of Orocarni, a few miles from a walled city. She looked around anxiously; no one was in sight. As she stood there, savoring the cool summer night, she began to sing softly to herself:


“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone… ” *


Her song was interrupted by a voice that she wasn’t expecting to hear.

“It’s obvious that you’ve been spending far too much time with that minstrel elf. One would expect you, of all people, to tend to the task that has been assigned to you, instead of singing songs that serve no purpose,” said Sauron with a smirk.

The Slayer turned and faced Morgoth’s lieutenant. “Why did you summon me here?” she queried, the annoyance in her voice was quite obvious.

Sauron approached her, stopping inches from her face. “Since your only concern of late seems to be nurturing your half-elven son, I’ve taken it upon myself to send you visions of what your firstborn has been up to these many years.”

“You sent the visions?” asked a shocked Buffy. “How the hell did you manage to invade my mind?”

He placed a calloused hand tenderly on her cheek. “A kiss is never just a kiss,” revealed the evil Maia. Buffy slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” barked the scowling Slayer. Sauron merely chuckled. “Why don’t you take the whole Illyria thing up with Melkor and leave me out of it?”

The Necromancer walked a few paces, his hands clasped behind his back, as he looked upon the city below them.

“Once again, my Lord fails to heed the words of his most trusted servant - me! I’ve been watching Illyria closely since she departed Angband, and I’ve dispersed my spies throughout her kingdom in order to be kept apprised of all that transpires here in the east,” revealed Morgoth’s lieutenant before he turned, facing Buffy again. “She is preparing to challenge Melkor for the kingship of Arda, and we cannot allow that… ”

“You’re telling me that Melkor is just gonna sit back and let that happen,” remarked the disbelieving Slayer.

“My Lord chooses not to make war with his only child with you,” retorted a sneering Sauron. “She is his only link with you and he will not listen to reason.”

“And you think that I will?” she questioned.

“After we visit the lands of your firstborn, I deem that you will be able to talk some sense into my Master,” he replied.

“What makes you so sure that I’ll agree with your conclusion?” asked Buffy.

His wicked smile widened. “My dear Inanna, after you witness what I’ve seen, you yourself will rally your armies in order to bring about the end of Illyria’s reign. Wickedness runs rampant in her cities… ”

Buffy cut him off. “Cities? I thought she only had the one,” she remarked with confusion.

Sauron shook his head. “I see that you have given no thought to your beloved daughter in recent years,” snapped the evil Maia. “Yes, Illyria rules two cities: Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. The latter is where her citadel, Vahla ha'nesh, is situated.” He pointed to the closest city, just east of them. “That city is Numeira and shall be the first one we visit.”

“What makes you think that I’ll willingly go with you?” she queried with her hands on her hips.

He smiled and walked back over to Buffy. “You desire to see what your daughter has been up to after all these years. In fact, you would love nothing more than to be reunited with her in the flesh,” answered the Necromancer with a sinister smile. A chill crept over the Slayer. Surprisingly, Sauron pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. As he fastened the clasp around her neck he said, “It is important that you come with me… unless you wish to see Illyria bring an end to all humanity.”

Buffy pulled the cloak tightly around her; she was unable to shake off the chill. “Let’s go,” she responded.

Morgoth’s lieutenant smiled. “Stay close to me and no harm shall come to you,” he said as they started walking down the slope. “These folks do not take kindly to strangers, so we’ll need to exercise caution.” The Slayer found his words to be most disconcerting.

“What do you mean by that?” inquired Buffy uneasily.

“You shall soon see, my dear Inanna, you shall soon see,” came his reply.

Sauron took her hand and they both disappeared. They reappeared only a moment later in an alleyway of the city. Buffy had no idea what the time was other than it being night. She assumed that she had experienced something similar to crossing multiple time zones in ‘modern’ times. The chill that she had felt was soon replaced by a feeling of dread making Buffy reluctant to leave the alley. She was frightened at what she might encounter around the corner. Evidentially, the Necromancer noticed her apprehensiveness.

“You have nothing to fear, I swear,” reassured Sauron as he placed his hands on her shoulders. The Slayer locked eyes with her enemy; his eyes were filled with compassion. “Be not afraid, my Lady. We are here merely to observe, nothing else. We do not want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves.” He rubbed her shoulders encouragingly. “Are you ready?” he queried. Buffy’s mouth felt so dry that she could only nod her head in response. “Come, then,” he added, as he linked his arm with hers. She did not pull away, and as a matter of fact, she felt better knowing that Sauron was with her.

They left the alleyway as the lieutenant explained that there were different neighborhoods within Numeira. They were in the poorest part of the city where the dregs of society reside. The only visible light was from the oil lamps that hung on iron poles along the street, which cast the entire area into eerie shadows. The odor alone were enough to knock the Slayer out, it was a mixture of alcohol, vomit, urine and death. She tightened her grip on Sauron’s arm.

As they made their way along the street, they passed another alleyway from which the muffled cries of a child could be heard. The Slayer could not pass by without helping the youngster. She ran down the darkened alley and nearly crapped herself when she came upon a boy, no older then eight, molesting a girl about the same age. A look of horror was on Buffy’s face. She grabbed the boy from the back of his tunic and pulled him off the girl.

“What the hell do you think your doing?” the Slayer demanded, her disgust apparent.

The little half-naked girl leapt to her feet, kicked Buffy hard in the shin and shouted, “Mind your own business, harlot!” The girl then fell to her knees and began performing oral sex on the boy. The Slayer was appalled. Never, in a million years, had she ever thought that she would encounter something that disturbing.

“You can have a taste too, if you like,” remarked the grinning boy to Buffy. She was absolutely stunned by the youngsters’ behavior.

“Come, Inanna,” said Sauron as he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the alley. “Let the ruffians continue their acts of depravity.”

“This is normal?” questioned Buffy, her body trembling from the shock.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” replied Sauron. The sight of those two children fornicating in that darkened alleyway was forever imprinted in the Slayer’s mind. She wished beyond anything to return to the sanctity of her own home, where lewd deeds like that were non-existent. “Are you alright?” questioned her companion with concern. He gently rubbed her back.

“No,” she replied solemnly. Buffy couldn’t imagine seeing anything worse than what they had just encountered, but Sauron was correct when he said that she hadn’t seen anything yet.

“Come,” he said as he took her arm again. “Let us get to Lutz’s home. It is not far from here.”

Sauron led her through the shadows, up one street, through an alley before they headed down another road. She freaked when they passed by the ‘meat market.’ In the storefront windows, young children, bound, hung from the rafters. Not only were they still alive, but chunks of their flesh were missing and some of their arms or legs had been cut off and had been sold as ‘meat.’

“They are considered a delicacy,” remarked the evil Maia when he saw the look of revulsion on Buffy’s face. “You can see where they cauterized their flesh to stop the bleeding,” he continued as he pointed at the dimly lit window. “The mortals prefer their flesh as fresh as possible.”

“We’ve got to do something,” cried out a disheartened Buffy. Her first impulse was to rescue those poor children.

“There is no point,” said Sauron matter-of-factly. “What kind of life can they have? These people cannot afford to visit the healers and already disease runs rampant in these parts. Those children’s bodies are riddled with infection, can you not smell it?”

“That’s beside the point,” argued the distraught Slayer. “We can’t just leave them hanging there.”

“Their fate is sealed, death is imminent,” replied the evil Maia. He couldn’t understand why Buffy wanted to help those people. “Listen to me,” said Sauron as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her, attempting to bring her back to her senses. “Evil is as evil does. The severity of their punishments must fit the crime. There is no hope for these degenerates. Leave them be.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the window. The sickened Slayer broke free from his grasp, ran a few paces, before she vomited in the street. Her body continued to tremble from shock, her face had become pale and clammy. The Slayer’s head began to throb painfully.

Buffy wiped her mouth on the cloak, tears spilling from her eyes. “I can’t do this, Sauron. It’s too much,” she cried.

“You must call upon your strength, Inanna,” instructed the evil Maia. “We cannot go until you’ve seen it all. When you’re ready to tell me it’s time to make war with these people, then we’ll go, but not before.” He took her hand once again. “We must hasten our pace,” he added as he escorted her down another street.

“I can’t believe this,” she mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. They passed very few people, which Buffy found surprising. Before long, they crossed a courtyard and approached a two story stone home.

“We’re here,” informed the evil Maia before he knocked on the door of the house. “Lutz is a servant of Melkor’s; you will be treated with honor here.”

The door soon opened a crack; an eye peered through the gap. “My Lord,” said a voice that was both deep and gravelly. “Please, come in,” the man continued as the door swung open, filling the stoop with light.

“Lutz,” greeted Sauron with a nod as he had the Slayer enter the house before him. When the door had closed, the Necromancer introduced Buffy to Lutz. “This is the Lady Inanna; I don’t believe you have met her before. Inanna, this is Lutz; he is both noble and trustworthy.”

The man fell to his knees, as did the other four people in the house. “My Lady, the Mistress of Angband, I welcome you to my humble abode.”

“I’m not the Mistress of Angband,” declared the Slayer, still reeling from the horrors that she had already witnessed.

“I’m afraid that Inanna is not feeling too well… ” disclosed Sauron to Lutz.

“Oh my, we can’t have that now. Please, have a seat, and we’ll see if we can remedy the Lady’s ailment,” said the man kindly.

The maidens of the house brought Buffy a basin of clean water and a cloth. With quivering hands, the Slayer submerged the cloth in the water, squeezing out the excess before washing her face. She felt feverish.

“Wine?” queried one of the women.

“Oh god, yes. Thank you,” replied the Slayer as she took the silver chalice from the woman’s hand. “Just leave the bottle,” she added before draining her cup in one gulp. Lutz then handed Buffy a dose of tonic to help her headache; she eagerly drank it.

“As you can see, Lutz, Inanna is quite disgusted by what we’ve encountered so far,” remarked Sauron as he refilled Buffy’s chalice. “Give her your report on what’s been going on in Illyria’s kingdom, for she is the only one with the power to put an end to it.”

Lutz then went into a tirade about the goings-on in both Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Buffy sat there with her face in her hands as she listened to those most disturbing tales of woe; each more horrific then the previous. She couldn’t believe that mankind had fallen so far from the grace of Eru. The atrocities that were happening in these cities didn’t even happen in Angband, which Buffy considered Hell itself.

“The seed of Man has been tainted,” started Sauron after Lutz had finished speaking. “As you’ve seen and heard, wickedness rules here from the eldest to the youngest. None are free from it.”

“No,” protested the Slayer with a shake of her head. “There’s gotta be some good here. There’s no way an entire race of people can fall under such a dark shadow.”

“It is all they know; debauchery, cannibalism… ”

“NO!” she interjected. “I can’t believe that.” She continued to shake her head in disbelief. “There has to be some good here. There have to be some righteous people,” contested Buffy, thinking of those from the house of Brolach.

Sauron laughed at her words. “I’ve been watching these lands for many, many years, my dear Lady. I would bet my soul that you cannot find one righteous person in these lands. Not one!” The evil Maia sympathized with the Slayer. He knew that she had never dealt with anything remotely similar to their current situation, but he knew that she needed to know, no matter how much anguish it caused her. “Your daughter allows this to happen. She cares not for the welfare of men as long as they submit to her will,” added Sauron.

“And you’re telling me that you do? You care about mankind?” she queried skeptically.

“I care what they are capable of, yes. As long as they are under the sway of Illyria, they will spread their disease of degeneracy like a plague throughout all of Middle-earth. I don’t want my people behaving in that manner, and I’m evil! We must end this once and for all. We must unite, Inanna. We have no other choice.” Buffy sensed the desperation in the Necromancer’s voice. “Mankind only cares about sating their desires, whether it be their lust for flesh or wealth. It’s an abomination, Inanna; you can see that, can’t you?”

The alcohol was thankfully taking effect on the Slayer. “I hate to say it, but I haven’t seen enough to declare war on these people. I mean, yeah I’ve seen some perverse shit, but I’m afraid that I’m not totally convinced, yet. She took a sip of wine before asking, “Where are the barbarians now? We didn’t see many in the streets.”

Lutz, who was a shape-shifter, glanced at the clock on the mantle. The time read half past one in the morning.

“Well, I deem that most of the city-dwellers are taking part in the nightly ritual referred to as The Offering. It entails sacrifices in the name of… ”

Buffy held her hand up, stopping Lutz mid-sentence. “I… I don’t wanna know,” she stammered. “I’ve heard enough.”

“Enough to make war on mankind?” queried Sauron anxiously.

“We have to find the good people and get them out first,” advised Buffy.

“I’ve already told you that there are no good people here,” argued Sauron, his frustration growing. “There are only degenerates, degenerates of the most heinous kind. They’ve all been corrupted. Death is the only appropriate punishment, Inanna.”

Their conversation was then interrupted by loud banging on the front door. Lutz rose from his seat and peeked outside from behind the curtain. “They’re here,” announced the man worriedly.

“Who?” asked Buffy.

“The townspeople,” he replied as the persistent banging echoed throughout the sitting room. “They must know that you’re here.”

“What do they want?” queried Sauron as he too, got to his feet.

Lutz glanced at both the Maia and Buffy before replying. “They want you both. Can you not hear them?”

Buffy followed Sauron to another window. Both glimpsed outside. The courtyard was filled with nearly two hundred people. Many of the men were either nude or their breeches were pulled down to their ankles exposing their erections. The women’s behavior was no better than the men’s. They were bare-breasted with their skirts hiked up above their waists, revealing their ‘wares.’ The two small kids that the Slayer had witnessed screwing in the alley earlier were among them.

“Bring them out!” shouted the group.

“Let us delight in the pleasures of their flesh,” yelled one.

“I want the fair, dark-haired one,” shouted another fellow, referring to Sauron with that comment.

Buffy’s jaw hung open as she saw a wild orgy unfold before her very eyes. Two women were taking turns performing fellatio on a mule while a man inserted his penis in the animal’s rear. Children were fornicating with each other as well as adults. All the while, the people shouted what they wanted to do with both Buffy and Sauron.

A few women then pushed their exposed breasts against the windowpane, in an attempt to entice the occupants to come out. Men were masturbating themselves and each other. It was the vilest thing that Buffy or Sauron had ever seen in all their lives.

The sickened Slayer retreated into the sitting room just as a brick came flying through the window, striking her on the left side of the head. She fell to the floor, her head bleeding profusely. The overzealous crowd began smashing out more windows as Sauron ran to Buffy’s side. The Maia grabbed the cloth from the basin and pressed it to the disoriented Slayer’s injured head.

“Keep out of my house!” yelled Lutz as he pulled out a club and began beating the people that tried to climb in the window. “I’ll let you have my maidens if you go away,” offered the man.

“We don’t want them. We want fresh meat,” said a woman who was halfway through the window before Lutz knocked her out.

“I’ve had enough of this,” said an angry Sauron as he went to the door. He threw it open and stood there in his most menacing form. “Wicked children of Illyria,” he proclaimed in a terrifying voice. “You have assaulted the mother of the King and shall be punished accordingly. You long for the darkness, then so be it!”

The Necromancer unleashed his powerful magicks upon those depraved people, blinding every last one of them that stood in the courtyard. Chaos ensued outside the doors of the house, most people ran around the courtyard like rabid beasts, while some continued with their sexual deviant behavior until they found their release. Sauron’s spell was successful in that the inhabitants of Numeira no longer harassed those that remained within the house of Lutz.

The evil Maia slammed the door before returning to the Slayer’s side; Lutz had just finished tending to Buffy’s wound. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“I’ll be okay,” replied the Slayer with a sigh. “So much for not drawing any unwanted attention.” They sat there for a few minutes listening to the frenzied cries of the townspeople.

“I deem that the time has come for us to leave Numeira. I think that you’ve seen enough of this city,” proposed Sauron, before turning to Lutz. “Under the circumstances, you and your maidens should return to Angband. Inanna and I must travel on to Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.”

Before Sauron and Buffy left, Lutz provided them with some food and drink for their journey. The Slayer was already hungry, but very anxious to leave that evil place. She longed to come face-to-face with Illyria, and deep in her heart, she knew that that time was drawing near.

Only twelve miles separated the cities of Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Exactly midway between them was a large solitary hill, its sides were steep yet the top was level and barren. Along the bottom were scattered ash trees, and it was there that Buffy and Sauron reappeared as opposed to the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ itself.

“Let us rest here and refresh ourselves before we enter Illyria’s city,” proposed the evil Maia. They sat beneath a tree and ate a basic meal consisting of dried pork, bread, cheese and grapes. They spoke very little as they ate. Both were deep in their own thoughts. As the sun rose brightly in the morning sky, Sauron was ready for them to proceed on. Before they left, Buffy removed the bandage from her head. She was dismayed that she had streaks of blood in her hair.

“Let’s walk a while,” suggested the Slayer. “I’m not ready to jump back into the thick of things just yet.” Morgoth’s lieutenant agreed. He knew that Buffy was having a hard time processing all that she had witnessed so far.

When the twosome reached the outskirts of the city, they clasped hands before disappearing. They materialized only a second later within the walls of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. That city appeared to be more civilized than Numeira. Of course, that was merely an illusion. Sauron assured her that many obscene and immoral deeds took place within the walls of that city. They only difference were the class of people. Here dwelt the hierarchs of Illyria’s kingdom; most of them were former residents of Angband.

Bâb-edh-Dhrâ was quite different from Numeira in many ways. For one, it was fairer. Every building that Buffy could see was wrought from white stone; the facade of many had impressive reliefs, covered in gold or silver. As Sauron and Buffy passed by them, she noticed that many depicted Illyria’s victorious battles with the dwarves. That explained the dwarvish influence on their architecture.

The military presence was extreme. It became clear that Illyria was like her father in one way: she ruled with an iron fist. There were guards stationed every ten feet throughout the city and along the wall that surrounded it. The duo passed by a few wide-open squares where both men and demons were practicing drills. It appeared that the Slayer’s firstborn was indeed preparing for war.

With so much security, it was not long before they were stopped and questioned by a mortal guard. Buffy couldn’t help but notice the five-rayed star on the front of his jerkin.

“I do not recognize your faces,” said the man as he scrutinized them with his dark eyes. He grabbed the Slayer by the arm and looked at her left wrist. “I do not see your identification mark!” barked the guard, squeezing her arm tighter.

“What is this, 1939 Berlin?” mumbled Buffy under her breath.

“You are strangers to Bâb-edh-Dhrâ,” said the guard gleefully, a sinister twinkle in his eyes. “I take it you have not laid on The Bed.”

“Bed?” queried the Slayer nervously. “What bed?” She glanced at Sauron. “What’s he talking about?”

“I’ll take care of this,” the Maia told Buffy before turning his attention to the guard. “This is Inanna Luinil, mother of the King, and I advise you to remove you scummy mortal hands from her person before I snap your neck in two,” warned Buffy’s companion in a contemptuous tone. The fire within Sauron’s eyes caused the man to tremble in fear. His eyes darted from Sauron to Buffy and then back to Sauron again. The guard stuttered an incoherent apology as the evil Maia added, “Take us to the King.”

“Right away, Lord,” said the man before blowing a series of notes on his horn. Soon a dozen armed demon guards arrived followed by a Balrog, whom Sauron had known well at one time.

“Hail, Sauron,” greeted the beast of flame. “Many long years have passed since we’ve last seen each other. How goes it, my old friend?”

“It goes well save in your city, Noreg,” replied the Necromancer with scorn. “One would think that old friends and the mother of the King would be treated with respect instead of enmity.”

“My apologies to you both,” proclaimed the Balrog with a slight nod of his fiery head. “I bid you welcome and greetings from the King. It is with great honor that I accompany both the King’s mother and her noble escort to the mighty fortress of Illyria, Vahla ha'nesh.”

As they started walking down the street, Buffy turned to Sauron and asked, “What’s the deal with that bed thingy that guard was talking about?”

“It’s a torture device used on strangers in these parts,” explained the evil Maia. “It’s somewhat similar to the racks that we have in Angband. One is placed on a platform and stretched to fit what they refer to as ‘The Bed.’ If they are too long, then the legs are cut to the appropriate size. Whatever the outcome, a lottery is held, and the lucky winners get to inflict any type of punishment on the victim.” Sauron smiled at the thought; the rack was one of his favorite torture devices.

Buffy gave the Necromancer a scornful look, but didn’t comment. She had to remind herself that Sauron was the personification of evil; he was no better than Illyria or the people of Numeira. He may have treated her kindly in the past eleven hours, but he was still fighting on the dark side. And the idea of aligning with evil against another evil, seemed evil in itself to the Slayer. She wondered if her people would willingly unite with the forces of Morgoth in order to take out Illyria. It had become clear to her that Illyria needed to be dethroned, but her daughter’s forces were by far greater than any that Buffy could muster. It didn’t help matters any knowing that she would have to depend on Morgoth and his minions. Her gut told her that she couldn’t place too much faith in either of them. The Slayer knew there was a possibility of them turning on her after Illyria’s defeat, that is, if her firstborn could be defeated.

As the group approached the magnificent mammoth halls of Illyria from the east, Buffy couldn’t help but notice a pavilion set up on a swath of green grass that adjoined the citadel. Her jaw dropped and her stomach became queasy when she noticed five human infants on a spit, roasting over an open fire. A man was busily basting their crispy flesh, which actually smelled like pork, making the Slayer even more nauseous.

She averted her eyes to a weird looking contraption that stood just outside of the pavilion. There were two large, heavy wooden poles (that actually went a couple of feet into the earth,) with a large crossbar that ran along the top from one pole to the other. It somewhat resembled a large doorway except for the fact that there were two metal eyelets that hung from the crossbar, to which a thick leather harness was attached. Buffy could not fathom what that device did.

“What’s that?” she asked Sauron in a mere whisper, pointing to the odd contraption. “Is it some kind of torture device?” The evil Maia attempted to restrain his laughter, but with little success.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you,” chuckled the Necromancer. Buffy looked at him blankly; she really had no idea what it was. “Many of the ladies of the court cannot have their lusts sated by man alone, so they turn to the stables for a substitute.” The Slayer continued to stare at the evil Maia with vacant eyes. He sniggered and shook his head before he continued. “You are naive, aren’t you, my dear Inanna. The horse is harnessed into that device so that it’s forced to stand on its hind legs allowing the woman to… ”

Comprehension finally dawned on Buffy. She stopped Sauron mid-way through his explanation. “I don’t want to hear any more,” she said as the blood drained from her face. She couldn’t believe how perverted these people were. And the fact that her own daughter allowed that shit to go on in her land infuriated the Slayer even more. Illyria’s reign had to end, one way or another.

They were climbing the steps of the citadel, when Buffy felt faint; her nausea becoming more pronounced. She fell to her knees and threw up all over the white marble steps. When she had finished retching, she unsteadily got to her feet, her head began to spin, and the Slayer lost her balance. As she started to fall, Sauron caught her in his arms. She had fainted.

“Inanna? Inanna?” Buffy could hazily hear the evil Maia calling her name repeatedly. “Come back to me.” When the Slayer finally opened her eyes, she was laying on a bed within one of the many bedchambers of Vahla ha'nesh. Sauron was pressing a cool, wet cloth to her face and neck. “There you are,” he continued in a soothing voice. “I didn’t mean to make you ill.”

“It wasn’t you… for once,” she replied as she sat up, pushing the hair off her face.

“Here you go, my Lady,” said one of Illyria’s demonic healers as he handed her a cup. “That shall settle your stomach.”

The Slayer eyed the contents warily. “What is it?” she asked as she looked at the green monster that stood there licking his fangs.

“It’s my own concoction,” replied the demon. “It’s mostly water with a little additive that will help you feel better.”

Buffy handed back the cup, it probably contained lymph fluid or something. “Actually, I feel better. Thanks any way.” She looked at Sauron with pleading eyes. “Where’s Illyria?” she asked, ready to get the hell out of that room.

“She’s in the Great Hall,” answered the Necromancer. “Are you ready to meet with her?”

“More like turn her over my knee,” murmured the Slayer as she climbed out of bed. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Good,” replied Morgoth’s lieutenant. He linked her arm in his. “Lead us on then,” he said to another demonic creature.

“This way,” said the huge black figure in a deep voice before they followed him from the chamber.

To Buffy, Vahla ha'nesh seemed like a cross between Khazâd-Dum and Sussrúmnir. It was huge and all the ceilings were at least one hundred feet high. There were no carpets on the floors and with each step, the sound seemed amplified. Even the whisperings of Buffy and Sauron reverberated throughout the long and wide, sparsely decorated passageways.

They came to a halt outside two enormous doors covered in gold. In the center of each door was a five-rayed star inlaid with diamonds. The sunlight from the windows shone on the gemstones creating a rainbow of colors that contrasted with that stark environment. Buffy found it to be rather beautiful.

A moment later, the doors swung open, and there on her throne atop the dais sat Illyria in all her demonic glory.

“Someone’s been eating their Wheaties,” mumbled Buffy under her breath. Sauron looked at her with a confused expression. “Never mind,” she answered off his look. “You’d think that at some point I’d stop making references to things that you people have no clue about.” Morgoth’s lieutenant merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Enter,” bellowed the King of these parts. Illyria was very much how Buffy remembered, only bigger. Much, much bigger. Even seated, the Slayer could tell that her daughter had to be nearly fifty feet tall. She and Sauron looked like ants by comparison. They proceeded into the long narrow room with many squared columns on either side. Armed demon guards were stationed between the columns and were garbed in full military regalia.

Illyria’s brilliant blue eyes remained fixed on her mother as Buffy and Sauron approached her throne.

“Illyria,” started the Slayer, not sure what to say. “So, how’ve you been?” she asked in an attempt to make with the small talk.

The blue demoness continued to stare at her mother, her tentacles moved about her, making Buffy extremely uncomfortable.

“I sense your displeasure at my physical appearance,” said her daughter.

“No, that’s not true,” replied a slightly taken aback Buffy, her cheeks flushing. “You’re just… bigger than I imagined, is all.”

“I would expect that my maternal parental figure would not have the gall to lie to my face within my own halls,” stated Illyria, her eyes still locked on her mother. Buffy felt her face go even redder, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “And you,” she began as she turned her eyes to Sauron. “How dare you bring my mother here in an attempt to oust me from my throne, servant of Melkor!” declared Illyria in a menacing tone as she rose to her claw feet. “Be gone! I do not wish to endure your presence any longer. You may wait for Inanna elsewhere.” The monstrous blue form that was Buffy’s daughter stepped down from the dais, the sound of her claws against the marbled floor echoed in the enormous chamber. “All of you… leave! I wish to speak with my mother alone,” she added as her tentacles continued to flow like waves around her.

Buffy gulped as all the King’s minions and Sauron quickly departed the chamber. The tension in the room was heavy and the Slayer was nervously anticipating a sudden attack by her daughter. Every single synapse in her body was going off simultaneously. Mother and daughter continued to stare at one another as the doors to the chamber slammed closed. A long tentacle then speedily shot out at Buffy, wrapped around her tightly, before lifting her high off the floor. Even though she was trapped within Illyria’s clutches, the Slayer did not struggle to free herself. She did her best to maintain her composure under the circumstances, hoping that her daughter wasn’t about to eat her (the thought did cross her mind.)

“You do not fear me,” declared Illyria as she brought her mother closer to her face. She cocked her head to the side before adding, “You are very small.”

“Yeah, believe me, I feel it at the moment,” remarked Buffy as she looked down at the floor. “Hope you don’t let go of me, looks like a long way down from up here,” she added before turning her glance back to her daughter.

Illyria’s piercing gaze scrutinized her mother carefully. “I do not wish to bring any harm to you,” she said after a few moments of silence. She placed Buffy back on the floor; her tentacle then slithered back and joined the others in waves of motion.

“I appreciate that,” replied Buffy as she smoothed out her dress. “I didn’t come here to fight you,” she added as she craned her neck, looking up at her daughter.

“I could feel no weapon,” answered Illyria. “I do not believe that you are comfortable speaking with me as I am.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Illyria’s form changed right before Buffy’s eyes. The Slayer’s mouth fell open when she saw that her daughter looked exactly like her except for the blue streaks in her blonde hair and on her body.

“Wow!” exclaimed a mystified Buffy. “You look so much like me.”

“I can change my shape at will,” answered her daughter, who was even dressed in the same gown as her mother. “Father says that I get that from you.”

“Maybe,” replied a still stunned Buffy. “Listen Illyria,” she started again. “I’ve been throughout your kingdom and let me tell you, it’s kinda creepy out there. Do you have any idea what the mortals are doing?”

Illyria bypassed her mother and walked to one of the tall windows. “They are nothing but vermin. Let them kill each other for the amusement of my court. I care not,” responded the blue Vala as she glanced at the river that meandered west of her Halls.

“See, that’s where we have a problem,” countered the Slayer as she joined her daughter by the window. “My mission is to protect them.”

Her daughter turned to her, studying her intently. “They are creatures of little worth,” argued Illyria.

“Not to me,” answered Buffy firmly. “This can’t go on, Illyria. Man deserves to be free…”

“Man was nothing when I found them,” replied her daughter in a hostile tone. “They are my slaves to do with as I wish, for I am King of Arda.”

“I hate to burst your bubble but Manwë Súlimo is King of Arda,” informed the Slayer. “Not you, nor your father.”

Illyria frowned at her mother. “If Uncle wishes to hold the title of King then he must defeat me first,” declared Illyria. “My forces are greater than any in the world. I have an army of over a million and a half men. Do you?” she queried with a slight grin on her face. “I’ve conquered the east and now I turn my eyes to the west. After all Middle-earth is under my dominion, I shall then unleash my forces on Valinor and end the reign of those who wish to claim lordship over this world.”

Buffy shook her head disappointedly. “It’s not gonna happen. I won’t let it happen,” answered the Slayer, attempting to keep her ire under control. “I brought you into this world, Illyria, and I can take you out of it. The next time we meet, it’ll be war.” The Slayer then turned and started walking off.

“You are abandoning me yet again,” cried out her firstborn. Buffy could hear her footsteps following her. She stopped and faced her daughter. “All I ever sought was your love and approval… and now you desire to thwart my plans for world domination. You should join me, fight by my side as so many of your offspring have already done.”

The Slayer placed her hands on Illyria’s cheeks. “I didn’t abandon you, I fled from your father,” she started. “There’s a difference. I love you Illyria, no matter what form you possess, but I will not stand idly by while you destroy the people of Middle-earth. You behave like a spoiled brat, but that’s not wholly your fault. I wasn’t there to teach you… teach you right from wrong.” She kissed her daughter on the forehead. “My stance will not change, not even for you. Farewell.” Buffy turned to leave once again.

“I will kill you, mother!” shouted Illyria after her. “None will stand in my way.”

Buffy pushed the doors open and made her way out of the citadel. She found Sauron speaking with a group of demons on the steps of the fortress.

“Let’s go,” she said as she continued to descend the stairs.

“I take it that you’re ready to wage war against Illyria,” stated the evil Maia when he had caught up with her.

“I’ve got to muster my forces first. That’ll take me some time, but it shouldn’t be too long,” she replied.

“Come to Angband when all is ready,” advised Sauron. “I will eagerly await your arrival.” He looked at her with empathy in his eyes. “You’re doing the right thing, Inanna.” The Slayer nodded in reply before Sauron disappeared.

Buffy hated the thought of fighting her daughter, but she knew that it had to be done. It was as Sauron had said, the evilness in those parts would spread like a plague over all of Middle-earth. And she couldn’t have that.


*lyrics by Paul Simon


Chapter 43 - DOOMED

The Slayer did not immediately return home, but decided to explore the city further. Knowing that her firstborn would not allow her to walk freely in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, Buffy changed into falcon form and soared high above the city taking in the lay of the land. Illyria wasn’t about to stop momma from doing a little reconnaissance while afforded the opportunity. Buffy’s keen eyes scanned all the city’s defenses.

The main defense was the wall that surrounded the city itself. It stood a good one hundred feet tall and appeared to be about twenty feet wide. Towers rose every fifty feet along the bulwark, looking both tall and menacing in appearance. The entire wall was constructed from solid, thick stone except in the two places where the river coursed through the stronghold. The waterway entered the city from the northwest, springing up at the feet of Orocarni, before meandering around Vahla ha¢nesh and exiting to the south. At those points, the stream passed through an iron trellis that was erected as part of the fortification. A second river was located south of the wall and ran due south some distance before arcing to the west in the shape of a ‘C,’ forming the western-most border of Numeira. Buffy noticed that the city had grown considerably since the last time she was there. On her previous visit, both rivers were outside the fence.

She cursed to herself when she noticed the various war machines that her daughter had in her possession. Damn it, she thought to herself. How the hell did she get her hands on my engines? Buffy didn’t recall Morgoth having any catapults and such the last time that she was in Angband. The mole, she concluded in her mind. The Slayer was most disturbed by the fact that her daughter now had many of those implements of war.

Buffy landed on the mound located between the two cities, and returned to her mortal form. As she stood there, the wind picked up out of the east. It was at that precise moment in time, that the Vala of Love felt herself become as one with the natural world. She could hear the leaves on the ash trees weeping as they flapped in the breeze, the tufts of dried grass on the hillside screamed that the end was nigh, and the birds that happened to pass overhead sang songs of lamentation. Yet it was the stone beneath her feet that screamed out that doom was at hand.

The Slayer knew that the time had come for her to act. She vanished from the hilltop and appeared outside the mystical gates of the Deeper Well. This time, her demon offspring welcomed her by jumping out of the doorway in attack mode. When the monsters saw that it was Buffy, they all bowed down before her. She mumbled a greeting as she hastily entered the realm of Luthor, Keeper of the Well. She found the Maia in his private chambers, reading some book that Maglor had lent him during his last visit to the Gap.

“My dear Bella,” welcomed the old man as he rose to his feet. “It has been too long… ” He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the worried expression on her face. “What’s wrong?” Luthor asked as he took her by both hands and led her to the couch.

Buffy then told the Maia all about her visit with Sauron to Illyria’s lands, leaving out no detail. He listened intently, asking no questions nor commenting until she had finished speaking.

“It troubles me deeply that you so willingly went with Sauron into Illyria’s realm. He’s a scoundrel from the get go and should not be trusted,” remarked Luthor disappointedly.

“I know that!” she countered defensively. “But at least he showed me what the hell’s going on over there. It’s obvious that I’ve got to put Illyria down. She’s become way too powerful for my liking.”

Luthor rose to his feet and started to pace back and forth as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip. “That is no easy task,” he started, stroking his beard absent-mindedly. “How in Eru Ilúvatar’s name was Illyria able to assemble an army over a million and a half strong? Just how many of these creatures did you and Melkor create together?” queried the old man, his intense blue eyes studying her carefully.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. Her gaze quickly shifted from the Maia to a tapestry on the wall of Tol Galen. She could feel Luthor’s penetrating eyes as the overwhelming sense of shame engulfed her. There was no way that the Slayer would ever reveal how many demons that she made with Morgoth. Ever.

“Hmm,” answered the Maia as he sat upon the chair opposite Buffy. He leaned forward, looking grim-faced. “We are in over our heads here, Bella. Not only are we greatly outnumbered but I deem that our foe is more powerful than most of us. There is no doubt in my heart that Illyria has been gifted with the greatest traits from both you and Melkor. And I need not tell you that that is a deadly combination. Do not underestimate her abilities! She is the daughter of Morgoth,” warned Luthor.

“But she’s also my daughter,” protested Buffy.

“Why are you defending her after everything that you’ve told me?” questioned Luthor with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m not. I was just saying… there’s a bit of me in there too,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

Luthor’s face softened. “Never mind that right now. We must focus on rallying our forces, but there are several factors that need to be addressed first.”

“That’ll have to wait, Luthor,” said Buffy fretfully. “I think the time has come for you to accompany me to Folkvang. Leave Dvalin in charge while you’re gone.”

Once the Dwarf Lord was notified, the Slayer linked her arm with Luthor’s and they disappeared in a blink of an eye. They reappeared only a moment later in the vestibule of Sussrúmnir. Buffy’s maidens eagerly attempted to garb her in her ceremonial apparel, but she bypassed them and headed down the steps of her castle with Luthor at her side. She ignored the pleas of the women. It was of the utmost importance that she meet with Marto.

As Buffy and Luthor walked along the street of gold, the twins suddenly appeared before them.

“Hail, mother,” they said in unison. “Luthor,” acknowledged the twins with a nod to Buffy’s companion.

The Slayer smiled when she saw her children. She warmly greeted them both with hugs and kisses. “I’m kinda in a hurry. We’ve got to see your father.”

They both shook their heads. “That must wait,” informed Mirë. “Great evil has come to Folkvang, mother. Anno and I have done our best to curtail the wicked men, but… ”

“Wicked men?” questioned a confused Buffy. “There’s no wicked men in Folkvang.”

“Unfortunately, that is not the case,” replied her son. “Many long years have passed since you last visited your realm. Chaos ruled here for a time. There are matters that need your immediate attention, Maranwë Luinil. I’m afraid that it can no longer wait. You must return to Sussrúmnir at once.”

Mirë turned to the old man. “You will find father in the forges, Luthor. I do not doubt that he will be most anxious to meet with you after all these many years,” stated the Oracle with a smile.

Before Buffy could protest, the twins each linked their arm with hers and dragged her back to her fortress. It was time for her to confront the horrors that had crept into her domain while she was away. As they made their way into the entrance hall, the Slayer’s maidens immediately garbed her in her queenly raiment. She was now ready to perform her sacred duties as the Fëantári. The sound of Antamo’s beautiful voice resounded throughout the entire palace, bringing Buffy little comfort, for once. The twins continued to whisper in their mother’s ear as they ascended the steps to the Hall of Judgment. They stopped outside the doors, which then silently swung open.

“I can’t,” proclaimed a reluctant Buffy. “I don’t have time for this; I’ve gotta prepare for war. Too much time will pass if I judge the slain!”

“Time is something that we can manipulate, if that is your will,” declared Anno. The Slayer was flabbergasted when she heard that.

“You mean all this time… you could… ” started Buffy with a shake of her head. She couldn’t believe that her children possessed that kind of power.

“We can alter time in any way that is befitting to us,” chimed in Mirë.

“I take it you guys get that from your father,” replied the stunned Slayer.

“No, mother,” countered her son. “We get that ability from you.”

“From me?” she queried in a shocked tone. “That’s impossible. I can’t alter time.”

“Indeed!” replied Anno. “You must exercise your gifts or they become dormant. We will use our magics to stop time from moving in Middle-earth, but you must sit atop your throne of lapis lazuli and see all that has transpired during your absence.”

“When you have finished passing your judgments, Anno and I will teach you this wondrous skill,” advised Mirë. “We will wait for you in the Chamber of Music.” The twins turned and proceeded down the hallway, leaving their mother completely alone.

Buffy took a deep breath before entering that enormous dimly lit chamber; the doors shut silently behind her. The sapphire throne beckoned to her, it longed for its mistress. She warily climbed the steps of the dais; that overwhelming feeling of dread mounting to fevered heights. She placed her scepter on her lap and clapped her hands together, indicating that the first fey could enter. A male spirit then appeared, humbling himself before the Queen. His tale of woe disturbed the Slayer greatly. Unfortunately, she would hear many over the next several months.

It was with both great joy and sorrow when Brolach entered her chamber. Without hesitation, Buffy remade his flesh. She quickly descended the steps of her dais, stopping between the two vats of Flame. With his youthfulness restored, the naked man bowed low before Buffy. He looked up at her and said, “We waited for you, Lady, but you never came back. We’ve done our best to spread the Word.”

A white robe then magically appeared in the Slayer’s hand. She garbed the man before kissing him on the forehead. “Rise, my son,” commanded Maranwë Fëantári. Brolach rose to his feet, a look of contentment on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t return. I’ve allowed my home life to preoccupy much of my time. I failed you,” she said softly with tear-filled eyes.

“No,” protested the now young man with a shake of his head. “You delivered us from great evil, my Lady. Many of my people fled the terror that is Illyria. We formed our own havens further north of the Plain. My people, along with those that we were able to convert now reside in the villages of Admah, Zeboim, and Bela. There the righteous yet dwell.”

That news delighted Buffy. She assumed that all mankind fell under the sway of her beloved firstborn. Knowing that good men still existed renewed her hope in mankind itself. She spoke long with Brolach before naming him a Lord of Men within her realm. Time continued to stand still while she finished proclaiming her judgments. If it weren’t for the twins, Buffy would’ve been gone from Middle-earth for decades. Over 700,000 men passed through her chambers, including many women and children.

When the last man passed through her Halls, the Slayer called for Núrë, her cupbearer. Buffy took the cup of mead from her servant, trusting that it would calm her frazzled nerves. Despite some promising news, Maranwë Luinil was still greatly disturbed by the things that had happened within her own empire. It was time to address the hurts of the Men and Maiar of her House. The Slayer was amazed at how much grief the evil doppelganger had caused during her brief stay in Folkvang.

Evil men had been let loose in her kingdom, causing havoc everywhere they went. They attempted to molest the Maiar, but when that was unsuccessful, they set their sights on their own kindred. Heinous deeds they committed against the good and noble men of Folkvang. It was as evil as the atrocities that Buffy had witnessed in Illyria’s kingdom. With Maranwë Fëantári granting man the ability to regenerate body parts, many had to endure horrible torments for many months before the evildoers reprehensible deeds were discovered by the twins. The defilers were currently residing in the dungeons deep beneath Sussrúmnir awaiting the Slayer’s sentence.

Many years had passed since the evil men had been captured. Since Buffy was more concerned with the impending war, she decided to hold off on dealing with the prisoners, for now. She instructed Failo to remove them to the ‘Dungeons of Doom.’ Recalling the Laws of Hammurabi, (who had not yet been born into the world), the Slayer commanded that the punishment must fit the crime. “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” she told her chief torturer. “Whatever acts they committed against the righteous, give it back to them ten-fold.”

Buffy then summoned Marto and Luthor to join her and the twins in the Chamber of Music. Antamo ceased singing his enchanting love songs while the small group discussed possible strategies to thwart Illyria and her massive demonic armies.

“How many men can you summon under your banner in haste?” Luthor asked Buffy.

“Um, if I call upon all the Dwarves, Elves and Valkyries that are aligned with me… I think I can rally about 550,000,” answered the disheartened Slayer with a shake of her head. “I know. It’s not enough.”

“If most of Illyria’s men are Ainur, then we’re doomed. There is no way we can defeat an army over a million and a half strong,” declared Marto.

“What about weapons? Have you come up with anything of the mystical variety that can kill thousands with one stroke?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“The most powerful weapon that we have are the Gloves of Myhnegon that you and I made long ago,” replied the dark-haired Maia with a twinkle in his eyes. Making those artifacts with Buffy was one of the greatest moments of his life. “Unfortunately, it can’t take out thousands at a time.”

“It seems obvious to me,” interjected Anno. “You need to call upon your brethren in Valinor… ”

“No way!” replied Buffy, nearly choking on her wine. “There’s no way they’d help me. Keep in mind, Anno, they’re eager to put me before the Ring of Doom. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna make it any easier for them to get me.”

“You are no fugitive,” chimed in Mirë. “Surely, if you spoke with Irmo, he could relay that to the others.”

“They already think I’m in cahoots with Melkor,” stated the Slayer with resignation.

“Has that been your intentions all along?” asked Luthor suspiciously, his eyes bore into Buffy. She held her own, this time. “You plan on joining forces with Melkor against Illyria.”

“What?!” exclaimed the others.

The Slayer rose to her feet, nervously wringing her hands as she began to pace the wooden floor. “Do I really have a choice here?” she queried. “Who else has the forces to rival Illyria’s?”

“The Powers in the West can defeat any enemy,” proclaimed Anno. “They defeated Melkor, and Utumno is no more.”

“I fought in that battle,” remarked Marto. “Its undertaking caused grievous woe unto Arda. Yet we did achieve victory in the end, though much of the land has changed from that war.”

“I was there as well,” added Luthor. All eyes were fixed on him as he fought on Morgoth’s side. “Utumno may be no more, but it was not fully destroyed. Great evil still lurks deep in the pits of Utumno. The Valar had only achieved peace for a while. My fear is Melkor and Illyria joining forces against the rest of Arda.” The old man picked up his wineglass from the table. “That, my friends, would be the end of us all.” He then took a sip of his drink.

“Irmo said that I was supposed to deliver mankind. The Valar won’t intervene in the matters of Middle-earth until one is born from man and elf,” said Buffy pensively.

“Is Olofin not considered part of mankind though he resembles an elf?” asked a hopeful Marto.

“No, it is not he,” answered Anno. “He has Vala blood in him. That is not his fate.” Buffy’s eyes darted to Anno. She didn’t like the tone he used when he said the words, ‘that is not his fate.’

Mirë immediately noticed the anxious expression on her mothers face and added, “The one whom Irmo speaks of has not yet been born onto Eä. Do not worry needlessly about Olofinwë, mother. Many long years lie before him.” She tried her best to reassure her mother.

“I agree with Anno, Bella,” commented Luthor. “You must contact the Valar. There are no other options.” Buffy stopped and faced the old man, her arms wrapped around her as if warming herself against a sudden chill. “Melkor is devious and cannot be trusted. Ever,” continued the Maia with a shake of his head. “You must put your faith in those in the West, my dear. There are many in Valinor that love you dearly and will aid you in your hour of need. That whole thing with Thorondor and Salmar was simply a misunderstanding, you see. I believe the time has come for you to make peace with your brethren and seek their pardon… ”

The Slayer scowled at Luthor. “I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent,” she responded through gritted teeth. Buffy could feel her blood pressure rising, causing her face to redden. “What the hell do you want me to apologize for?” she questioned, placing her hands on her hips. The thought of having to seek a pardon from the Valar for doing absolutely nothing wrong was sending her over the edge. “I’m the victim here. I’m the one that’s constantly getting screwed with while they sit on their asses doing nothing. If anyone over there gave a shit about me, why the hell didn’t he or she free me from that prison? Huh?” she asked heatedly.

“Salmar said that they were not aware of your situation,” reminded Luthor in a gentle voice. He wished that she would calm down a bit.

“Some Guardians they turned out to be,” she shot back sarcastically. “All they care about is protecting their little magical realm over there - the hell with everybody else.”

“That’s not true,” declared an upset Mirë. “And in your heart of hearts you know that isn’t so, mother. Please do not speak of the Mighty in the West with such contempt.”

“None here are the enemy, Maranwë,” interjected Marto as he locked eyes with Buffy. “You are among… loved ones.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” replied Buffy as she plopped down into her chair, grabbing her glass of wine. She took a sip as everyone silently watched her. “There’s a traitor in the House of Fëanor,” she revealed to the small group. “Someone’s been giving Melkor all the inside scoop on what’s been going on in my House,” she added before downing the rest of her drink. Marto quickly refilled it. “Illyria’s got war machines now. She didn’t have them before so I can assume that daddy helped her out in that department.” Buffy shifted her gaze out the window, her anger replaced by dread, again.

“What do you think of Úrion?” asked Luthor.

“Úrion?” questioned the Slayer as she faced the old man. “I trust him with my life, as I do you,” she answered resolutely. The Maia clearly understood by the tone of her voice that she would not consider discussing the possibility of her trusted servant being a spy. Ever since Luthor had met the elf, he hadn’t liked him. Something about him was off. Yet Buffy loved him dearly, and treated him with great honor and respect. Perhaps she saw more in that strange elf than Luthor.

“I do not think that you should discuss your strategies with Kanafinwë nor his people,” remarked Anno unexpectedly. “If you deem that the traitor is from the House of Fëanor, then you must consider that Maglor is a possible candidate.”

“Bullshit!” exclaimed the Slayer angrily. “How dare you suggest… ”

“One must not forget the curse that is upon the House of Fëanor. That you know well,” countered her son knowingly. “The Doom of the Noldor lies on all the Noldor, including your husband! Did Námo himself not declare that they would commit treason, kin unto kin? Do not think that the curse will not effect your own House. It is fated to be so, and cannot be undone.” He paused while downing the rest of his drink. “I apologize for my outburst, mother, but it needed to be said,” added the Oracle with a sigh.

The room fell silent as all dwelled on the words of Anno. Buffy felt numb all over. For many years, she never gave thought to the curse, that is, until recently. The sabotaged war machines had recently reminded her of their doom, something that she was beginning to perceive more clearly. It didn’t help matters any that the Slayer had to contend with her own tribulation: Melkor and Illyria, two very powerful and wicked deities. That brought to mind something that Luthor had mentioned earlier; Buffy could see the light.

“What if by some strange chance Luthor’s worst fears are about to come true, and Melkor and Illyria unite to take over the world?” asked the Slayer abruptly. “Wouldn’t that be the motivating factor behind Sauron’s little visit? He’s scared. Scared of Illyria and what she’s capable of doing. There’s no doubt in my mind that Melkor’s daughter is of higher rank than Sauron.” She leaned back in her chair, wineglass in hand. “I could feel the power in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. I know that most of the offspring that I made with Melkor dwell within her realm, not his. Don’t tell me that Illyria just happened to convince the most potent acolytes of her father to follow her. There’s no way Melkor would allow that… unless, something’s up.”

“A trap?” queried Luthor anxiously as he leaned forward.

Buffy nodded her head and answered, “He’s the hammer, she’s the anvil. And I think dear old Sauron wants me in between them, so when the hammer strikes… I’m done, defeated, and destroyed.”

“That settles it,” said Luthor in a determined voice. “You must contact Irmo or Salmar or whoever your contact is in Valinor.”

“It’s not that easy. I’ve never been able to summon anyone from the West. Believe me, I’ve tried,” replied the Slayer miserably.

“Use the lions,” suggested Mirë. “I deem that those noble beasts will not be hindered from entering the Blessed Realm.”

“Can you summon the lions?” asked Marto.

“That is something that I can do,” answered Buffy with a forced smile. She didn’t say one word aloud yet only a second later, her two cats appeared on either side of her. “Hey, babies,” she said as she rubbed her kitties affectionately. “So, are we gonna send a letter or what?”

It was decided that Buffy write a letter imploring Irmo to return to Folkvang for an urgent council. She apologized in the note for her poor choice of words in the message that she had sent back to the Valar via Salmar years ago, but nothing else. The fact remained, the Slayer didn’t do anything wrong! After re-reading her message approvingly, Buffy placed it into a satchel that she then attached to Kit. The lions then walked a few paces before disappearing.

They sat there, and waited, and waited. The group left when the bells rang for the evening meal, and after they ate, they continued to wait.

In the meantime, Anno and Mirë instructed their mother on the ins and outs of altering time, with special emphasis on slowing and stopping it. Buffy found the exercises to be both mind-blowing and exhilarating. It was unlike anything that she had learned to date. She could see how altering time could be advantageous during conflicts although it did have its side effects; it was draining on her magics. Despite that, the Slayer, along with the twins, modified the movement of time in Folkvang to match that of Middle-earth.

When two days had passed with no word from the Valar, Buffy decided to bring Maglor and Olofin to Folkvang while she waited. Her young son had never been to that mystical realm before. Everything he saw amazed him; it was so unlike Middle-earth. The Men and Maiar that dwelt there adored the young man and eagerly shared their knowledge of things with him. It was during that trip that Olofin realized his passion for sailing. The harbor outside of Sussrúmnir housed many ships, and the young man delighted in navigating them upon the waters of the great lake that surrounded the isle.

It was five days later when Buffy finally heard back from an emissary of the Valar. She was sleeping soundly with Maglor when she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. She awoke to find Irmo standing beside the bed. He placed his index finger against his lips before gesturing towards the door of the bedchamber. A yawning Buffy carefully climbed out of bed and followed her brother out the door. She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was three fifteen in the morning.

By the time she entered the sitting room, Irmo was examining the various bottles of wine and alcoholic beverages that sat on the sideboard. “Good morning, Maranwë,” greeted the Vala as he pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off her feet. He kissed the Slayer on each cheek before grabbing a bottle of red wine and a couple of goblets from the table. “Let us retreat to your tower, my dear sister. I wish to speak with you in private,” he said as they left for the spiral stairway.

“I guess what you have to say must be pretty bad to require wine at this hour,” remarked the Slayer. The Vala did not answer.

Irmo spoke not one word until the reached the balcony of the tower. With their cups full, they leaned against the iron railing looking down upon Buffy’s kingdom. The city glowed silver under the light of the moon.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” whispered the Vala. The Slayer turned her head towards her brother. “Everything is so peaceful, tranquil at this hour.” Irmo could feel the Slayer’s icy stare. He took a sip of wine before continuing. “Yes, I know, you’re not one for the small talk.” The Vala faced Buffy, his finger pointed in warning. “It would do you good to exchange pleasantries every once in a while. Everything doesn’t have to be about business.”

Buffy was stunned by his comment. “Illyria is about to unleash Hell on Arda, Irmo. This isn’t the time to be talking about the beauty of the moon-lit night… er, morning. Will the Valar help me or not?” demanded the Slayer.

A saddened Irmo returned his gaze to the city. “I cannot give a simple answer if that is what you seek. Things are… complicated,” revealed the Vala as he watched the gray smoke rise from the chimneys of Marto’s forges.

“How so?” queried the slightly annoyed Slayer.

“The Valar are divided when it comes to you and Melkor. You both flaunt your flagrant disregard for the laws of Manwë,” said Irmo in a sorrowful voice.

“I can’t believe that you’re comparing me to Melkor,” replied an offended Buffy. “What laws have I broken?” He remained silent. “Irmo?”

“You have violated the laws of matrimony, Maranwë,” declared the Vala, his eyes still fixed on the city. “You have already bedded four men in the span of nearly two hundred years. You have exchanged vows with two of them and brought forth children with one who is not your spouse. Many of the Valar deem that you are guilty of heretical behavior.”

“I can’t believe they would say that,” said the distraught Slayer. “Irmo, Melkor bewitched me. You know that. Do you remember what you told me the first time you brought me to Folkvang? You said that I wasn’t at fault, Melkor was. But now you tell me that the Valar are singing a different tune. I don’t understand.” With a trembling hand, Buffy lifted the goblet to her lips and took a sip of her drink. Her mouth felt so dry.

Irmo faced her, his eyes welled with tears. “My position has not changed, my dear Luinil. I do not fault you for anything that you have done thus far. The law that you broke was not done in malice, but out of love, or should I say passion. You are ruled by your heart and I do not think that is folly. You consider yourself of the race of mankind when you are not. You allow yourself to succumb to the desires of the flesh, but I deem that is how Eru Ilúvatar made you. I do not see how you’ve wrought evil by bedding those whom you loved… for a time.

“Nay, my sister, the Valar will not succor you in your hour of need. The trials before you are meant for you and you alone. My brethren also bid me to tell you that none of the Noldor may fight in any battles outside of Beleriand. If you attempt to extradite them to the East, they will wither before they arrive, and shall be commanded to the Halls of Mandos. A great doom is upon them and it must run its course… ”

“What about my doom?” she cried out. “How can they turn a blind eye to everything that’s going on? You know what the Corrupt are doing, Irmo. We can’t let it go on. You guys delivered the Elves from Melkor before. Why not do the same for Man?”

“And did you not turn a blind eye to the same?” he queried, his voice full of sorrow. “You, my dear Maranwë, were appointed the task of delivering mankind by Eru himself. Manwë was told not to intervene in the battle with Illyria lest war falls upon our doorstep. Only then is it permissible for the Valar to act.”

Tears rolled down the Slayer’s cheeks. Without the aid of her kin, she couldn’t defeat her daughter. “Then the world will fall into darkness,” she cried. “I don’t have the strength to defeat her armies. They’re too strong and too many.”

Irmo placed his chalice on the railing and put both of his hands on Buffy’s shoulders. “Listen carefully to me, sister. I said only the Noldor cannot aid you in the upcoming battles in the East. Do not forget your other allies: the Naugrim, the Moriquendi and the Atani!”

“It’s not enough,” sobbed Buffy. “Illyria has us outnumbered, Irmo. I can’t do this on my own. Please, help me, oh god, please!” Buffy fell to her knees and clung to the robes of her brother, weeping uncontrollably.

The Vala stood there transfixed, the aching in his heart caused tears to spill from his eyes. Irmo desperately wanted to help Buffy, but he could not go against the will of his brethren. “I’m sorry, my dear Maranwë Luinil, but the Valar have spoken. May good fortune find its way to you,” bemoaned the tearful Master of Desire. A second later, he vanished, leaving the Slayer utterly alone, her outstretched arms grasping emptiness.


Chapter 44 - CHOICES

When the Slayer finally regained her composure (after consuming the rest of the wine,) she descended the spiral staircase of her tower and headed down the street paved with gold. It was still dark outside and most of the inhabitants of Folkvang still lay sleeping in their beds. There was no way that Buffy would find any rest after her conversation with Irmo. She noticed the whirls of smoke rising from the stacks of the forges as she rounded the corner. Once she entered the building, she found Marto busily working on making additional weapons for the upcoming war. The Maia perceived the Queen’s presence before he actually set eyes on her.

“Good morning, Maranwë,” greeted Marto, as he approached the Slayer, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” replied Buffy gloomily as she sat down on one of the cleaner worktables.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Maia when he stood before her. “Have you been crying?” He tenderly cupped her face with a calloused hand; her eyes were red and puffy. The Slayer felt the burning in her throat as she became teary-eyed once again. She couldn’t answer him. “It’s the Valar. You’ve heard from them, haven’t you?” Buffy gave a single nod of her head. “They won’t aid you in the upcoming battles, I take it,” surmised the Maia.

“We’re on our own,” she answered meekly. The Slayer moaned as she fell back on the table with her eyes closed. “I’m so screwed, Marto. I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do,” she added as she rubbed her temples.

“Come,” the Maia instructed as he grabbed her hands and pulled her to a sitting position. “Let’s go to my home where we can talk in private,” he suggested as he glanced at his fellow metallurgists, who were now entering the building to begin their labors. “I’ll make you some coffee.” Buffy jumped to her feet. “Have you been drinking this morning?” asked Marto as he caught a whiff of the alcohol on her breath.

“It was Irmo’s idea,” she replied as they left the forges. “Apparently, he thought I needed it.”

“What did he say?” inquired the Maia. Buffy recounted her visit with her brother while she and Marto walked to his house, which was located nearby. By the time she finished her brief tale, they were in his kitchen. “That is quite distressing, Maranwë, but know that I will not desert you. I’d be honored to fight by your side - to the death, if that be the case,” he added with a smile.

“I’m glad you say that because I’m gonna need you, Marto,” answered a grateful Buffy.

The Maia insisted on preparing the coffee himself. Once he placed the pot on the woodstove, he turned his attention to cleaning himself up a bit. He pulled off his tunic, went over to the sink and began splashing water on his face and chest. Buffy stood, leaning against the wall as she watched Marto sponge down his well-formed upper body. A few minutes later, he brushed by her as he retreated to his private chambers in order to retrieve a clean tunic. Shortly thereafter, they sat on the patio sipping large mugs of steamy black coffee as the sun rose in the east.

“Do you have any ideas on acquiring additional forces… other than turning to Melkor?” asked Marto.

“Well,” began the Slayer with a sigh as she clutched both hands around her mug. “I’ve learned that there are three cities in the East that are inhabited by noble and righteous men, so I figured that I’d pay them a visit and see if they’d help out… And I guess I can see if Durin, the Lord of Khazâd-Dum, will aid me with additional dwarves from the Longbeard clan.” Her lips curled into a small smile as she recalled the Battle at the Deeper Well. “Dwarves are pretty damn fearsome in combat. They may be small but they’re strong and steadfast, a definite asset.”

“The Naugrim sound a bit like you. Will that make up for the loss of the Noldor?” queried the Maia.

“No, not by a long shot,” replied a crushed Buffy. “I hate having to ask Durin for any of his men. If they die, I can’t bring them back. I’ve already taken his youngest son so I can’t really pressure him into bestowing his hosts unto me.”

The Slayer placed her cup on the table and glanced around the garden. It seemed so strange to her to be in such a beautiful and peaceful place, beneath the early morning sun, while great evil was being committed in the lands outside of Folkvang. And to know that that evil stained her once unsullied lands reinforced her position that both Illyria and Melkor needed to go down. Buffy wanted to attack her daughter’s realm first since it was not nearly as massive as her father’s domain. Angband was always under construction and its vaults were both deep and vast. Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ were cities in their infancy by comparison; they were not fortified in the same manner as Angband.

A forlorn Buffy was startled out of her reverie when she observed the lavender lilies in Marto’s garden swaying from side to side, singing a song of mourning. She leapt to her feet, listening intently as she neared the trumpet-shaped blossoms.

“Do you hear that?” she asked the Maia. He joined her and both listened to the solemn sounds that foretold that a great tragedy was nearing.

“They’re singing about you,” remarked Marto in a pained voice. As they listened to the ominous melody, tears ran down Buffy’s face.

“I’m gonna fail,” whimpered the Slayer. “I’m not going to be able to defeat them.”

“Don’t say that,” countered Marto, as he wrapped his arms comfortingly around her. He felt her trembling body pressed against his, her tears wetting his tunic. The Maia understood the foreboding tune, but refused to believe its meaning. “Shh, everything will be fine, Maranwë, I promise,” he said as he stroked the back of her head reassuringly.

“It’s my own fault,” she cried. “If I hadn’t spent all my time at home in the Gap trying to be normal… I… I should’ve paid closer attention to what Illyria was up to, instead of ignoring all that I heard in hope that it would go away. Now, it’s gonna bite me on the ass, big time!”

Marto pulled away, leaving his hands wrapped around her waist. “Don’t talk like that. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be by your side… ”

“It’s not enough. Illyria’s stronger than you,” sobbed the Slayer. “She has legions of Maiar. We don’t! Manwë won’t help us… ”

“There’s something that you’re forgetting: our children. With them and Olofin… ”

“I don’t want them fighting,” argued the Slayer, as she tried to pull herself together.

“They’re able warriors, Maranwë. My heart tells me that you will not withhold them from combat. You need them, and they most certainly will be advantageous in your campaign,” declared Marto as he slowly wiped the tears from her face. “Their powers are great, as are yours. Don’t underestimate your abilities, my Lady. When you apply yourself, you can do anything. Victory will be yours, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” said Marto with such conviction that Buffy was beginning to believe him. He continued to caress her cheek lovingly; his deep blue eyes looked at her with adoration. “You are an incredible woman, blessed with powers that you cannot even fathom. Eru would not have chosen you, of all the Ainur in the Timeless Halls, if you could not defeat this great foe. You, my dear, are Ilúvatar’s ultimate weapon… His champion.” The Slayer attempted to protest, but Marto placed his index finger tenderly against her lips. When he touched her, she felt something shoot through her body, an inappropriate something. That caught her off guard, yet she found herself mesmerized by both his touch and his eyes. The moment was quickly lost when they heard a voice that neither expected to hear.

“What’s going on here?” questioned Maglor, who suddenly walked up on his wife in the arms of her former lover.

“Nothing,” answered Buffy, as she broke free from Marto’s grasp. Her face turned a deep shade of red. She started walking off.

“Where are you going, Bella?” asked Maglor, the hurt and confusion in his voice apparent.

“I’ve got things to tend to,” responded the Slayer as she bypassed her husband. She turned the corner before disappearing in a blink of an eye. The elf turned his eyes to Marto, who stood on the patio looking smug-faced.

“Would you care for some coffee… or perhaps tea?” asked a smirking Marto.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” yelled the Noldo as he charged the Maia, delivering a blow to his face. “How dare you trifle with my wife!” The angry elf threw Marto on the ground, knocking over a couple of chairs in the process, and began pummeling him.

“That’s enough!” shouted the Maia after letting Maglor get a few well-deserved licks in. Marto punched the elf on the side of the head; the blow sent the Noldo backwards several feet before landing on his butt. They both sat there, panting. Blood poured from Marto’s nose and he could feel his left eye begin to swell. The elf’s head split open from the huge ring that the Maia wore on his middle finger. Marto rose to his feet and grabbed a cloth napkin from the table. He pressed it to his nose. “You’re bleeding,” he informed Maglor, as he tossed Buffy’s napkin to her husband. “I have some salve in the kitchen. Come,” he added. He picked up the overturned chairs before leading the elf into the kitchen.

“What the hell were you doing with Bella?” inquired the elf, still slightly dazed from the force of the blow.

“We were merely talking,” answered the Maia as he opened the cupboard and removed a jar of ointment.

“It didn’t look that way to me,” said an irritated Maglor. Marto had the elf sit in a chair while he smeared the yellowish-looking goop on the side of his head. “What were you talking about?” the Noldo finally asked coolly as the Maia started to tend to his own wounds.

“That’s not for me to say,” replied the Maia.

“Why would Bella talk to you instead of me? I’m her husband,” asked the puzzled elf.

“That is something that you should ask your wife, not me,” answered Marto. “Drink?” he queried as he held a crystal decanter of cordial in his hand. “I daresay we need something stronger after that… tussle.” Maglor nodded. He sat at the table with his head in his hands.

“What’s going on, Marto? Have you and Bella… rekindled your relationship?” asked the Noldo in all seriousness.

The Maia chuckled as he handed the elf his cocktail. “I assure you Kanafinwë; there is nothing unseemly going on between the Queen and myself. We are friends… and parents of the Oracles.”

Maglor drained his glass and quickly refilled it. “Will you not tell me what’s troubling her? Or is that a secret that only you and she share?” queried the heartbroken Noldo.

The Maia looked at the elf; his heart became filled with pity. “Maranwë has heard from the Valar. They will give her no aid in her upcoming trials,” disclosed Marto. That revelation shocked the Noldo. “Not only that, but you and your kinfolk are forbidden from helping her as well. Your wife must deal with this menace… alone. You have no idea what lies before her,” he continued with a shake of his head. “Doom awaits her. Maranwë will fail, Kanafinwë, and there is nothing that we can do about it.” The Maia’s voice broke with that last sentence.

“Fail?” queried the elf frantically. “No! I will help her in spite of what the Valar say. My people will not forsake her.”

“Then you all will die and return to Valinor, only to join your forefathers in the Halls of Mandos. Your doom has become hers, my dear Noldo. The curse has ensnared your wife,” said a grief-stricken Marto.

“No,” countered the disbelieving elf. “It’s impossible. She had nothing to do with… ”

“No?” interjected Marto. He leaned forward in his chair, looking stern-faced. “The Valar have placed a curse on you and your people. You can repudiate the Oath that you uttered alongside your father and brothers, but that does not change the fact that the wrath of the Powers is directed solely at your House. And I need not remind you that Maranwë is now a part of that House, as is Olofinwë. Your kin have brought this about themselves and even your wife cannot undo what is fated to be.” The Maia gulped down the last of his cordial before leaning back in his seat. “The Lady sees more than she says,” continued Marto. “So great is her love for you that she is more than willing to endure the torments of the curse as long as you are by her side. For that, I am both jealous and envious… of you.”

“You love her, don’t you?” asked the dark-haired elf softly.

“Indeed, I do,” confessed Marto. “I have loved her throughout all the ages of the world, but she loves me not. I am but a servant in her Household.”

“You had children with her,” said a bewildered Maglor. “Surely, she must have loved you… ”

The Maia waved his hand dismissively. “No, she’s never loved me. The twins were the direct result of an adjoining spell,” revealed Marto sadly. “Her heart belongs to you.”



Buffy reappeared outside the doors to her Hall of Judgment. She knew that once she was safely inside, she wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable confrontation with Maglor. The Slayer desperately needed time to think. She snapped her fingers as she ascended the steps of the dais to her high seat. Only a moment later, Núrë was at her side with a chalice full of wine in her outstretched hands. The grateful Queen took the proffered drink after she sat upon her throne. She sighed heavily; confused by the ‘weird’ feeling that she had felt when Marto touched her. Buffy found it both comforting and disconcerting.

Marto did accomplish one thing that benefited the Slayer: he managed to restore her confidence. She believed that she could thwart the ominous signs that she had witnessed recently. Hell, Buffy had done it numerous times before. She still had time to prepare. First, she would need to return to the Deeper Well and have the dwarves and her demon offspring ready themselves for the upcoming battle, then she would need to return to the Gap and Ossir to collect her armies. The war machines still had to be transported to Hírilost, her new fortress that the Noegyth Nibin had wrought at the foot of the Iron Mountains in the far east of Middle-earth. The Slayer also needed to collect more Orbs from Durin; she suspected that the Deeper Well would have many new occupants in the near future.

The Slayer’s thoughts then drifted to the dwarves who hid themselves within the confines of the Red Mountains. Four clans of dwarves dwelt there since their awakening: the Ironfists, the Stiffbeards, the Blacklocks and the Stonefoots. Brokk had told Buffy that the Naugrim had sealed their doors shut when Illyria arrived in the East. Many great wars were fought between the two factions over the years, and the dwarves shunned all peoples except for the elves. Just like the dwarves of Belegost, Nogrod, and Khazâd-Dum, the dwarves of Orocarni relied on the elves for their food. If the Slayer could convince those dwarves to join her forces, her numbers would increase dramatically.

As Buffy mulled over possible strategies in her mind, a white dove materialized at the far end of the chamber and flew gracefully towards the Queen. Both Kit and Kat, who lay at the bottom of the dais, turned their yellow eyes upwards at the beloved bird of Maranwë Luinil. The Slayer held up her hand, allowing her messenger to perch itself on her bejeweled forefinger.

“Greetings, my Lady,” cooed the bird respectfully.

“Hello, my dear. What news do you bring me?” she asked with a smile. Buffy always found it amazing when the birds or other animals spoke to her.

“Forgive me, my beloved Queen, but I fear that I’m the bearer of bad news,” the dove said apologetically.

“Well, that’s something that I’ve grown accustomed to,” she remarked warily. “Speak, my friend.”

“Illyria has unleashed her armies, my Lady! From what my kinfolk tell me in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, the King intends to decimate the race of noble men to the north of their lands. Legions of yrch march as we speak!”

The Slayer felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. She wasn’t ready for war, not yet. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed in disbelief. Buffy turned to one of her most potent Valkyries, who also happened to be her herald. “Feawë, summon all the Lords and Ladies of Folkvang to an urgent council. Pronto! We can’t afford to waste any time.” The woman gave a quick nod of her head before hastily leaving the mammoth chamber. Buffy then instructed her servants to arrange chairs at the bottom of her dais for the counselors and warriors of her realm.

In the meantime, she had sent additional doves into the East to keep her apprised of the situation. She wanted to know if they were only dealing with yrch or if Illyria had decided to release her most trusted and powerful allies.

The alarm bells sounded for the first time ever in Sussrúmnir. An assembly of people rapidly began to pour into the Hall of Judgment. Despite Anno’s warning, Buffy did not turn Maglor away from the meeting. He was accounted as a mighty Lord in all of her realms and the Slayer trusted him completely. There was no doubt in her heart that he was not the betrayer.

Nearly one hundred men and women had gathered in that massive chamber. Buffy raised her hand and the room fell silent. “I’ve summoned you all here to inform you that Illyria has sent forth her armies,” stated the Queen. The room broke out in rumblings. Once again, she raised her hand, and the whisperings ceased. “So far, my spies tell me that only yrch have begun the march… ”

“How many?” asked Luthor.

“I’ve only been told legions,” she answered. “But we’ve got a bigger problem to contend with. The Valar won’t help us. We’re on our own.” Many of the women howled when they heard that.

“We’re doomed!” cried out Vórëa.

“Illyria’s armies outnumber us greatly!” blurted out Laurië. “Without the aid of the Valar we’ll fail.”

From there, the desperate words of the Maiar escalated. The people of Folkvang were frightened. The Slayer watched as her Household became divided; half believed they’d succeed without the Valar, the other half deemed that they’d fail. Buffy shook her head in disgust and rose from her seat. She descended the dais, and signaled to those whom she trusted the most to follow her, leaving the others to argue amongst themselves.

“Some Queen I’ve turned out to me,” grumbled Buffy to Maglor as they walked down the passageway. “I can’t even control my own people.”

“The news is troubling,” answered her husband, studying her carefully as they walked. “They understand the threat that we face… Do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, casting a glance his way.

“You seem rather… calm, despite the severity of the situation,” remarked the worried Noldo.

“I’ve cried all the tears I have, Káno,” replied a grim-faced Buffy. “Believe me when I say, inside, I’m freaking out. The war’s starting sooner than I had expected. I’ve sat on my ass for far too long and now… I’ve got to muster an army strong enough to defeat Illyria within days! And to make matters worse, the Noldor can’t help me.” She looked at him as they continued up the stairs. “If you guys come, you’ll die. So, yeah, I think I’m pretty much up shit creek without a paddle.”

Maglor didn’t dare say another word after hearing that. Instead, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly in his. He now had a better understanding of why she had visited Marto earlier that morning. The Noldo felt guilty about questioning Buffy’s honor. He couldn’t imagine what she must be going through. Not only did she have to face battling her own demonic daughter but she also had to contend with the curse on his House. She was frightened; he could see that. Maglor’s beloved was doing her best to conceal it from the others.

The group of twenty-seven entered Buffy’s ‘Jungle’ chamber, and locked the door behind them. After they all took their seats, the Slayer revealed the details of her conversation with Irmo earlier that morning.

“As you can see, we’re screwed,” remarked Buffy after her recanting her tale. “I’m open to suggestions and ideas, people.”

Brolach then stood. “Let us fight, oh blessed Queen Astarte. Why should we men sit idly in this Blessed Realm when we’re willing to pick up the sword and fight that formidable foe? Numbers you need, numbers we can give you.”

Many of Buffy’s confidents gasped when they heard his words; she wasn’t among them. She considered them carefully.

“It is against the laws of Manwë and Námo for your kindred to return to Middle-earth, dear Brolach,” commented Mirë.

“Your kinfolk that dwell in these lands are not permitted to leave it until the End of Days and that is not today,” added Anno.

“Do you actually see that, Anno?” questioned Buffy. “Do you see more days, brighter days, in our future?”

“Surely, you’re not considering breaking the decree of Manwë Súlimo regarding the fate of these men,” replied her son in a stunned tone.

“I didn’t say that… but I’m not ruling it out either,” she answered.

“That is madness!” exclaimed Anno as he rose to his feet. “That will truly cause you to earn the wrath of the Valar… ”

“Sit down, Anno,” ordered Marto firmly. “The choice is your mother’s, not yours.”

“What say you, my Lady?” queried Brolach. “Will you not let us fight?”

Buffy contemplated the man’s offer. Deep down, she knew that it was wrong. Forbidden. Yet, if the Valar were unwilling to help her, should she so eagerly dismiss Brolach’s proposal? Perhaps it was her destiny to allow the mortals to fight in the upcoming war; their numbers would help greatly. With nearly 800,000 men residing in Folkvang, the scales would tip a bit more in her favor if she sent them into the world again.

But what of the consequences? Argued her conscience. You will surely earn the wrath of the Valar for your defiance! Don’t do it! There has to be another way.

The Slayer hardened her heart. “I have no other choice,” she murmured under her breath. “I’m already dealing with their wrath.” She closed her mind to her inner voice.

“Mother!” exclaimed a shocked Anno. He looked at her, then his father, then Luthor. “Luthor, will you please talk some sense into the Lady? Of all people, she’ll heed your words.”

All eyes turned to the old man. He remained perfectly still in his chair, his eyes locked on Buffy. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Anno, for I’m in agreement with your mother. I would rather see these men returned to Middle-earth than have her groveling before the feet of Melkor.” Maglor winced upon hearing that name, the only one in the room to do so.

“I cannot believe it!” started Anno, as he rose to his feet. “You, Luthor, are like a father to the Queen, yet you side with her when it is folly!” He shook his head in disgust. “It appears that the evil that had invaded this Blessed Realm has left its vestige on it, for you both show a complete lack of…”

Olofin then rose to his feet, challenging his half-brother. “I will no longer sit quietly while you insult my mother, who I need not remind you, also happens to be the Queen of this Realm,” said the young man through gritted teeth. “What do you know of warfare? You are a seer, not a warrior. Use your gifts to offer good counsel, not to deride the woman who gave your birth!” Buffy’s two sons silently glared at one another. Anno broke his gaze and returned to his seat, his anger apparent. “What choices do you see before the Lady, oh Oracle?” Olofin asked in a slightly antagonizing tone. “Would you have her running from the demons of Melkor or would you have her make a stand with what forces she can muster? The Valar have turned their backs on her. She has done no ill that was not fated to be, yet they deem her guilty and refuse to grant her pardon.” The dark-haired young man faced his mother. “I trust your judgment, mother, and I vote to return mankind to Arda. Who cares what the Valar say? You were sent onto Eä as an emissary of Eru Ilúvatar, not Manwë Súlimo.”

“What do you see?” asked Buffy of the twins. She thought that Olofin made perfect sense. The twins glanced at each other, but spoke not one word. No matter how much they all tried to get information out of the Oracles, they refused to speak. “That settles it,” the Slayer finally said with resolve. “It’s time to prepare for war, people. Mirë, see to it that every kitchen in Folkvang churns out as much lembas as humanly possible for the next twenty-four hours. Brolach, Cathal, Lorcán, call to arms all the men who wish to fight and ready them for war. Don’t belittle those that wish to remain behind, for a greater wisdom is upon them. If any die in the battle, chances are you guys won’t be coming back to Folkvang. Námo will claim your fey’s and command you to reside in Mandos. Make sure that your people know that’s a possibility.” Five of their party then left the chamber.

“Do you want me to gather the dwarves at the Well?” asked Luthor.

“Yeah, but I’m going with you,” answered the Slayer. “I want to see if Brokk will help me find the entrance into Orocarni. I’ve got to meet with the dwarves that dwell under the mountain.” She turned to Olofin and Maglor. “You guys are going with us.” Buffy then ordered the others to laden the wagons with provisions to accommodate her armies. “We leave for the East in twenty-four hours. Let‘s get a move on, people.”


Chapter 45 - SURPRISE

The following twelve hours was like a whirlwind to the Slayer. After leaving Folkvang with Maglor, Olofin and Luthor, they returned to the Deeper Well in order to gather the dwarves and demons that resided there. It was at that time that she sent Maglor back to the Gap so that she could focus more on preparing for the impending battle. She then brought the people of the Well back to Folkvang before taking twelve emissaries of man and sixty dwarves with her to the cities of Bela, Admah, and Zeboim.

Buffy chose to go to Bela first, much at the urging of Brolach; he founded that city long ago. The portal opened up in the heart of town; the inhabitants assumed that Illyria was unleashing some new devilry upon them and quickly armed themselves with spears and bows as the women, children and elderly hid themselves behind the doors of their crudely built clay brick structures. Their misgivings abated when they noticed Buffy stepping through the portal. The mortals’ eyes went from the symbols engraved on the dwarves armor (a blue cross) to the Lady that now stood before them. The people recognized the icon that represented their savior, Astarte.

“Be not afraid,” said Buffy in such a commanding voice that all the spectators’ fell on bended knee out of respect.

“Astarte has returned!” cried out one of the men. “Rejoice people of the sun! The Lady shall deliver us from the evil that is Illyria.”

The Slayer then instructed the people to take her and her companions to their Lord. As they headed down the dusty road, Buffy scanned the city’s defenses. A brick wall surrounded the town, but was not as well built, as she would have liked. The fence, which was already crumbling in some places, was eight feet tall and five feet wide. Inside the wall, the mortals had a hedge of sharpened wooden spikes that stuck out of the ground about four feet. They were positioned so that they angled towards the brick wall. Brolach had told her that if any scaled the wall, they would meet their second line of defense, the pointy stakes would impale man or beast, depending on the threat that they faced. It was built to thwart the raids of the wicked people of Numeira.

The group was taken to a rough stone structure located northwest of the heart of the city. Brolach was delighted to see that his kin still wielded the power in that town. The lord of Bela was Orran, son of Orrin, who was the eldest child in the line of Brolach. Buffy was relieved to discover that Orran knew that the armies of Illyria were on the march.

“We, too, have spies that visit the lands of Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ from time to time,” informed Orran. “We were alerted that a great army has been sent to destroy those who are not followers of the King. We in Bela have not forgotten our allegiance to you, my Lady. Yet our kindred further north follow the Lord Melkor although they are not as evil as those that dwell in Numeira. We have at times, aligned ourselves with them to oust the enemy from our territory.”

That news troubled the Slayer greatly. She was under the impression that three noble and righteous houses of men still lived on the plain.

“When did our kinfolk in the north fall from grace?” asked a deeply dismayed Brolach.

“We really don’t have time for that right now,” interjected Buffy. “Time’s ticking away and I still have to assemble my armies in the west.” She turned her attention back to Orran. “What other defenses do you have other than your wall? Do you have an ample store of weapons?” A million questions were running through her mind.

“To our west and east we had dug deep pits with spikes at the bottom along the slopes of the gullies,” revealed the Lord of Bela. “We had concealed them with fronds, so use caution if you or any of your people journey in those parts. Unfortunately, our enemy has focused their attacks on our southern border and has yet to fall into our nets. We lack an adequate supply of weapons to arm our people… ”

“Hmm,” started Buffy as she turned to Luthor. “It’s only feasible that Illyria’s forces are gonna attack from the south. Maybe we can find a way to route them to the east and west… ” Her words drifted off as she sat there deep in thought.

“I have a suggestion, Bella,” mentioned Luthor. “This area is rich in minerals. Let us dig a trench outside the walls. We can fill it with bitumen and pitch and ignite it when the enemy approaches.”

“That would most certainly route our enemies to the east and west,” chimed in Olofin. “How deep would that trench need to be?”

“I’d say two feet wide, four feet deep,” answered the Maia.

“Alright, why don’t you and the dwarves gather as many men as you can and start digging. Remember, time is of the essence, so work as quickly as you can,” ordered the Slayer. Immediately, Luthor and the dwarves left along with Brolach and the mortals. “I guess we can’t count on the men of Admah and Zeboim to help us in the battle,” she added glumly to Orran.

“That is not wholly true, my Lady,” replied the grandson of Brolach. “It is said by those men that their Lord, Melkor, will send one to aid them from the oppression of the blue demon King. It was foretold that their Master would send his wife.” He scrutinized the Slayer. “Would that not be you, Astarte? Are you not Melkor’s wife?”

Buffy felt her face flush. “No,” she answered weakly.

“You do not speak with much conviction! Is there something that you’re not telling me?” questioned Orran with furrowed eyebrows.

“My mother,” began Olofin, “is not wed to Melkor, whom we call Morgoth! Long ago, he had ensnared her with his dark magicks and claimed her as his bride… ”

“Then that means that you’re the mother of the beast that dwells in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ!” gasped Orran in shock.

The Slayer cast a dismal look at her son before hanging her head in shame.

“Do not condemn my mother unjustly, son of Orrin, for she has come to free you from the constraints of Illyria. No easy task will that be! If the men of the north believe in her, then they will follow her, as they should.”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” apologized the man with a bow of his head. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Well, it happened… I can’t deny it,” said Buffy. “But know Orrin that I brought her into this world and I can surely take her out of it. Mark my words: Illyria’s going down. Hard!”

The dark-haired man smiled at her. “I do not doubt your words, my Lady; I do not doubt your words.”

“Listen, I’ve got a lot more to do. Olofin, stay here with the others. Help them in any way that you can while I’m gone. Orrin, send messengers to Admah and Zeboim, tell them that their prophecy is about to come true and that we need all able bodied people in Bela as soon as humanly possible.” The man nodded before disappearing into another chamber. “Walk me out, my son,” she instructed Olofin. He linked his arm with hers as they crossed the wooden floor of the room. “We’re still falling short in the numbers category,” she whispered. “I’m gonna visit Durin before heading back to Beleriand to collect our armies… ”

“What do you make of the prophecy of the people in the north?” he asked as they descended the stone steps of the building.

“I don’t know,” she answered, the uncertainty in her voice apparent. “My gut tells me that Sauron is behind it, but that’s only a hunch. He wants to end Illyria’s reign probably more than anyone.”

“He is unscrupulous,” commented Olofin. “We cannot put anything past Gorthaur the Cruel.”

“Well, he’s got nothing to do with this. This is our battle, not his nor Morgoth’s. We’ve got to be able to outwit our opponent.”

“That is easier said then done,” remarked her son.

“Don’t you have faith in your mother?” she queried with her head cocked to the side.

Olofin’s smile widened. “Of course, I do. However, it is as you said, our numbers do not come close to matching Illyria’s. Maybe Eru Ilúvatar is looking down upon us and He will see to it that things sway in our favor.”

“Maybe,” she answered skeptically.

“I do not believe that He has turned His back on you, mother. Do not lose hope.”

“I won’t.” She gave Olofin a kiss on the forehead. “Take care, my son. I won’t be long.” She then vanished in the blink of an eye.



Buffy then arrived outside the western gates of Khazad Dûm. Only two dwarves guarded the doors, which stood wide open before her.

“Lady, Freya,” greeted one of the copper-haired dwarves. “It has been a long time.”

“Seventy-five years, if I recall correctly,” she answered. “How have you guys been? Everything alright in these parts?” she queried.

“All is well,” answered the dwarf. “I take it that you wish to speak with our beloved Lord.”

“Indeed,” she replied with a smile. “Take me to Durin, my friend.”

“Right this way, Lady. Watch your step.” Another dwarf then greeted her before leading her through the massive fortress of the dwarves.

“Durin is in the Thirty-third Hall at this time,” informed the silver-haired dwarf.

“Ooh, the Hall of Feasts,” uttered the Slayer. The sudden rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous night.

“If you are hungry, we will see to it that you are fed and watered before you leave,” answered the dwarf with a grin.

“I’m famished,” she replied, rubbing her stomach.

The trek to the Thirty-third Hall made her even hungrier. Hundreds of dwarves were already feasting when Buffy arrived. The Lord of Khazad Dûm rose from his seat and met her in the center of the chamber.

“My dear, Freya,” welcomed Durin warmly as he took her hands in his. Age seemed to be catching up with the old dwarf. His long hair and beard were solid silver and his wrinkles more pronounced. Yet his eyes sparkled with a youthful vitality that indicated that this dwarf had only reached his prime. He kissed the back of each of her hands before Buffy gave him a friendly hug. “It has been too many long years. Sit and refresh yourself,” said Durin as he led her to his table.

“It looks like things have been going well since the last time I saw you,” remarked the Slayer as all the dwarves slid down the long bench to make room for her.

“I have finally finished the Seventy-seventh Hall!” declared the dwarf proudly. “It is constructed entirely from blue and white marble.” His face turned bright red as he handed her a tankard of ale. “I think you’ll be pleased when you see it.”

“I can’t wait,” replied the Slayer as she looked at the overflowing plate of food that one of the bearded women put in front of her. “Thanks,” she added before tearing into her chicken. “How long have you been working on that chamber?”

“One hundred and twelve years.”

“Wow! That’s a long time,” she replied. “I don’t know if I have the patience to tackle a project like that.”

Durin looked at her closely. The color of his face returned to its normal hue. “Something troubles you, my dear Lady; I see that on your face. What is it?” inquired the Dwarf Lord.

“Well, now that you mention it… ” Buffy then told Durin everything that was going on in the East with Illyria, Man, and the Dwarves. The room was dead silent except for Buffy’s voice. The dwarves didn’t even take a sip of ale while she spoke!

“Indeed, it grieves me to hear that news,” said a solemn Durin. “I take it that you’ll need more Orbs. That can be arranged easily enough… ”

“That’s not all I need, Lord. I need men. I need the Khazâd.” The room was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop. Durin sat there mulling over the Slayer’s words. Several minutes had passed before he spoke again.

“Then the Khazâd will aid you. Together we will rid Arda of this menace,” proclaimed the Lord of Khazad Dûm. He stood on his feet, the light from the window high above fell on him like a spotlight. “The time has come at long last, my fellows, to dust off our axes and march into battle with the Lady Freya. The enemy shall soon witness the strength of the Longbeard clan! We are fearless! We will smite the enemy down!” He raised his tankard, everybody followed suit. “To war!” he toasted.

“To war!” echoed the voices in the chamber. They all drank.

“How much time do we have?” asked Durin after taking his seat once again.

“I’ve got a few more stops to make. Can you ready your forces in four hours?” asked Buffy.

“That is not much time,” he answered. “I will muster as many of my people as I can.”

“Good,” answered the Slayer as she got to her feet. “I better get going. I’ll be back soon.” She started walking off before stopping. Buffy faced the Dwarf Lord. “Show me the Seventy-seventh Hall after the war, okay?” she asked.

Durin smiled. “I eagerly look forward to that day, my dear Lady,” he replied with a nod of his head.

“Don’t forget to bring all the Orbs you have,” she added as she crossed the massive Hall.

The Slayer disappeared once she had exited the chamber. She reappeared at the Gap and collected her Household before taking them all to Lindecoa. She headed straight for the armories with Thranduil at her side.

“So, it’s finally happening,” began the elf. “We’re going to take down the Big Baddie in the East.”

“Big Bad, Thranduil,” chuckled the Slayer, “not baddie. But yeah, this is the big one. Dagor Aglareb will be like a walk in the park when compared to this battle.” Buffy turned to the others who had followed them. “Take everything. I want the armories emptied before we leave for Lindon,” she ordered as she headed to the back of the chamber. For the first time ever, Thranduil had to jog to keep up with her pace.

“Do you think we’ll win?” questioned the elf.

“Damn, little man, you sound rather pessimistic,” she said as she heaved the heavy copper trunk on her shoulder. “I take it that you’re having doubts.”

“Would you think any less of me if I told you that I’m frightened?” he queried in a small voice.

Buffy stopped in her tracks. “No, I don’t think any less of you.” She placed her free hand on his shoulder before continuing. “These are the times that define who we are… what we’re made of. A great king confronts his fears head on. You confront them and then rip their hearts out… ”

“How poetic,” he remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

She snickered. “I get that from Káno. He is a bard after all.”

“Here, let me help you with that,” said the young elf as he grabbed the trunk from Buffy’s shoulder. Thranduil had no idea how heavy it was. Its weight slid from his grasp and fell on his toes. “OW! DAMN IT!” barked the elf. He looked at a couple of men. “Take that trunk for the Lady. But I warn you - it’s heavy!” Two men picked up the trunk and took it from the chamber.

“Are you alright?” asked Buffy, attempting to muffle her laughter. “You weren’t born with slayer strength, little man. You need to use care.”

“Now you tell me,” he replied as he sat on the ground rubbing his toes. She inspected his feet. They weren’t broken, only bruised. Buffy helped him to his feet as they started for her private rooms. “You still haven’t answered my question?” asked Thranduil.

“What question?”

“Do you think we’ll win?” he asked yet again.

“Yes,” she answered, refusing to meet his gaze. “We’re gonna kick Illyria’s ass. You know why?” She saw him shrug his shoulders from the corner of her eye as they climbed the staircase. “Because we’re the good guys. And good always triumphs over evil.” A cold chill crept over her as she spoke that last sentence. She only hoped that Thranduil didn’t notice her shudder.

“You see us obtaining victory without the aid of the Valar?”

“And what am I - chopped liver? It seems that you’ve forgotten that I’m a Vala as well. And I have yet to lose a battle, thank you very much!” Buffy smirked.

“Sometimes I forget that,” replied Thranduil. “You seem more elf-like to me.”

“I take that as a compliment.” When they had reached her private chambers, Buffy opened up one of her jewelry boxes and grabbed the large red jewel that hung from a thick golden chain.

“You’re taking the Carnimír!” said the awe-stricken elf. “I can’t wait to see that in action!”

Buffy had Thranduil clasp the necklace around her neck. “The Carnimír is only one of the surprises that await dear Illyria and her minions.”

The elf traced the jewel that hung from her neck with his finger. “Do you think that Fëanor put some of his fiery fey into that gemstone?”

“That’s what Curufin tells me. C’mon,” she said as she started for the door. “It’s about time for us to head over to Lindon.” She let out a heavy sigh. “We still have to ready all the engines, make sure the stones are loaded on the carts, collect our vats of Greek Fire… ” She prattled on as they headed outside the fortress to where the rest of her Household and soldiers were waiting.

Buffy then transported over fifteen thousand men and women to Lindon. She could feel her strength depleting as she held the portal open for them all to pass through. She loved magic, but hated the after effects. It was incredibly draining.

The Slayer was the last to enter the portal. She reappeared with the others on ground level of Lindon. Thousands upon thousands of elves were already assembled there, waiting for the Blue Lady of Ossir to lead them into battle. Over the years, Buffy had amassed an army of fifty thousand Green Elves. While that number is small when compared to her daughter’s forces, it was, nevertheless, great by Beleriand standards.

Immediately, her generals gathered around her. As they inspected the loading of the various machines on oxen-drawn carts, she explained to the elves what they would be facing in the East. While in the middle of her speech, Buffy caught sight of flaming red hair. “Excuse me for a minute,” she suddenly said to her generals as she made her way through the throng of elves. Her heart began beating faster the closer she got to the red-headed elf. He was assisting the others in loading the massive wooden beams of the trebuchet. He must have sensed her presence because he unexpectedly turned and faced her as she approached. “TÚREB!” exclaimed the Slayer with great joy.

“My dear Bellaseth,” greeted her old friend. “It has been ages, hasn’t it?”

Buffy threw her arms around the elf. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here! Your timing is impeccable.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “You remember Sador, and I’m not sure if you remember Galuion here.” A golden-haired elf then stepped forward. Buffy couldn’t recall who he was.

“My Lady,” started the elf respectively. “You had saved my life when I was but a babe. It has been some years ago in Brethil… ”

“Handel’s son?” queried the Slayer.

“Yes, that is I,” answered the elf. “I have come to repay my debt to you.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Then I fight to show my gratitude,” replied Galuion with a grin. “I’ve been trained by Túreb since the days of my youth. We regularly patrol the borders of the western march, though not much has been going on in recent years.”

“Bellaseth Dagnir!” Buffy heard another familiar voice from behind.

She turned and standing a couple of feet away from her was none other than Beleg Cúthalion.

“Eru Ilúvatar is watching over me!” she cried out as she ran to the elf and jumped into his outstretched arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and embraced him tightly.

“I daresay that’s not very lady-like,” laughed the silver-haired elf. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Dagnir.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes at that most unexpected reunion. “I can’t believe this,” she cried as she got back to her feet. She placed her hands on his face and kissed him on the lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone in my life.”

“I’m flattered,” Beleg said with a laugh. “Although I think you will be more surprised if you look and see who is standing behind you.” For a second, she expected to see Mablung standing there, but that was not the case.

As Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes, she turned and there stood Orchal, garbed in armor, his sword strapped to his belt.

“OH MY GOD!” she squealed in shock. “I’m dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Orchal smiled down at his old friend. “Can you ever forgive me?” asked the elf. “It was folly to…”

“I love you, Orchal,” she cried out as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much.” The tears continued to run down her cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for, my old friend.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her off her feet, swinging her around in a circular motion. “Okay, dizzy now!”

Buffy couldn’t believe this new fortune. She was so surprised and happy at the unexpected arrival of the elves of Doriath as well as Orchal. She held Orchal’s hand tightly as Beleg told her that it was Melian that had sent them to aid in the battle.

“You have been in Melian’s thoughts much these last few years,” began Cúthalion. “She has spent most of her time of late staring into that Mirror of hers. It seems that she had seen something that troubled her deeply, for she sent us to you in secret.”

“In secret?” she queried with a quizzical expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

The smile left Beleg’s face. “Well… let’s just say that Thingol is not too pleased with you… ”

“Thingol?” questioned Orchal. “What has Bella done to upset the Lord of Doriath so?”

“Dagnir wed Maglor, son of Fëanor, the slayers of his kinfolk in Valinor,” answered the march warden of Doriath. Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Yes, he knows all about that,” he continued to anticipate her follow up question. “Even so, Melian has not forgotten your friendship and it was she who sent us. Thingol does not know that we’ve come, and we’d like to keep it that way.” The Queen of Doriath had sent five thousand elves to help Buffy. Most of the men were from the areas that Thingol himself does not frequent. Melian was ever wise in doing that.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you guys again,” Buffy blubbered. “I was beginning to lose hope, but not anymore,” she added with a shake of her head. “This is a blessing! There is no doubt of that!”

There was so much that she wanted to discuss with her friends, especially Orchal, but they had time constraints. It would have to wait. The elves of Doriath would be fighting with Buffy’s Household. Her military forces were broken down into five divisions (ten thousand men and women per division including her cavalry); each would march under a different banner. They consisted of a dove, a swan, a boar, a lion and of course, her own banner (that she changed only in Beleriand): a red cross on a white background. Each one of those symbols represented an aspect of the Slayer.

She held a council with her generals and the captains of Doriath. Buffy explained that she would be transporting them via a portal to the land of the Hildor in the East. Beleg was astonished at how great her powers had become.

“Melian was indeed correct in her assessment of your magical abilities, my dear Bellaseth,” remarked Cúthalion when he witnessed the opening of the portal. “Even the Lady herself does not possess these types of magics. It is quite impressive!”

There was nothing more draining to the Slayer then holding that portal open for hours. And to make matters worse, some of the carts were so heavy that the wheels sunk into the earth, forcing Buffy to utilize her slayer strength on top of the magics that she had been using. That caused a major delay in her schedule.

When all her troops and munitions had passed through the mystical doorway, she closed the portal. She was so exhausted that she collapsed to her knees, panting heavily. “Get a grip,” she uttered under her breath. Buffy took several deep breaths. Once she was back on her feet, she teleported herself back to Khazad Dûm.

“You’re late,” remarked Durin when she had finally arrived an hour past their appointed time. “Are you ill?” he asked as soon as he noticed her pale and clammy face.

“I’m alright,” she replied. “Just a little tired. You guys ready?”

“I’ve amassed eighty five hundred of my kindred,” declared Durin. “I could’ve summoned more if I had more time… ”

“Yeah, time’s something we don’t have much of at the moment. Line up, boys!” instructed the Slayer. “Let me amaze you with my magics!” She whirled her hand in the air and a moment later, the portal opened up. “Quickly, now! Go on through.” The dwarves passed through the portal outside the gates of Khazad Dûm, only to reappear at Bela on the other side.

Buffy once again collapsed to the ground when the portal closed. “What the… ” she mumbled breathlessly. She sat down outside the gates allowing herself time to recuperate from the excessive magics that she had been wielding all day. Never before had she used so much magic; it was taking its toll on her. After fifteen minutes, she vanished and reappeared at Folkvang. When she arrived at the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir, she fell to the floor, blood poured from both nostrils. Her maidens did their best to stifle the flow. Vórëa then picked her up in her arms and carried her to the thirteenth floor while Feawë summoned Istahiro. “What’s happening to me?” she cried out from beneath the bundle of cloth that she held to her nose. “I can’t fall apart. Not now!”

“I do not doubt that Istahiro will find the cause of this. Save your strength, Freya,” instructed Vórëa. “You need to relax.”

The Slayer was placed on her bed. A few minutes later, Istahiro and her maidens came running into her bedchamber, a look of concern on all their faces. As the healer examined her, Buffy tried to get out of bed. She feared falling asleep if she lay there too long.

“You have been using too much magic, Maranwë. It has weakened your condition. You need bed rest,” informed Istahiro.

“I don’t have time for that. We’ve got to get to Bela… like now!” barked the Slayer. The bleeding had stopped and although she felt weak, they had to get a move on. She ignored the healer’s protests as she left her chamber. She thought that she’d try teleporting the hundreds of thousands of people this time. Maybe that wouldn’t be as draining on her fey.

Everyone had congregated in the square before her Halls and on the steps of Sussrúmnir. Marto had come dashing to her side when news had reached him of her ill health. He held her up as she teleported the massive group to the East. Nearly everyone in Folkvang had gone; only a few men and the women and children had remained behind.

When the group arrived outside the wall of Bela it was nighttime. Unfortunately, blood was now pouring from Buffy’s nose, mouth and ears. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she collapsed into Marto’s arms. He cried out frantically for Istahiro, who appeared to be lost amongst the great hosts.

Already, on the horizon, legions of yrch were making their way towards the city. Without the Slayer, many began to panic and cry out in despair. They took that to be an omen of things to come.


Chapter 46 - WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE

As Buffy began to regain consciousness, she could feel that someone was clutching her hand. “She’s coming to,” said Marto excitedly. His voice sounded somewhat hazy to her ears. The Slayer blinked her eyes open, the faces of Marto, Istahiro and the twins hovering above her gradually came into focus.

“How do you feel, Maranwë?” asked the healer as he leaned in closer, examining her pupils.

“Like shit,” she responded as she propped herself up on the pillows. Her hands tingled as if they were asleep and her head felt like it was about to explode. “Please tell me you have some of your mystical elixir, Istahiro. I could use about ten doses of it right about now.” She pulled her hand free from Marto’s grasp before gently massaging her temples.

“A healer is always prepared, especially when he’s in your service, my dear Lady,” said Istahiro teasingly as he dug through a crate of medicines. “In all my long years of life, I’ve never seen anyone suffer from such debilitating afflictions as you. Yet I deem it’s all in the call of duty.” He pulled out a brown bottle and uncorked it, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. “Drink three mouthfuls,” he instructed as he handed the medicine to the Slayer.

She did as she was told. Despite the scent, the tonic tasted bitter to her palate. She shuddered, but the pain instantly lessened. “Has the war started?”

“Not yet, but it won’t be long,” informed Marto. “Luthor and Olofin have taken it upon themselves to command the troops… ”

“But I’m the commander-in-chief!” protested the Slayer. “I need to get out there.” The twins prevented their mother from getting out of bed.

“You’re too weak, mother,” said Mirë. “You need to rest.”

“Like hell!” The look in Buffy’s eyes indicated that they would not be able to restrain her, even though she was suffering from a major case of fatigue. She climbed out of bed and looked around the room. “Where the hell are we?” She had only just realized that they were not in her pavilion.

“We are in the house of Orrin. He kindly offered… ”

Buffy interrupted Anno. “Where’s my armor and belt?” She glanced around the chamber. None of her belongings were there. “Has my pavilion been erected?”

“I’m not certain,” answered Marto.

The Slayer left the room in a huff as the others followed close behind. Their encampment had been set up along the northern fences of the city since their objective was to route the enemy to the east and west. Most of her people were stationed outside the wall, as there was not enough room to accommodate all her hosts inside of it. Buffy’s pavilion was located within the walls of Bela. It was not easy to miss. It was massive and consisted of three separate ‘chambers’: sleeping, bathing/dressing and meeting/eating areas. This time, she brought many creature comforts from home.

The Slayer refused the assistance of her maidens as she garbed herself for battle. For the first time ever, she felt the weight of her armor. Never before had it felt so heavy. “Screw it,” she uttered under her breath as she took it off. She clasped the belt of Morgoth around her waist and looked at the various charms that dangled from it. She grabbed her weapon of choice (a sword), and pulled it from its chain. It immediately turned into a full size blade, but something happened that had never occurred before; the weapon was so heavy that it fell from her hands. A perplexed Buffy struggled to pick the sword up from the carpeted floor. She needed both hands to hold it up. She then swung the blade through the air; the weapon slipped from her grasp, and went flying through the opening into the adjoining room.

Shouts of surprise rang out from her meeting chamber. Quickly, she ran into the main space of her pavilion where many people stood waiting. “Are you trying to kill us?” asked Úrion, who was now holding the weapon. “None here are the enemy, my dear,” he added as he went to hand her back the blade.

“It slipped from my hands,” she commented as she curiously eyed the weapon.

“Here you go,” he said as he held the hilt towards her.

Buffy looked at Úrion for a moment before she grabbed the handle with one hand. He released his grip and once again, the blade fell from her hand causing many gasps from her companions.

“Bella, what’s happened to your strength?” asked an astonished Úrion.

“Her strength has diminished,” informed Istahiro, as he sipped on his cordial. “I told you that you’re not ready for battle. You are in a very vulnerable state at the moment.”

“When will my strength return?” she asked.

“I cannot rightly say,” answered the healer.

“I want a Maiar guard on Bella at all times,” declared Úrion to the Valkyries. “We cannot let the enemy find about this most unfortunate situation.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, your strength will return soon enough. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, you can’t expect me to sit idly by while everyone else fights!” she argued.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” scolded Istahiro. “You are in no condition to wield any weapon. Your powers have weakened considerably. It will take time for your strength to return.” He turned towards Úrion. “Convince her of that, Úrion. For the Lady refuses to heed my counsel.”

“I’m going to the battlefield,” she mumbled before leaving the pavilion. Twelve of the Valkyries and Marto went with her. The Maiar encircled Buffy as they walked through the streets of Bela. She felt both angry and frustrated. Istahiro was right; she wouldn’t be able to fight in this battle. But there was no doubt in her mind, that this was only the beginning. This was the first wave of attack.

“Please don’t do anything idiotic,” pleaded Marto. “My heart tells me that this battle will last long enough for you to get your chance to join the fracas… ”

“I have weapons that don’t require much strength to wield,” she said that mostly to herself than to Marto. Her hand instinctively went to the gem that hung from around her neck.

“I see,” he answered as he watched her finger the red jewel.

When they neared the southern fence, Buffy could see the wall of flame a little over a mile to the south from where she was. Marto picked her up in his arms before leaping over the spikes onto the brick wall; their companions did the same. The Valkyries immediately surrounded her, acting as a shield from unfriendly eyes. The Slayer was furious. All she could see were the backs of her maidens, not the battlefield that lay before them.

“For Eru’s sake, get out of my way. I can’t see a damn thing,” snapped Buffy. The women slouched down just enough for Buffy to see over their heads. “You guys are taking this protection thing a little too seriously. The enemy hasn’t even reached us yet.”

“We’d rather not take any chances. The enemy could slip past our men at unawares,” answered Feawë.

The first few stars glimmered to life in the twilight as the wind picked up from the northeast. Buffy nodded approvingly at the flaming wall, which shot up over forty feet into the air. The sky above was thick with clouds of noxious black smoke; it reminded the Slayer of Angband. She quickly pushed that thought out of her mind and was ever thankful that the prevailing winds were carrying that foulness away from the city of Bela.

Buffy learned that the trench devised by Luthor had to be modified due to the topography of the land. Originally, it was to be four feet deep and two feet wide, but since the men hit clay at two feet, they reversed the dimensions. Luthor hoped that would deter the enemy from passing through the burning wall of flame, but they were prepared in case they did. War machines and numerous hosts waited to greet them on the other side. All along the eastern and western slopes, multitudes of men anticipated the arrival of Illyria’s forces.

Word spread quickly through the regiments that Buffy had ‘recovered’ from her illness and was now standing upon the southern wall. Many men were sent to the fence to confirm that it was indeed true and not merely hearsay. Her armies’ hopes were renewed when the rumor proved to be factual. Many captains and lords of the various races came before her including her own son, Olofin.

“I rejoice in knowing that you are no longer ill, my Lady,” he said from atop his steed.

“I’m gonna have to sit this one out,” declared the Slayer glumly. “My strength hasn’t returned… but I don’t see it being needed just yet. Have all the machines been assembled? Have the scouts reported back?” Endless questions went through her mind.

“The engines are still being assembled to the east and west. I deem that it will be sometime before sunrise when they are all readied. The machines to our south are armed and ready to go, as you can see. Orrin had said that we can level any buildings in order to acquire more objects to hurl at the enemy.”

“And the scouts? Do we know how many of the enemy we’re facing?” she asked.

“Our reports vary, but the consensus is that we’re dealing with two hundred and fifty thousand yrch, some are riding wargs. None of the Unholy Ones have been sent forth,” answered her son.

“Good,” replied the Slayer. “That swings things in our favor… for now, any way.” She looked upon the faces of those that stood below her. “I want Man to be on the frontline when this goes down… ”

“That’s foolishness!” exclaimed Vórëa. “Let us deal with these yrch. We can easily… ”

Vórëa’s words enraged the Slayer. She interrupted the Valkyrie mid-sentence, speaking in a low, threatening tone. “Do I need to remind you that I’m calling the shots here, Vórëa? You have no say so. Your job is to do what I tell you to do. If you can’t handle that, then go home! I’m the commander-in-chief. Not you! Not anyone else! Me!” The Maia uttered an apology before hanging her head in shame. Buffy then continued to address the men before her. “I want Man at the forefront because they need to become more proficient with their weapons and with the enemy. They’re pretty evenly matched when it comes to fighting the yrch. This is their chance to prove themselves in battle. Nothing breeds confidence like besting the enemy.”

“My dear Lady, what of the Dwarves?” asked Dvalin. “Surely you want us to fight beside the Hildor.”

The Slayer shook her head. “No, not yet. This first clash is meant for Mankind… Only Olofin and those under his command are permitted to join in this battle.” Dvalin was eager to fight and pulled on his beard, cursing. “The Naugrim will get their chance, my dear dwarf!” started Buffy again. “But for now, I want the Dwarves, Elves and Maiar to hold back. Illyria doesn’t know we’re here. She thinks that she’ll stomp our asses into the ground with ease.” A smile came to her face. “She has a rude awakening coming.”

“You mean to tell me that once we defeat this enemy, more will follow,” said a shocked Orrin.

“Do you think that I’ve summoned over five hundred thousand of my allies here to fight a bunch of yrch?” she asked incredulously. “We haven’t seen anything yet. This is round one of a many round fight, Orrin. This first battle is Mankind’s time to shine. Illyria’s only testing your strength right now. The enemy will get stronger as the war progresses, and believe me, very few have the innate ability to slay what she’ll let loose in this world. Her most potent acolytes still reside within the bowels of Vahla ha'nesh.” Buffy’s face became grim at the thought. The yrch were an easy kill when compared to what lurked in Illyria’s fortress. And the Slayer knew that once her daughter discovered momma’s presence, Hell would most certainly be unleashed on Arda, the like never seen before.

“… Maranwë? Maranwë?” said Marto as he shook Buffy out of her reverie.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” asked Olofin.

“Yeah, fine,” she answered. Buffy felt her muscles tensing; war approached. She could smell the foulness of the yrch on the air even though the breeze blew from the opposite direction. Her spider senses tingled. “Did you ask me something?” she queried to Marto.

“It was I,” answered her son. “I’m needed on the frontline. Do you have any other orders before I go?”

Buffy instructed the captains to rotate the frontline troops every thirty minutes. The elves, dwarves and Maiar were permitted to aid them if the enemy reached vulnerable areas not yet fortified. She was saving their strength for the next onslaught. Olofin and the other warriors returned to their positions. Many Maiar and dwarves had stationed themselves along the bottom of the wall on which the Slayer stood. Her eyes pierced through the flames only to see the wargs rapidly approaching the barrier.

“Here they come,” said Buffy as she attempted to move closer to the edge of the wall. Laurië and Ilyalissë wouldn’t budge and Marto instantly linked his arm with hers, keeping her firmly in place.

“You can’t go running into the thick of things,” he whispered in her ear. “Watch the action from here.” She fixed her pleading eyes on him. He could read her well enough to know what she was thinking. “No,” he whispered. “You’re not ready.”

“I just want to see things better,” she whispered back, her eyes continuing to plead with him.

Marto stared at her for a few moments before relenting. “Your timing better be spot on, Maranwë. And I’m not jesting here.” She winked in response. “Excuse me, Ladies,” he said to the Valkyries. They broke their circle, allowing him an escape route. Before the women knew what was happening, Marto rushed past them with the Slayer pulled close to his side, both vaulted from the wall high into the air. At that precise moment, Buffy’s lion drawn chariot appeared out of nowhere. As it soared above the heads of those on the ground, Marto and the Slayer landed inside of the carriage. The kitties then began to climb higher, leaving many Maiar shocked by Buffy’s ‘rebellious’ behavior.

The Slayer thanked Marto for his assistance before she looked down at the Valkyries on the wall. They were no longer there. Her maidens changed their forms and were now invisible to most eyes. Only seconds later, the women flew in a ring around the chariot. The Valkyries were still acting as Buffy’s personal guard.

The cool air felt wonderful against her face as she watched the demons below. She and Marto had a good chuckle when they saw the first of the wargs leap through the firewall, only to reappear on the other side totally engulfed in flame. The beasts’ cries echoed in the night. That deterred many of the yrch from crossing the burning wall of fire.

“Things are quite different from this perspective,” remarked Marto as he watched the action. “This is amazing!”

The Slayer delighted in seeing how much they outnumbered Illyria’s men. She had accumulated a force of 554,200; 420,000 of them were mortals that had been re-embodied in Folkvang. Should they die again, the Valkyries would have to escort their feys back to Sussrúmnir where they would have to wait for Buffy to re-make their flesh. Most of the frontline consisted of those mighty warriors.

“That’s it, my pretties,” laughed Buffy, doing her best Wicked Witch of the East impression. The yrch hosts began to split off, half turned to the east, while others turned west, heading straight for the booby-trapped ravines. Yet some of the goblins remained undaunted by the wall of flame and dared to jump the trench. Men waited on the other side, ramming their razor sharp spears into the throats of the enemy.

The elves of Buffy’s House activated the levers on the engines and barraged the enemy with boulders and pots of Greek Fire. The use of the machines alerted the yrch captains that they were not dealing with Mankind alone. They realized that the mortals had found allies, allies that possessed the same weapons as their King. The general of the yrch left the scene and quickly headed to Bâb-edh-Dhrâ to notify Illyria of the unexpected opposition.

The first of the yrch had reached the covered pits along the western and eastern borders. As they ran upon the fronds, they suddenly disappeared into the holes. The screams that shattered the night signified that the beastly creatures had indeed been impaled on the spikes located at the bottom of the craters. The orch captains insisted that their men continue to go forth, even pushing some of their brethren into the pits, so that others could cross more easily. Not all died from the spikes, but suffocated under the weight of their kindred who lay on top of them. The orch captains used that same method to circumvent the mortals’ traps.

As the yrch climbed the slope, some on all fours, the men sent a hail of arrows at the monsters. Most of the flying projectiles ricocheted off the shields that the enemy kept before them. Buffy shook her head disappointedly when she witnessed that from the air. Arrows would not avail in that situation; the enemy had protected themselves too well. The Slayer felt that this was the ideal time to douse the enemy with Greek Fire.

She had the lions wheel around back towards the city. They landed outside of her pavilion as many of the Valkyries came running up to her. “Get Kit and Kat’s mail,” she ordered Marto. “And you,” she pointed to her ladies. “You still have a job to do. You guys need to be watching the battlefield for those that are slain. Don’t forget your sacred duty to me!” The women nodded obediently before changing their forms. They took to the air in order to search for the spirits of the slain.

Buffy chugged some wine while she waited for Marto to return. She had the lions un-harnessed from the chariot as others loaded pots of the napalm-like substance onto her vehicle. The yrch were about to encounter the first aerial attack ever in Middle-earth. The Slayer only had room for four large vats of the flammable liquid. She impatiently waited for the Maia to return.

Fifteen minutes later, Marto came back carrying a bundle of something silvery in his hand. “I found it,” he said breathlessly.

The Slayer snatched the garment-looking ‘mail’ from his hand. “What the hell is this?” she queried in a disgusted tone. The ‘armor’ was soft and malleable and unlike anything that she had ever seen before. Buffy couldn’t understand how this would protect her mighty beasts from the weapons of the enemy.

“It’s called mithril, if you must know,” snapped the Maia. “My men and I had found an abundance of it in the mountains on the mainland. It’s light, but tough as steel. This will protect Kit and Kat from any weapon that the enemy may possess.”

She remained silent as she watched Marto outfit the lions in mithril. “You’re sure that stuff will hold up? We’re gonna be within shooting range of the yrch; I don’t want my babies getting hurt.”

“I promise you, my dear, no weapon will pierce through this protective covering,” answered the Maia confidently.

Buffy then disappeared into her pavilion. She came out a few minutes later wearing a Glove. There was no way she was about carry a torch with her in a chariot full of Greek Fire. The Glove would be used to ignite the fuse.

Once the lions were garbed in their mithril armor, they were re-harnessed to the chariot. Buffy and Marto squeezed in between the vats and the sides of the cart. They then took off, heading back to the war zone. This time they flew much lower then before.

“Alright, pick up one of those containers,” she instructed Marto.

“Why me?” he protested. The prospect of holding the vat while Buffy aimed her weapon at the fuse was not the most pleasant of thoughts to the Maia.

“Because I’m not strong enough,” retorted the Slayer.

“I swear, you better not blast me with that thing,” said Marto as he heaved one of the pots onto the side of the chariot.

“Don’t you have any faith in me?” she smirked.

“Oh, yes, especially after you’ve consumed half a bottle of wine,” the Maia shot back sarcastically.

Buffy laughed at his comment. “I won’t blast you, not unless you deserve it.” The Slayer then raised the Glove above her head and summoned forth its power from the Heavens. A dark cloud suddenly appeared and a bolt of lightening shot down, striking the Glove, as the sound of thunder rumbled around them. She aimed her weapon at the cloth fuse. “Hold it steady,” she advised her companion. “Be free!” A blast of lightening hit the fuse, igniting it as Marto pushed vat over the side. It burst into an orange ball of flame as it plummeted to the earth. They both peered over the edge and watched as it landed on a group of yrch, who then howled in pain. “Bulls-eye!”

Many goblins now turned their attention to the air attack. They fired their crossbows, sending many flying projectiles at the chariot. The Slayer had the lions ascend even higher, just out of reach of the missiles. Buffy clapped her hands together excitedly; she and Marto had managed to distract the yrch, allowing the mortals the opportunity to advance on the enemy. They were skillfully hewing the enemy down.

Buffy and Marto looked for ‘troubled’ areas where they would drop their burning pots on the enemy allowing the advantage to swing to their allies favor. It was the only thing that the Slayer could think of to make herself feel useful. Besides, it helped out Man by creating a ‘necessary’ diversion. They used that same technique to aid Olofin on the western front. His cavalry fought valiantly against the yrch that rode on the backs of their wargs.

Before they knew it, night had become day as the battle continued to rage on. Thousands of yrch lay dying or dead on the battlefield. Buffy sent out many elves to retrieve their wounded allies from the battlefield. Those injured beyond the skill of the healers got a dose of elixir that eased their pain, allowing them to fall into a blissful slumber.

It took Man five days to obliterate Illyria’s forces; eleven thousand mortals had perished in the battle.



Three days after the battle had started, the orch general, Kurzag, finally arrived back at Vahla ha'nesh. He climbed the stairs to the citadel with trepidation. The orch knew that his Lord would be angry upon hearing the news that Man had managed to find powerful allies in the war. Illyria had expected to decimate the city of Bela with ease.

When Kurzag entered the Great Hall, already many of the King’s captains and generals were in attendance. Even Illyria’s Qwa'ha Xahn (High Priest) was present. The general knew that that didn’t bode well. The room fell quiet. The only sound was the iron-clad feet of the orch hitting the floor as he crossed the long chamber. He bowed low before the King.

“Speak,” commanded Illyria.

“I bring ill-news, my Lord. It seems that the mortals have aligned themselves with a greater power,” revealed Kurzag nervously.

“What power?” she queried, her furrowed gaze locked on the trembling demon.

“I… I don’t know, but they’ve somehow gathered reinforcements,” answered the frightened general. “The mortals have fortified their lands as they’ve never done before! A wall of fire hinders our access to the city from the south. And my Lord, they have implements of war: engines and the like! Is it not true that only your mother and father possess weapons of that kind?”

Illyria became wrathful. In one fell swoop, the King swung a huge wicked-looking blade at the general, disemboweling him on the spot. “How dare Kurzag deliver such news to me!” exclaimed the blue demoness. The orch lay twitching in a pool of black blood. The occupants in the chamber eyed each other warily. Their Lord then fixed her gaze on her servants. “He has failed me. That is the fate that awaits any that disappoint me,” added Illyria as she pointed to the corpse with her weapon. “Who amongst my mighty generals shall return to the battlefield and report back to me news more to my liking?”

The demons fearfully glanced at one another. Some shook their heads while others uttered, “Not me.” A small group of yrch spoke together is hushed voices. They hated the general, Ghazkû the Maimer, and thought that they had the perfect plan to rid themselves from that imperious orch. One of the yrch pushed the general forward, he stumbled and fell before Illyria’s throne.

“Excellent, Ghazkû,” declared the King of the East. “Ride to Bela as swiftly as possible. Bring me news that I find pleasing or else you will find yourself in the same position as Kurzag.”

The orch general rose to his feet and glared at his brethren who had pushed him forward; they stood there snickering. The poor orch general knew that he had just been given his death sentence. He bowed before the King before leaving the chamber for the wargs’ lair. Once he mounted his beast, the general took off for the north, an ominous feeling of doom weighed heavy on his shoulders.


Chapter 47 - BRING ON THE NIGHT

The Slayer wasted no time after their first victory. Immediately, she barked commands to the various generals and captains. She had the bodies of the slain removed from the battlefield and burned. Buffy would love to have buried each man in an individual grave, but they were not afforded the time. It would not be long before Illyria retaliated, and Buffy wanted to be prepared when she did. The bodies of the yrch were left on the field much to the delight of the carrion fowl.

By this time, twelve thousand men had arrived from the cities of Admah and Zeboim. The Slayer was disappointed by the turn out; she was expecting at least three times that number. Even Bela managed to gather twenty thousand men to fight.

“I think the element of surprise is gone,” she had said at a meeting with all the generals and captains in the halls of Orran. “If I know my daughter well enough, she’s gonna strike swift and hard. We need to pull out all the stops this next time around.” Man’s confidence had grown after their victory, but Buffy didn’t want them to become overly optimistic or proud (some already showed signs of that.) She directed her next comment to the mortal captains that were present. “And I’m afraid that we won’t be dealing with merely yrch here. Illyria’s gonna start bringing out the big guns, and we need to be ready to meet them head on.” Her eyes glanced at the scores of men and women before her. “Expect the unexpected! Those are words that you need to live by.”

“What do you mean by ‘big guns’?” asked a puzzled Lorcán.

“Demons. Real demons, I should say,” replied the frowning Slayer. “Be prepared to face your greatest fears, my friends. Illyria has monsters that are nearly as big as she… ”

“And they’re more potent,” chimed in Luthor. “Some cannot be slain by strength alone. Great magics will be needed in some cases. You Men, Elves and Dwarves need to avoid a confrontation with those creatures. Leave them for us, the Maiar… or Bella… ”

“You make a good point,” said Buffy in agreement. “But right now, we need to focus on refortifying our perimeters.” She turned her attention to the dwarves, Dufur and Har. “Hey, did you guys bring any of that wire stuff that was used during the Battle of the Deeper Well?”

“Indeed we have, my dear Lady. We Dwarves always come prepared for battle,” answered Har, his voice full of pride.

“Good. Since our wall of flame is nothing but smoldering smoke, we need to use that to our advantage. Stretch the wire behind the smoke and anchor it at each end. If you guys have enough time, do the entire perimeter. Make sure you do it in various heights, make it low enough to get the wargs and high enough to get the giants.”

“Giants?!” exclaimed a wide-eyed Thranduil. “Illyria has giants!”

“Uh-huh,” answered Buffy. “But she only has a few. She has a hell of a lot more trolls though.”

“Aren’t trolls the same thing as giants?” asked Marto.

“No,” replied the Slayer grimly. “Trolls were made in mockery of the Enyd. Giants were made in mockery of the trolls.”

“Why would Melkor make giants in mockery of trolls?” inquired Luthor, a puzzled expression on his face.

“He didn’t… I did,” replied the Slayer.

Many gasped when they heard that, especially the captains of Doriath, Bela, Zeboim, and Admah. Most of Buffy’s people were aware of what had happened during her ‘captivity’ in Angband, but others were not. Not all hid their distaste at that revelation.

“You?!” exclaimed Bashir, a man of Bela. “You’re supposed to be our savior, yet now we learn that you are one of the creators of the hideous beasts of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ!”

Bashir’s comments did not go over well with Buffy’s loyal following. Arguments and words of dissension erupted within the chamber of Orran. It was Marto, of all people, who came to her defense. He hastily approached the man and easily subdued him.

“How dare you speak to Maranwë Luinil in that manner, mortal,” he said venomously as he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his belt. “I should cut your tongue out for your insolence.”

“Don’t do it, my old friend,” counseled Luthor in his calmest voice. “Do not shed the lower being’s blood. We’re all on the same side here.”

While Luthor attempted to stay Marto’s hand, many others in the chamber continued to quarrel. Buffy collapsed back into Orran’s high chair. She didn’t want to waste time by discussing her past deeds, but it seemed that the alliances that she had formed were starting to crumble before her very eyes.

“ENOUGH!” she finally exclaimed when the clamor became too much for her to bear. Immediately, rumblings from the captains and generals ceased. “Yes, I’m guilty of doing terrible things in my past. If it will appease you, I’ll tell you my tale. If you then feel that you don’t want to fight with us, then leave. Leave and pray that death finds you quickly!”

“I wish to hear your tale, my Lady,” spoke up Atif, a man from Zeboim.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh before telling her story in full. She told them of Morgoth’s bewitchment and seduction, which lead to her corruption to do evil. She spoke of the wicked offspring that both she and Morgoth had created, and also of the offspring that she had made on her own. The Slayer ended the tale with the birth of Illyria and her escape from the depths of Angband. When she finished speaking, the room remained silent. Beleg and the other captains of Doriath stood there with their jaws hung open. To say that they were shocked would be an understatement. They never knew of the horrors that Buffy had been subjected to at the hands of Morgoth.

Atif then came forward and dropped on bended knee. He placed the sword that her people had given him across his thigh.

“Grievous woe has befallen you, my Lady. I now see that Melkor is a Master of Lies. For I can see that you love the kindred of Man more so than he. I offer my services to you, oh Blessed Lady of Love.”

“And I accept it with gratitude,” she answered with a small smile. The Slayer then addressed the others in the hall. “We’ve got lots to do, people. Get to work.” She rose from the chair and started for the door. Buffy grabbed Orchal’s hand. “Come with me.”

They walked through the dusty streets to her pavilion. “Tell me that you’re finally going to get some rest,” said the elf as they stopped in order to allow an ass-drawn cart to pass. “You haven’t slept in five days.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered as they resumed walking. “Actually, I was hoping that you’d sing me to sleep with that beautiful voice of yours. Unfortunately, none of my minstrels are warriors and they’ve all stayed home. I’m afraid that I’ve spoiled myself; I’ve grown accustomed to hearing their sweet voices around the clock. I find it hard to sleep without it.”

“If the beloved Queen of Middle-earth wishes to hear my song, then her wish shall be granted,” replied Orchal in his most dignified voice.

“I’m not the Queen of Middle-earth.”

“You should be,” answered the elf.

Buffy and Orchal entered her sleeping chamber. After they pulled off their boots, they both climbed into bed together, just like old times. The elf had only sung the first few bars of his melody when the Slayer fell into a deep sleep. She soon found herself experiencing the most profound dream that she had ever had in her life…

The Slayer found herself standing along the shores of the sea. As her eyes scanned the scenery, they fell upon a young dark-haired girl, no older then ten, frolicking in the water. The child raised her gaze and met Buffy’s, the smile on her face widened. “Mommy!” she yelled. She came running out of the water, the bottom of her blue gown soaking wet, and threw her arms around Buffy’s waist.

Buffy stood there, jaw hung open, in total shock. Her shock quickly turned to comprehension and she wrapped her arms lovingly around the little girl. “Illyria,” said the Slayer as she pulled out of the embrace and looked deeply into those bright blue eyes. The same eyes that the twins had. Only one word could describe the child: beautiful.

“I am the Illyria that would’ve lived had the world not been marred,” said the girl. “Walk with me, mommy. I like the sea. I like the way the waves feel when they crash upon my feet.” Illyria took her mother’s hand and led her to the waters edge. Buffy remained speechless. “Dark days await you, I’m afraid,” continued her daughter. “You cannot defeat the evil Illyria, mommy. She has too many men and they will overpower you. You know that.” She looked at her mother with a bewildered expression as they walked along the sandy shoreline. “Why would you challenge her when you know that you can’t defeat her?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” smirked the Slayer.

“You will fail because of the choices you make,” prophesied Illyria.

“So, you’re a seer too?”

“All the Ainur have the gift of foresight, mommy. Even you. But we only see what Eru Ilúvatar wants us to. Your love for the mortals will bring about your downfall,” revealed young Illyria.

“You keep saying that!” The Slayer let out a heavy sigh. “I’m still not gonna give up. I can’t. Illyria’s reign must end.”

“I agree with you. Your tenaciousness is admirable. Yet I only wish that you would put aside your pride and seek help from the family who can help you annihilate the forces of evil Illyria… ”

“I’ve already spoken with Irmo and he said that the Valar won’t help me.” Illyria shook her head. “Oh, you’re talking about your father?” Buffy glanced suspiciously at the little girl. “Are you Sauron in disguise?”

Illyria giggled. “No, I’m not he.” She continued to chuckle. “Sauron has his own agenda. He feels threatened by my evil self. He envies daddy in more ways than one.” She cast a mischievous glance at her mother before saying, “Look!” She pointed to the sea.

A mirage of Bela appeared on the water’s surface. Buffy watched as the Army of Doom surrounded the city destroying everything in its wake. Gradually, Illyria’s forces moved in closer and closer until they smashed down the brick wall that encircled the city. She watched as the city of Bela succumbed to the strength of the Slayer’s firstborn. The image then faded.

“You see what’s coming,” said Illyria as she sat down among luinil flowers that suddenly sprang up from the sandy ground. She began pulling out the blue flowers, weaving them into a wreath. Buffy sat down across from her child. “Some things are destined to be, yet not everything is etched into stone… ”

Buffy smiled. “You speak in riddles like the elves.”

Illyria laughed. She fixed her blue eyes on her mother as her hands continued to weave the flowers. “They are a wise people. Remember these words, mommy: fight fire with fire. That will help you in the trials before you. I do not want to see you lose. Perhaps you will be able to turn the tide… as long as you don’t lose faith… in yourself.” She placed the circlet of blue flowers on Buffy’s head. “There. A Queen needs her crown. As long as Illyria lives, these flowers will never wither and die.” The girl sighed heavily. “I only wish that I could exchange places with her, but that’s not fated to be.”

“I’m sorry,” answered a teary-eyed Buffy. “I’m sorry for the part I played in the marring of you… and Arda. You should have been born into this world.”

Illyria shook her head as she placed her hands on Buffy’s cheeks. She momentarily shifted her gaze to the sea. “Alas, I shall never get that chance,” she responded forlornly. She then locked eyes with her mother and added, “The hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. Live. For me.” She kissed Buffy on the forehead before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

Tears streamed down the Slayer’s cheeks as the whole landscape changed before her eyes. It became a vast desert that bordered the still waters of the ocean. For endless miles, all that she could see were dunes of sand. She rose to her feet as a deafening roar broke the silence. She glanced out to sea and was terrified by what she saw. A wave, a hundred feet tall, was moving across the waters heading straight for Buffy. It was not blue as the rest of the sea, but blood red. She remained frozen to the spot, unable to move. Closer and closer it came until it crashed over her…

“Bella! Bella!” Orchal’s voice cried out. “Istahiro! Come quickly!”

Buffy’s eyes darted open. She found herself back in her own bed; a bloody Orchal hovering over her. She freaked out thinking that Illyria’s forces were decimating their encampment while she had slept. “Oh my Eru, Illyria’s armies have reached us!”

“No!” exclaimed the startled elf. “Bella, you’re covered in blood yet I cannot find any wound.”

Istahiro shrieked when he entered the chamber with Buffy’s Valkyrie guard in tow. “What happened?” he queried as he came running to the bedside.

“I’m… I’m alright, I’m not hurt,” stammered the Slayer as she rose to her feet, blood dripping off her from head to toe. Her mattress and bedclothes were covered in the wet crimson liquid. With her heart racing, Buffy removed the crown that Illyria had placed on her head. The blue flowers were drenched in blood.

“Your crown of luinil flowers. I thought that you left that at Lindon,” remarked Orchal.

“I did. This is a different one,” answered a smiling Buffy.

“What the hell happened to you, Bella?” asked the baffled elf. “Did you visit that strange dreamland?”

“Apparently,” she answered uncomfortably. Buffy wasn’t ready to share her visit with Illyria with anyone, including Orchal. She ordered her maidens to prepare her bath as she instructed the elf to gather all the generals. Once she was clean, she wanted to hold an urgent council.



The orch general Ghazkû had arrived on the plains the day after the battle had ended. It had taken him three days of hard riding to reach that desolate wasteland. He cursed when he saw all his brethren dead on the field, the carrion fowl picking unmercifully at their flesh. The orch raised his fist and cursed the sun, the one thing that weakened the offspring of Melkor. Before a wall of smoke, he saw many banners waving in the early morning light. Ghazkû made a mental note of the symbols on the flags before reluctantly deciding that he had to go back and deliver the grim news to his Master. He kicked the sides of the warg with his iron boots causing the animal to yelp before riding back towards Bâb-edh-Dhrâ at full speed.

It took another three days for him to reach the citadel of Vahla ha'nesh. He wearily climbed the white marble steps knowing that his death was imminent. The moment he crossed the threshold, his body began to tremble. He wondered if his predecessor, Kurzag, had experienced the same thing before he reported to the King. He hoped that the information that he had obtained would be valuable enough for her to show him some compassion.

Ghazkû grudgingly approached Illyria’s throne. His fellows did not conceal their mirth. Sweat broke out on the orch general’s brow.

“Have we achieved our victory in the North?” asked the demon Vala in a booming voice. The orch couldn’t speak. He tried, but no sound came out. One of Illyria’s tentacles slithered across the floor and wound around the orch general, pulling him high into the air. She squeezed him and the orch let out a scream that reverberated in that enormous chamber. “I will not tolerate your disobedience, Ghazkû. Give me your report in full or you shall endure torments unimaginable.”

“Take pity on me, Lord,” cried the goblin. “I have ridden non-stop for six days and I am weary.” Illyria tightened her grip, causing the orch to howl in pain again. “Forgive me, Lord. I’ll tell you all that I’ve seen.” The King placed the general back on the floor.

“Speak!”

“Your… your army has been defeated, oh great and merciful King. All lay dead on the battlefield.” There were cries from the other yrch in the chamber.

“Silence!” bellowed the King of the East, turning her attention briefly to her other captains and generals. “Continue, servant!”

“The mortals have found many allies, most Holy One. Many banners I saw in that land.” He then described them in detail. “As you can see, I’m not at fault here. All was in ruins before I arrived,” added the orch frantically.

Illyria did not say one word. All of a sudden, a tentacle shot out and grabbed the general. She squeezed him so hard that his insides spilled out of his mouth like toothpaste. She then flung his corpse against the gleaming white wall, cracking it upon impact. Ghazkû’s body fell to the floor in a heap leaving a bloody mess. A still silent Illyria rose to her taloned feet and crossed the chamber; her minions followed close behind.

The King stood on the topmost stair and looked over her city. All her tentacles ascended high above her and she let out an earsplitting cry that caused many to cover their ears. But that was no mere battle cry. Thick black clouds formed over the city, obscuring the sun from view. Like a cancer, it metastasized, covering all the land in darkness. Before the day came to an end, all the East would be shrouded in darkness allowing all of Illyria’s minions to join in the battle unhindered.

The blue demoness turned to her generals. “My mother shall soon taste my wrath. Send forth all my armies except for the Unholy Ones. Bring me good tidings or they shall come after you!” Illyria returned to her private chambers as her generals and captains gathered their forces, eager to fight those in the North. One million demons departed the land of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, the largest army in all Middle-earth.



Thranduil sat beside Orran’s youngest son, Cahal beneath the western wall of the city.

“What’s this called again?” asked the young man as he eyed the food curiously.

“Bella calls it a sandwich,” answered Thranduil as he chewed on his food. “She says that it hastens the time one normally spends eating.”

“It is queer to put meat between two slices of bread,” remarked the sixteen year old.

“True, but it tastes good.”

The young men continued to talk as they ate. They knew that it was only a matter of time before the second wave of the battle hit.

“What’s that?” asked Thranduil. He pointed to the leather strap that hung from the pocket of Cahal’s breeches.

The young man pulled the object out. “It’s called a sling.”

“What does it do?” asked an interested Thranduil.

“We use it to keep the wargs and other predators away from our flocks. Here, I’ll show you.” The young man pulled a rock from the pouch on his belt. “You put the stone here and then you spin it around like this,” said Cahal as he gave his demonstration. “And then you let it go.” He slung the rock at the wall. It zoomed through the air before colliding with the wall, where it embedded deeply into the brick.

“That’s impressive for a bit of leather and a stone,” commented the elf as he examined the hole. “My people don’t use such primitive weapons. We prefer the bow, but are skilled with the spear, sword and axe.”

“Sometimes one must make do with what one has,” replied Cahal. Mortals at this point in time didn’t possess great skill when it came to crafting weapons or anything else.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” said Thranduil apologetically. “I think it’s a fine weapon. It proved to penetrate through brick, right?” He laughed uneasily, sensing that he had offended the young man.

Cahal smiled warmly at the elf. “Take it, my friend, Thranduil. A token from the kindred of Man.” He handed the strap to the future King of the Green Elves. He continued speaking as he undid the pouch from his belt and handed it to Thranduil. “Perhaps it’ll serve you in battle.”

“That’s very generous of you, Cahal. Thank you,” answered the elf, attempting to hide his amusement. What good would a stone and a sling do in battle? He tried out the new device and found that he could sling his rock completely through the wall. Thranduil did it several times before one of the captains passing by told him that he should be tried for aiding and abetting the enemy by destroying a fortification in wartime. The elf apologized profusely and slid the strap in his belt.

He and Cahal then wandered about the fields looking for small stones to refill his pouch. Thranduil was still enjoying his new ‘toy.’ It was during that expedition that the elf noticed dark clouds in the distance. “Do you see that?” he asked the mortal.

“See what?” asked the young man as he followed Thranduil’s gaze.

“The black clouds.”

“I don’t see anything,” replied Cahal.

“Hmm, it seems that you mortals don’t have the same keen eyesight as we elves. Come on. We better alert the others,” said the elf.

Before they reached the wall of the city, they heard a series of horn blasts. Thranduil understood the sounds to mean that there was an emergency meeting. The two young men hastened their pace towards the halls of Orran. By the time they got there, the last few generals had entered and the doors were closing.

“Pardon me, but I’m needed… ” started Thranduil.

“Sorry, son,” replied Beleg. “This council is for generals only.” The doors closed in the young men’s faces.

“Damn it!” cursed the elf. “I need to hear what they’re saying.”

“Let’s go around back. There’s a door to clean out the fireplace. We can listen there,” suggested Cahal.

“I knew there was something about you that I liked immediately,” remarked Thranduil with a wide grin. “Lead the way, my friend, lead the way.”

The two young men ran around to the back of the building. There was no way they were going to miss what was being said inside. They crouched down beside the small opened door.

“… out of here as soon as possible. How long will it take?” Buffy had asked the men in the chamber. She was sitting upon Orran’s chair surrounded by thirty-three demons dressed in the same mail as the dwarves of the Deeper Well. On their chest plates was a large blue cross. The mortals and the elves of Doriath were dumbfounded to see such creatures at an important council. “Well?” asked a frustrated Buffy when no one responded to her question. “What the hell’s the matter? Why won’t anyone answer me?”

“My Lady,” spoke up one of the mortal captains that Buffy didn’t know. “How is it that you’ve aligned yourself with the enemy? They stand about you as though they’re your own personal guard!”

The Slayer glanced over her shoulder at her offspring. “Oh! Is that what the silent treatment’s all about?” she chuckled. “They’re harmless… to you guys, anyway. They’re on our side, the good guys.” There were still some captains that warily eyed the creatures. Buffy had kept the monsters hidden in their tents since they had arrived. She didn’t want them walking about without everyone within the city knowing that they were with her. “We don’t have time for this now,” she said with an air of annoyance. “I’ll put it simply: if anyone harms any of these… people, I’ll personally kill you myself. They’ve proven their trustworthiness and loyalty to me and that’s good enough. Any marked with a blue cross are allies and shall be treated as you would treat your own kinfolk,” she added firmly. “Now, how fast can you evacuate the women, children and elderly from the city?”

The mortals huddled together in quiet debate. Orran then answered, “A few hours, my Lady.”

“Then go tell your people. As long as they leave today, they should be okay. The enemy is quickly approaching. And it seems that Illyria is gonna cover all the land in darkness giving her the advantage.” She fingered the Carnimír that hung from around her neck. Its powers would be rendered obsolete without the rays from the sun. “Go inform your people,” she instructed the mortals, “while there’s still time. Go!”

Once the mortals left the chamber, only the elves, dwarves, demons and Maiar remained. Buffy then went to the crates she had brought into the hall. She opened one, revealing many crystal orbs. She held one aloft. “I want all the captains and generals to carry one of these at all times. These are spirit vaults and are used to house the feys of the evil Maiar. There’s a summoning spell that I’ll teach you in a minute. It’s imperative that we capture as many of them as possible.” The Slayer then turned to Durin. “I have several of these crates in my pavilion that I want delivered to Hírilost, my fortress in the north. Tell the dwarves there that I want the orbs placed in the orifices along the bastion.” Durin gave her a peculiar look. “They’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“But Lady, we’ve come here to fight, not run errands,” protested the old dwarf.

“I’ll send you there, Durin. You’ll be back before the dark clouds of Illyria engulf these parts. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Go.” The Dwarf Lord nodded his head before exiting the room with several dwarves.

Buffy instructed the men and women on how to summon a fey into the Orb of Thezula. Once she felt confident that they understood, she departed the halls with many Maiar for her pavilion. When they arrived, she sent Durin and many dwarves through a portal to Hírilost. The Slayer was thankful that she was at full strength again. She would need it.

It took thirty minutes for all the crates of orbs to be transported to Buffy’s fortress. She felt confident that she herself would be able to send the feys of the evil Maiar to those mystical objects in the north.

A few hours later, the people unable to fight left the city for the north. The Slayer found the wailing of the women and children disheartening as they said their good-byes to their loved ones. For some of them, it would be their final farewell.

The armies watched as the lands became covered in darkness. The black clouds of Illyria continued to move north obliterating all light. The temperature plummeted even though it was only early autumn. Unbeknownst to all those in Bela, it would be a long time before the sun shone brightly upon that land again.

The demon Vala’s winds caused the smoke from the trenches to linger about the city, burning the eyes of all the occupants. And the stench of the dead yrch was horrendous; the flies became an abhorrent nuisance. Yet the armies waited, the tension grew with every passing hour.

The armies took their positions as the forces of Illyria rapidly approached. The enemy marched in rhythm to the drumming of the yrch. Amongst the goblins were hundreds of trolls and wargs, but the ominous presence of the giants caused the Slayer to shudder. They were bigger then she remembered. The dark figures looked man-like yet they towered over all. The trolls stood anywhere between twelve to fifteen feet, yet the giants were over twenty.

Luthor was on Buffy’s right, Marto on her left. She tightened her grip on her sword as the first wargs and yrch crossed the trench. Many got cut down by the wire on the other side. That is, until the giants approached. When they came across the wire, they merely swung their humongous clubs, breaking the line in two as though it were thread. The Slayer felt her heart drop to her stomach when she witnessed that.

“Oh, shit,” she cursed under her breath.

The sound of the battle cry from her men rang out in the crisp night as they ran towards their foes with their weapons drawn…


Chapter 48 - SHOWTIME

The rush of adrenaline encompassed every fiber of the Slayer’s being as she, alongside her numerous hosts, rushed toward the minions of Illyria. Her first encounter was with an enormous warg, frothing at the mouth. When only a few yards separated them, she stopped and braced herself for the beast’s inevitable leap. Sure enough, the wolf jumped at her, its mouth twisted in a distorted snarl, revealing long yellowish fangs.

“Come on, Cujo,” said Buffy, as she raised her blade to a forty-five degree angle, both hands tightly clutching the hilt. The animal couldn’t stop the momentum; it impaled itself on her sword. It let out a loud yelp as it attempted to wrench itself free. She lowered the struggling beast to the ground, using her foot to subdue it as she went for the kill. The Slayer moved her blade in one swift motion, nearly slicing the warg in two. “One down,” she added as she looked for her next target, “legions to go.”

Buffy didn’t have to look far for additional foes; that’s all she could see. Yrch were everywhere. Two of them decided to charge her at the same time. Her lips curled into a small smile before she ran at them, her hands still firmly gripping her sword. The beasts’ scimitars were at their ready. As they swung their weapons at her small frame, the Slayer dropped to the ground, did a forward roll and snapped her blade at both of their unprotected knees. The yrch fell forward onto the grass as the Slayer rose to her feet. She rammed her blade in the back of the neck of one orch as the other got unsteadily to its feet. After twisting the blade in a circular motion, she speedily pulled it out and decapitated the other before he could deliver any type of blow.

The Slayer savored the rush from the kill as she turned her attention to her next quarry. That’s when she spotted a giant about a hundred yards away. Buffy began hacking her way towards the monstrous figure. It took her nearly thirty minutes to fight her way to the mammoth creature; she had met many obstacles along the way, namely yrch and wargs.

The giant wore armor wrought of iron on its enormous legs, which resembled thick tree trunks. It didn’t appear to be worried about protecting its flesh from the waist up as it had on no mail whatsoever. Only thick, matted, brown hair covered its massive head, not a helm. It was no wonder. No mortal had the ability to extend his or her weapon to such heights. However, there were not only mere mortals fighting here, and although Buffy resembled one, her powers outstripped any of her or Morgoth’s creations.

The elves continued shooting many projectiles at the face and chest of the creature as it attempted to stomp on those closest to its feet. In its right hand, it carried a huge black club, which it swung at a group of elves, catching one in the process. A loud popping sound rang out around them as the elf went flying thirty feet, landing amidst a group of yrch. The goblins cruelly tore him limb from limb, sucking the blood from the appendages that they had won. It was a revolting sight.

Buffy turned her attention back to the task at hand. As she prepared to leap upon the giant, she noticed his hands flailing around its face and neck. Deep gashes appeared out of nowhere, sending a waterfall of blood upon the Slayer. She took a few steps backwards, freeing herself from the stream as she noticed her Valkyrie guard attacking the beast. Its head lolled about on it shoulders as it stumbled haphazardly around the area. The earth shook beneath everyone’s feet as those nearest to the giant scrambled to get out of its way, Buffy included. As she hastily wiped the blood from her eyes, she watched as the monster fell to the ground with a heavy thud; the earth moaned beneath its weight.

Already, the early stages of fatigue were setting in. Buffy needed a break. Instead of teleporting herself back to the confines of the city, she fought her way through the throng of yrch. She decided that it would be best to take out as many of the enemy along the way as she could.

By the time she entered the gates of Bela, a couple of hours had passed, and the Slayer was exhausted. The blood from the giant had already dried and she felt sticky all over. Soaking in a hot tub was not an option available to her at the moment. An acceptable alternative was washing her face with hot, soapy water. Buffy would have to contend with having blood-streaked hair throughout most of the battle.

Once inside her pavilion, she immediately undid the lock on her copper trunk. She pulled out two Gloves and placed them on her bed. With her mind, she summoned Kit and Kat. Even though the Slayer was tired, she could continue the attack from the air. Her lions did not arrive, indicating that they were busy at the moment with the assignment that she had given them. Their job was to retrieve the injured from the battlefield and bring them to the safety of the Healing Tents that had been set up along the northern fences of the city.

While she waited, she instructed her servants to load vats of Greek Fire onto her chariot. When they finished, she tucked the two Gloves into the leather bags that she had installed inside of the vehicle. Fifteen minutes later, the kitties appeared. Buffy rubbed their heads lovingly as she examined the mithril coats that each wore. She could find no injuries on either one. Her servants then harnessed them to the chariot as the Slayer climbed aboard. The lions started running and soon they were airborne.

Since Buffy hadn’t sent any scouts out prior to the second wave, she decided that now was the perfect time to do a little recon of her own. From the air, she could determine how great her daughter’s forces actually were. Her gut told her that Illyria wasn’t joking when she boasted that she had any army over a million and a half strong. That soon proved to be all too true. The strength that her firstborn possessed dumbfounded the Slayer. Even Melkor didn’t use that kind of might during Dagor Aglareb!

Yet something wasn’t right with the way Illyria had stationed her monsters. Over ninety percent of her forces were yrch, and they all formed the frontlines of her troops. Her most powerful acolytes, which consisted of Balrogs and a variety of demons that Middle-earth had not yet encountered, milled around at the rear of the group. That didn’t make any sense to Buffy. The Slayer had stationed her most potent warriors (Maiar, Elves, Dwarves and Offspring) at her vanguard. Why wasn’t Illyria doing the same?

She guesstimated that there were over seventy-five thousand Balrogs. From the lineup, it appeared that they would be the first part of the third wave. She also discovered the whereabouts of the other three giants, including Goliath, the lord of them all, who stood much taller then his brethren. At least another hundred thousand were mystical creatures that had powers so great that Buffy was dismayed by their presence alone. They seemed to be relaxing around the many fires in their encampment.

Buffy had seen enough. She directed the lions to go where she was most needed. The ominous feeling that had crept over her being days ago suddenly kicked into overdrive. And she couldn’t but help hear the foreboding words of the good Illyria in her head:

“You cannot defeat the evil Illyria, mommy. She has too many men and they will overpower you… Your love for the mortals will bring about your downfall.”

The Slayer had pondered those words repeatedly in her mind, still oblivious to their meaning.

The kitty cats steered the chariot towards the second giant on the frontline. Olofin’s cavalry had formed a ring around the massive creature in an attempt to keep it contained to that area. As they constantly rode around the beast, the elven archers shot flaming arrows at the giant’s head, hoping to set its hair ablaze. All the while, the towering figure lunged at those on horseback with its massive mace. Each time it missed, the earth became rented by the blow. The man-like demon let out a roar in frustration as its head started smoldering from the ever-growing fires in its hair (both on its head and on its face.)

Kit and Kat then whizzed by the giant, attempting to divert its attention to the Slayer. The whooshing motion of the chariot fanned the flames on the monster causing it to stomp its feet angrily. As one of its mammoth hands tried to extinguish the fires, the other swung its weapon wildly at Buffy and the lions. The elves continued to hurl spears and flaming arrows at the beast; they protruded all over its head and torso, both front and back.

Buffy’s eyes widened when she saw the shiny, metal spikes of the mace coming straight at her. Immediately, she and her lion-drawn chariot vanished, only to reappear a little distance away. The giant’s anger grew. It knew that its last swing should have hit the Slayer. It searched for its prey and noticed that she had somehow moved further to the south. The giant took several strides towards her until both she and the lions were once again within striking distance. As the creature swung at her again, she repeated the same stratagem, luring her foe even further south. Buffy had managed to entice the monstrous being away from her allies. When she and the giant reached the heart of enemy territory, she made her move.

Several flashes of lightning suddenly lit up the darkness followed by the rolling sound of thunder. The Slayer held the two Gloves aloft as the electrical charges ‘juiced’ up the weapons that she was eager to fire. She only needed one of the mystical weapons at the moment, so she placed the other back into the leather pouch for later use. She had the lions soar above the giant as she readied one of the vats of Greek Fire. As soon as she flung it over the side of the vehicle, she aimed her weapon, uttered the incantation and released a bolt of lightning at the fuse. The giant looked up as the container burst into flames, showering the monster’s face with both fragments of metal and hot burning liquid. It let out an ear-piercing scream that shattered the night. Many of Illyria’s minions stopped what they were doing, searching for the cause of the commotion.

The giant grabbed its face, howling in pain. In its madness, it trampled many yrch beneath its feet. Buffy dropped another flaming vat atop the wailing beast’s head. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air as the bubbling liquid ran down the creature’s neck. She aimed her weapon and sent a blast of lightning straight between the giant’s eyes. It stopped dead in its tracks before falling to the ground, crushing those beneath its heavy weight.

In the end, Buffy’s ploy with the giant had killed a couple hundred yrch aside from the monster itself. She cheered his demise from the air.

Amidst her celebration, the Slayer felt the unexpected jerk of her chariot. She clung desperately to the sides of the cart as she noticed the burning whip from one of the Balrogs wrapped tightly around the straps that connected her vehicle to the lions. She cursed herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings. The Balrogs had apparently deemed that the time was now ripe for them to make their move.

The Balrog that had Buffy caught began pulling down on the whip. Kit and Kat struggled against the force of the creature of fire, trying in vain to ascend higher into the jet-black sky. Instead, they were pulled lower. A second whip hit the back of the chariot causing the cart to dip to a ninety-degree angle. Buffy lost her footing from the shock of the blow. Her grip on the front of the vehicle was the only thing saving her from falling. The last pot of Greek Fire slid along the floor before plummeting out of the opened end. The screeching sound of metal pierced the night as her Gloved hand began to slide from the chariot’s wall. The Slayer attempted to use magic to get her and the lions out of that situation, but no matter how hard she ‘willed’ it, they didn’t vanish.

Buffy’s weaponless hand had a death grip on the wall of the chariot. Two Balrogs were now pulling her down. She wondered where her Valkyrie guard was. Now would have been the most appropriate time for her invisible warriors to make an appearance. What Buffy didn’t know was that they were dealing with hordes of Balrogs that were charging their hosts. The Slayer was left to her own devices.

She began to panic, fearing that she would fall and land amongst the minions of Illyria. Buffy didn’t even want to think about what those creatures might do if they got a hold of her. A third Balrog then lashed its whip at her cats. Kat let out a terrible cry of pain. Something clicked inside the Slayer when she heard that shriek from her beloved kitty. The words of the good Illyria rushed to her mind:

“Remember these words, mommy: fight fire with fire.”

As sweat ran down her face and neck, the Slayer prayed that those words were meant to be taken literally not figuratively. She released her Gloved hand from the wall of the chariot and pointed it at one of the Balrogs.

“Be free!” she shouted. A bolt of lightning shot out of the weapon hitting the Balrog in the head. It wavered on the spot, its grip loosened on the whip. Again, she sent out another blast that hit the same demonic creature. Its fires snuffed out as it released its grip on the whip. It fell dead to the ground. “Thank you, darling Illyria,” she mumbled under her breath.

The lions rose a little higher, allowing the chariot to correct its position. Buffy was able to get back on her feet. She pointed the Glove at the other Balrog that still had her within its grasp. After two more blasts, that demon fell dead too.

Once free, the lions soared high above the battlefield. The Slayer nearly freaked when she saw that some of the Balrogs had wings and had taken to the air after her. “HOLY SHIT!” she exclaimed. Buffy was unsure of how badly Kat was injured, if at all. She was anxious to get out of the mess that she now found herself in, but didn’t want to leave the others to contend with the flying beasts of flame and shadow. They could cause too much damage. She had to stay and fight whether the lions were hurt or not.

There were too many Balrogs for Buffy to deal with alone. No matter how many she shot down, it seemed like more took their place. Thankfully, the Valkyries noticed her dire situation and came dashing to her aid. As soon as they arrived, the Slayer and her lion-drawn chariot vanished, only to reappear outside her pavilion within the walls of Bela.

Immediately, she pulled off the Glove, jumped off the cart, and ran to Kat’s side. A deep gash had cut her kitty from the back of her ear to the side of her mouth. Buffy quickly undid the harness as one of her servants did the same for Kit. Even though Kat was still standing, the Slayer scooped the lioness into her arms and carried her into her sleeping chamber. Carefully, she placed her on the soft mattress. Kit jumped up on the bed and began licking the blood that streamed from the open wound.

Fulla then came in carrying the items that Buffy had requested. She watched as the Slayer talked soothingly to the beast as she bathed the laceration with hot, clean water. Buffy was applying some of Nestor’s salve on strips of clean linen when the lioness started convulsing. Kit let out a roar as he leapt off the bed.

“Shit!” exclaimed Buffy as she laid her arms across the cat to prevent her from falling off the bed. A strong pungent odor then filled the chamber. “She’s been poisoned,” she said, the distress in her voice evident.

“What can I do?” asked her servant.

“Hold her head still,” instructed Buffy as she pulled a dagger charm from her belt. Fulla did as she was told. Kit sat rigidly beside the bed, his yellow eyes remained fixed on his mate. “Can you keep her mouth open?” asked the Slayer. Her chambermaid pried the animal’s jaws apart. Buffy lay across the still convulsing body of Kat as she slit her wrist with the blade. She held the bleeding appendage over the lioness’ mouth. “Drink it, baby… That’s my good girl.” The Slayer used her other hand to squeeze out as much blood as she could. When then convulsions stopped, she withdrew her arm from over Kat’s mouth and placed it over the wound. Once the cut was saturated with blood, Buffy licked her wrist, healing it instantly. She then packed the wound with the medicine soaked bandages.

“I want Nestor to have a look at her,” said a concerned Buffy as she stroked her kitty tenderly. Fulla hurriedly left the bedchamber. The Slayer stretched out beside Kat as Kit propped his front paws on the bed. He licked his mate’s nose affectionately. “C’mon up, Kit. There’s enough room for all of us.” The lion gracefully leapt up on to the soft mattress and lay down on the other side of Kat.

Buffy had fallen asleep by the time Nestor arrived. He let her sleep as he tended to Kat. She would be alright.

When the Slayer woke, she noticed that both lions were gone. Fulla informed her that Kat had already recovered and that both she and Kit had returned to the battlefield. Buffy was amazed to hear that news. It brought her great joy to know that her kitties were still able to do their part in the battle.

Some of the captains walked with her as she headed towards the southern gates of the city. They updated her on their allies’ progress, it appeared that the forces of Light were holding their own against those of Darkness. Already several Maiar were dismantling buildings along the dusty roads; the slabs of stone and clusters of brick would be used to arm the many war machines.

Buffy then sent word to those nine who possessed Gloves, telling them of their effectiveness against the mightier foes of Illyria. She then rejoined the fray, using her mystical weapon against the towering beasts of flame and shadow.

Time seemed to come to a standstill. The Slayer didn’t know whether hours, days or weeks had passed, as one could not differentiate night from day. So dark was the sky that not even the stars of Varda could pierce the thick blanket of clouds that Illyria had sent out. All birds and beasts had fled that region prior to the onslaught. All, except the doves of Maranwë Luinil.

A series of strange drumming sounds echoed in the chilly night air, first from the east, then from the west. Buffy was fighting beside Úrion and the people of her Household south of the city when they heard the rhythmic notes.

“I wonder what that means,” she shouted over the din to her friend as they used their Gloves to shoot down the Balrogs.

“Nothing good, I deem,” answered the elf as he pushed Buffy aside just as a flaming whip came crashing to the earth. “You’re welcome,” he said without being thanked. He pointed his Glove at the beast and nailed him between the eyes a second time. “Watch out!” he shouted to the others as the creature collapsed to the ground.

It wasn’t long after when they heard a series of horn blasts from their allies. Buffy listened intently to the sound of the notes. The encoded messages stated that the enemy had flanked them on the east and west. Already, numerous messengers had been dispatched to the Slayer; their eyes scanned the battlefield searching for the banner with the Red Cross, knowing that they’d find her nearby.

The elves on horseback were the first ones to reach her.

“My Lady,” said an out of breath Gúrchim. “Great evil has been unleashed on the eastern fronts. Evil that none had ever witnessed until this very day! Beings with great magicks are wreaking havoc and there’s naught a thing we can do to resist their might.”

“How many?” she asked.

“I cannot rightly say. Numerous hosts sprang out of nowhere. We’re overwhelmed and our people are being slaughtered with ease.”

“Okay, okay,” answered the worried Slayer. She used her telepathic abilities to inform the Valkyries to move from the southern front to the eastern one. But then more messengers arrived, reporting that the same thing was happening on the western flank as well. Buffy then called back half of her invisible warriors (ten thousand), instructing them to go to the western flank.

Buffy withdrew from the battle. She desperately wanted to find out how many of the potent demons her people had to contend with in the east and west. These creatures surpassed the Balrogs in power threefold. They were the most dangerous lot that they’d have to contend with throughout the duration of the war. With Illyria’s forces closing in on three sides, Buffy knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy completely encircled the city.

She called for her lions and had them harnessed to the chariot before she took to the air. Flashes of light in a variety of colors flickered in the regions the enemy had invaded. The Slayer was mystified that their foes were able to approach their flanks without her people being aware of it. She wasn’t sure if they had teleported or used a portal. Both were possibilities.

Another series of horn blasts rang out in the night. Only a few moments later, all the engines along the western and eastern sides simultaneously sent out a volley of Greek Fire. The Slayer was horrified when she saw the flaming balls stop mid-air before they flew back landing on the engines and their operators. The loss of those war machines was devastating to their defense.

Buffy then summoned all the Maiar off the frontline and had them join forces with the Valkyries. Only they would be strong enough to fight that new menace. That left Men, Dwarves and Elves to deal with the hordes of Balrogs, yrch, trolls, wargs and the three giants that were now amongst them.

The Slayer decided that she would join her hosts on the eastern flank. Deeming that it was too hazardous for her kitties, she set them free in order for them to continue retrieving the wounded from the battlefield. Buffy gave the two Gloves in her possession to her youngest son. It would be his responsibility to find two people worthy of handling such a powerful weapon. Since Olofin already had his own Glove, he gave the last two to Durin and Dvalin, father and son. Both were honored beyond words to have received a weapon wrought from the hands of their beloved Freya. Olofin gave them a quick demonstration before returning to the fight.

As soon as Buffy unhitched the lions from the harness, they disappeared. She was about to vanish when something caught her eye. She immediately teleported herself to the top of the southern wall. The Slayer scrutinized the air above the battlefield and was greatly dismayed by what she saw. The spirits of those that had just been slain were being sucked away to the southwest. That freaked Buffy out. The Valkyries were too busy fighting to tend to their sacred duty. In her heart, she knew that Námo chose that moment to lay claim to the warriors that should dwell in Folkvang. She wasn’t about to let her dear brother renege on the deal that had been made well over a century ago; she got first dibs on the mortals that died in battle, not he.

Without giving it a second thought, the Slayer pulled all of her Valkyries out of the battle. They were instructed to escort every last fey back to the Halls of Waiting in Sussrúmnir. There was no way Buffy was going to break the vow that she had made to mankind before the war started. Many were frightened at the prospect of death and Buffy wanted to alleviate their fears with words of comfort.

“Any that should happen to fall during the war will be given the gift of immortality in my heavenly realm, Folkvang. There you will live in peace and bliss for all eternity by my grace,” she had said to them.

Satisfied with her decision, Buffy pulled a sword charm from her belt, immediately it turned into a full size weapon. She vanished and reappeared on the eastern line where she joined the others in battling the wicked creatures of Illyria.



Thranduil valiantly fought the yrch beside the race of Man. They were stationed along the front line, south of the city. He and the mortals mostly had to deal with the goblins as opposed to the Balrogs, which their allies were busily assailing a little further to the south.

The elf had just managed to behead two yrch with one swing. The goblins heads flew a few feet away as their lifeless forms crumbled to the ground into a pool of thick, black blood. As Thranduil went to attack another demon, he was violently pushed aside causing his blade to fly from his grasp. His body collided with one of the large boulders that had been shot from a catapult earlier in the battle. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Unbeknownst to him, the Orb in the pocket of his cloak cracked ever so slightly upon impact. “NO!” he shouted. Everything happened so fast that the elf had no time to react.

Cahal, his mortal friend, was the one who had pushed him out of the way. The young man spared the elf’s life as the giant mace of Goliath, the lord of giants, came crashing down on the boy, impaling him on that mighty club. Goliath lifted his weapon in triumph; Cahal’s mangled body had been pierced by the many teeth of the mace. The giant let out a hearty laugh as he pulled the boy’s remains from the spikes and tossed it to the ground.

“You’re next, elf!” bellowed the beast as he took a step forward, stomping Thranduil’s sword to smithereens.

The elf was in shock; he was weaponless. As he frantically looked for a fallen warrior’s weapon, his hand brushed against the strap of leather that hung from his belt. He snatched it off and rolled to the side as Goliath’s mace came crashing down upon the boulder, shattering it to small pieces. Thranduil picked up one of the fragments of stone and placed it in the center of the sling. As he twirled the weapon over his head, the giant laughed. The sound caused the hair on the back of Thranduil’s neck to stand on end.

“You think that you can harm me with a stone, boy! I will break you to pieces like the others,” taunted Goliath.

Thranduil’s furrowed eyes remained fixed on the giant. He didn’t have time to get to his feet. The young man hoped and prayed that his aim would be true. “This is for Cahal, you walking, talking piece of shit,” said the elf through gritted teeth as he let the rock fly. It zoomed through the air, hitting the giant straight between the eyes. A look of utter and complete shock came upon the massive face of Goliath. The mace slipped from its hand, landing on the elf’s leg. Thranduil heard the bone crack before he felt the sting of the blow. He grunted from the pain, but did not scream. He glared at the monstrous form that stood before him as he pried his wounded leg free. The giant momentarily swayed on the spot before falling backwards, it landed on top of three trolls and a dozen yrch. Thranduil Greenleaf had killed the lord of giants with only a small stone and a sling. Cahal was right, that weapon did come in handy during the battle.

The elf’s leg throbbed horribly as he crawled along the ground towards the body of his mortal friend. He found the young sixteen-year-old face down in a pool of his own blood. Thranduil turned him over; many huge spikes had pierced Cahal’s mail covered body. His face was disfigured so badly that if the elf had not seen him killed, he wouldn’t have recognized his young friend.

He pulled the mortal’s battered body into his arms, weeping uncontrollably. “I’ve avenged your death, my friend. The giant has fallen,” he sobbed. Sixteen was much too young to die. He was in awe that his friend had sacrificed himself in order to save the elf from death. “Bella will remake your flesh anew, my dear Cahal. You will be made whole again… and you’ll know such bliss… the like that I have yet to experience. We’ll be reunited one day. I promise,” he whispered as the tears continued to spill from his eyes.

Kit then appeared beside Thranduil’s grieving form. He let out a roar in mourning before licking the face of the elf. “He’s gone, Kit,” he sniveled. “I know Cahal wasn’t a great captain or general, but I deem that he too should be taken to Hírilost with the other mighty warriors that have fallen… You see, he died saving me. If that doesn’t make one a hero, then I don’t know what does.”

The lion grabbed Thranduil by the scruff of the neck. The elf refused to leave Cahal’s body behind. A moment later, they vanished, and reappeared outside the Healing Tents. The healers were hurriedly going to and fro. Kit let out a loud roar, and a few moments later, Nestor came running up. He gasped when he saw the mangled body in Thranduil’s arms. The young elf removed the damaged chain mail from his friend before Kit grabbed the boy by the scruff of his tunic and disappeared. The lion would carry out Thranduil’s wishes by delivering Cahal’s body to Hírilost, the resting place of all the mighty warriors who would perish in the battle.

Thranduil would not allow Nestor to carry him into one of the tents. Instead, he hobbled inside, using the healer as a crutch. Once the young man lay on the table, Nestor busily went to work. All the while, Thranduil fingered the strap of leather in his hand.



Buffy’s decision to withdraw the Valkyries from battle proved disastrous, although she did not know it, as of yet. They had been her most effective defense, more so than the war machines and the other Maiar combined. The men and elves could not withstand the heat and magicks of the Balrogs; they withered before them. However, that was not the case with the dwarves. Not only were they a hardy race, but they were used to the scorching fires from their furnaces and could withstand flames like no other. It was for that reason that the dwarves were rotated to the front line, they could defend it better than the children of Eru.

The dwarves swung their axes with such ferocity that the Balrogs backed away at the initial confrontation. The Naugrim, who resembled miniature knights in all their armor, remained steadfast, and cut down the Balrogs by attacking in groups. Even though their chosen method of combat was effective, they were still greatly outnumbered. There were only ninety-seven hundred dwarves at the start of the war. At this point in the battle, their number had dwindled to eighty-eight hundred, while the Balrogs were still going strong at sixty-eight thousand. The creatures of Morgoth outnumbered the children of Mahal by eight to one.

Only three Gloves were utilized in that war zone; they were in the possession of Olofin, Durin and Dvalin. Buffy’s son fought southeast of the city while the father and son team battled due south. Unlike the rest of their kinfolk, the two Dwarf Lords used their Gloves to slaughter the Balrogs. They still carried their axes with them, but they primarily used them to protect themselves from the flaming whips and swords of the creatures of Morgoth.

Despite Durin’s age, he handled himself well during the clash. Of course, being armed with a weapon that could kill a Balrog with two shots proved quite advantageous under the circumstances. At all times, Durin kept an eye on his youngest son. He didn’t allow him to leave his line of vision. The Lord of Khazâd Dûm was still astonished that Dvalin had retained his youthfulness after all the long years that had passed. He saw in him a rare beauty that could only be appreciated by one from that race. And naturally, his youngest had inherited the skill of his father. Durin was dumbfounded not only by his son’s ability to create objects of wonder, but also his prowess in battle.

He had just watched Dvalin splinter the sword of a Balrog with his ‘special’ axe before downing the beast with a couple of blasts from the mystical Glove. He could hear the dwarf’s grunting laughter carry on the wind. The eldest child of Aulë thought that he’d burst with pride.

A sudden shot of pain coursed through the old dwarf’s body. As he attempted to catch his breath, all he heard was a strange gurgling sound. His eyes glanced down at the protruding blade of flame that stuck out from his throat. He cast one last glance at his son, who seemed to be running towards him in slow motion. He could make out Dvalin mouthing the words, “Father!” and then he saw no more.

The rage within the son of Durin erupted to fevered heights when he saw his father’s severed head fall to the ground along with his armor covered body. As he slashed his way towards the downed dwarf, he watched as another Balrog smashed his sword repeatedly against the Glove on Durin’s right hand. Sparks emitted from the mystical weapon with each blow.

Dvalin fired his weapon at the creature that had slain his father. After two blasts, he extinguished the life force of the beast. The Balrog wavered on the spot before crashing down on top of Durin’s remains, infuriating the dwarf even more. The madness of grief overwhelmed Dvalin. Nothing survived that stood in his path, seventeen Balrogs he slew before he reached the spot where his father lay. So formidable was he that the demons of flame and shadow fled before him.

Unable to roll the massive creature off his father alone, Dvalin summoned many of his kinfolk that were now free from battling the enemy. It took sixty dwarves to free the Lord of Khazâd Dûm from beneath the weight of the Balrog. Great was the loss of Durin to the Naugrim. Many took off after the fleeing monsters; the intensity of their wrath now kindled to new levels. A few dwarves remained behind with Dvalin. They solemnly picked up Durin’s body and returned to the gates of the city. None of the enemy hindered their march.



To the west of the city, a deep ravine separated the allies of Buffy from the minions of Illyria. It was along that ridge that the evildoers hastened their pace in order to carry out their Lord’s wishes of surrounding the city of Bela. Bordering the plateau was a great stand of cedar trees, the like not to be found anywhere else in Middle-earth. As the demonic rearguard made their way north, they were dismayed to see so many bodies of their brethren littering the ground. Each corpse exhibited a large, gaping hole, about eight inches in diameter that appeared to have been burned into the flesh.

One of the evil general’s could feel a dark, ominous presence within the forest. Fearing some type of ambush, he instructed the creatures to descend the slopes to avoid walking alongside the wood. There was no doubt in his mind that some unknown terror dwelt there. He could feel its gaze observing them through the dense evergreen trees.

The Maiar and elves stationed along the western borders hurriedly moved down the opposing slope, eager to eradicate the forces of Illyria. Their losses had been great since the debacle with the war machines and they were determined not to let the enemy make it across the gully. It was time to take the fight to them. Amongst those good and noble people were the elves of Doriath. Both Beleg and Túreb each led separate companies into the fray.

Sador, the faithful companion of Túreb, fought side-by-side with his childhood friend. Not only did they encounter vampires, which they had a particular fondness for slaying, but also diabolical beings that possessed great magicks. Most of these creatures they had never encountered before; they found them to be strange and off-putting.

The fire of Ilúvatar burned fiercely in Túreb, for he was not one to pass up a tussle even when it could be avoided. Once angered, there was no stopping him. So when the demon he was fighting began to retreat up the slope, the elf gave chase. The monster stood nearly seven feet tall, its ‘skin’ was dark green, and its entire body was covered in sharp, pointy spines. Even though the creature had the ability to bombard its victim with poisonous flying projectiles, Túreb managed to avoid every single one.

The clash ensued when the elf caught up with the demon on the plateau that adjoined the forest of tall evergreen trees. The beast had snatched a scimitar from one of his fallen comrades in order to defend himself from the forceful strikes of Túreb. Closer and closer the beast edged towards the tree line.

“Túreb!” rang out the voice of Sador, who had just mounted the hillside. He stood hunched over, panting heavily, sweat dripped from his face like teardrops. He was having difficulty catching his breath.

“It’s nearly over, my friend,” shouted the elf, as he thrust his blade into the throat of the demon. He was careful not to touch any of the monsters toxic barbs. “Another one bites the dust!” he laughed as he withdrew his sword. The beast spluttered, blood poured from its many wounds and mouth, before it fell onto the ground. When it died, all the spines shot out of its body at once, hitting Túreb numerous times. The elf, turned before falling to his knees. Sador came running at full speed.

“Túreb!” he cried out as he helped his friend to his feet. Already the injured elf was pulling the spines out of his flesh. His armor had protected him except for his thighs and face. “Are you alright?” asked Sador, his voice full of concern.

“It stings,” replied the elf with flaming red hair.

“Let me help you,” offered his companion. When all quills were removed, Sador wrapped his arm around the back of his friend and they slowly started to walk off.

Suddenly, a loud roaring sound came from the wood. The sound was reminiscent to a tornado. Túreb glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened with fear. Before he could shout in warning, a bright blue beam of light shot out of the woods, striking both Sador and Túreb. So great was the force that both were thrown hard to the ground.

Sador dazedly blinked his eyes several times in an attempt to regain his focus. His right arm was still wrapped protectively around his friend, who laid motionless, face first on the dirt. As the elf attempted to get up, he noticed that his right arm had been blown off below the elbow. The blood drained from his face as he inspected the stub that remained; he was in shock. The blast not only took off part of his arm, but had cauterized it as well. He looked down at Túreb and now saw a hole, big enough to put both fists in, through both the armor and flesh of his friend. The metal had melted inside the elf, and resembled a metal tube; Sador could actually see the earth under his body.

With trembling hands, Sador rolled Túreb over, his face was still warm, yet his eyes were vacant. The elf’s fey had left its hröa. A grieving Sador wept as he clutched the warrior’s lifeless body close to his. How could he possibly go on without his dearest and most trusted friend? So great was his anguish, that he didn’t notice the band of demons stealthily approaching from the southeast.

Out of nowhere, Buffy, accompanied by Úrion, appeared in the lion-drawn chariot. As they flew above the heads of their friends, Úrion blasted the approaching creatures with the Glove that he wielded masterfully. The Slayer leapt from the back of the cart, landing a few yards from the two elves. Sador still sat there holding Túreb in his arms, unaware of what was transpiring around him.

Úrion continued his assault from the air as Buffy ran to her friends. “Oh my God! What the hell happened?” asked the shocked Slayer after she had fallen to her knees beside the two Sindar. Her jaw hung open when her eyes fell upon the huge hole in the chest of the redheaded elf.

Sador’s sorrowful eyes glanced at Buffy, noticing her for the first time. “He’s gone. Túreb has gone to the Halls of Mandos,” he said somberly.

All of a sudden, a loud roaring sound came from the wood. Sador’s teary eyes widened as he threw his body over both Túreb’s remains and Buffy.

“What the hell… ” she started as she struggled to free herself from beneath the bereaved elf. Only a second later, a beam of blue light shot out of the wood and hit the side of the chariot, melting an enormous hole through both sides. The unexpected blast had just missed Úrion. “GO!” Buffy yelled to the lions. The elf aimed his weapon at the forest, but before he could fire it, Kit and Kat vanished with the chariot in tow.

Buffy had no idea what the hell happened, all she knew was that it was time to get out of there as quickly as possible. With her arms around both elves, they too disappeared just as the roaring sound began again.

They arrived outside the Healing Tents, a first for Buffy since the war had begun. It was now time for her to deal with her own grief. Her eyes welled with tears as she removed Túreb’s helm and began stroking his flaming red hair. She and Sador were still on bended knee when Istahiro approached with a sorrowful Orran. The healer gaped at the lethal wound that the elf had received. He fell to his knees beside Buffy and Sador as he examined the hole.

“What in the name of Eru Ilúvatar caused that?” asked the shaken Maia.

“I don’t know,” answered Buffy, her voice breaking. She took a deep breath, trying to pull it together. She was the commander-in-chief; she couldn’t break down. Not now. Not in front of so many people who looked at her with desperation in their eyes.

“There’s something in the wood that fires bolts of lightning,” said Sador dejectedly.

“The cedar wood?” queried Orran with raised eyebrows. Buffy and the elf nodded. The mortal looked at them with esteem. “You have been lucky enough to have survived an encounter with the demon that we call Humbaba, the Guardian of the Cedar Forest. That being wields such great powers that few ever survive that wander into its domain, and none has ever seen it. That is why we told you not to cross the gully. Death awaits those that dare tread the borders of the cedar forest.”

“That explains the high casualty rate of our foes,” said the Slayer.

“Look how the metal has melted into the flesh,” remarked Istahiro as he continued to examine the hole in Túreb’s lifeless body. “I cannot fathom any type of weapon inflicting this type of injury. Imagine how hot it must have been… ” the healer began muttering under his breath. He wanted to examine Túreb further, but didn’t have the time. His job was to tend to the living, not perform autopsies in the middle of a war.

Buffy tried to comfort Sador, not only did he lose his best friend (who was like a brother to him), but also his arm. She offered to send the Sinda back to Taurost, but he refused to leave. He wanted to stay and fight in honor of his ancient friendship with the late march warden of Doriath.

Not only did the Slayer lose an old friend in Túreb, but as her eyes scanned the encampment, she saw rows and rows of her fallen allies. Each covered in a blanket of canvas in the color of their rank. Thousands of them. Buffy then learned that all the dead had been alive when they arrived. There were not enough healers to tend to all the injured. The magnitude of their losses devastated the Slayer. And what made matters worse was that more lie dead on the battlefield.

Word of Buffy’s presence spread throughout the encampment like wildfire. Several messengers soon arrived and delivered even bleaker news; Illyria’s forces nearly had them surrounded. The allied forces were being overpowered by the might of her firstborn. Already there were whisperings amongst the mortals of surrender to the will of the blue demoness. They feared that their race would soon be exterminated.

The Slayer was informed that many generals and captains waited at her pavilion for further instructions. Before heading to her tent, she changed into falcon form and soared high above the battlefield. She had to see for herself how bad things had become. Buffy always knew that their chances for victory were slim, but they had to try, nevertheless. If she failed, then the plague of degeneracy would spread to the West, covering all of Middle-earth in darkness. No, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

The enemy had indeed forced her armies back nearly a half a mile from their original positions. For the first time, she noticed the many banners of the evil ones. Of course, Illyria’s five-rayed star was the largest and most prominent of them all, but she recognized some of the symbols on others. Namely, a sun surrounded by three stars, a wolf, a ram and a hart.

A disheartened Buffy then descended from the pitch-black sky, landing in front of her pavilion. As soon as she changed into her mortal form, many people came running up to her telling her of the losses they had suffered. She entered the tent, immediately bypassing the throng of people for her sleeping chamber. She pulled off her armor before unlocking the copper trunk. The only thing that remained inside was a small blue satin bag that held one of her greatest treasures. The Slayer shoved the package into the pocket of her breeches. She then sat on the edge of the bed and cried for those that lost their lives fighting for her. Illyria’s forces had wiped out over thirty thousand people from her Household alone. So many of her dearest friends lay dead on the battlefield, including some of the Maiar. While they had the ability to remake their flesh, the energy that it required meant that they would not be returning to the battle. Buffy dried her eyes and tried to pull herself together before confronting the generals and captains who impatiently waited for her. She didn’t want them to see their commander acting like a blubbering fool.

Once she had convinced herself that she had to move on to Plan B, she removed the red jewel of Fëanor from around her neck. Carefully, she placed it in the bottom of her trunk along with her silver wedding band. Buffy loathed leaving the objects that represented her beloved Maglor behind, but she knew that if he saw them, then she’d be on her own. Her biggest test lay before her. Could see convince Morgoth to help her, and if so, at what price? She shuddered at the thought. If she failed, chaos would reign.

Only one other person knew of Plan B aside from the Slayer, and that was Brokk. Her paranoia had grown to the extent that she had misgivings about trusting anyone, including her own children. Since she had to put her faith into someone, she chose the dwarf, for a number of reasons.

As soon as a somber Buffy entered the adjoining chamber, she found herself surrounded by dozens of officers, each asking questions regarding strategy. While that was completely understandable, she couldn’t clearly hear anyone as they all spoke at the same time.

“Shut up!” she finally shouted over the clamor. When the room fell to only murmurings, she continued. “I understand our casualty rate is high, but that doesn’t mean we quit trying. I’ve been out there fighting, too… We’ve all lost loved ones, that’s why we need to keep going. Don’t let their deaths be in vain.” She paused before turning to Luthor. “You’re in charge, Luthor. There’s something that I’ve got to tend to and I’ll be gone a while.” Brokk pushed his way through the crowded room and stood next to the Slayer. The look on his face indicated that he knew what was going on. Luthor immediately noticed that. “Brokk is going with me,” she added.

The old man grabbed Buffy by the arm and pulled her into her sleeping chamber. Thranduil and Brokk followed close behind.

“Why do I have a suspicion that you’re about to do something foolish?” asked Luthor in a scathing tone. The Slayer refused to meet his gaze. The old man grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do!”

“Get your hands off her!” yelled Thranduil, as he and the dwarf forced the Maia to free the Slayer. “How dare you!”

“Stay out of this, Thranduil,” said an angry Luthor. “You have no idea what Bella is up to.”

“Perhaps not, but I trust her judgment. If she… ”

“She is going to Angband,” interrupted the old man. “Aren’t you?”

Thranduil’s jaw dropped when he heard that. When the Slayer glanced at him, he quickly shut his mouth.

“I have to do what I have to do,” she answered softly yet firmly. “If we don’t get help, everyone will die… or worse, become enslaved to Illyria. Morgoth’s our only hope.”

“That is madness!” exclaimed Luthor. “You’re playing a very dangerous game by getting Melkor involved.”

“Maybe, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, too.”

“Don’t underestimate Freya, Luthor,” chimed in Brokk. “She has told me her plan and I deem that it’s worthy of pursuit.”

The Maia scowled. “Let’s hear this plan of yours then.”

“I can’t… I can’t tell anyone… ” she stammered.

“Why not?” queried Luthor.

“Because I don’t know who I can trust.” The look on both Luthor and Thranduil’s faces nearly broke the Slayer’s heart. Her comment hurt them deeply.

“You don’t trust me?” said Thranduil as his eyes welled with tears.

The look in the elf’s eyes caused her to change her mind. She made both the elf and Maia swear to keep secret what she was about to tell them. If they told anyone, even a fly on the wall, the punishment would be most severe. Once they had pledged to keep her plan confidential, she told them everything. Not one detail did she leave out. They were both stunned at the brashness of her scheme but questioned whether she could pull it off. Buffy had to try; she had no other options left.

Only minutes later, she and Brokk said their farewells and vanished. When they reappeared, the Slayer put the blue satin pouch in the dwarf’s hand. “Good luck, Brokk.”

“I will await your signal, my Lady. I wish you luck as well.” They gave each other a peck on the cheek before Buffy disappeared.

When the Slayer arrived outside the second gate to Angband, (which was not located in Beleriand, where the elves could easily observe her), the light from the sun was blinding. She stood there for a few moments with her eyes shielded, savoring the warmth of the rays. It seemed like ages since she had last seen that glowing orb. Once her eyes became acclimated to the light, Buffy climbed up the rock wall to the door. The same door that she and Luthor had used to escape from Angband long ago.

The gate swung upon, and there stood a frustrated Sauron. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting here for three years!”


Chapter 49 - BARGAINING

Buffy stood there absolutely stunned; she had no idea that the war had been going on that long. After the initial shock wore off, she angrily grabbed Sauron by his tunic and said, “Why the hell didn’t you come and help me? My people are being slaughtered by Illyria’s forces!”

The evil Maia slapped her hands away. “I don’t have the authority to send Melkor’s armies into battle,” he retorted, the resentment in his voice apparent. “I’ve told you before; he will not listen to reason. You must convince him to act, not me! You’re the only one he’ll listen to, his darling Melisse.” He shook his head in disgust. “I expected you to have the wisdom to seek him out before the war started, not after!”

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” she spat back.

“Instead of wasting time with your meager attempts at insulting me, why don’t you get your… ass in there and speak with Melkor,” Sauron said with loathing as he pointed down the passageway. Buffy stood there scowling at the Necromancer. “Or perhaps you prefer to linger about the gates all day whilst your people continue to fall in battle.”

The Slayer bit her lip. She had to force herself to suppress the overwhelming urge to ‘bitch slap’ the Maia across the entrance hall. Unfortunately, she knew that he was right; she was wasting time. Immediately, she changed into a falcon so she could reach Melkor’s dwelling place faster. It was still some distance west of the gates. Sauron followed below once he had morphed into a wolf.

They traveled through the many dark and dank passageways that led to the fortress in the bowels of the mountain chain. The sound of numerous hammers beating against metal indicated that they were nearing their destination. Once they reached the doors to the Great Hall, Buffy and Sauron changed back to their mortal forms.

With trepidation, she entered the mammoth chamber. The many servants of Melkor warily eyed her as she crossed the room to the dais where Morgoth sat on his throne. His facade was that of the intimidating monster, the iron crown with the three Silmarils rested atop his head. His dark eyes looked at her disapprovingly, making Buffy slightly nervous. For the first time in a long while, the Slayer felt incredibly small.

“Do my eyes deceive me or has my Melisse returned to me at long last?” he asked as the murmurings in the room ceased.

“I need your help… ” she started before he held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

“Is that so?” he queried with a small grin on his face. “I take it that the war with Illyria is not going as well as you had hoped.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here… ” began Buffy before Morgoth cut her off again.

“You stink!” he interjected with his nose wrinkled. “And I find that most unbecoming. Wash off that filth then we’ll speak.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, shocked by the prospect of a delay.

“I desire to see the woman in you, not the warrior.” Melkor leaned forward; the smile widened on his monstrous face. “I advise you to heed my counsel if you’ve come seeking my aid. It is I who has the ability to forestall your victory… or defeat, whichever it may be.”

“But… but my people are almost surrounded,” sputtered the Slayer incredulously. She couldn’t believe that Morgoth wouldn’t talk with her until she bathed. That seemed preposterous to her.

“Thuringwethil!” he shouted. The vampire maiden quickly approached the throne waiting for her lord’s command. “Take Inanna to my private chambers and see to it that she is made presentable… ”

“I don’t have time for that,” protested Buffy. “Illyria’s about to… ”

“I have made but a simple request, Melisse,” he said gently yet firmly. “Do I need to remind you that it’s not a matter open to debate? My will reigns here, my sweet, not yours.” He turned his attention back to Thuringwethil. “You will find clean garments for the Lady in the mahogany wardrobe. Go!”

The vampire grabbed her arm. The eyes of the Slayer bore into the woman; she quickly released her grip. “Come, my Lady,” she said politely. Buffy looked up at Morgoth. He refused to meet her gaze or allow her to continue arguing. “This way, Inanna,” indicated Thuringwethil.

“I know the way,” said Buffy dejectedly as she left the chamber for Melkor’s private rooms. She cursed under her breath the whole time they walked to Morgoth’s inner sanctum.

As Thuringwethil prepared her bath, the Slayer looked at herself in the mirror for the first time in a long while. She didn’t realize how nasty she was. A thick layer of blood, guts, grime, and unidentifiable bodily fluids coated her body. Buffy didn’t realize how much she stunk until she peeled her clothing off; the stench was awful. It must have been months since she had last bathed. While she scrubbed herself raw, Thuringwethil tried her best to brush the many knots out of her hair. It was so badly tangled that she instructed the vampire to cut her long blonde locks to shoulder length.

After she was cleaned and dressed, she was escorted to Morgoth’s private dining chamber. He had returned to his handsome form and sat at the head of the table. He was quite pleased by his beloved’s appearance. Buffy was ushered to the chair at the opposite end, some forty feet away from the Lord of Angband. The board was laden with so much food that the Slayer sat there agape. She had consumed so much lembas since the war had started that anything remotely different made her mouth water.

“Eat,” ordered Melkor as his attendants began loading their plates with victuals. Guilt and shame washed over the Slayer. How could she possibly enjoy a feast fit for a king while her people were fighting and dying by her command in the East? It was wrong. Morgoth sensed her apprehensiveness. “I insist that you eat, my darling. Put aside your troubles and enjoy the food that I had prepared especially for you,” he said before taking a sip of wine. “I trust that you left your most skillful generals to govern things in your absence.”

Buffy gave in. She couldn’t resist the pile of delicious food on her plate. Surely, there would be no harm in her eating as she spoke to Melkor. Her attempt at conversing with the Vala across the long table was hindered by the eight mammoth candelabras that adorned the tabletop. She couldn’t get a clear view of Melkor unless she tilted her head to the side, which annoyed her considerably. The frustrated Slayer picked up her plate and utensils, rose from her seat, and sat in the chair beside the Lord of Angband. Morgoth was delighted by that gesture, believing that she longed to be close to him. That alone made him reconsider punishing Buffy for her past deeds, notably her ‘relationship’ with the second son of Fëanor.

Morgoth refused to discuss Illyria while they ate, preferring to make ‘small talk’ instead. Buffy played along since she really didn’t have any other choice. He held all the power, the power that she so desperately wanted to wield, that she had to wield. And he knew that too. At one point during the meal, she had mentioned the war causing Melkor to threaten to delay her return even more if she attempted to bring the subject up again. The Slayer was caught between a rock and a hard place.

When they finished eating, they retreated to one of the sitting rooms. Morgoth was now willing to discuss their firstborn. Buffy told him all about the atrocities being committed by those under the sway of their daughter. He remained indifferent as she told him the many ghastly sights that she herself had witnessed when she visited the cities of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and Numeira with Sauron.

“… They were actually eating infants! Infants, Melkor! They were roasting them on a spit. I couldn’t believe it when I saw that.”

“That is no different than eating a young cu,” he said unconcernedly.

“Are you out of your mind?” she queried in amazement. She rose from the couch and grabbed a bottle of wine from the sideboard. “How can you compare people to kine?” She poured the deep red liquid into two chalices.

“Many of my men have a hungering for the children of Ilúvatar. I see nothing wrong with it as long as they don’t eat my slaves.” He chuckled when he saw the look of revulsion on Buffy’s face. “I don’t partake of it myself, but I see nothing wrong with rewarding my people with flesh when they’ve completed their tasks successfully.”

“And I suppose you don’t condemn those that fuck animals either!” said Buffy disdainfully.

“That is sickening,” replied a grimacing Morgoth. “But I do not see what this has to do with Illyria.”

“Your daughter permits that crap to happen. She has no morals… or conscience, for that matter.”

“So now she’s my daughter,” he remarked with raised eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not like I helped raise her. She’d be a different… demon if I had,” answered the Slayer as she sat beside Morgoth on the couch. She handed him a drink.

“Then it seems that you’re to blame for Illyria’s lack of morality,” he countered. “A child needs her mother.”

Buffy was getting flustered. Nothing that she had said seemed to faze Melkor. Nothing. She decided that she had to play a different angle. After draining her cup, she turned towards Morgoth, taking his hands in hers.

“You’re probably right,” she agreed with a sigh. Buffy started caressing the tops of his blackened hands tenderly. “But we still have a problem with our daughter, Melkor. Middle-earth is supposed to be our domain. We’re the rulers here, not Illyria. As soon as she conquers my people in the East, she’s gonna be heading this way. She’ll be gunning for you next… Do you know that she calls herself the King of Arda?” The muscle in his cheek began to twitch. Now he was paying attention to what the Slayer had to say. “Oh, yeah,” she added with a nod of her head.

“I’ve delegated the regions east of the Orocarni to Illyria to do as she wishes. She will not disobey me by crossing the mountains.”

“Melkor, she intends to battle her way to Valinor, and believe me, she’s got the manpower. I’ve barely put a dent in her forces,” said Buffy fretfully.

He laughed. “So, is that why you’ve come? You wish to protect our brethren in the West.”

“I don’t give a damn about the Valar,” she said angrily as she pulled her hands away. She leaned against the arm of the couch, her arms folded across her chest. “They’ve screwed me over one too many times.”

Morgoth studied her for a few moments. “What’s brought about this change of heart of yours?” he queried. Buffy remained silent. A smile then came to his face. “They’ve abandoned you in your time of need, I take it. I’ve told you before, Melisse, they cannot be trusted. They care for none save themselves.”

“Yeah, I know. I should’ve listened to your words of wisdom sooner,” she answered remorsefully. “Illyria can have them. I don’t care. I only care about us. And Middle-earth. We can’t let her take our dominion, Melkor. We’ve got to stop her. I can’t do it alone. I need you.” The Slayer looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Why should I dethrone my only child when she has not violated my orders?”

“Yet!” countered Buffy. “She’s going to and you know it. For Eru’s sake, she’s claiming your title! You’re the Lord of Arda, not her!” The muscle started to twitch a bit more. “She thinks she’s more powerful than you. That’s why she’ll defy your words. She wants to usurp your kingship. We can’t let that happen.”

Morgoth refilled their cups before taking a long drink. He stared absently at the wall. “Do you know why I sent her to the East?” he queried faintly. The Slayer shook her head. He let out a heavy sigh. “Illyria managed to turn some of my disciples against me for my cowardice,” he continued in a pained voice. “I prefer commanding my troops from afar rather than fighting on the field.” He looked at Buffy with sorrowful eyes. “I am no warrior, Melisse… I fear getting bested on the battlefield.” She was taken aback by the fact that Melkor had just revealed his deepest and darkest secret to her. After hearing of his past deeds, Buffy wouldn’t have ever thought that he feared any type of confrontation. She looked at him sympathetically as she took his hands in hers again.

“I’m not afraid of fighting. I relish it. It’s what I was made to do. Let me lead your forces, Melkor. Let me take her down.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands. “She is my only family,” he replied weakly.

Buffy moved forward on the couch, her knees folded beneath her. She pulled one hand free, lifting Morgoth’s chin so that their eyes met. “And what am I? We’re family, Melkor. I see that now. You’ve always been there for me even when I was too stupid to see it. I fled when I should have stayed. You offered me the world and I foolishly turned it away.” She lovingly stroked his cheek. “I don’t want to make that same mistake again. I’m your muscle, your champion. Command me, Melindo.”

Her eyes sparkled with such loving admiration that Morgoth’s sadness quickly melted away. The sincerity of her words brought great joy to his heart. She had come to him because she realized that they were meant to be together. His Melisse. The love of his life. His soul mate.

“Blessed be this day,” Melkor said before warmly embracing her. “How I’ve longed for this moment.” He pulled out of the hug and kissed her softly on the lips. “I love you, my darling Melisse, I always have.”

“I love you, too,” answered Buffy as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She looked adoringly at Morgoth. “And I assume I always have,” she added with a smile.

“Prove it,” he said.

“What?”

“Words can be said in vain. I recall your saying, ‘actions speak louder than words.’ Show me that your words are not hollow. Make me believe you speak the truth.”

The smile faded from Buffy’s face, but her gaze remained locked on Morgoth. She crawled onto his lap and said, “Nothing would make me happier.” She pressed her lips against his. As their kiss turned passionate, the Slayer’s stomach twisted into knots. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought that it might pop out of her chest. Melkor pulled her tightly into his arms before he rose to his feet. Buffy impulsively wrapped her legs around his waist as the Vala crossed the room to the door leading to his bedchamber. Luthor’s words screamed in her mind:

“You’re playing a very dangerous game… ”

And indeed, she was! The Slayer did not take her current situation lightly. She knew that there would be obstacles that she needed to overcome to win Melkor over. Buffy had died twice in the past to save mankind. If having sex with Morgoth achieved the same result, would it not be worth it?

When Morgoth reached the foot of the bed, the Slayer placed her feet on the mattress. She stood upright as he grabbed the fabric of her gown with both hands, pulling it over her head so that she stood there naked before him. As his mouth found its way to her breasts, she struggled with the string of his tunic. It was tied in a knot forcing Buffy to tear the garment off him. Her aggressive behavior excited the Dark Foe all the more. She pressed her mouth against his as he eagerly worked on removing the rest of his clothing.

Her conscience cried out in despair. Don’t do this, it said. Think of Maglor. Don’t break your marital vows so needlessly.

I’ve gotta do, what I’ve gotta do, contested the other voice in her head. It’s for the betterment of the world. I have no other choice.

Buffy’s eyes glanced at one of the portraits of herself that hung on the wall of the bedchamber. She smiled naughtily as she emulated the seductive pose that Morgoth had painted years ago.

“Take me, Melkor,” she said with yearning. He looked at her lustily as he slowly started crawling across the bed.

Buffy had finally come to understand who she really was. She was not merely the Slayer, but more importantly, the Vala of Love. Her greatest gift was her body, something that she had always used as a weapon. But now, she needed to realize her ability to use that body as a tool. A tool that could manipulate men by having them succumb to the desires of the flesh. Her flesh.

Her conscience continued to argue bitterly. When Melkor entered her, the voice hissed, So begins your downward spiral. Adulterer! It then ceased.

Each had their eyes fixed unblinkingly on the other as their intertwined bodies moved rhythmically together. Both began to emit a light; his black, hers blue. Buffy’s mind instantly flashed back to the time when she and Marto had ‘united’ thus bringing forth the Oracles. Fearing that that was about to happen again, the Slayer willed herself not to become impregnated by Melkor.

Morgoth willed the darkness of his essence to engulf the Slayer wholly. She had managed to keep it astray until the first wave of pleasure washed over her. Buffy closed her eyes before letting out a throaty moan; she allowed his essence to devour hers…



A sore, but well rested Buffy woke the following morning, only to find that Melkor was gone. As she sat up in bed, she could hear voices coming from the adjoining sitting room; the door was left ajar. She climbed out of the bed and looked for her gown that should’ve been on the floor from the night before. It was nowhere to be found. Anxious to hear what was being said in the other room, the Slayer grabbed the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself. She tip toed to the door and listened.

“… It looks to be in order,” she heard Melkor say. “If Melisse doesn’t agree…”

“She will, my Lord,” interjected Sauron. “What choice does she have?”

“I fear losing her again, Sauron,” Morgoth answered gravely. “We’ve been separated for many long years. She has finally come to me on her own accord… I don’t want her to leave. Ever.”

The room fell quiet for a few minutes.

“We need to take things one step at a time. I’m confident that she’ll consent to your proposal,” said Sauron, breaking the silence.

“Perhaps. Whether she agrees or not, you will lead the armies against Illyria… ”

“The hell you say!” declared Buffy loudly as she stepped into the sitting room. Both Sauron and Morgoth were seated on the couch. On the table in front of them was a roll of parchment and a tea set.

“Melisse, you’re awake,” said Melkor as he rose to his feet. “I hope you slept well.” He walked over and kissed the top of her head while she sneered at the Necromancer.

“Yeah, like a rock,” she replied shortly. Buffy turned her gaze to Morgoth. “What’s this talk about Sauron leading your forces against Illyria? I’m your champion, not him.”

“Now, now, my beloved,” he said soothingly as he stroked her back affectionately. “There’s no need to get all riled up over little details.”

“Little details?” There was no way she could conceal her distress. The Slayer thought that she might hurl. She had slept with Melkor in hope of achieving her objectives. And now, he was saying that Sauron, of all people, would lead his armies into battle. That was unacceptable. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She wouldn’t allow that to happen. “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let Sauron lead your armies into battle,” she said with such venom that Morgoth was taken aback.

“Hmm,” began the evil Maia with a sadistic smile on his face. “It is winter and Angband is considered Hell by many, so it looks like my day has come at last.”

Sauron’s comment pushed Buffy over the edge. She lunged at the Necromancer, nearly losing her wrap in the process.

“Calm down, my love,” said Morgoth as he snatched his beloved around the waist before she could reach his first lieutenant. “Let’s be amicable here.”

“I hate that son-of-a-bitch,” she said scornfully, still flailing about in Melkor’s arms. “That asshole’s trying to screw me over!”

“Melisse! Pull yourself together,” reasoned the Lord of Angband. “I have not yet pronounced my declarations. Just relax and we can discuss this rationally.”

Buffy stopped thrashing about. “Fine!” Morgoth released her. Panting, she pushed the hair off her face as she continued to give Sauron a reproachful look.

“Firstly, let me get you something decent to wear, not that I find your ensemble unappealing,” said Melkor in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.” He then left the room.

“Tea?” asked a grinning Sauron as he started filling a cup with the steamy beverage.

The Slayer kept her gaze fixed on the evil Maia as she took a seat in the chair catty-cornered to the couch.

“I swear, I’m not gonna let you steal my thunder,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been busting my ass for three years in that war. My people have died. I won’t let you claim my victory.”

The Necromancer placed the tea cup on the table in front of Buffy.

“You heard Melkor; he has not yet made his final proclamations.” He gave her the once-over before leaning in closer. “How far are you willing to take this charade of yours, Inanna Luinil?” inquired the Maia knowingly. “Do not think that I cannot see through your guise. Your feminine wiles may work on my Lord, but they most certainly don’t work on me!”

WHAM! The Slayer no longer curtailed her anger. She nailed Sauron with a right hook, sending him flying over the other end of the sofa.

Before she could even get out of her seat to continue her assault, she felt Melkor’s hands on her shoulders. “Melisse!” he chastised. “There’s no need for violence.”

Sauron got unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Unprovoked!” he said angrily. “I gave her no motive whatsoever to attack me, Lord. The Lady’s unstable.”

Buffy scowled at the evil Maia.

“Come now, Sauron,” began the Lord of Angband. “Surely you know that Melisse has been on edge lately.”

“But… ” protested the evil Maia before Morgoth interrupted him.

“Give us a few minutes,” instructed Melkor. “I’d like to speak with my beloved alone.” The Necromancer nodded his head and left the chamber rubbing his jaw. The Vala then turned to Buffy. “Put this on, my darling.” He placed a black robe into her hand. As Morgoth took a seat on the couch, the Slayer let the sheet fall to the floor before pulling on the robe. “Come sit next to me and drink your tea before it gets cold,” he added as he patted the cushion beside him.

“I can’t stand him,” she groaned, plopping down next to the Lord of Angband. “And he did provoke me!”

“That no longer matters,” he said before taking a sip of tea. Buffy did the same, hoping that it would help calm her nerves.

“Why did you say that Sauron’s gonna lead the armies?” she queried in a small voice.

“I thought it might come to this,” he answered, placing the cup back on its saucer with a clink. Melkor leaned back and shifted his eyes to Buffy. “I do not want you to leave my fortress, Melisse.”

“Why?”

“I want you to stay here with me. Let Sauron deal with the business of warfare,” he replied with a wave of his hand.

“There’s no way I’m staying,” she countered with resolve. “I want to see this thing through to the end. I have to. It’s my destiny.”

“Pfft,” he sounded. “Your destiny is to bring forth another heir for me.” Buffy could feel the blood draining from her face. “Surely, you don’t expect me to execute my firstborn without having another to take her place.” He smiled. “I’m afraid that you cannot leave until you produce an heir.”

“After the war,” she quickly suggested. “As soon as I’ve defeated Illyria, I’ll come back, and then we’ll have a baby.”

That made Morgoth laugh. “And I’m to believe you! I think not!”

“I swear,” implored the Slayer. “I won’t break my word.”

Melkor surveyed her very closely for several minutes before he spoke again. “Pick up the scroll, Melisse.” He pointed to the rolled up yellow parchment on the table next to the tea set. She did. “I am willing to reconsider my position as long as you sign that covenant.”

Buffy unrolled the scroll and glanced at the document. It was written in the Valinorean script.

“You want me to sign this?” she queried. He nodded his head.

“If and only if, you sign that, will I allow you to go back to the East and continue warring. I want a child, Melisse. Perhaps a son this time. I’ve given much thought to what went wrong with Illyria. I shan’t make the same mistake twice.”

“So, all I have to do is sign this and I can go.”

“Simply put, but yes. Sign it and you can leave this very day, although I would prefer it if you stayed longer. But you must come back to me after you’ve achieved your victory,” declared Morgoth.

Buffy was so eager to return to the East, that she didn’t question the instrument before her.

“Okay, where do I sign?” She eyed the scroll and at the very bottom of the document there was a place for her signature as well as others for three witnesses.

“Sauron!” Melkor shouted. A moment later, the door to the sitting room swung open and Sauron entered with the demons, Ohton and Vocah. “Melisse has agreed to sign the covenant,” he said with a smile. “You all need to witness her signature.”

“I need something to write with,” said the Slayer as she smoothed the parchment out on the table.

Sauron handed Morgoth the knife that hung from his hip. The Vala took the weapon before saying, “You sign using your blood, my sweet. Your blood will ‘seal the deal’ as they say.” He pricked her finger with the tip of the blade. He picked up the quill from the table top and placed her digit over the top. He then squeezed her finger, filling the hollow shaft with her blood. “And I want you to sign it with your given name.”

“Which one?” she asked with a laugh.

“Maranwë Luinil,” responded the Lord of Angband. It seemed so strange to hear Morgoth call her by that name. As the Slayer signed the parchment with her blood, the others looked on with huge grins on their faces. The witnesses signed with their own special quills, much to the delight of Melkor. “Excellent!” he exclaimed as he rolled the parchment back up.

“So that’s it,” said the Slayer as she sucked on the end of her finger, healing it instantly.

“Indeed!” answered the Vala. “I decree that Melisse shall lead my forces into battle.” He turned to Sauron. “You are to fight alongside my beloved. See to it that no harm befalls her or you shall pay dearly. Do not let her leave your sight, not even for a minute. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the evil Maia with a quick nod of his head.

“Ready the men,” he instructed. “For I deem that Melisse will want to depart my Halls as quickly as it can be arranged.”

Sauron nodded again before leaving the chamber with his two comrades. Melkor pulled Buffy into his arms. He was ecstatic that she had signed the covenant. That guaranteed that she would return to him.

“Oh, wait a sec,” said Buffy as she pulled out of the embrace. “I’ve got to tell Sauron something very important.” She dashed out of the room and caught up with the Necromancer on the spiral staircase. “Sauron!” she called. Her voice echoed against the stone walls.

He stopped in his tracks and faced her. “What is it, Inanna?” he asked, the annoyance in his voice was evident.

“Mark all your men with a Red Cross… ”

The evil Maia looked at her with furrowed eyebrows before climbing up a few steps so that they were at eye level.

“What is that nonsense?”

“If you don’t mark them with my symbol, my people will kill them. It’s for their own safety. Understand?” she said with a straight-face.

Sauron looked at her for a moment. The expression on his face softened. “As you wish. We’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes. I’m most eager to bring this ordeal to an end… Let us put aside our differences and call a truce, for a while,” continued the Necromancer with a small smile. “We must work together for the betterment of the world.”

That last sentence stunned the Slayer, but she did not show it.

“Agreed,” she answered. She then turned, a triumphant smile on her face, as she climbed back up the stairway. She was back on track; everything was going according to plan.

As Sauron gloatingly descended the staircase, the smile widened on his face as well. All was going according to his and Melkor’s plan.


Chapter 50 - HELP

Morgoth was waiting for Buffy at the top of the staircase. Nothing made him happier than seeing that bright smile on her face. He had waited so long for her to come willingly to him. Now, at long last, one of his greatest dreams had been realized; her visit clinched their eternal bond as it was intended to.

“I’d like for you to dine with me before you depart my Halls,” he said as they entered the sitting room.

“Sounds good to me. I’m famished,” she answered, before abruptly coming to a halt. The Slayer’s gaze shifted to Morgoth’s handsome face. “If you don’t mind, Melkor, I’d like to get dressed first. You wouldn’t happen to know where my clothing disappeared to.”

“Are you referring to those soiled garments that you arrived in?” She nodded. “I had them burned.” Before Buffy could reprimand him for destroying her clothes he added, “Do not fret, Melisse. I assure you that I’m not about to let you leave Angband in the nude.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her into the bedchamber. As she sat on the edge of the bed, Melkor opened the mahogany wardrobe revealing many outfits that he had had made especially for her. He pulled out a pair of black breeches with a matching black tunic. He tossed those to her before retrieving undergarments from the bureau. Those too had been made just for her.

“I’m impressed!” remarked the Slayer as she began dressing. “It’s like Melkor’s boutique. I like it.”

“Consider this home when you return from the war. I will see to it personally that all your needs are met, my sweet,” he replied lovingly.

“That’s nice to know,” she replied as she pulled the tunic over her head. “Oh, by the way, have you seen my belt?” she asked as she glanced around the room. “I don’t see it anywhere.” Buffy narrowed her eyes at Melkor, giving him a questionable look. “Don’t tell me you burned that too,” she said teasingly.

“Never,” he answered with a grin. Melkor pulled the item in question from one of his pockets, the little charms jingled at the movement. “I had it cleaned and repaired all the notches.” After pulling on her breeches, he clasped the mystical weapon around her waist.

When the Slayer had finished dressing, she said, “I’m all set… So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever your heart desires.” Morgoth grasped her hands tenderly in his and looked her over. “My beautiful, Melisse. The most noble, valiant and greatest of the Valier.” He flirtatiously planted many kisses on the top of her hand causing Buffy to blush horribly.

The Lord of Angband then led Buffy to the dining chamber. Much to his delight, she once again sat beside him. As they ate, he gave her much advice on how to proceed in the forthcoming attack. She listened attentively to all he had to say, especially about the methods of slaying some of the more formidable members of Illyria’s regime. Their firstborn may have managed to convince many to abandon Melkor, but he still housed the oldest and most powerful demons in his stronghold. Their powers were far greater than those of Illyria’s minions. It brought the Slayer much comfort knowing that many of those ‘people’ would be fighting on her side.

After breakfast, Morgoth led Buffy into yet another chamber. It was not his armories, but it housed his favorite weapons. The greatest of these was Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, a gigantic mace constructed from iron, molten rock and the darkest of magicks.

“Grond is one of my greatest treasures,” revealed Melkor as he seized the weapon from its stone cradle. “This was the first weapon that I had made after the completion of Utumno ages ago. So great are its powers that it’s capable of breaking the earth with only one blow.” He offered the mace to the Slayer. “Take it! But I warn you, it’s heavy.” Buffy took the Hammer of the Underworld, handling it with little effort. “Never before have I allowed another to handle Grond… until now. I want you to use it in the war.”

“Wow! I’m flattered, really I am,” she said in awe. Buffy did not like the way the weapon felt in her hand. She only touched the handle yet she could feel evilness emitting from that cursed object. She could feel the wickedness contained within it creeping into her hand. When the tingling sensation reached her elbow, she handed Grond back to its Master. “Actually, I prefer using the weapons from the belt that you made for me. It’s prettier and a hell of a lot easier to carry around.” Her smiled widened. “Besides, you made it for me. Nothing beats that!”

Morgoth beamed at the Slayer. Her words touched him deeply. He wished that he could make that moment last forever. The way that his beloved was looking at him filled his heart with such joy. The only thing that hampered that perfect moment was his knowing that she’d be leaving Angband all too soon. He carefully placed Grond back on its stand.

“My darling, Melisse,” he began as he pulled her into his arms. “My heart already aches knowing that you’ll soon leave me.”

“It’s only for a little while,” she answered reassuringly. Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’ll be back before you know it. Promise!”

He pressed his lips against hers. Melkor longed to take her back to his bed, but time would not allow it. The moment was lost to the rapping sounds on the chamber door.

“Enter!” he declared, as he affectionately caressed his beloved’s cheeks with his blackened hands.

Sauron entered the room; he was dressed entirely in black iron armor.

“My Lord, we are already a quarter of an hour past schedule. The men are anxiously awaiting the Lady,” announced the Necromancer.

“So the time is upon us at last,” said Melkor with a sigh.

He changed into his monstrous form before accompanying them outside where his armies patiently waited. Sauron informed the Slayer that Illyria’s forces had already broken through the walls of Bela and were invading the city. The three of them discussed possible strategies as they descended the many stairs and passageways. They concluded that they would divide their forces: some would be teleported within the wall of the city while the majority would be placed outside the gates, behind their foes. It was known as the hammer and anvil maneuver, a favorite of Morgoth’s.

“Listen,” began Buffy when they had reached Melkor’s armies. “I need to go and inform my people that I’m bringing reinforcements.”

“You have not told them?” asked a flabbergasted Sauron.

“No! I wasn’t sure that Melkor would help me or not.” She turned to the Lord of Angband. “Since you’ve agreed, I really need to let them know. It would kinda defeat the purpose if my people attacked yours as soon as they arrive. Do I have your permission to teleport from you lands?”

“Yes,” answered Morgoth. “Hurry back.” He then undid the spell that would prevent any to come and go in his realm as he or she wished.

The Slayer disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Sauron had been right; Illyria’s forces had indeed broken through the wall of the city in numerous places. Many buildings were burning beneath the jet-black sky; screams and cries of despair reverberated throughout that entire region. Her firstborn had stationed her own war machines along the northern and southern boundaries of the wall. Huge boulders and other wicked objects were hurled over the barrier, destroying many of the feeble structures contained therein.

The Slayer used her telepathic ability to communicate with all her generals and chieftains. She notified them that she was about to return with Melkor’s minions, and forbade all from harming those demons in any way. Many were disturbed by that news, especially the elves, but Buffy didn’t care. Without Morgoth’s armies, the allies would totally be crushed by Illyria’s forces.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she had declared before vanishing again.

Melkor had been very generous in providing Buffy with legions of his most potent beasts. Out of seven hundred thousand ‘men,’ only a hundred thousand were yrch, the balance was Balrogs, vampires, and demons of the most nefarious kind. Their objective was to bring Illyria to total ruination. So great was Morgoth’s love for the Slayer, that he left very few to guard his stronghold in northern Beleriand. Now would have been the ideal time for the Elves to make war with the Dark Foe, if only they knew of his current predicament.

It was not long afterwards that the Slayer departed Angband along with Sauron and the demonic hosts. It was agreed to beforehand that the armies would be dispersed along the perimeter of the city as well as inside it. Buffy’s magics rapidly depleted as she teleported her newfound forces to their appointed destinations. The acolytes of Illyria were greatly dismayed by the sudden arrival of Morgoth’s armies. The Lord of Angband’s minions viewed their former brothers as traitors and showed them no mercy. The hatred of their Master filled them with such contempt that the enemy fell before them in greater numbers than previously.

The allied forces recommenced their assault causing the enemy to flee from their positions. Morgoth’s minions went to work either destroying the hurling engines located outside of the wall or using them against their foes. Those that had entered the city earlier had nowhere to run. The monsters and men had them trapped, killing every last one of them.

As Buffy stood on the southern wall with Sauron, she watched the enemy begin their retreat. Things had finally shifted in their favor. Her strategy was to move their renewed forces south to the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. They would annihilate all that stood in their way; whether they fled the depths of Angband with Illyria long ago or were bred in captivity at Vahla ha'nesh. The Slayer had no intention of harming the men that dwelt in Numeira, regardless of how evil they were. She would deal with them in her own way, when time allowed. Everybody presumed that the final confrontation would be between mother and daughter. And nothing would please Buffy more than defeating her firstborn in her own city.

Although the Slayer was in a weakened state, she refused to stand idly by to watch the action from afar. She wanted to be a part of it! She returned to her pavilion with Sauron and ordered the chariot hitched to the lions. The evil Maia was dumbfounded when they took to the air. He had never before seen flying lions. He knew that Melkor would have killed to gain control of those magical flying beasts. No matter how much his lord tried, he never mastered the ability to fly in bodily form. It was just not destined to be.

Buffy was able to regain the Gloves that belonged to Olofin and Marto. They surrendered their weapons to her despite their better judgment. They both loathed the fact that she entrusted that mystical weapon to the hand of Sauron. Yet who were they to deny her? She was the commander-in-chief. Her word was law. All had to swallow their pride and put aside their hostile feelings if they wished to achieve victory. If that meant fighting alongside the monstrous creatures of Morgoth, then so be it.

The Slayer had shown the Necromancer how the Glove worked, leaving him totally mystified by the device. He was quite surprised to learn that Buffy herself had designed that extremely powerful weapon. It appeared that Melkor was right all along. She possessed an incredible gift for crafting extraordinary implements of war. That alone showed him how important it was that his lord’s plan come to fruition. They needed Buffy as much as she needed them.

Sauron didn’t know how much time had passed before he insisted that Buffy land the chariot and rest. He could sense her weariness. One of his greatest attributes was his ability to read people, more particularly, the Slayer. She didn’t protest, and soon they found themselves ground level at the northern part of the city. The evil Maia followed her into her pavilion, refusing to let her leave his sight. He was not about to violate the orders of Morgoth. As the exhausted Slayer crawled into bed, the Necromancer removed his armor and sat in a nearby chair.

As Buffy drifted to sleep, Sauron examined the Glove that he had wielded in battle. After seeing that weapon in action, he longed to keep it for himself. He was beginning to understand why many in Angband called her Ishtar, for she truly did possess an innate knowledge of things that brought about death and destruction. He wondered if Aulë had shared the many secrets of Arda with her many millennia ago, secrets that he didn’t share with his own servants. It seemed apparent to him that the Slayer had no idea how extremely powerful she was. Even though her powers had increased over time, she hadn’t even come close to reaching her full potential.

The Slayer stirred in her sleep, disrupting the evil Maia’s thoughts. Slowly, he rose to his feet, the Glove still in hand. Sauron stood next to the bed; he saw how weak and vulnerable she was. Now would have been the perfect time for him to blast her to smithereens, but the Necromancer did something quite different. He laid the mystical weapon back on the chair and crouched beside the bed. He reached out a calloused hand and began stroking Buffy’s short golden hair. Softly, he began to sing. His voice appeared to have a calming effect on her.

When Buffy remained motionless for a while, he began to wonder about the words of his Lord:

“The connection is now complete,” he had told him the morning after she had arrived in Angband.

Sauron wanted to see that for himself. His hand slid down her neck, her skin felt so soft and supple beneath his fingers. He had started to pull the neck of her tunic down when he heard a voice from behind.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked a shocked Úrion. His eyes bore into the evil Maia.

The startled Necromancer leapt to his feet. He turned toward his co-conspirator, angry by his sudden appearance. “That is not your business,” he hissed before hastily leaving the chamber. The evil Maia needed some air. Once Úrion had determined that Buffy was alright, he immediately took off after Morgoth’s lieutenant.

While Sauron had thought that his soothing song ended the Slayer’s restless sleep that was in fact not the case. It was the music from Ulumúri, the great horn of Ulmo, that had accomplished that task. For Buffy had begun to experience one of those supernatural dreams…

She found herself cloaked in black beside the mystical pool in Ossiriand. Sitting on a flat stone by the water’s edge was Salmar, playing the most enchanting melody that she had ever heard. It had been a long while since Buffy had last seen the servant of the Lord of Waters. She remained in a trancelike state, listening to the captivating tune. The sights, sounds, and smells of her beloved homeland overwhelmed her senses. It was a hauntingly beautiful moment.

A loud plopping sound broke the spell; Salmar had dropped the instrument into the spring. The aquamarine robes that he wore shimmered beneath the moonlight as the Maia slowly rose to his feet. Buffy stood there quietly as the old man approached her. She wasn’t sure if he harbored any ill will towards her in regards to their last meeting. They had not parted on the friendliest of terms.

“Greetings, Dagnir.”

“Salmar,” she replied with a slight nod of her head. “It’s been a while since you’ve invaded my dreams.” She folded her arms across her chest, eyeing the Maia cautiously.

“Indeed it has.” Both his face and tone were grave. “I know that you are not one for small talk, so I’ll get right to it. Ulmo has sent me. He wants to know about your breast… ”

Buffy’s eye brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “What?” she queried with a laugh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My Lord wants to know if his vision has come true, that the Mark of Morgoth has disappeared from your flesh.”

“What?” queried the confused Slayer. At first, she thought he might have been joking in order to break the ice, but it soon became very clear that he was serious.

“Do you bear the Mark or not, Bella?”

“Of course I do,” she replied tersely. Salmar gave her a questionable look. Buffy frowned in return. She turned around, her back facing the Maia, and peeked down her top. She couldn’t see; it was too dark. “The light’s not strong enough or something. I mean, I know it’s there… it’s been there for years.” She tilted her body at odd angles, trying to get the faint light from the moon to shine down her tunic.

“For Eru’s sake!” exclaimed Salmar with an air of frustration in his voice. “Just show me!”

An irritated Buffy glanced over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna show you my boobs!”

The Maia shifted his feet nervously. “I only ask on behalf of my Lord. He must know whether you continue to bear the Mark. I would not ask if it were not of the utmost importance.” The urgency in his tone made Buffy feel highly uncomfortable. She turned and faced him before thrusting up her tunic, revealing her bosoms.

“It’s kinda dark,” she said uneasily. “I don’t know if you can see much in this light.” As Salmar took a step closer, his body began to emit a soft white light like Buffy’s had done on numerous occasions in the past. “Oh damn, I can do that too,” she added, feeling stupid that that thought hadn’t occurred to her before. Despite her attempts, she did not go aglow. “I guess my magics haven’t returned yet.” The hunched over Maia looked at her breasts with squinted eyes. Only moments later, his eyes glistened with dismay, as he stood upright again. Buffy glanced down; her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when she noticed that the Mark was gone. “How can it disappear? What does that mean?” she asked anxiously, pulling her top back down.

A dejected-looking Salmar silently walked back to the flat stone beside the pool and sat down. He crossed his legs, before burying his face in his hands. He then wept. Buffy didn’t know what to make of the situation. She knew that the Mark’s vanishing had to be bad, but had no idea how bad it actually was. Obviously, it must have been pretty bad to bring Salmar to tears. She sighed heavily before joining him.

“We had assumed that you were still under his thrall,” mumbled the old man between sobs. The Slayer remained quiet, staring at the ripples on the waters surface.

“This has to do with my visit to Angband, doesn’t it?” she asked in a composed voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw Salmar nod, his face still concealed by his hands. Buffy was sure that it meant something ominous, but, in all honestly, she was relieved that the Mark was gone. “So, what does it mean? ’Cause I gotta tell you, Salmar, your reaction really kinda killed what should have been a happy moment for me. I’ve always despised having that black Mark. As far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance!”

The old man lifted his head; he turned his tear streaked face towards her. Buffy met his gaze. “You don’t understand, Dagnir,” he began. “Your union with Melkor goes beyond flesh. You’re now bound to his soul. The Mark is no longer relevant. It goes much deeper than that. Your fates are intertwined. His fate is yours.” He wiped his eyes on his shimmering sleeve.

Salmar’s revelation had very little effect on her. She had always assumed that the Mark meant that she was bound to Morgoth, that wasn’t anything new. It seemed apparent that the Valar had just figured that out, or at least, some of them.

“Don’t worry about it, Salmar.” She patted his knee comfortingly. “You haven’t told me anything that I didn’t already know. Life goes on.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve been known to thwart a prophecy here and there. Don’t underestimate my abilities. I am the Slayer after all.”

“I suppose that it is I who lack a true understanding of what that truly means,” he replied. “I cannot fathom what you must have to deal with. Neither Ulmo nor I condemn you for any of your past deeds. There are many in Valinor that believe in you, Manwë no less.” He rose to his feet before helping the Slayer to hers as well. “I must say that I rejoice in seeing that my words do not alarm you.”

“So, if Manwë’s on my side, does that mean that the Valar are ready to help me?” she queried.

“I’m afraid not,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Even though Manwë Súlimo is King of Arda, he will not go against the will of the Council. However, that does not mean that my Lord has forsaken you. His love for you is great and he has asked me to deliver a token of that love to you.” He gave her a small smile before walking to the edge of the pool. A second later, a long, silver three-pronged object shot out of the water like a rocket, the Maia snatched it with his hand once it cleared the surface. He laid the weapon on his open palms. “This is the Trident of Ulmo,” began Salmar. “Long ago, it proved pivotal in defeating Melkor in the War of the Powers. This was the instrument responsible for bringing about the downfall of Utumno, thus delivering the Elves from evil. It only seems appropriate that the weapon used to deliver the Eldar should also be used to deliver Mankind. Consider this a mighty gift from the one of the greatest of the Aratar.”

Buffy looked at the proffered weapon with wonderment in her eyes. She was eager to take the blessed object, but hesitated. “I’m not worthy of receiving it,” she said faintly. The Slayer shifted her gaze to Salmar. “I can’t accept it.”

“Nonsense!” barked the Maia. “Ulmo deems that you are worthy, otherwise I wouldn’t be here! It would insult my Lord if you did not take it.”

“But Salmar… ”

“I cannot take no for an answer.” He forced the weapon into her hand. She instantly felt its powers course through her body when her fingers clasped the long silver shaft. It was similar to what she had experienced when she held Grond, except for the fact that the Trident emitted wholesome and goodly magics, not wickedness. From that moment on, Buffy knew that she would never part with that hallowed object again.

“Give Ulmo my thanks,” said the grinning Slayer. “I’ll treasure this always.” Only a moment later, the Trident vanished from her grasp. “Hey, where did it go?” asked a startled Buffy. She glanced all around in search of the mystical weapon. Salmar chuckled.

“This is but a dream, my dear. Look in that copper trunk of yours when you wake and you shall find it housed inside,” he replied. “My time is up. I must return to my Lord. I wish you good fortune in your endeavors.” He turned his back on her.

“Salmar,” she called. The Maia looked over his shoulder. “Do the Valar still want to put me before the Ring of Doom?”

“That depends,” he replied coyly.

“On what?”

“Whether you succeed or fail in your war. Farewell!” He then dove into the pool and disappeared from sight…



Buffy opened her eyes only to find Sauron leaning over her, his hand grasping the neck of her tunic. She had no time to think. Her slayer reflexes automatically triggered its own defense mechanism; she punched the Necromancer on the side of the head, sending him reeling into the pole in the center of the room.

“What are you - some kind of pervert?” she exclaimed as she jumped to her feet, her balled fists at their ready.

“OW!” The Necromancer rubbed the side of his head as he used the pole to help him to his feet. “You didn’t have to hit me!”

“Then keep your foul hands to yourself!” A wicked grin came to her face. “Or perhaps I should just tell Melkor that his devoted servant was trying to cop a feel of his Lady.”

Sauron’s eyes widened. “There’s no need to do that!” replied the horror-struck Maia. “I… I… ”

“Get out!” she yelled. He didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly left her bedchamber.

Buffy shook her head. She knew what he was doing. Sauron, like Salmar, wanted to see whether the Mark was still there or not. The Slayer hoped that she wouldn’t have to contend with any more people trying to sneak a peak at her breasts. She immediately went to her copper trunk, undid the lock and looked inside. The coveted Trident of Ulmo rested at the bottom. She closed the lid and re-locked it before leaving to get an update from her generals.



The Slayer had learned that the evildoers continued to flee south with her people in hot pursuit. They were now several miles south of Bela. She decided that the time had come for them to move their encampment further south. As they packed their belongings onto the wagons, additional mortal forces arrived from the north. These newcomers were greatly dismayed by the never-ending darkness. With no sun, they could grow no crops, and their people were starving. They were told that if they joined the wars to their south, they would hunger no more. It was whispered amongst them that the Mother Goddess would provide for them, if they aligned themselves with her. That is why they came. The followers of Melkor chose to side with Buffy. In return, she fed the mortal hordes lembas, which the good people of Folkvang still churned out on a daily basis.

The men from the northern cities were instructed to collect the weapons and gear from those that had fallen in battle, for the Slayer no longer had any more weapons to give them. All those great people set out from Bela, some on horseback, most on foot. Buffy rode along with the generals; they were surrounded by many banners including that of Morgoth’s (sable - unadorned.)

Thousands upon thousands of dead bodies in various stages of decomposition littered the plains. The stench was repulsive. Many of the soldiers had wrapped perfumed drenched cloths around their faces (similar to cowboys in old western movies from ‘modern times’) in an attempt to keep the vileness from penetrating their nostrils. The mortals from the north had the most unpleasant task of having to remove the mail and armor from the rotting flesh of the fallen. It was the grossest thing that Buffy had ever witnessed.

It was not long afterwards that the allies reached the outskirts of Numeira. Some of Illyria’s minions sought refuge within the walls of that city while most continued to flee to Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Buffy summoned the potent demon Ollok to come forth from Melkor’s troops.

“Use your magicks to confine those within the city. I don’t want any to escape,” she ordered.

“Why don’t we just kill them all and be done with it,” suggested the towering monstrous figure.

“No! I want them trapped. I’ll deal with them later. Do as I say or you’ll pay dearly!”

“As you wish, Lady Ishtar,” replied the demon with a nod of his head. “I will place a bubble around the city.” A bubble was what most people in ‘modern times’ referred to as a force field. The monster uttered his incantation and only moments later, an invisible barrier was placed around the city. None could depart whether by foot, portal or teleporting. They were in their own self-contained prison. Despite the fact that Buffy’s armies besieged the walled city of Numeira, the degenerates continued to pursue their acts of depravity with renewed vigor, fearing that the End would soon be upon them.

Buffy instructed her hosts to continue their march south. She had no interest in dealing with the wicked mortals at that time. The demonic creatures of Illyria had to be eliminated first. When they reached the great hill between the two most evil cities in the East, the Slayer chose to make her encampment on that great mound. The visibility was excellent and she could observe the goings-on in both Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ with ease. Only she and her generals were permitted to erect their lodgings on that site, the others set up camp at the bottom of the mount, healers to the north, warriors to the south.

Sauron had become Buffy’s chief advisor during that time. He had a mind for warfare, like she, and after the incident with her tunic, he had been on his best behavior. His advice was sound and the Slayer found that she and the Necromancer saw many things eye to eye.

“You are the commander of these armies,” he said to her. “Do not waste your energies fighting any longer. It’s time to see what your men are made of. Only with experience does one become great.”

Buffy mulled his words over in her head. She believed them to be true. This was not just her war; it belonged to her people as well. The time had come for some of those men to fulfill their destinies, to become the heroes that they were fated to be.

When the command post was set up, the Slayer had her throne placed outside her pavilion where she could watch the battle from the hilltop. Sauron sat to her right, Luthor to her left. Many generals and their messengers milled around, waiting to deliver Buffy’s instructions to those on the battlefield.

Most of the survivors from Illyria’s armies managed to reach the safety of the walled city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Buffy’s firstborn was infuriated to see that her numbers had diminished greatly. Her agitation grew when she witnessed the numerous hosts of her mother encircling her own city. She had had enough. It was time to bring out the big guns.

Already, the engines of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ were flinging large stones or spiked balls of iron that exploded upon impact, spraying the allies with smaller balls of fire. Those implements of war caused Buffy’s men to back off from the northern gates of the city. Illyria’s true purpose was to position one of her greatest warriors at that location - a tall, blue menacing creature with black eyes.

The flickering flames from the bright lamps atop the towers cast eerie shadows along the white stone barrier. A series of bells rang out in the darkness, signaling that it was time for that monster to rise. As the beast climbed the steps to the bulwark, the men in the towers shot flaming arrows at the allies. Buffy’s troops worked feverishly assembling their own engines that they would employ against her firstborn. The battering ram was the first implement to be completed. Under the cover of many shields, her men moved the device closer to the iron gates.

Buffy and the generals watched the scene with nervous anticipation. None had any problems seeing the action from two leagues away. The Slayer gasped when she saw the towering blue demon step onto the battlement above the gateway to the city. Immediately, her mind flashed back to her time in Angband when she was under the yoke of Morgoth, and pregnant with Illyria:

The pregnant Slayer excitedly showed Melkor the many demonic creatures that she had brought into being on her own. As they lay in an enchanted sleep, she showed him the monster that she had made in mockery of one of the Valar.

“This one is especially evil, lover,” she had said with a wicked laugh to the Lord of Angband. “He’s the total package. Only those with hatred in their hearts can withstand his powers, as he is judge, jury and executioner rolled into one. He is the counterpart of Námo, for I call him The Judge. He is the destroyer of all things righteous, and he is my gift to you, my beloved husband.”

“He is beautiful, Melisse,” Morgoth had replied. “My, how your talents have grown… ”

“Shit!” she exclaimed as the blood drained from her face. Buffy had developed a tendency to ignore the things that she had done when she was evil. Now, it was coming back to bite her on the ass. Big time. She only hoped that her men recognized that demon from the books of lore and the tales that were told numerous times of the past foes that she had encountered or defeated. The Judge was capable of causing great harm to her mortal armies. She was eager to join the others on the battlefield to help eradicate that spawn of wickedness.

“It is time for your men to rise to the occasion,” informed Sauron, as he placed a comforting hand on hers.

Luthor shook his head in dismay. “The world is doomed,” uttered the old man.


Chapter 51 - FAITH, HOPE AND TRICK

The sight of the Judge caused Buffy’s stomach to become queasy. She knew all too well that no weapon forged could kill that blue demon. Rocket launchers didn’t exist in Middle-earth and it would be thousands of years before they even came into being. What the hell were they going to do? How could any of her people prove their heroism by fighting that beast? He was, in all respects, undefeatable. She wondered if he was strong enough to kill without touching his prey.

Only moments later, she received her answer. The men operating the battering ram suddenly spontaneously combusted; bright blue flames consumed their flesh. Their howls of pain frightened those that stood nearby. In less than a minute, all those that had been set ablaze turned to ash.

“Shit!” shouted the Slayer as she rose to her feet. Even Sauron leapt from his seat when he witnessed the two dozen men fall.

“How do we stop him?” asked the evil Maia uneasily. His eyes remained fixed on the blue demon standing on the battlement.

“I don’t know,” answered Buffy. “We don’t have the kind of weapons that we need to take him down.”

“Aren’t you the one responsible for bringing him into being, Inanna? The Judge was your creation, was he not?” queried the Necromancer agitatedly. “Surely, you must know of some means of destroying that creature!”

“I need to think,” she snapped back. “Gimme a minute.” With a roll of his eyes, Sauron mumbled some derogatory comment about her under his breath. Buffy focused more on remembering the attributes that she had bestowed upon the Judge. What powers did she give him and what weaknesses did he have, if any? “Okay,” she said aloud. “His skin is like armor, and he burns the righteous down.” The Slayer started pacing before her throne, nervously twirling a strand of her shoulder length hair with her finger. “Think, Bella, think… His eyes!” she exclaimed as she turned to the south. “His power emanates from his eyes. Wherever he fixes his gaze, the righteous will burn.”

“Well, then do something! Our people are dying,” cried out Luthor.

“Frying is more like it,” piped up Sauron.

Mortals, Elves, Dwarves, and some of her own demon offspring started to fall in great numbers. Numbers that they couldn’t afford to lose.

“I don’t know what to do!” shrieked the panic-stricken Slayer. The men along the front lines were fleeing the northern fence of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ by the droves, some engulfed in flames. The Judge laughed wickedly as the arrows from the bows of the elves bounced off his armor-like flesh. Even more men fell. “Damn it!” she yelled again.

Buffy then felt a tingly sensation pervade her body. A split second later, she noticed that the assembly of people gathered on the hilltop froze mid-motion, everybody, but her. She waved her hand in front of Luthor’s face, attempted to poke Sauron in the eyes, yet neither flinched nor moved a single muscle. Turning towards the battlefield, she noticed that all the armies stood as though they had been petrified, the Judge included. It then occurred to the Slayer that she had unknowingly caused time to come to a standstill. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for. Buffy had to act fast before the spell wore off. Looking around anxiously, she grabbed the axe from the belt of Dvalin. She hoped and prayed that his magical blade could cut through the hide of the blue demon. Immediately, she teleported herself to the battlement on which the Judge stood.

With her heart racing, the Slayer swung the axe with all her might at the back of the demon’s neck. The metal head of the weapon smashed to pieces upon impact; the handle splintered in her hand. She cursed as the fragments of the axe fell to the stone floor. The shock from the blow bruised her palms. As she shook her hands feverishly, an angry Buffy kicked the monster in the shins. That didn’t help; her foot now throbbed painfully too.

Maybe, she thought, if I gouge out his eyes, his powers will diminish.

The Slayer pulled a dagger charm from her belt; instantly, it turned into a full sized weapon. She whimpered softly as her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. Her attempts to drive the blade into his eyeballs proved to be ineffective. Her agitation continued to grow. Buffy thought that if the Judge lay flat on his back, she might have more success delivering a more forceful blow. Utilizing her slayer strength, she kicked the towering blue figure in the chest. He fell onto his back. The Slayer straddled the beast before attempting to plunge the blade into one of his cold black eyes; the weapon of Morgoth failed to penetrate that organ.

As Buffy sat there, contemplating her next move, a fiery, prickling sensation shot through her body - the Judge was starting to come to. She jumped off the creature and looked around in hope that someone would turn up and help her defeat that demonic foe. She trembled at the thought of him awakening. Surely, his magicks would devour her if she didn’t do something quick.

An idea then dawned on her. She placed her dagger back on her belt before laying her hands on the Judge; they both vanished. They reappeared only a moment later on the deserted plateau at the edge of the cedar forest some twelve miles north from where they had been. Decaying bodies still littered the region; carrion fowl and maggots eagerly consumed the rotting flesh.

Immediately, the Slayer ran for cover; she chose to hide on the slope of the ravine to her east. She was only a hundred yards from the spot where she and the Judge had materialized. She watched as he slowly got to his feet, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

“Where am I?” wondered the blue demon as he looked at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Buffy peeked over the top of the ridge. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was sure that the Judge could hear it. She shifted her position causing several rocks to roll down the wall of the cliff. She picked up one of the loose stones and chucked it as hard as she could in the direction of the cedar trees. The Slayer desperately wanted to alert the beast that dwelt within the wood to their arrival.

“You cannot hide from me,” bellowed the Judge. “I can feel you.” Buffy ducked down; she didn’t know what else to do. “You reek of righteousness. Come forth, mother of Illyria. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing you burn.”

The Slayer decided that there was no point in hiding any longer. The Judge’s powers could strike her down whether she was hunched along the side of the cliff or standing before him. She crawled to the top of the ridge and rose to her feet. “Here I am, Papa Smurf.”

The blue demon gave her a puzzled look. “Papa Smurf?” He obviously had no idea that she was referring to a cartoon character that wouldn’t hit the airwaves for three more ages. “You are very bold for one so small. You choose to confront me with no weapon or armor. You are indeed foolish.” He smiled and shook his head. “There is no hope for you, Ishtar,” he said deridingly.

“That remains to be seen. I haven’t lost faith.”

“Faith?” laughed the Judge. “What does faith have to do with anything?” Suddenly, a loud roaring noise came from within the wood. The demon turned towards the sound. “What’s that?”

Buffy stood in a fighting stance. She pulled a sword dagger from her belt, waiting for the inevitable blast that would shoot from the wood. The Judge focused his attention on the forest, a look of curiosity on his face. A bright beam of blue light then burst forth from the cedars, striking the beast in the chest. The blue monster was blown off his feet. He landed with a heavy thud onto the ground, the gaping hole in his flesh still smoldering.

“Bull’s eye!” The Slayer cautiously started to approach the weakened Judge. Her eyes repeatedly shifted from him to the trees. “I mean no harm,” she said aloud. She was not speaking to her foe, but to Humbaba, for she knew that she was treading dangerously close to the wood dweller’s domain. She could feel its gaze upon her from the depths of the forest. “I have no intentions on entering your woods.”

She then heard an eerie voice in her head. ‘Take thy prey and begone from my lands!’ it said.

“Will do,” she answered out loud. “I just need to cut him up first.” Buffy warily approached the fallen beast. He was still alive, and in a great deal of pain. “Damn, that’s gotta hurt,” she remarked when she saw the enormous hole in his torso. She lifted the sword above her head. “Maybe this won’t hurt as much… not!” she taunted as she brought her blade down across his neck, severing his head from his body. Mutilating the demon turned out to be easy once he was incapacitated. While the Slayer dismembered the Judge, the lions unexpectedly appeared at her side. “Hey, babies! Your timing’s perfect. We need to take these body parts to Hírilost, but they must be kept separated.” She pointed her blade at the monster’s arms. “Watch out for the bastard’s hands. He’s not dead and he’s got one hell of a grip!” she warned her kitties.

It took two trips for Buffy and the lions to remove the remains of the Judge from the border of the cedar forest to her home in the north. She made sure that the various limbs of the demon were stored securely in different parts of her stronghold.

“You guys need to make iron boxes to house his body parts,” she told the dwarves at her fortress. “I cannot stress how important it is to keep the pieces separated; stow the boxes away in different parts of the castle. After the war, I’ll have them removed.”

This was Buffy’s first trip to Hírilost since the war had started. The dwarves that did not participate in the battle were extremely busy tending to the duties that she had assigned to them. Many were burying the bodies of the great men and women who had died in the fight. Others packed away the orbs that contained the spirits of the fallen Maiar into large crates that would later be transported to the Deeper Well.

“Why don’t you stay and have supper with us before you depart, my Lady,” suggested one of the female dwarves. Buffy then caught a whiff of the delicious smelling food wafting through the corridors of her fortress. Her stomach grumbled at the prospect of ingesting ‘real’ food.

“Oh God, I haven’t had a hot meal in weeks,” she replied, her mouth watering. The thought of going back to camp only to eat lembas caused the Slayer to whimper. “But I can’t stay. I need to see what’s going on in the war zone. Why don’t you guys do me a favor and prepare enough goodies for fifty people. As soon as I get a chance I’ll come back and take it with me.” Buffy liked the idea of providing her generals with a feast. There was no way that she would partake in a tasty hot meal while those at the encampment were left eating the elvish way-bread. Unfortunately, her armies would have to continue getting their sustenance from lembas.

By the time that she returned to the campsite on the hill, the battle was already underway again. Time was moving as it did before.

“Why did you leave without informing someone?”

“Where have you been?”

“What happened to the Judge?”

Buffy was bombarded with questions from the generals as soon as she appeared.

“I took care of the Judge. He’s out of commission,” she answered to those that gathered around her.

“But I thought that no weapon forged could destroy him,” remarked Luthor.

“True,” she answered with a slight grin. “All it took was one blast from that Humbaba guy.” The men looked at her questioningly. “You know, that creature that haunts the cedar wood west of Bela. He zapped the Judge with that blue laser beam thingy, laid him out flat.” Her smile widened. “He’s already been dismembered and the dwarves at Hírilost will make the boxes to store his remains in. After the war, I’ll have the pieces scattered throughout the world, so we won’t have to worry about him again for a few ages.”

“I don’t understand,” started Sauron. “How did you leave without any here noticing? None of us saw you go.”

“Apparently, I freaked out so much that I inadvertently stopped time. Everyone and everything came to a standstill. So, I took advantage of that and eliminated the threat.”

“Well done, Bella,” said Luthor proudly, giving her a pat on the back. “Well done, indeed!”

Buffy turned her gaze to the south. “What’s happening on the frontline? Has Illyria unleashed the next nasty yet?”

From her position, she observed her men vehemently attacking Illyria’s stronghold. While the battering ram assaulted the northern gates, many of Morgoth’s minions started digging beneath the wall of the city. Their goal was to enter the city any way that they could. They believed that by excavating the earth beneath the wall, it would either bring it down or allow them to pass through. Her firstborn had stationed many men along the top of the bulwark in a desperate bid to subdue her parents’ forces. It would not be long before the King of the East unleashed the next ‘Big Bad’ on her enemies.

The Slayer was pleased by what she saw. So much so, that she decided that she would return to Hírilost at once in order to retrieve the feast for her generals. She took a brokenhearted Dvalin with her. He was still upset over the loss of his magical axe, the one that he had used to slay many Balrogs in battle. Buffy promised to make amends for the destruction of that mystical weapon whenever the war ended.

The dwarves at her fortress had everything prepared by the time they arrived. The Slayer and the Dwarf Lord carried back a large cauldron of stew, dozens of loaves of bread, butter and jam. The Noegyth Nibin even furnished enough wooden bowls and utensils for all her generals. Her officers were both delighted and surprised by the feast that Buffy had brought back. Once they retreated into her pavilion, they enjoyed the delicious hot meal provided by the petty dwarves.



After much effort, the battering ram had nearly broken through the iron gates of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Illyria’s frustration had reached the point where she was ready to end the war once and for all; on the other side of the doorway stood a demon that would see to that. That beast would see to it that the goodly races of Middle-earth suffered terrible torments in Hell, for he had the ability to open its gates.

Olofin impatiently waited for the barrier to come down. He was the sole general on the battlefield other than those from Angband. Buffy’s youngest son refused to sit out the battle. His mother may have trusted the forces of Morgoth but he most certainly did not. The half-elf was confounded by her relationship with Sauron and the other Maiar that came from the Iron Mountains. The sudden arrival of the demonic armies weeks ago caused him great anguish, although he didn’t show it. It sometimes seemed to him that his mother did not take into account that he was a Noldo from the House of Finwë. As with all the Noldor, he possessed a deep hatred for Melkor and his followers. It only made matters worse that he was forced to fight alongside those under the tutelage of the one that slew his great-grandsire in Valinor. Olofin knew that his father and uncles would be livid if they learned about the alliance between Morgoth and Buffy.

Yet Olofin could empathize with his mother. Her armies were being slaughtered hand over fist and no other forces could she muster other than Morgoth’s. Great despair led her to the gates of Angband; he had no doubt about that. However, it still troubled him that she sat now with the other mighty generals on the mount six miles north, when she should be fighting alongside those who willingly put their lives on the line for her. She is the Slayer after all, the most powerful weapon of Eru Ilúvatar. The half-elf had the insight to see that his mother had reached the crossroads, and it appeared that the whisperings of Sauron would influence which path she’d choose.

Despite the flaws of both his parents, Olofin would remain steadfast and true to the mission of eradicating evil from the face of Arda. He had accomplished many incredible feats of bravery during this war and he wasn’t about to stop now. His half-sister was the epitome of evil, and it was time for her reign to come to an end. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction than bringing her down himself, but he knew in his heart that her powers outstripped his threefold.

As the gates finally came crashing down, Olofin tightened his grasp on the hilt of the blade wrought by Marto during the days of his youth. Beyond the debris of the mangled doors, he saw an erect solitary figure, monstrous in appearance. It resembled a statue, its eyes open and devoid of emotion. Its naked shoulders were broad and muscular as were its arms, which remained at its side. The hideous figure had long pointed ears and two short horns that protruded from the top of its head. Its partially opened mouth revealed gnarled teeth; some seemed to be missing or broken. The half-elf didn’t know which. Olofin easily recognized the creature from his mother’s description: Acathla, the demon that possessed the ability to swallow the world.



After Buffy had eaten to her heart’s content, she withdrew to her bedchamber. She refused to allow Sauron to accompany her in spite of his protests. She wanted to be alone, for once. As soon as she was free from the Necromancer, she walked over to one of her chests and pulled out some parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. She wanted to write a long overdue letter to her beloved Maglor. Ever since the war had started, she had made no attempt to communicate with her husband whatsoever. Perhaps it was her visit to Hírilost that triggered the need to correspond with him.

The Slayer was careful in how she worded the letter to her husband. There was no way that she was about to mention Morgoth or the aid that she had received from him. That would never go over well at home. Instead, she attributed her good fortune to the arrival of the Valkyries. She had explained that they were pulled out of the battle during the early stages in order to retrieve the slain mortals from the battlefield. Since they had finally gained the upper hand, men were not dying in great numbers, and the women were able to return to the battle.

As she re-read what she had written, Buffy became consumed by guilt. The letter was littered with lies. She wasn’t sure whether she should send it or not. While she contemplated what to do, she heard a voice calling her name beyond the draped doorway.

“Come in,” she answered. Úrion then entered the room, concealing something behind his back. “Hey,” she said with a forced smile.

“What’s wrong?” asked the dark-haired elf. He took a seat on the other side of the table.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Indeed.” His eyes glanced at the glistening ink on the parchment. “I suppose it has something to do with that,” he added as he pointed to the letter.

“Yeah,” she answered sadly. “Can you believe that I’ve never written Káno in all this time? Not once. I’m a horrible wife.” Buffy’s tone was quite gloomy.

Úrion let out a hearty laugh. “My dear Bella, you’ve been devoting nearly every waking hour to warfare. Surely, Maglor understands that you cannot put aside the sword for the quill.”

His words brought her no comfort. “That’s not entirely true, Úrion, and you know it. I haven’t picked up a blade in a while. I’ve been sitting on my ass watching others do my bidding.”

“Bullshit!” exclaimed the elf as he leaned back in his chair. “Was it not you that took care of the Judge? And did you not use a blade to dismember that beast? You have defeated a great and powerful foe, my dear.” He smiled. “And I deem that calls for a celebration of sorts.” He pulled out the bottle of wine that he had kept hidden from the Slayer. “I think the time has come for us to indulge a bit.”

Buffy picked up the bottle of wine made by the Green-elves. “Ooh, that was a good year,” she said as she examined the label. “I think you’re right. We’ve earned the right to celebrate a little.”

“I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” replied the elf as he popped the cork. “Shall we swig from the bottle or do you have some goblets lying around somewhere?”

“Oh, give me a second. They’re in the next room.” The Slayer rose from her seat and headed for the doorway.

“For the love of Eru, don’t bring Sauron back with you. That bastard doesn’t give us a moment’s peace,” he said over his shoulder.

“Tell me about it,” she replied dryly with a roll of her eyes. “At least you don’t have him lingering around in your bedchamber when you’re trying to sleep.” She shook her head as she left the chamber. Only moments later she returned carrying two silver goblets. “I’m back and I’m Sauron-free.”

“Praise Ilúvatar!” he said with a laugh. Buffy rolled up the parchment and placed it back in the chest as Úrion filled their cups with the amber liquid. She then sat back in the chair that she had vacated only minutes before. “Here you go, my dear,” said the dark-haired elf as he handed her a drink. He raised his goblet. “Let us drink to your victory over the Judge.”

“To me,” said Buffy. She clinked her goblet against his before taking a long drink. “Damn, that’s good stuff.”

“Like you said, it was an exceptional year.” Úrion placed his drink on the table and looked thoughtfully at the Slayer. “Can I ask you a question… a personal question?” asked the dark-haired elf.

“Since when do you ask permission? You can ask me anything,” replied the Slayer before taking another drink.

“How did you get Morgoth to relinquish his armies to you?” he asked in a serious voice.

Buffy refilled her goblet before answering. She smacked her lips together after taking another drink.

“Well, I guess you could say that I used my powers of persuasion.” The Slayer began to feel woozy.

“Hmm, I must say that I wasn’t expecting to see Melkor’s forces here.” Úrion shifted his gaze towards the doorway. “Nevertheless, I can’t let that stop me. Things have already been set in motion,” he added softly to himself.

Buffy’s head started spinning. “I don’t feel good, Úrion,” she said as she got unsteadily to her feet. She grasped the edge of the table in an attempt to keep her balance. “I think the wine’s off or something.”

The elf picked up his goblet and sniffed the contents. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t tasted it.” The Slayer’s eyes rolled back in her head and she started to collapse. Her head struck the corner of the table, slicing her forehead open, before she fell limply to the floor. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” sounded Úrion as he looked at Buffy’s motionless body. Already a pool of blood was forming on the carpeted floor. “You are one stupid woman, Bella. The time has come for my Lord to exact his revenge on you, my dear. I’ve got some fun things in store for you… bitch.”


Chapter 52 - THE BECOMING PART 1

Úrion wasted no time. With the Slayer incapacitated and his accomplices in position, the time had come for him to put his lord’s plan into action. He cast a backwards glance at Buffy’s still form on the floor before leaving the chamber. The dark-haired elf was confident that she wouldn’t be going anywhere after consuming his drug-laced wine. He stationed several of his men outside her pavilion to prevent any from entering her sanctuary.

“Don’t hesitate to kill any that approach this tent, including Sauron,” ordered Úrion. He then went to find Umdir, one of his most powerful cohorts.

Only minutes later, six members of Buffy’s elvish guard approached the pavilion anxious to deliver the news that the allies had broken through the gates of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. It was a monumental moment in the war and they knew that the she would be thrilled to hear their message. The unexpected attack by their own kindred outside the tent left the guard with no time to react. They were so shocked that they never got the chance to unsheathe their weapons. The traitorous Green-elves viciously slaughtered their own people before the Slayer’s doors. Úrion’s men then quickly dragged the dead into the tent, relieved that none of the ‘loyalists’ had seen their sudden act of betrayal.

Umdir stood within the confines of Úrion’s tent as he uttered the incantation to place a very special kind of Bubble around the hilltop. It was similar to the one placed by Ollok around Numeira except those that followed Buffy would be thrust from its boundaries. The generals and messengers stationed upon the mount were greatly dismayed when they were abruptly ousted from their positions by what seemed to be an invisible hand. Like a powerful slap, it sent them flying through the air over one hundred feet before they crashed painfully to the earth. The dazed and confused generals attempted to return to their original posts but the invisible barrier prevented them from doing so. Those that tried to beat on the force field experienced a painful electrical jolt, which sent them flying backwards several feet.

Horn blasts rang out in alarm under the pitch-black sky. The sound reverberated across the plains, alerting those on the battlefield some two leagues away to the south. The notes indicated that the Slayer was in danger.

By the time that the sounds of warning reached the gates of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, Olofin had already found himself in a perilous situation. Only minutes before, a demonic guard had materialized out of thin air catching the half-elf by surprise. The minions of Illyria quickly formed a shield around Acathla. It was imperative that the evil guard protect that fell beast, for its powers had not yet been activated, leaving it vulnerable to attack. The Slayer’s firstborn wanted to make sure that none hindered her mighty foe from sucking all of Arda into Hell.

Olofin had just summoned others from Buffy’s Household to aid in battling the newcomers when the call alarm reached his ears, chilling his heart. Knowing that his mother was in harm’s way caused him much distress. He had to go to her. Since the Noldo was busy fighting his own demons, he yelled for Gúrchim to take several troops back to the mount in order to render aid to the Slayer. The monsters defending Acathla became distracted when they heard the numerous horn blasts that echoed outside the wall of the city. The withdrawal of numerous hosts of Men, Elves, Dwarves and Maiar from the region diverted their attention further. Amazingly, the hasty departure of the allies struck fear into the malevolent hearts of Illyria’s guard. They believed that it did not portend well for them. That gave Olofin the break he was looking for.

“For Bellaseth Dagnir,” he shouted as he and his companions attacked the confused creatures with renewed vigor. As the elves fought the wretched demons, a small band of dwarves crept, hunched down, through the gap in the fence. The much taller minions of Illyria did not see the short children of Mahal enter their domain. The Naugrim immediately spread out amongst the combatants, swinging their axes at the knees of the evildoers. The unsuspecting monsters came crashing down like towering trees, thus allowing the dwarves the opportunity to deliver their fatal blows.

The armies of Angband started flooding through the breach eager to keep the enemy from joining the fray around Acathla. They slew the traitors of Morgoth with such cruelty that many of the wicked foes fled from the fight. One by one, the guard that had surrounded the monstrous demon fell.

When all had perished, Olofin found himself standing face-to-face with Acathla. The demon’s appearance may have resembled a statue, but that was far from the truth. Suddenly, the evil within its eyes came alive; they started glowing bright orange. A second flash of light emanated from its mouth as its lower jaw began to drop. Without hesitation, the half-elf plunged his blade deep into the heart of the beast before it drew its first breath. The Noldo’s blade became embedded in the creature as a gust of wind and a flickering of white light momentarily whirled around the monster. All then fell quiet. Acathla had turned to stone much like Morgoth’s trolls when exposed to sunlight.

The allies’ roared with delight; they had thwarted yet another one of Illyria’s most potent fiends. Olofin then ordered his brigade to take the stone figure of Acathla back north. He was no longer interested in invading his half sister’s city, but was anxious to return to the hill where he knew that something sinister was taking place. The half-elf mounted his horse before he and his men galloped away from Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

Many of Morgoth’s minions took flight after Olofin when they discovered that the call meant that Buffy was in trouble. They knew that their master would want them to see to it that no harm came to his beloved. Others deemed that it was in their best interest to contend with the armies of Illyria.



Úrion viciously backhanded the Slayer. “Wake up, whore!” A soft moan escaped her lips as she groggily started to regain consciousness. The dark-haired elf delivered another blow. The sting from the slap was nothing when compared to the intense searing pain that she felt emanating from her wrists and ankles. She groaned again as Úrion grabbed a fistful of Buffy’s hair, yanking her head back until it collided with something solid. “Come now, Dagnir, I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I want you wide-awake for this most auspicious of occasions.” He released his grip, her head lolled about on her shoulders. Úrion’s voice seemed distant to her, almost dream-like. Buffy’s senses were gradually becoming more alert. Even with her eyes closed, she could perceive that she was upright and bound, her arms stretched out from her sides, her legs crossed. Any attempt at moving caused her greater suffering. She didn’t have to open her eyes to realize that she was being crucified.

Buffy blinked her eyes repeatedly until her vision became less hazy. After several minutes, she was able to focus on Úrion. He stood before her, a smirk on his face; in his right hand, he clutched a long metal spear. The Slayer’s gaze shifted from the elf to her agonizing feet; one naked ankle crossed the other, a large metal spike pierced through them both. Blood dripped from the tips of her toes, splattering onto the woodpile that had been neatly arranged around the bottom of the post on which she was affixed. Two other crimson streams cascaded from the wounds to her wrists. The loss of so much blood had caused her body to become fatigued, especially her arms. Buffy couldn’t believe what was happening to her.

“The look on your face makes this all worthwhile,” said Úrion with such loathing. Buffy’s numerous attempts to free herself proved futile. No matter how much she ‘willed’ it, she remained attached to the cross. Her face distorted into a grimace when she attempted to jerk her arm free, but to no avail. The pain caused her to whimper. The Slayer was powerless. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” taunted the elf. “You can’t escape, Bella, I’ve seen to that.”

“Why… why are you doing this?” she managed to ask, holding back the tears that had already filled her eyes.

“Why?” he asked mockingly, pointing the spear at her chest. “Hmm, I would think that it’s quite obvious: I despise you! You are the embodiment of everything… evil.”

Úrion wasn’t about to reveal his ulterior motive. There was no way that he was going to mention that he longed to be with her, that he had fallen in love with her years ago. Buffy was his ideal woman. She was beautiful, powerful, resourceful, and proved to be a mighty warrior in any combative situation. In the end, her unpredictable nature led him astray, that, and Angwen. The witch had entered his life again when Buffy had left him in charge of governing the affairs of Ossir. She pleaded with Úrion to join forces with her lord to expel the Slayer from Middle-earth. The elf was reluctant to turn against Melkor, but since Angwen still wore the form of Buffy, he was easily seduced.

“So, what do you think of your symbol now, Dagnir?” he queried in a cold, sadistic voice. “I think it’s rather becoming that you should suffer while affixed to your most esteemed icon. It is most appropriate, don’t you agree?” He withdrew his weapon and took a few steps backwards, admiring the terrible spectacle. “I take it that you’re not pleased,” he continued in the same contemptuous tone. “This means of torture is meant to kill one slowly; perhaps I’ll show you mercy and end your suffering soon.” He thrust the spear into the ground.

From beneath his cloak, Úrion pulled out a small bundle that contained a single red rose. “Here we have another one of your symbols: the meril.” He carefully picked up the flower and deeply inhaled the sweet scent. His facial expression momentarily softened as did the tone of his voice. The fragrance brought to mind the numerous times that he had stealthily crept into Buffy’s private quarters, only to watch or touch her while she slept. “Of all your symbols, this most exemplifies your qualities. It’s beautiful, alluring, and its scent is most intoxicating.” The elf held the blossom to his nose, sniffing the flower once again. “Yet if one wishes to claim it for his own, he must exercise caution, or he’ll end up being pricked by the many thorns that protrude from the stem.” Úrion shifted his gaze from the rose to the Slayer. “That is what you are, my dear. You are a temptress, you lure in the innocent, only to draw blood. No, this flower is meant to be longed for, not taken. Just like its creator.”

His countenance became wistful, before he resumed speaking. “That is Melkor’s folly, you see. He is so smitten by you that he no longer cares that your barbs pierce his flesh or those loyal to him… even his own daughter. He is blinded by love, which makes him weak, and will lead to his downfall in the end. I see that now.”

“Don’t do this, Úrion,” she pleaded softly with a shake of her head.

“You’re in no position to make any demands of me, Dagnir,” he retorted as he tossed the flower onto the woodpile. “I’m not here to talk about Melkor. This is your big day, not his. Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to bring your… lover into this.” He snapped his fingers and immediately one of the evil elves came carrying a square wooden box. Buffy’s eyes traveled to the silver-haired elf. She couldn’t believe that Aelon had turned against her too; he was one of her chief councilors. Her heart broke all the more when she noticed all the familiar faces of her Household that had been corrupted by the lies of Úrion. The dark-headed elf opened the box in Aelon’s hands and removed a crown of thorns. With a devilish grin on his face, he climbed atop the stacked wood beneath the cross.

“Since you are by all rights a Queen, you should have a crown to signify your worth on this momentous day. I’ve taken the liberty of removing the beautiful bulbs from the flowers. It seems truly befitting that your circlet is made only from the thorny stems of the flower.” Úrion rammed the crown of thorns on top of her head. The Slayer winced as the barbs pierced through the skin on her forehead. “Perfect,” he whispered before climbing back down off the pile of wood. “Aelon!” he called out. “Bring me the spear.” The elf hastily came to his side; weapon in hand. “Thank you, my good elf.” Úrion turned his attention back to Buffy. “Any last words? Your loyal following might want to hear some words of comfort in these most trying of times.”

The Slayer couldn’t believe that Úrion was able to pull off such a despicable deed in the company of so many people. Her people, no less. As her eyes scanned the encampment, she saw many of her loyal allies attempting to beat on the invisible barrier with both their weapons and fists. Unfortunately, blasts from the Gloves and hurling pots of Greek Fire proved to be fruitless. More and more individuals mounted the knoll, their cries of despair shattered the night. Buffy’s most noble and valiant warriors didn’t bother to conceal the look of terror on their faces. Some were so grief-stricken that they fell to their knees sobbing. Shock had consumed others, who stood there paralyzed by fear; tears streamed down their frightened pale faces.

Úrion’s words and actions left Buffy flummoxed. The reality of the situation was finally sinking in, horrifying her all the more. She had never imagined that a day would come when Úrion would turn on her; the thought never crossed her mind in all their years of friendship. She trusted him. She loved him. Buffy couldn’t understand what would drive him to torture her in such a brutal and inhumane manner. What did she ever do to the elf to justify that type of punishment?

The Slayer’s emotional anguish was far greater than the physical torments that the elf was subjecting her to, his betrayal was worse than death itself.

“You can’t kill me?” she finally whispered, her eyes locked on the betrayer.

“My objective is not to kill you, my dear Bellaseth,” he cackled. His evil laughter gave her goose bumps. He then reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out an Orb of Thezula. The Slayer’s eyes widened. Seeing the mystical spirit vault in Úrion’s hand alarmed her more than being crucified. She shuddered, which sent shock waves of pain throughout her body. “Ah, just the reaction I was going for. It seems just that you should be imprisoned in the device wrought by the dwarves.” His lips curled into a wicked grin as he slid the sphere back into his pocket. “I thank you for teaching me the incantation to summon a fey. I take it as an honor to be the one to trap you for all of eternity,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “But now, my dear, the time has come for all of us to find out the answer to this question: can I make you scream?”

Úrion then charged the Slayer, his weapon at the ready. To Buffy, it looked like he was moving in slow motion, but in reality only a couple of seconds had passed before he drove the spear into her flesh. She took a deep intake of breath as the sharpened point quickly passed through her organs embedding into the wooden beam behind her. Instantly, she went numb from the waist down; the elf had severed her spinal cord. The tears spilled from her eyes, her breathing came in rapid gasps. Buffy felt a tightening in her chest, she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Scream! Damn it! Scream!” yelled an angry Úrion, his face contorted to one of an enraged maniac. He grabbed the spear, and twisted it causing Buffy to moan. Her mouth was agape as the metal object shifted about in her body. “Do you only scream in intimate situations? Should I have shoved the spear somewhere else?” The Slayer attempted to speak but only made a series of gurgling sounds. She coughed and gasped for air as a mixture of blood and mucus spewed from her mouth. The pain was unbearable. She prayed for death knowing that that was the only way that her fey would be able to escape her hrör.

“Mother!” cried out Olofin when he witnessed the heart-wrenching scene. He had arrived with reinforcements only a moment before. Many of Buffy’s closest friends surrounded her distraught son. After they failed to break through the barrier, they fell to their knees weeping uncontrollably. Soon, all the people on the mount followed suit. They began to pray for divine intervention.

The Slayer’s eyes searched the crowd desperately looking for her youngest child.

“Well, well, well,” said a sneering Úrion when he heard the traumatized voice of Olofin. “It looks like the Valar are smiling down upon me, and rightly so. After you’re locked away, my dear, I shall delight in torturing your half-breed son.” He cast a glance over his shoulder before he continued. “Oh, how it disgusts me that you’ve lowered yourself by procreating with one of the lower beings. It’s immoral! But don’t worry; Olofinwë’s fate is not unlike your own. I have something special in store for him.”

Buffy’s head fell forward as the blood poured from both her mouth and nostrils. Her vision was becoming fuzzy, as was her mind. Úrion leapt off the woodpile, shouting instructions to his cohorts, but she was unable to decipher his words. Shortly thereafter, something wet rained down upon her head, drenching her whole body, it smelled like oil. The Slayer kept her eyes tightly closed but the liquid managed to get into her eyes, burning them horribly.

“Light the pyre!” ordered the dark-haired elf. Only moments later, a whoosh of flame and heat sprang up from the woodpile, engulfing the Slayer. Úrion and his fellow conspirators howled with glee at the sight of Buffy’s body being consumed by the flames. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled the compound. The wailing cries from the loyalists deafened the cheers from the traitorous elves.

No words could describe the pain that Buffy was experiencing; it was beyond excruciating. Finally, she gave Úrion what he longed for; she let out an ear-splitting scream that literally shook the ground. Bolts of lightning flashed over the hilltop as a loud crack of thunder answered her bemoaning cry.

Now, it must be told that Buffy’s cry set off a series of events that soon followed. Her bloodcurdling shriek traveled far and wide, more so than any there had originally thought. The sound must have carried on the wind to the west, for it was heard by none other than Morgoth himself. Melkor was sitting atop his throne in his subterranean fortress when he heard the anguished cry of his beloved. “Melisse!” he exclaimed. His dismay swiftly turned to wrath. Only moments later, his fey shot out of its house like a rocket until it cleared the mountain peaks of Angband. The ground shook violently, alerting the elves that dwelt in that region that something was amiss in the north. Many of the Noldor saw the fey of Morgoth when it cleared the heights of Thangorodrim. It resembled a mammoth black cloud that flickered with lightning. A loud rumbling sound emanated from the ominous-looking ‘cloud’ as it zoomed off to the east, quickly fading from the elves view as it passed over Ered Luin. A furious Melkor was on his way to save Buffy from whatever torments she was being subjected to; there would be hell to pay for the one inflicting such pain on his lover.

Before the Slayer’s spirit left her body, Úrion, with the Orb in his outstretched hand, started uttering the spell to summon her fey. With her hrör ravaged, the magicks that kept her confined to it now released her. Buffy’s essence rose above the pyre; she could now see the shimmering electrical impulses that formed the force field. She perceived the pain and sorrow of the thousands that had gathered around the edge of the Bubble. The thought that she was the one responsible for their heartache grieved her all the more. So much death. Betrayal. It was too much for her to bear. Her body was utterly destroyed, giving her the freedom that she longed for. The darkness called to her, beckoned her. There she could hide from the world and its inhabitants, leaving the Valar as the guardians of their destinies, not her. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for. She wanted it. Buffy’s yearning for the darkness overwhelmed her. Her fey soared up until it collided with the Bubble causing a massive explosion above the mount. The impact produced a turbulent wind that threw many people off their feet. A blinding white light shot upwards thousands of feet. The black clouds of Illyria began to dissipate and for the first time in three and a half years, the stars of Varda shone down upon the eastern plains of Middle-earth. The bright white light blinded the numerous people on the ground; in its center was Buffy in all her glory and splendor. She resembled a bright blue flame, both splendid and terrible. The Maiar and Olofin were the only ones that did not have to turn their eyes away from that bedazzling light. The others shielded their eyes; yet found comfort, joy and love in the radiance of her being.

“…let this orb be the vess-… Ugh!” Úrion stopped mid-sentence. He let out a gasp of both surprise and pain as his eyes shifted down, a glistening blade stuck out of his gut. Suddenly, an arm wrapped tightly around his neck. The elf had been attacked at unawares. He frantically tried to fend off the perpetrator but with no success; the Orb slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. He tried to force his fey to leave its hrör, but that too failed. Someone was using dark magicks against him!

“Come back!” shouted Sauron to Buffy’s fey. He clutched Úrion’s fidgeting form firmly as his eyes remained fixed on the Slayer’s brilliant essence. “Don’t leave, Inanna,” implored the servant of Melkor. “Let’s finish this… together!”

Sauron’s plea absolutely bewildered Buffy. He annoyed her more than anyone else in Arda, yet the look in his eyes caused her to stay put. She could see that he seemed to be genuinely concerned about her well-being and disturbed by the actions of Úrion; she no longer doubted his sincerity or intentions. And for the love of Eru, he had the bastard Úrion trapped within his clutches. That alone made Buffy reconsider fleeing to Ilmen, the heavens of Eä.

The pyre then caught her attention. Watching her hröa burn on her sacred symbol only increased her sorrow. Buffy had made that body, a perfect replica of her original, and now it was lost. While housed within it, she experienced her most horrific torments and greatest pleasures. So many thoughts came rushing to her. She felt foolish that she hadn’t seen any signs of Úrion’s deception before now. The more she thought about that and the bitterness of his words, the angrier she became. The Slayer was anxious to get to the bottom of things. It was time for her to discover the truth about Úrion and his lord.

The intensity of the light from her fey waned as she descended from the night sky. Her blue essence hovered inches above the ground in front of Úrion and Sauron. In that moment, those present saw for the first time ever, the true incarnation of Maranwë Luinil, which was quite different from the form that they were accustomed to seeing. She materialized naked, standing well over six feet tall. Her long, snow-white hair cascaded down her back, well past her knees; her eyes were the same intense blue as her elder children. She was breathtakingly beautiful and love emitted from her holiness like never before. Only a split second later, she changed back into Buffy, yet her eyes sparkled with a fury that none had yet witnessed - they were jet black. All of a sudden, magical raiment, red in color, slowly crept over her body, concealing her nudity; it fit like spandex yet was tougher than mithril.

Buffy stood before a trembling and whimpering Úrion. Sauron still had the elf in a chokehold, his sword protruded from the traitor’s stomach. The Slayer grabbed the tip of the blade and twisted it causing the elf to cry out in pain. She snickered as she licked the blood from her fingers. “I see that the magicks placed on this blade prevent ones fey from leaving its hrör.” Sauron nodded. “I take it that something similar was used on me… I couldn’t escape.” He nodded again. “Hmm, thought so. Must be the work of Morgoth. It’s so his style.” Her eyes bore into Úrion as she roughly grabbed his face. “Let’s see what you’ve been up to… my dear,” she added in the same mocking tone that he had used earlier.

The Slayer then rammed her balled up fist into Úrion’s chest. The elf let out a loud squeal. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” she continued in the same scornful tone. Sauron, holding the elf tightly, looked on in amazement as Buffy seized the heart of the traitor and yanked it from its cavity with her bare hand. She threw her head back before placing the bleeding organ over her opened mouth.

Drinking Úrion’s life force revealed the many secrets that he had been keeping from her. Buffy was shocked to discover all the various conspiracies against her. But what hurt her most was that her friendship with Úrion had been a farce from the very beginning. He was the mole. Morgoth had set her up from the start. The whole situation with the vampires in Brethil long ago had been a well-choreographed scheme to introduce Melkor’s plant into Buffy’s Household. Morgoth knew that she’d show mercy for his servant and give him a second chance. She felt like a fool.

Úrion was behind every major catastrophe in her life, from bewitching Mablung into demanding that Buffy become his wife to harboring the murderer of Orchal, Gúrchim, Drór and Ordon. Moreover, he was by no means an elf, but a Maia, a Maia with a sick, twisted fixation for the Slayer. In the beginning, he hated her so much that he relished every single torment that he was able to inflict on her. He wanted to be the one to break her, to destroy her. Not her body, but her spirit. Úrion’s task was to beat her down emotionally so that she would easily succumb to the charms of Morgoth. When that failed, he drugged and used magicks on her.

Over time, his hatred turned to jealousy and envy. That was when he became involved in the establishing of a government in Ossir. With his position and influence, he was able to copy the designs of the war machines and send them in secret to Morgoth, who then passed them on to his many disciples. He was also the one responsible for sabotaging the engines during Dagor Aglareb.

Úrion’s ‘lust’ for the Slayer began around the time that she and Maglor first got together. There was no way that she’d ever refer to his feelings for her as love. The traitor had no comprehension of the word. The things that Buffy ‘saw’ were quite creepy and disturbing. She would never say any more than that.

As the blood continued to run down her throat, she now knew that Úrion emptied her treasuries when she left him in charge after returning with Maglor to the Gap. Many great artifacts were now stowed in a fortress located in southern Beleriand, far south of Ossir. That was where the witch Angwen currently dwelt in hiding. Knowing that bitch’s whereabouts put a smile on her face. On top of that, she learned who the mastermind was behind her torments in the pyramid, who also happened to be Úrion’s ‘new’ lord. Those newfound revelations stifled her feelings of sorrow and disappointment. She would be better served by thwarting the enemy instead.

She tossed the heart onto the pyre before turning her attention back to Úrion. The Slayer grabbed his cloak and wiped the blood from her hands and face. A tingly sensation permeated her body. “What a tangled web you’ve weaved, my dear,” said a seething Buffy. “You can kill me, you can betray Melkor, I couldn’t give a shit. But plotting against my son… ”

“He has betrayed Melkor!” squeaked Sauron in surprise.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin. “He broke his allegiance with Melkor long ago,” revealed Buffy. “And he’s not the only one.” She grabbed the traitor by the face; her fingers sank deep into his flesh. “I find it rather ironic that your diatribe against Melkor applies to you. ‘Love’ has weakened you and led to your downfall. That bitch of yours will taste my wrath and guess what Úrion… I’m not a merciful God. I’m wrath. Vengeance will be mine, there’s no doubting that!” Buffy held out her opened palm in front of the traitor’s face. The orb on the ground then vanished and materialized on the palm of her hand. “I think it’s only appropriate that I send you back to Angband for a while. Eru only knows what Melkor will do to reward your treachery…”

“Nooo!” shouted the traitor, his eyes widened at the terrifying thought.

“It only seems just,” she said gloatingly. “Open wide,” she ordered. The Slayer squeezed his cheeks so hard that she forced his jaws apart. She slammed the crystal sphere into his mouth, smashing his teeth in the process. “Your suffering will end soon enough... Or should I say, ‘it has yet to begin?’” Her smile widened as blood gushed from his mouth. “Get ready, Sauron.” He gave a nod of his head as Buffy began the incantation to call forth the traitorous fey. The Necromancer then pulled out his blade and Úrion’s spirit left his body and entered the globe. The orb flashed with a blue light before becoming transparent once again; the Maia was trapped.

Sauron shoved the limp form of Úrion to the ground; he then fell to his knees. He grabbed Buffy’s free hand and kissed the top of it. “You are indeed the mightiest of the mighty,” he said effusively. “I humble myself before you, oh beloved Inanna Ishtar, greatest of the Valier. I now see why my Lord is so enamored of you. You are truly worthy of praise… ”

Buffy giggled upon hearing the Necromancer’s comments. “Your words of flattery don’t change my feelings towards you, Sauron. You’re still an asshole. But at least, I know that.” She tossed the orb to him. “Send my regards to Melkor. When I’ve prepared my punishment for Úrion, I want him back. But I think Melkor would like to have a little fun with him first.”

The Necromancer glared at the sphere. “Yes, indeed. My Master will delight in punishing the traitorous scum.” He lifted his gaze until it met hers. “Who has he aligned himself with?”

“Daehir.”


Chapter 53 - THE BECOMING PART 2

With the Bubble broken, the allies rushed the traitors in the encampment. Chaos ensued. Sauron leapt to his feet and looked to Buffy for instructions. She stood there with her eyes closed, seemingly unfazed by the commotion that erupted around them. A faint tinkling sound briefly diverted the Maia’s attention from her motionless form. That’s when he noticed the belt of Morgoth slithering out of the confines of Úrion’s cloak pocket. It crept along the ground, up the Slayer’s leg until it found its home around her waist. He looked bemusedly at her knowing that something extraordinary was about to happen. The Necromancer could feel the power radiating from her essence like never before.

As Buffy stood there, images of death and destruction flashed in her mind, scenes that she had witnessed long ago while sitting atop her throne in Folkvang. Things started to make sense to her. It was as if she had an epiphany and knew that the time had arrived for her to realize her true purpose in that war. It was time to carry out the will of Eru Ilúvatar.

The Slayer’s eyes popped open; they were still cold and black. She raised her opened hand; a second later, the Trident of Ulmo materialized within her grasp. She clutched the weapon tightly before shouting, “ENOUGH!” in a booming voice that resonated across the hilltop. Her tone was so intense that all stopped what they were doing in an instant. In an even louder voice that traveled across the lands, she yelled, “FALL BACK!” to the allies that surrounded the cities of Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

In the next moment, she rammed the Trident into the ground. A bright, bluish-white light emitted from the weapon as the earth began to shake and tremble, frightening those on the mount. Buffy’s hands remained firmly clasped on the mystical weapon as her gaze shifted to the north.

“Party’s over, perverts!” she said under her breath.

Suddenly, a deep fissure opened outside the gates of Numeira. The allies stationed there fled in all directions as the earth continued to split open around the entire city. Screams and cries from the inhabitants rang out in the night. Before any could escape, the gases released from the crack ignited, causing a massive explosion that illuminated the entire region. Huge chunks of flaming rock shot hundreds of feet into the air before plummeting back down upon the city. A chorus of whistling sounds, reminiscent of fireworks or missiles, sounded as the city fell to ruins. So intense was the fire, that the city was utterly destroyed in a matter of minutes, leaving nothing but smoldering ash and a lingering stench of sulfur in its wake.

With her hands still on the Trident, Buffy shifted her eyes to the south and the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Once again, a deep fissure opened up outside its walls, gradually encircling it. The two rivers that went through the city changed their course before the allies’ very eyes. As she continued to watch the ground split open, someone blindsided the Slayer, which sent her crashing to the ground. Looking up, she saw the monstrous form of Illyria standing over her, brandishing two long, razor sharp blades.

Before Buffy could shout commands to her people, her firstborn froze time. The loud, cracking sound and the rumblings from beneath the earth stopped abruptly as did all the people in that area. Only the Slayer and her eldest daughter were not affected by the spell.

“How dare you seek to destroy what is rightfully mine!” declared Illyria in a menacing voice. She swung her weapons, not at Buffy, but at the tents and pavilions erected in her vicinity. The blades cut through the generals’ dwellings like butter, littering the ground with parchment, clothing and furnishings. While the blue demoness preoccupied herself with destroying the encampment, the Slayer, with a wave of her hand, transplanted all of her ‘petrified’ people on the mount to its base, and out of harm’s way. She then nimbly leapt to her feet and pulled the Trident from the ground.

“Enough of the Destructo-girl behavior already,” chided Buffy to her daughter. Despite the traumatizing events that had occurred only minutes prior to Illyria’s arrival, the Slayer couldn’t help but be amused by her firstborn’s temper tantrum. “You’re not too old to turn over my knee, young lady.”

The King of the East stopped her demolition and looked down upon the small form of her mother. She laughed as she pointed one of her weapons at Buffy. “Who are you to insult me in my lands? You are nothing but a cockroach. I can kill you where you stand.” Illyria swiftly lifted one of her taloned feet in an attempt to impale her mother with it, but the Slayer merely jumped out of the way. Her claw made a furrow in the earth.

“For your information, I’ve already died today,” shot back Buffy, who was now in fighting stance. “I’m really not in the mood for a repeat performance. I can assure you that there’s no way that I’m gonna let that happen again.” Her eyes bore into her firstborn’s. “Your reign is over. For far too long you’ve oppressed those that dwell in the East. I will no longer allow them to endure your hatred and suffering; it ends now.”

Illyria’s eyes blazed with fury at her mother’s words. “Your meager attempts at flustering me have been in vain… mother! The outcome of this fight has been foretold many years ago: you cannot defeat me!” She then swung one of her mammoth blades at Buffy. The Slayer lifted the Trident with both hands, catching Illyria’s weapon between the prongs; sparks issued forth upon contact. While she held that blade at bay, her firstborn swung the other one, which hit Buffy’s side, sending her flying through the air until she careened into one of the wooden beams that formed the frame of another shelter. The blow left her winded, but her hardened skin prevented the sharp edge of the blade from slicing the Slayer in two.

“Okay, now I’m pissed,” grumbled Buffy as she got to her feet.

“You are puny and weak,” taunted Illyria, who now stood towering over her mother.

“Well then, let’s see what we can do about that!” The Slayer and the Trident of Ulmo then began to grow before her daughter’s eyes. In only a matter of seconds, the Vala of Love matched her daughter in height. That display of magic greatly dismayed Illyria. Buffy pulled a mystical charm from her belt; it enlarged to match her mammoth form.

Both were momentarily unaware that the spell that had kept the others frozen had broken. Neither noticed the rumbling and cracking sounds that started up once again. To the south, the fissure continued to wind its way around the entire city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. When the crevice had completely encircled Illyria’s realm, the cracking noise ceased. The allies waited expectantly for the explosion, yet it never came. In fact, no sound was heard from within the city, not even a horn blast. But still the rumblings continued deep beneath the earth, sounding much like a painful groan.

Hordes of allies started climbing the trails leading to the summit of the mount as mother and daughter began battling one another.

Buffy swung her sword with full force at her daughter. As Illyria went to block it with both of her blades, her mother brought the Trident down upon the two tentacles that her firstborn had attempted to wrap around her. The blue demoness let out a painful shriek when the prongs pierced her flesh. From those wounds came a torrent of blood that pooled on the surface of the mount, resembling a scarlet mere.

Despite all the ill doings of her firstborn, Buffy felt a pang in her heart when she heard Illyria’s tormented cry. That moment of hesitation allowed her daughter to gain the upper hand.

The tentacles of Illyria moved in a whirlwind of motion, distracting the Slayer. There was no way Buffy could keep track of them all at the same time. The blue demoness had won the advantage in that respect. The Slayer attempted to counter the move by slowing time down to a near standstill, which her firstborn would re-counter by speeding up time. It seemed a strange thing to do as the spells did not affect their conjurors, only the spectators. However, things are not always as they seem. It was later learned that Buffy was well aware that her loyal followers were climbing up the hillside. She used that spell in an attempt to keep them at bay until Illyria was defeated. All the while, her firstborn was most anxious to have the allies scale the mount, for their deaths would torment her mother greatly.

While her daughter was unable to deliver any type of fatal blow, she did manage to knock the Slayer around like a rag doll. For a bit.

“I cannot believe that I sprang from your loins. And they call you the Slayer,” said Illyria mockingly as she stood over her dazed mother, who lay flat on her back, again. “I have yet to witness the martial prowess that you’re rumored to possess.” Four tentacles then wound their way around Buffy, pulling her to her feet. The blue demoness tightened her grip. She eyed her mother reproachfully. “You have demonstrated only your feebleness, both of mind and body. Perhaps my Qwa'ha Xahn is right: your body is more suited for carnal endeavors. At least, that is how I perceive it. Your past deeds should earn you the title of Vala of Fornication, or worse, Vala of Depravity.” Illyria glared at her mother before hissing, “Who are you to pass judgment on those that dwell in my kingdom? How dare you come into my lands condemning my people to death when you yourself have committed similar acts! You are a God, yet you’ve lain with the lower beings, bringing forth spawn not worthy of breathing the same air as I.” Buffy’s firstborn then spat in her face. “You are a disgrace to our race! You are an abomination! You are… ”

Illyria didn’t finish that last sentence. Buffy was so angry that she delivered a heat-butt to her daughter with all her might, leaving the blue demoness stunned by the blow. The Slayer then drove her sword and Trident into the ground before digging her nails into the open wounds on Illyria’s tentacles, causing her daughter to cry out in pain. The tide had finally turned.

Buffy then squeezed the tentacles that held the razor sharp weapons until the blades fell from Illyria’s grasp. “Let’s change things up a bit,” said the panting Slayer. While subduing her firstborn, she uttered the spell that caused them both to shrink to mortal size. Illyria looked very much like her mother save for the blue streaks in her hair and on her skin. “My turn,” declared a snickering Buffy. She threw a right hook at the King of the East, which sent her flying through the air before she landed with a splash in her own pool of blood. The Slayer waded into the mere and grabbed her firstborn by the hair, dragging her out kicking and screaming. She straddled her crimson-covered daughter before delivering blow after blow. “Honor.” Wham! “Thy.” Wham! “Father.” Wham! “And.” Wham! “Mother!” Wham!

As Buffy continued to pummel the face of her daughter, many of her loyal followers finally reached the hilltop. Many froze in fear, not at the spectacle before them, but at the luminous black cloud that was quickly approaching from the north. Only Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Orchal remained undaunted by Melkor’s presence. They ran towards the battling women.

“… How dare you compare me to those fuckin’ sickos!” seethed the Slayer as she continued to beat her daughter’s badly bruised face. “You need to learn to show some respect to your elders, especially me!” Illyria attempted to undo her mother’s spell, being anxious to return to her monstrous form, but she was unable to override Buffy’s magics. Once she determined that she was powerless, her body went limp. She surrendered. “You’re a creature of wickedness. You should never have been born!”

Buffy stopped her attack. Illyria looked at her mother with such loathing. If looks could kill, Buffy most certainly would’ve died on the spot.

“You… you cannot… defeat… me,” whispered her firstborn.

“Let’s just see about that!”

The Slayer raised her hand and summoned the Trident, the one object that could clearly penetrate the hide of her daughter. As the weapon sailed through the air, it shrunk back to its normal size, before finding its way to Buffy’s hand.

As she placed the prongs to Illyria’s throat, phantom Melkor materialized in his beautiful form by her side and screamed, “NOOOO! Don’t do it, Melisse! Please!” Buffy was startled by the sudden arrival of the horrified Vala. She shifted her gaze to Morgoth yet did not move the Trident a millimeter. “She’s my only child… Our child. There’s got to be another way!” pleaded Bauglir.

Buffy turned her glance back to Illyria, who now lay trembling beneath her weight. For the first time, she saw something different in her daughter’s eyes. She saw the innocent and loving girl of her dreams, the one that should’ve been born into the world, not the evil monster. The Slayer was shaken by that. If she truly believed in redemption, shouldn’t Illyria be given a second chance? Or was she rotten to the core, nothing more than an instigator of malice?

“Please, Melisse,” continued Morgoth in a frantic voice. He placed a phantom hand on her shoulder. Although he was in fey form, she felt his warmth, his love for both her and their child. “There’s another way.” The Dark Foe squatted beside his lover and daughter. “We can thrust her from this world, never to enter it again! But do not harm her more than you’ve already done. I beg of you. Please, Melisse, do this for me.”

Surprisingly, Buffy took pity on the both of them. Melkor’s desperate plea had softened her heart in regards to the fate of their daughter. Things became clearer and clearer. It was that whole epiphany thing again. The visions she experienced in Folkvang were now coming to fruition. She could see that now. No, Buffy couldn’t defeat Illyria. Her love for her oldest child prevented her from doing so. She turned her gaze to the south, knowing that Bâb-edh-Dhrâ was the city she saw being sucked beneath the earth over a century ago. It all made sense to her now. Images of what was about to transpire flashed through her mind.

Buffy couldn’t slay her firstborn, no matter how evil she may be. If she killed her daughter, she would be killing a part of herself. That left only one other option: she and Melkor would have to send both Illyria and the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ into another plane of existence via the Hellmouth. It was no mere coincidence that Illyria’s capital city was built on that exact location - it was predestined to be. It was the will of Eru Ilúvatar yet it was up to Buffy and Melkor to carry out His will.

“Alright, I’ll show you mercy,” relented the Slayer as she withdrew her weapon and rose to her feet. She then pulled her daughter to hers as well. “I’m gonna send you back to Vahla ha'nesh.” Illyria looked at her mother with shock-filled eyes. “Your reign of terror is over.” Buffy glanced at Melkor before turning her gaze back to their daughter. “We’ll send your kingdom into another realm where you can continue to rule your own people. Mankind’s off limits. Nor can you subjugate the Elves, Dwarves or any other creature of goodliness. Do it and you’ll die! I’ll do it myself if I have to. You are forbidden from ever returning to this plane unless it’s my will. I’ll determine when you come back, if at all. Do you agree with these conditions?”

Illyria stared at her mother for a few moments before looking to her father. Melkor nodded. “I accept your conditions,” she answered in a defeated tone.

“Good!” Without saying another word, Illyria vanished in a blink of an eye. Buffy had sent her back to her fortress.

“You did not give me time to bid farewell to my daughter,” grumbled Melkor.

“Let’s just get this over and done with,” she countered with a roll of her eyes. Buffy knew that Melkor was in a weakened state since he was in his spirit form. The only way that they could accomplish the task ahead of them was by his fey merging with hers while in her body. Together, they could channel the powers of the Trident to remove Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and its occupants, unharmed, into another world through the interconnecting ‘roads’ deep within the Hellmouth. “Merge with me.”

A mischievous grin crept over Melkor’s face. “With pleasure!”

Olofin and Luthor shouted, “NO!” in unison as they neared the powerful duo’s position. But it was too late. The dark essence of Melkor entered Buffy’s body, giving her a rush that she had never experienced before. It was beyond euphoria. At that moment, she was the most powerful Vala to ever set foot on Arda. With Morgoth’s fey inside of her, her powers increased three-fold. The Slayer had literally become invincible. None in Arda had the power to defeat her. Not Tulkas. Not Oromë. Not any. Her powers were so great that the Trident was not necessary to carry out their mission. All it took was her willing it.

Only a moment later, the city began to sink beneath the earth, amazing all that witnessed it. As it sank, the dirt from below was forced to the surface, so that no large crater was left in its place. The only indication that a city had once been there was a circular ridge where the walls of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ had previously stood. As soon as the city disappeared from this plane, the rumblings deep beneath the earth stopped.

Melkor then vacated Buffy’s body. The aftereffects of the merge caused her to become somewhat weaker, she collapsed to the ground. She was delighted that the ecstatic feeling still lingered on; it left her giddy.

“Mother!” shouted Olofin as he and Thranduil finally reached her side. Buffy giggled as the two men pulled her to her feet. “It’s over, nana, it’s actually over,” he said as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“We kicked some ass!” she said proudly as she wrapped her arms around her son.

Thranduil glared at Morgoth. He never expected to see the Dark Foe face-to-face, whether in bodily form or spirit. Melkor turned his gaze to the young elf and then changed his appearance to that of the intimidating beast. That sudden metamorphosis caused the Green-elf to take a few startled steps backwards.

Buffy grabbed Thranduil and hugged him tightly. “You did great, little man. I’m so proud of you.” She pulled out of the embrace and looked at both elves. “I’m so proud of both of you.”

“Enough with the sweet sentiments, Melisse,” said Morgoth dryly. Buffy linked her arms with the two young men before turning her attention to the phantom image of the Dark Lord. He eyed the elves on either side of her. “Surely, this is the descendent of Fëanáro,” he continued in a contemptuous tone as he fixed his gaze on Buffy’s son. “You resemble your father. How unfortunate for you, Olofin Tirnon. You are like all from the line of Finwë: weak and worthless. I see your mind, boy. The doom that follows your kinfolk will get you ere the end. Neither you nor your people can defeat me, for I am the King of Arda.”

Olofin scowled at Morgoth. “I foresee myself thriving longer than you, Master of Lies. Long will the House of Finwë stand. I will see to that myself.”

Melkor laughed. “You are as overly proud as your forefathers, Olofinwë! With that attitude, I deem that you will soon join them in the Houses of the Dead.”

“You will fall and I’ll be there when it happens.”

“Of course you will,” laughed the Black Hand. “Perhaps you will have a front row seat in one of my torture chambers. I always delight in inflicting my greatest torments on the Noldor, especially those from the line of Finwë.” He smiled wickedly before adding, “Do let Maedhros know that Carcharoth has developed a… hungering for his flesh.”

An enraged Olofin swung his blade through the ghostly form of Morgoth.

“Enough,” said Buffy with an air of finality to her tone. “Touch my son, Illyria dies!”

Morgoth looked at his beloved for several minutes. He knew that she spoke the truth. “I have no interest in the boy,” he answered dismissively with a wave of his hand. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, Melisse. The time has come for you to fulfill yours.”

“What is he talking about?” asked a still scowling Olofin.

“Nothing,” said Buffy quickly. “It’s between me and him.”

The wicked grin returned to Melkor’s face. “Oh, my dear Noldo, if you only knew!”

“Shut up, Melkor!” threatened the Slayer.

“Your mother may have pledged her heart to your father, but only I can sate her desires of the flesh.”

“What?” queried Olofin in an alarmed voice. He shifted his eyes to his mother. “What is he saying?”

Buffy cast a desperate glance at Thranduil.

“Don’t listen to him, Fin,” said Thranduil as he grabbed the Noldo’s arm. “The Dark Lord only seeks to sully Bella’s good name. Curse him! Curse him and all his cronies!”

It was then that Buffy’s attention turned to the red sun that started to rise in the east. Her heart started racing as she recalled the words that she had spoken to Brokk months ago before leaving for Angband:

“… Wait for my sign,” she had said.

“And what is that sign?” asked the Dwarf Lord.

“The red sun. Look for the red sun to rise in the east.”

“But, my dear Lady, we haven’t seen the sun in three years!”

“I know, but that’ll change. I will vanquish the darkness, my good dwarf. Wait for the red sun to rise in the sky, then make your move. Kill all those who bear the Red Cross.”

The dwarf had laughed. “If you accomplish that, my dear Freya, then you will truly be known as the Lady of Light, forevermore.”

Buffy then noticed that Sauron had finally scaled the hillside. She had to act fast. She positioned herself in front of the two young men. “I am a woman of my word,” she said to Melkor. With her mind, she asked Thranduil to slip his orb into her hand; she had felt it earlier when she embraced the elf. “But this war isn’t over just yet,” she continued as she nonchalantly reached her hand behind her back. Thranduil placed his orb into her palm.

“Illyria is gone,” replied Melkor. “Her dominion on Arda is over.”

“True,” she answered as her lips curled into a smile, “But yours isn’t… yet.” She held the orb aloft and started the incantation. Morgoth did not understand what she was doing and looked at her curiously.

“NO!” screamed the Necromancer upon witnessing the scene unfolding before his eyes. “Flee, Master, flee!”

As Morgoth turned his attention to his most trusted servant, he let out a cry of despair. A feeling of utter terror overwhelmed the Vala. He was unable to stop the Slayer from drawing his spirit into the mystical sphere. Once inside, Melkor’s black fey swirled around in panic. He desperately tried to free himself but to no avail.

Luthor and Orchal then joined them. The old man was ecstatic. He grabbed Buffy’s hand that held the orb and raised it high above her head. “The Lady has captured the Dark Lord, good people. The tyranny of Morgoth has ended!”

While Buffy’s followers cheered upon hearing that news, Morgoth’s minions felt confused and dismayed by the whole situation. They had assumed that the Slayer was on their side since she was their acting general. Now, they saw that that was not the case. Since they still greatly outnumbered her people, they started to attack.

But something happened that even they did not expect. A series of horn blasts echoed from the west as the sun rose above the horizon. Out of the foothills of the Orocarni came one million dwarves united under Buffy’s banner. At the forefront, was Brokk, who looked kingly indeed. For around his neck rested Brisingamen, the magical amber necklace wrought long ago in the Deeper Well. The Slayer had instructed Brokk to use the necklace to rally the four clans of Dwarves that dwelt under the Red Mountains. The final stage of Plan B was put into action.

The Naugrim, in chorus, shouted, “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu! (Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you),” as they descended upon the minions of Morgoth.

The Slayer then spoke telepathically to all her loyal followers. “Slay all of Morgoth’s minions with the Red Cross. Leave Sauron for me.” Immediately, those that had fought beside each other for months turned on one another. The last battle in the war had begun.

Olofin and Thranduil were instructed to bring Sauron to Buffy. They hurriedly took off after the evil Maia.

As various conflicts broke out on the mount, Buffy examined the orb in her hand. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed.

“What is it, Bella?” asked Luthor with concern.

“There’s a crack in the… ” Before she finished her sentence, Morgoth broke free from the orb; shards of glass rained down upon Buffy and Luthor. In his panicked state, the livid Vala fled back to Angband as quickly as he could. All the while, the sound of thunder and the flickering of lighting emanated from his essence.

“Damn it!” barked Luthor. “Should we try again?”

The Slayer watched Melkor’s fey as it zoomed towards the Iron Mountains in the north. “No, his capture wasn’t meant to be. Not yet, any way,” she mumbled faintly. Luthor looked at Buffy expecting her to elaborate further, but she didn’t. He sensed that something was amiss with her, but before he could ask what troubled her so, Olofin and Thranduil arrived with Sauron.

“Let him go,” she instructed the young men. “Now, go aid the others.” The elves eyed one another incredulously before doing as Buffy ordered. She was still the general, and the war was not yet over.

“You’re a traitor!” hissed Sauron venomously. “You have betrayed my Master!”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” replied Buffy straight-faced. “If Melkor’s stupid enough to fall for my… feminine wiles, then so be it. He’s the fool.” She folded her arms across her chest before continuing. “I made a promise to you long ago and I intend to keep it.” The Necromancer looked at her skeptically, his brows furrowed. “You’ve helped me escape Melkor’s clutches twice… I haven’t forgotten that.”

“What are you saying?” asked Luthor gravely. “Surely, you’re not going to set Sauron free!”

“You were there, Luthor. He helped you too.”

“That’s right, Luthor,” spat Sauron haughtily. “I helped you escape too! Just think what Melkor would do if he laid his hands on you.”

The old man lunged at the sniggering, evil Maia. Buffy let Luthor get one lick in before she intervened, separating the two like children.

“Get a grip, for Eru’s sake,” she chided. The Slayer restrained the old man by standing in front of him, holding his arms tightly around her waist. He’d be forced to go through her in order to reach Sauron. “Just go home, Sauron,” she said as she held back a struggling Luthor. “Stay out of the East; this is my dominion now. You decide to pop up, and you’ll die… ”

“You made a promise to me, Inanna Ishtar, an oath. If you dare break it, grievous woe will find you,” warned the Necromancer in a low hiss.

Buffy ignored his comment altogether. She resumed speaking in a voice that was more composed and threatening in tone than the one that Sauron had just used. “If Melkor’s foolish enough to attempt to make war with me, he’ll pay. Big time! You tell him that. The dwarves will decimate what’s left of his forces and you’ve witnessed the power of the Trident. I lay claim to all lands south of Ered Engrin, east of Orocarni, and north and west of the East Sea. If Melkor or his minions dare cross my borders, I’ll destroy Angband. And don’t even think about meddling with Mankind. They’re off limits; from here on out, they’re under my protection. You tell him that!” She paused before adding, “Now get the hell out of my sight before I regret my decision.”

Sauron stood there, momentarily stunned by the Slayer’s words. With his lips tightly pressed together, he gave a slight nod of his head before turning into his wolf form. He ran a few paces before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“I still think that you have erred in judgment, Bella,” said Luthor softly in her ear. Buffy released her grip and faced the old man. “That vow you made to Sauron will come back to bite you. Long ago, you were ignorant about the laws of the universe when it comes to making such declarations, but that’s not the case any more.”

“What’s done is done, Luthor. I can’t take it back.” She shifted her gaze towards the various conflicts taking place on the hilltop. She stretched out her arms; both the Trident and her sword came soaring through the air into her hands. “It’s time to fight. Save the fatherly lectures for after the battle.”

Luthor studied her for a long moment before unsheathing his weapon with a smile. His blue eyes twinkled at the prospect of annihilating all the hosts of Morgoth. He had to give credit where credit was due. The old man was impressed that Buffy’s Plan B appeared to be working. Melkor did hand over nearly all his forces to her, ensuring that the peoples of Middle-earth would have peace for a long while once they’re defeated.

“Where shall we start?” he asked enthusiastically, his eyes searching the battlefield.

“How ’bout in the thick of things?” suggested the Slayer, pointing to the south. The greatest clash between dwarves and beasts was taking place on the plains between the mount and the former location of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

“Lead the way, my dear.”

Before they joined the fray, Buffy returned her Trident to the copper trunk in her pavilion, (which happened to survive Illyria’s rampage.) She wouldn’t need it. All she needed was her mystical belt. She and Luthor then materialized in the middle of enemy territory. And so they joined the final battle in the war that would afterwards be known as Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin (The Battle of the Eastern Plains.)



It was mid-morning when Melkor finally reached the safety of his stronghold. He was absolutely wroth over Buffy’s multiple acts of betrayal. Once inside his hrör, he went berserk, smashing various pieces of furniture in his Great Hall. Carcharoth whimpered before crawling under the Dark Lord’s throne while all of his servants fled the chamber in fear of tasting their master’s wrath. Only Sauron remained behind.

“She betrayed me!” shouted Melkor. “I cannot believe that my Melisse betrayed me! Curse her!” He went to the only dignified portrait of her in Angband and punched a hole through her heart. He then tore the gilded frame from the wall and sent it flying across the room until it collided with the opposite stone wall. It ricocheted off, fragments of the broken frame sliding across the smooth, polished floor.

“Calm down, my Lord,” begged the Necromancer.

“Calm down?” he questioned in disbelief. “She imprisoned me in that… that sphere. What was that? Why would she do that to me?”

Sauron quickly went to the sideboard and poured his Lord a stiff drink. A large stiff drink. “Please, Melkor. Drink this.” He handed the goblet to his master with a trembling hand. “Do not fret over the whole ordeal. Things are not as bad as they may seem.” Morgoth turned his gaze to his first lieutenant, his eyes blazing with fury. “I… I mean… ”

“Are you defending the actions of Melisse?” asked the Dark Lord in amazement.

“No. No, my Lord, I’m doing nothing of the sort,” replied the fearful Maia.

Melkor took a long drink before angrily collapsing onto his throne, Carcharoth let out a yelp before bolting out the door. “What was that strange sphere that she trapped me in?”

“It is called an Orb of Thezula, my Lord. It was made by the Dwarf Lord, Durin. Inanna uses it as a means of trapping spirits, which she then transports to her prison… ”

“How do you know about this?” asked the shocked Vala.

“She taught us the spell to summon a spirit into the orb before the battle,” answered the Maia. He approached his master’s throne. In an awestricken voice he added, “I saw her rip the heart out of Úrion with her bare hand, my Lord. She literally pulled it out and drank the blood from his heart… ”

“Úrion? She has killed Úrion?” he queried with dismay. “Curse her!”

“My Lord, Úrion has betrayed you as well.” He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out the orb, it glowed with a faint blue light. “The traitor’s fey is contained herein,” revealed Sauron. “The Lady asked me to give this to you.” He climbed the steps of the dais and handed the orb to his master.

“Are you telling me that Úrion’s fey is housed within this object?” asked Morgoth as he examined it closely.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And that he has betrayed me?”

“You and Inanna, both. It was Úrion who viciously killed the Lady.” Morgoth fixed his eyes on his servant. “He cruelly hung her from a cross, stabbed her and then set her aflame.” The evil Maia shook his head. “It was appalling.” He paused before continuing, “The traitor has united with the vampire, Daehir.”

Melkor’s face contorted in his anger. “Daehir,” he hissed. “I will crush that… ” his words trailed off as he continued to look at the mystical orb in his blackened hand. The room fell quiet as he slid the orb into his pocket. “She has betrayed me, Sauron,” Morgoth whispered in a pained voice. “I did not foresee that. My beloved Melisse has turned against me. She has made a fool out of me… My armies! I gave her nearly all my forces. What if the sons of Fëanor choose to make war with me? I cannot defend my own.”

“That won’t happen, my Lord.” Morgoth’s eyes bore into the Necromancer, but Sauron held his own against the Dark Lord. “The Lady has claimed Illyria’s former kingdom as her own. It will be many long years before she leaves the East.”

“Who’s to say that she won’t send word to Maglor in the mean time?”

Sauron shook his head, a wicked smile came to his face. “I have spent much time with the Lady, I do not see her doing that. Inanna is about to become a powerhouse in the East, my Lord. We are about to find out if absolute power corrupts absolutely as we say.” His smile widened. “And my heart tells me that it does. Inanna is about to embark on a journey that will further ostracize her from those in the West. She will break many laws of Manwë thus bringing a greater doom upon herself… all in the name of love.”

“You foresee that?” queried Melkor with raised eyebrows.

“Indeed. Things are going better than we ever expected. In the end, she will bring the race of Man to our doorstep.”

Sauron then informed his master of all that he had learned while stationed in the East. His words brought little comfort to Melkor. He was still enraged by his beloved’s betrayal. She would pay, there was no question of that. He would break her heart as she did his. And there was only one way to truly achieve that - kill all her loved ones. One-by-one he’d destroy them all.

The Necromancer managed to convince Morgoth to allow him to repair the portrait of Buffy. He took it to his private chambers where he stretched the canvas out on his work table. His heart went aflutter as he looked admirably at the painting of the Slayer. The Maia’s hostility towards her had begun to diminish, only to be replaced by a warm and tingly sensation. He was so pleased that she had not betrayed him as she had Melkor. Before beginning his labors, he traced her lips with his fingertip. “One day, my sweet,” he whispered. “One day… ”


Chapter 54 - PROPHECY GIRL

Author’s Note: These last chapters pertaining to events in the East are based on our own ‘ancient’ mythology. I’ve taken liberties with certain elements in order to fit the context of this story.

Chapter Fifty-Four: Prophecy Girl



It took four months for the allies to defeat Morgoth’s forces in that last battle. Nearly all had perished except for a small band of demons led by Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs. The doves, who acted as Buffy’s spies, informed her that the enemy had fled to the safety of the Iron Mountains. The Slayer showed little concern, for the fugitives numbers were small in comparison to those that had been slain; only fourteen hundred had escaped.

Every muscle in Buffy’s body ached by the time she had finished ‘offing’ her last foe. The sun had just begun to sink behind the peaks of Orocarni after a scorching day on the battlefield. All the combatants would welcome the approaching darkness, it meant that the temperature would soon plummet, bringing them much needed relief from the summer heat. The Slayer rubbed the throbbing muscle at the base of her neck as her eyes scanned the carnage. Already, the dwarves busied themselves by stacking the dead in two separate mounds, allies on one and evildoers on the other. Her eyes continued to search the plains until she saw something glimmering in the fading sunlight - Brokk. Immediately, she disappeared and joined the dwarf; she hadn’t seen him face-to-face since he had arrived with the armies of Naugrim.

The dwarf lord was startled by Buffy’s sudden appearance. He greeted her warmly, the Brisingamen hanging majestically around his neck. Brokk looked like a golden ray of sunshine; the powers of the necklace were still working its magic. The Slayer’s eyes remained fixed on the amber jewels. Without speaking (and with a small smile), she tapped her chest indicating that it was time to return that coveted object back to its rightful owner. The dwarf flushed a deep shade of red before half-heartedly turning it over. That was the first and last time that anyone other than Buffy was to wear that necklace. She clasped the jeweled band around her neck before disappearing to the encampment on the hilltop.

The Slayer bypassed everyone in the sitting room of her pavilion as she made her way towards the comfortable bed in the adjoining chamber. She had no desire to bathe, just sleep. She summoned Kit and Kat and stationed them at the draped entryway, not wanting any to disturb her slumber, not even her children. Buffy collapsed on top of the bed, too exhausted to undress or crawl under the covers. With the worries of war behind her, she anticipated falling into a restful and dreamless sleep. Unfortunately, that was not the case. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she entered the prophetic dreamscape…

Buffy stood alone, atop the highest, snow-capped peak of Orocarni. She was dressed wholly is white except for a magnificent crown of lapis lazuli that rested upon her golden head. Finding the fierce winds unpleasant, she raised her arms and face toward the heavens. Only a moment later the winds died down to a gentle breeze. She shifted her gaze below; the entire land lay shrouded in deep mists that even her Vala eyes failed to penetrate. A faint sizzling sound could be heard amidst the fog.

As the Slayer stood watching, the haze lifted from the land once the crackling sound had dissipated. She now had a clear view of all the plains. Her eyes focused on the vacated mount, the allies’ encampment was no longer there. A large, white marble temple then flashed into being at the midmost point of the hilltop; it was both beautiful and majestic. As the images continued to flash in sequence, additional stone and marble structures appeared until an entire walled city formed on top and below the solitary hill. Buffy looked on in awe; it was breathtaking! Homesteads materialized all over the northern and southern plains, which now appeared lush and fertile. That area had become barren due to the lack of rainfall and the ravages of war, but now she saw rich grasses and rows of crops in all directions. Flocks of sheep, kine, and goats grazed lazily amid the region. From her perspective atop the Red Mountains, it looked as though the two rivers that had run through Bâb-edh-Dhrâ had widened; some areas were now marshy and thick with reeds. Buffy knew that she was witnessing the rise of a new civilization, a nation that would become her kingdom. She had no doubt about it, for on the top of the temple a banner with an eight-rayed star blew in the morning breeze. That symbol not only represented her (it was on her throne in Sussrúmnir), but also the House of Fëanor.

As Buffy continued to drink in the sight, her thoughts were disrupted by the sound of someone gasping in surprise. Turning towards the unexpected sound, she saw a black-haired young man, dressed in white, standing to her right. His wide, dark eyes looked at her with undivided admiration and devotion; even she could see that. He was tall, dark and handsome; the three qualities that Buffy favored when it came to the opposite sex. After a moment, the young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, fell to his knees in homage to the Slayer. Her smile widened at the gesture.

“You may rise,” she said, watching the young man closely. “Who are you?”

“I am but a lowly messenger,” he answered.

“You’re a mortal.”

“Yes. As I said, I am but a lowly messenger sent by The One, Eru,” he humbly replied.

The smile faded from Buffy’s face; her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest with excitement or trepidation, she didn’t know which.

“Ilúvatar?” she question apprehensively. “Am I in trouble or something?”

The young man was appalled that she would think such a thing. “Of course not,” he refuted. “You are the beloved daughter of Eru. Of all the Goddesses, he favors you most, for your love of his children surpasses that of the other Gods.”

“Who are you?” she asked again, scrutinizing the black-haired man keenly. For some reason, Buffy sensed something familiar about the young man, as though they had met before, yet she could not recollect his face. He aroused emotions in her that were inappropriate, unnerving her all the more.

“I have no name, for I have not yet been born into the world.” He smiled. “It will be you, the divine Inanna Ishtar that bestows a name upon me.”

“Are you my son from the future?” she asked, shifting her feet uneasily.

“No, no, no,” he chuckled. “I can assure you that that is most certainly not the case.” He paused; his eyes sparkled with loving adoration. “You will come to know me… in time. Many years will pass before I enter Eä.”

“Thank Eru,” she replied with a sigh of relief as she dramatically placed her hand on her heart. “For a second there I thought that you might be Oedipus.” She chortled to herself, finding her own words amusing.

“The time has come for you to realize your heart’s greatest desire,” revealed the young man, oblivious to her joke. In a hushed voice, he continued, “Eru knows of your longing to be worshipped by the peoples of this world. He has felt your agony, your enviousness towards those in the West, the pang in your heart when the Eldar give devotions to your kindred. You have earned the right to be accounted amongst the mightiest of the Mighty, for you toil harder in this world than any.

“Arda is destined to be Mankind’s domain; you know this well, for you have seen it. You, beloved daughter of Eru, have lived in the End of Days, the only God to ever do so. Let the Eldar have whom they will, but Mankind will revere you even after the breaking of the world. Your name will be sacred, and holy days will be devoted solely to you.”

Buffy was shocked when she heard that revelation. She had never shared that dream with any, not even Maglor. Was it true? Was her deepest desire about to become reality? Or was it wishful thinking?

The twosome then vanished from the mountaintop, only to reappear beside a great river. To their east, was a great wheat field, its tall stalks rustled in the breeze. They sat down on the sward of fragrant green grass along the riverbank.

“Do not view the elves as your equal, Inanna,” continued the young man. “Eru deems that it is your love for his firstborn children that compels you to do so. But you are not their equal; you surpass them in every way. You are a Goddess! The Goddess of Love and the Goddess of War.”

“Goddess of War?” she questioned in disbelief. “I’m not known as that.”

“You are now,” he replied with a wide grin. “Since your victory over Illyria, those in the West have bestowed yet another title upon you. You are greater than you know, Inanna Ishtar, you are greater than you know,” he added, his voice full of reverence.

“Why do you call me Inanna Ishtar when that’s not my true name?” asked the bewildered Slayer.

“Those are the names with which you will ascend the throne. Do you not understand the significance of their meaning?” He gave her a warm smile before continuing. “Both names represent who you are, what you are. Inanna can be interpreted as meaning ‘woman-gift’ or ‘wife-gift.’ By either definition, it signifies your status as the Goddess of Love.” The young man gently took both of her hands in his. “You will symbolize the carnal nature that both man and woman possess; the pleasures of the flesh that they share when their bodies are united as one… ”

“Oh, god,” she groaned with revulsion. “Illyria’s right, I am the Vala of Fornication.”

The young man did not understand how Buffy could construe that as being a bad thing. When he resumed speaking, he attempted to reassure her of that. “Do not make it seem shameful when it is not. Without the act of bodily union, there would be no life. Love is your gift… ”

Buffy became somber upon hearing his words. “But I thought that death was my gift,” she uttered softly. A pained expression crept over her face.

The young man appeared troubled by her sudden melancholy state. His eyes searched hers. “Life and death go hand in hand. Mankind cannot have one without the other; death is inevitable. That is Eru’s gift. His will! It is a never-ending cycle… That brings me to your other name - Ishtar. It means ‘king of knowledge.’”

“Queen of knowledge,” corrected the Slayer in a solemn tone.

“No,” he answered as he pulled his hands away, folding them on his lap. “Ishtári means ‘queen of knowledge.’ Your offspring had the foresight to know that you would one day claim the title of king, not queen.” She gave him a peculiar look. “Kings wield more power than queens in this world. The women in this world, including the Holy Ones, tend to be… subservient to man’s will. You, my dear Lady, are the rare exception to the rule. You have truly earned the right to call yourself king.” The young man then fell silent.

Buffy rose to her feet, she looked at the swift stream before them with downcast eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder if she too had a case of penis envy like Illyria. For even her daughter referred to herself as king.

No, she thought to herself. I am the Fëantári in Folkvang, that’s a queenly title.

She stood there, deep in thought. Glimpses of her past mingled with snippets from the future, confusing her all the more. Before she had gone to sleep, she saw things with such clarity, now she felt lost. And alone.

As if he had heard her thoughts, the young man stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Instinctively, she placed her hands on top of his and leaned against his muscular chest. That tender display of affection brought her much comfort.

“Look to the Oracles for the answers that you seek. They are your link to the All-father,” he whispered in her ear. His lips brushed against her earlobe, rousing her desire. She closed her eyes as the warmth of his touch swept over her.

“Sharru-kin.” The name escaped from her lips before she realized what she had said.

“I am here,” responded the black-haired man.

She turned and looked up into his dark eyes; he still clung to her. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Sharru-kin?”

He smiled. “If that is the name that you bequeath upon me, I will take it gladly, for it’s a lordly name.” Buffy knew that the name meant ‘righteous ruler’ in the language that would become known as Ancient Mannish by the elves in later times. She found Sharru-kin’s eyes mesmerizing; they reflected his love and desire for her.

“I have a husband that I love dearly,” she said as her stomach twisted into knots.

“Indeed, the Elf Lord,” he answered as he brushed a stray hair from her face. “You are the Goddess of Love, Inanna. Your heart cannot be constrained to only one man. Do you not know that?” He tenderly caressed her cheek as Buffy stared blankly at the young man. He pulled her closer before boldly pressing his lips against hers. His kiss was fiery; it awakened the passion in her. She couldn’t restrain herself; she hungrily kissed him back. Instead of falling to the earth in their passionate embrace, the scenery changed once again as they fell onto a large golden bed within an elaborate chamber. That new setting mystified the Slayer, especially since they both found themselves naked. As Sharru-kin’s hands began to explore Buffy’s body, an overwhelming feeling of guilt consumed her.

“NO!” she cried out before pulling away from the young man…



The Slayer rolled off the bed, landing on the carpeted floor of her tent with a thud. The fall jolted her awake; she was both naked (except for the Brisingamen) and out of breath. Kit hastily ran to her side and licked her face as if to tell her that all was well. She affectionately rubbed the lion behind his ears before taking a seat on the bed, wiping the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow with the back of her hand.

Buffy was rattled by the strange encounter with Sharru-kin, she found it most disturbing. She couldn’t imagine any situation that would cause her to take a mortal lover. She absolutely refused to believe his words - her heart was constrained to one man: Maglor. Buffy didn’t want anyone but her husband, whom she loved with all her heart. Yes, she had slept with Morgoth, but there were extenuating circumstances involved. She needed armies. Fast. It was essential to the defeat of Illyria, and deliverance of Mankind from her firstborn’s bondage. Besides, what other choice did she have?

The Slayer pushed that thought out of her mind. She looked lovingly at Kit, who now placed his front paws on her lap. “All that matters is that we’ve won,” she said aloud as she scratched the lion’s head. “Isn’t that right, baby?” She placed a kiss on Kit’s nose before summoning Fulla. It was time for a much-needed bath. As she sat in the tub of lukewarm water, being tended to by her maid, images continued to flash in her mind like a picture show. There was so much that needed to be done. Buffy would see to it that the visions regarding the rise of her kingdom came into being. But where to start?

After dressing, Buffy immediately went to Sussrúmnir; not to pass judgment on those that had fallen but to collect some valuables that she could use to barter with the Dwarves of Orocarni. The Naugrim were imperative to bringing her visions to fruition, and there was no doubt in her mind that they’d charge a great fee, especially when one considered the number of dwarves that she wished to employ. She wanted to put every dwarf that survived the battle to work, but it wouldn’t be cheap, that she knew well.

She walked from chamber to chamber, eyeing the rare artifacts that she owned. Buffy loathed parting with any of her possessions, especially knowing that Úrion and his traitorous followers had cleaned out her vaults in Lindecoa. She was getting sick and tired of ‘flipping the bill’ for everything. The Slayer had always been overly generous in the past, but that was about to come to an end. Perhaps it was time for the mortals to implement some type of monetary system like the Noldor had done in Beleriand. The Red Mountains were loaded with gold and silver for the taking, they just needed to start mining it. Surely, there was plenty of metal for both the Dwarves and Mankind. In the end, she chose a large vase full of gemstones. The dwarves had never seen any before (except for the Brisingamen), and she hoped that they would consider the jewels quite valuable since they were a rarity in the East.

Before she left her mystical realm, she summoned all her Maia councilors, engineers and shipwrights to Sussrúmnir. From the assemblage, Buffy chose fifteen of her most beloved councilors, thirty shipwrights and forty-five engineers to return with her to the East. She felt that their wisdom would be instrumental in establishing her new regime. Once everyone had gathered their personal belongings, they disappeared from that sacred land, only to return to the encampment atop the hill at mid-day.

Little did Buffy know how much her life was about to change. Her dreams were about to come true.

As soon as she appeared with her companions, every single person, whether they be Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Maia, fell to their knees out of love and respect for Buffy and her victorious crusade. Like a wave, people fell on bended knee across the plains, and together they lifted their voices as one, singing her praises. So touching was that moment that it brought tears to the Slayer’s eyes. To see even Luthor on bended knee thrilled her beyond words. The elves then sang Sweet Madam Blue in their mellifluous voices.

“This is the dawn of a new age for the peoples of the East,” she declared once the elves had finished singing. Her booming voice resonated across the land. “I forgive the sins of your past, my people, and from this day forward we shall all start over; we will heal the hurts of the earth and in our hearts. Let us not forget those who have fallen. Let us not let their deaths be in vain. We will honor them for both their service and sacrifice… We have endured the darkness, only to find the Light; through grief and sorrow, we’ll experience joy and bliss as Eru Ilúvatar intended.

“Together, we will build great cities from stone and marble across the plains. I will justly reward you all for your undying faith and loyalty to me. I will summon the flocks to return and the rains will soon come and replenish the lands.” A beaming Buffy paused; she looked at the joyous faces of her devoted followers. The East was Man’s dominion, and she did not totally forget her past life as a mortal, which seemed like ages ago. Considering the fact that she once counted herself as a human being, she decided to re-name that land based on her own ‘mortal’ name.

“Today, I proclaim all these lands in the East to be named Sumer.” Buffy smiled to herself, knowing that she had just made history, Mankind’s history. Sumer was obviously derived from her own mortal surname, ‘Summers,’ and she knew that that name would withstand the test of time. While the name Sumer itself would not be as widely known in the End of Days, the feminized version, Sumeria, most certainly would. Buffy now saw the first link in the chain that connected the First Age to the Fourth Age. Come spring, she would witness the second link, when her death and Resurrection would be declared the holiest of days. That Holy Day stemmed from the name that Brolach gave her long ago, Astarte, but in modern times, her Holy Day would be celebrated as Easter.

Only minutes later, men cried out in fear, pointing to the east. A thick fog, which emitted a faint sizzling sound, was slowly rolling across the plains, heading straight towards the encampment. A smile came to her face when she looked at the billowing cloud. Buffy understood what was happening; Ulmo had sent his enchanted mists to help ‘dissolve’ the corpses on the battlefield. Buffy appreciated the gesture greatly as there were literally millions of bodies in various stages of decomposition throughout that area. The Lord of Waters was merely assisting with the ‘clean up.’ The Vala of Love explained to her followers what was about to happen, and told them to rejoice in the fact that the rains were on the way.

Buffy then summoned all the chieftains from the various races to a council. By the time that the rains had begun, dozens of people had crammed into her pavilion. The Slayer sat at the table and sketched out the beautiful temple that she had seen in her vision: a circular, gleaming white structure with many pillars, a grand stairway of seventy-seven steps and a glass-dome in the center of the copper roof. She knew that it was crucial that the dwarves help bring that building into being since they were exceptional craftsmen and their numbers were by far greater than the other races combined.

The negotiations with the lords from the dwarvish clans, the Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks and Stonefoots were not at all what the Slayer expected. The dwarves were infamous for demanding a great fee for their labors and the lords of Orocarni were no exception. Buffy’s frustrations grew. She found these dwarf lords to be greedier than any she had ever encountered before. She argued that she had freed them from the tyranny of Illyria and Melkor and that that should be taken into account as part of their ‘fee.’ The dwarves did not see it that way, which annoyed Buffy to no end. She called for a break in the meeting in order to regain her composure. She retreated to her bedchamber and placed the Brisingamen around her neck; she knew that the mystical necklace would help sway the dwarves to her line of thinking. When they resumed the meeting, the Naugrim agreed to her demands, they would receive a paltry salary for the construction of the first temple.

First and foremost, she instructed the dwarves to construct the mammoth temple in honor of Eru Ilúvatar. For without his blessings, she wouldn’t realize her own dreams. After all, he was the All-father, and truly worthy of worship by all the peoples in the East. Ships would need to be built in order to transport the marble from the north. That’s why she had brought back her Maia shipwrights; their skill surpassed all others when it came to the art of boatbuilding. The Slayer demanded the temple’s completion by the first of the year, for that would be the time when she would appoint the first mortal king of Sumer. That gave the dwarves nearly five months to complete the structure.

“We cannot accomplish such a task in that short amount of time,” said one of the dwarf lords.

“If you work around the clock, you can,” informed Buffy. “You’ve got the manpower. I suggest that you get off your butts and get to work. The clock’s ticking.”

The dwarves grumbled, but set out to start quarrying the marble in the location that she told them. The Maiar were responsible for setting the hallowed foundations of that and all temples that followed.

Buffy then instructed many elves and mortals to collect all the weapons and armor from the battlefield. No mortal was allowed to keep any implement of war except for the weapons that he or she had possessed before the Slayer had arrived. Some of her councilors felt that man should have no weapons, but Buffy vetoed that idea. They were permitted to keep their bows, slings and knives, but all other weapons were to be returned to her, including those of the enemy.

Only a few days later, the construction of new dwellings (both at the top and bottom of the hill) began by those who had remained behind in the encampment. Buffy had envisioned a two-tiered city, the Ainur, Elves and Dwarves would reside within a fenced wall at the apex of the hill while Man would dwell at its base. She hoped that if she limited her contact with the mortals, she would be able to thwart the vision of Sharru-kin. That meant segregating the populace, allowing only certain representatives of Man into the ‘heart’ of the city. It was all part of her grand design for a new civilization.

With the construction underway, Buffy and her Maia councilors sequestered themselves in her pavilion hashing out the new laws of the land. It was a tedious task, but it had to be done nonetheless. The one thing that really caused the Slayer distress was Mankind’s numbers. They had dwindled dangerously low and she considered it of the utmost importance for their numbers to multiply. What was the point in being the supreme ruler if you didn’t have any to rule? She decided to debate this matter with her most trusted advisors.

“Maybe we’re jumping the gun here by enacting all these laws,” she said with a sigh, shifting the topic of conversation from taxation to her new dilemma. Everyone fixed his or her gaze upon her. “I mean, it’s not like there’s hordes of mortals to abide by them… I don’t know if you guys noticed the ratio of women to men, but we’re in desperate need of… people.”

“What do you propose?” questioned Luthor, his eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

“Well,” began Buffy as she rose from her seat. She started pacing in the small space allotted to her. “I think that man should take multiple wives… ”

An outbreak of rumblings immediately filled the room. Luthor was most outspoken against her.

“That is absolute madness!” shouted the old man, slamming his fist on the table. He couldn’t help but be abashed by her suggestion.

“How so?” she queried, undaunted by Luthor’s outburst.

“How so?” he repeated, his tone revealed his shock. “Polygamy is against all laws of nature, that’s why! Besides, Manwë had decreed… ”

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” remarked a snickering Buffy. “You have some nerve to throw that ‘Manwë decreed’ shit in my face after all you’ve done!” Luthor eased back in his chair; the Slayer’s words cut deep. He thought that they had put the past behind them. “Manwë has no say so here,” she continued, her agitation quite apparent. “When it comes to the fate of Mankind, the Valar have no say. I do. My will reigns!

“Why do you think I was chosen to deliver Man?” She studied the faces of all her councilors. “It’s no mere coincidence that Eru wanted not only the Slayer here but the Vala of Love. Surely, Oromë could’ve stopped Illyria, but that’s not Ilúvatar’s will. This undertaking was assigned to me because of who I am, what I am, and what I represent. Love comes in many forms and I’m the embodiment of all aspects of it.” She stopped and looked directly into Luthor’s eyes. “Man must multiply.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “What’s more, babies don’t grow on trees, now do they?”

“I fear that you will incur the wrath of your brethren for your flagrant disregard for their laws,” replied Luthor solemnly. “I’m only looking after your best interests, Bella… or am I commanded to call you Inanna Ishtar too?”

“You can call me whatever the hell you want, Luthor,” replied Buffy as she plopped back down in her seat. “I do not want Man learning the Elvish languages. Only the monarchs will be permitted to learn and use that tongue.”

Her councilors would soon discover that Sumer was not a democracy; it was a dictatorship. And they’d also hear the word ‘veto’ more times than they cared to.


Chapter 55 - DIRTY GIRLS

Buffy didn’t know which was worse: sitting in her pavilion enacting new laws or being accosted by mortals when she attempted to walk freely about the land. The rumor that she would be selecting the first king of Sumer at the beginning of the year had somehow reached their ears (Luthor!), and men constantly offered her gifts or sang songs and recited poems about her great beauty, strength, holiness and generosity in an attempt to win her favor. She wouldn’t have minded much if she hadn’t already made that choice. How could she not appoint one from the bloodline of Brolach to the throne? He and his kinfolk were the first ones to sway from Morgoth’s side to hers. Surely, they should be rewarded for their loyalty. The first king of Sumer would be Orran, son of Orrin, son of Brolach.

The battle had ended only ten days before, when Buffy realized that she had overlooked re-embodying the elves from her Household. She was horrified and deeply ashamed that she had allowed herself to become so preoccupied with the affairs of Man and the erecting of Eru’s temple to forget her beloved friends. Not all were gifted with new flesh, for not all had drunk her life force in bygone days. Nevertheless, fifteen thousand Green-elves were re-embodied that day, delighted to be ‘alive and kicking’ once more. They were quick to vocalize their outrage regarding the betrayal of Úrion and their kindred; they demanded retribution. However, Buffy deemed that the time was not yet ripe; the traitors remained shackled, under heavy guard, in many pavilions scattered along the hilltop. She hadn’t really had the time to consider any type of punishment. It would still have to wait as she had more pressing issues at hand.

With the power of song, Buffy summoned back both birds and beasts to the plains. Nothing made the people happier than hearing the sweet melodies of the songbirds. It had been nearly four long years since they had heard anything other than the cooing of doves.

The day after the ‘rebirth’ of the elves, the Slayer decided to hold a feast to commemorate those that had died in the battle. All the people were summoned, except for the dwarves of Orocarni, who had already left the encampment for the northern regions of Sumer. Buffy thought that the feast would be the perfect opportunity to proclaim the new laws that all must abide by. The decrees were read aloud by none other than Orchal. Man had no problem with any of them, including the ‘Marital Law,’ which declared that one must take a spouse once one had reached childbearing age. In regards to women, Buffy had said, “If they’re old enough to bleed, they’re old enough to breed.” While her Maia councilors agreed somewhat with that statement, they did in fact re-word the law so that the language was more appropriate. They had all decided that thirteen was the minimum age in which one could wed unless Buffy declared otherwise. The feast lasted several days. Much to the Vala of Love’s delight, many wedding ceremonies were performed during the festivities. The Marital Law gave incentives, both wealth and privilege, to those that immediately bore many children. They would be given tax relief, for a time, as well as allotments of land.

While man was eager to get in Buffy’s good graces by bringing forth children, the elves considered their conduct licentious: the mortals procreated in public view like animals. The Slayer condoned the ‘acts of love,’ and found the elves’ behavior rather amusing. Nonetheless, the Green-elves decided to take it upon themselves to build dwellings for the mortals so that they could be ‘affectionate’ within the confines of their own homes. They now had a greater appreciation for the law that segregated the races, deeming it one of the wisest decisions that Buffy had ever made.

When the season turned to fall, the Slayer decided that it was time to flee to Sussrúmnir in order to get away from the endless badgering of man. If she directed time to move at the same pace in both places, she could easily return in time for the coronation. While she longed for rest and respite, she knew that she had much to do in her Blessed Realm. Those who were to stay in Folkvang needed to be re-embodied, and only Buffy had the power to do that. In her absence, both Luthor and Marto would be left in charge of governing the affairs of Sumer. Before leaving, she told both men to have mankind off her mount by the time she returned. It was time for the ‘Segregation Law’ to come into effect.

Buffy allowed her maidens to garb her in her ceremonial dress upon her arrival. As she ascended the stairway, she ordered all the Valkyries to come to Sussrúmnir as soon as possible. She only wanted to meet with the chieftains, but demanded all to be present in her Halls, nonetheless. It was now time to see if those women were truly as loyal to their mistress as they claimed to be.

When she entered her Hall of Judgment, Núrë, her cupbearer, placed a silver chalice of wine in her hand before stepping back into one of the recesses of the room. Buffy approached her throne, stopping at the bottom of the dais. She stared at the cross engraved on her canopied throne of lapis lazuli; images of her torments flashed through her mind. The pain and suffering that the Slayer had experienced still weighed heavily on her mind. She was no longer fond of the cross; it didn’t represent goodness or holiness; it represented treachery and evilness to her.

Reluctantly, she climbed the steps of the dais and sat on her exquisite chair. As soon as her rear sunk into the cushion, images immediately passed before her eyes. A small cry escaped her lips when she saw that the Temple of Eru would not be completed by the first of the year. In fact, only the foundations would be laid at that time. That did not please her at all. Despite that grim vision, seeing the twins’ faces over and over in her mind’s eye boosted her spirits. She knew that they were about to come in to their own.

As the women started filing in, the visions stopped. Buffy watched the ladies closely as they came before her throne; only eleven chieftains remained as Anairë had returned to Valinor after Angwen had destroyed her hröa. She could find no healing in Folkvang without the Fëantári. Unfortunately, the Slayer had showed little interest in returning to her mystical realm at the time, so Anairë returned to Manwë’s halls on Taniquetil. Even after all those years, Buffy had not yet appointed another Maia to take her place.

“The time has come for the women of Folkvang to prove their worth not only to me, but to the mortal men of this realm,” started the Slayer as she studied the faces of her chieftains closely. “The men in this kingdom have the same desires and needs as they did when they dwelt in the ‘real’ world. Those needs must be sated, whether it be thirst, hunger or other… manly urges.” The Valkyries understood Buffy’s message loud and clear. “It is woman’s responsibility to see that those urges are satisfied, and that’s where you all come in. It’s the duty of the women of this realm to fulfill man’s bodily desires.” The ladies simply nodded their heads in acknowledgement. “I want you to deliver that message to the others. None will be forced to do anything against her will. But if any choose not to perform these acts of love then I have no need for them. Why would any wish to be servants of the Vala of Love yet not give their love freely? Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

“I think I can speak on behalf of all of us present when I say that we did not volunteer to enter your service without careful consideration,” answered Vórëa after looking to her sister Valkyries for approval to speak as their representative. The women nodded their heads encouragingly. “We are the mighty warriors of Maranwë Luinil, we belong to your House, and our duty is to do as you command whether it be on the battlefield or… elsewhere. I, for one, have no qualms about doing whatever you ask of me. My allegiance is to you and you only. I have forsaken my former lord out of my love and reverence for you, the greatest of the Valier.” She bowed her head and fell to one knee; the others followed suit.

“Command us, o’ magnificent one,” they said in unison.

A warm smile came to the Slayer’s face. She was touched by the loyalty of her chieftains even though she had been neglectful of them in the past. Their faithfulness would definitely be rewarded. Buffy wasn’t about to embark on her journey alone, she would take her most beloved and trustworthy servants with her. They had an integral role to play in upcoming events.

“I’m pleased by your faithfulness,” said Buffy after the women stood upright again. “I’m aware that most of you have not lain with a man before.” Her smile widened. “Fear not, for I will teach you all that I know when it comes to pleasures of the flesh… ” The Slayer paused as she pondered that last sentence. It sounded like she was going to give the ladies a live demonstration in the art of lovemaking, and that most certainly wasn’t the case. “Not “teach” in the literal sense of the word,” continued Buffy in an attempt to clarify what she had just said. “I mean, I’m not gonna do a presentation or anything.” The Vala of Love’s face flushed; she cleared her throat, revealing her discomfort. “I’ll send you guys visions, yeah, visions.”

She took a long drink before shifting her gaze to a magnificent tapestry on the wall; it was an aerial view of Folkvang. For some reason, when she looked at that portrait, the images of her crucifixion flashed in her mind, instantly putting her in a melancholy state. When she resumed speaking, her voice was full of pain and sorrow.

“Úrion’s betrayal blindsided me… I never saw it coming. I loved him… I trusted him... I let him into my life, my home, my heart… and he used it against me. He manipulated me; he manipulated situations… The things he did to… ” Buffy shuddered as her words trailed off, she turned her mournful eyes to the Valkyries. The women saw something more in their mistress’ eyes. They could see that she still loved Úrion despite his wicked deeds. The Slayer had not yet come to terms with his traitorous acts. That’s why she had sent him to Morgoth. Melkor wouldn’t dream of delaying punishment on one of his minions, especially one who defected from his camp to the vampire, Daehir.

“I don’t want that to ever happen to me again,” she continued softly. “I fear acts of treachery more than anything else… ” Buffy forced herself to shake off the chill that enveloped her heart. When she resumed speaking, her tone was normal. “I’m not completely ignorant of things to come. And I’m beginning to understand how truly powerful we women are. Man’s greatest weakness is woman… it doesn’t matter if he’s a mortal, an elf or Ainu - they’re all the same. We’re the true power in this world though man would say otherwise.

“I do not command you to have sex with men for their pleasure alone; the act of bodily union between man and woman will be a sacred rite of devotion to me. Lying with one of my priestesses,” she stretched her hands out before her, indicating that she was referring to the women, “is the equivalent of lying with me. And man must ante up for such an honor; nothing in this world is free!

“You ladies will return with me to the East where you will be anointed as High Priestesses of my temples, which will be many. Each city-state that arises will have a king, governor, and high priestess, but it’ll be my women that hold the true power behind the crown.” Buffy’s smile widened. “You, my lovelies, will be my spies, my assassins, my ministers of truth… Bed a man and you will discover his innermost secrets and his heart’s greatest desires. If man attempts to undermine me, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Are the Valkyries expected to act as your spies in Folkvang as well?” asked Laurië.

“No,” replied the Slayer. “Sex is a reward to the men in this realm. Like I said, their needs must be sated or we’ll have problems down the road. But I do expect them to present gifts of value for that privilege, which will be split with me fifty-fifty.” She paused before continuing. “You let the others know my will; those that refuse to abide by it, are commanded to leave Folkvang forever. You may go.” The maidens turned and gracefully left the chamber; the two mammoth doors closed silently behind them.

Buffy took a deep drink from her goblet. She was elated knowing that her plans for the future were in the works. And she owed it all to Morgoth. He opened her eyes to how powerful sex was, it was a cunning form of manipulation. Those women most faithful to her would learn the secrets of bringing man to his knees, thus making it easier for woman to achieve her goals.

Over the next few months, Buffy performed her role as the Fëantári of Folkvang; most of her time was devoted solely to remaking the flesh of the mortals that would remain in her sacred land. With the arrival of the winter solstice, the Slayer decided to return to the East in order to prepare for the upcoming coronation. Not only would she name herself as King of the East at that time, but she would also appoint Orran as the king of the first city-state, Eridu (which translated to “House of the Holy Mound” in Sumerian).

After much thought, she concluded that she would bring some Maia laborers back with her to Sumer. Since they possessed great magics, they would be able to hasten the construction process more so than the dwarves, elves or mortals. Besides, many new ideas had come to Buffy while she sat upon her throne, each bigger than the next. Maia men also had their role to play in the great scheme of things.

When the Slayer explained her designs to the Maiar, they suggested that she should teleport several ships from the harbors of Folkvang to the East. Buffy loved that idea. It made sense and would speed the delivery of the marble slabs from the north. Five thousand men, forty-four handmaidens, and the eleven Valkyrie chieftains boarded the twenty-four ships along with their mistress. A few minutes later, the vessels and their occupants vanished from that mystical realm, only to reappear on the Buranun River in the East. The boats were anchored in the center of the river, which was not nearly as swift as the other stream in the area, the Idignia River. Buffy did not transport the ships close to Eridu, but positioned them close to the area where the dwarves would be excavating the stone.

Two hundred men stayed with the ships while the others left with Buffy for Hírilost. She had stationed the twins there soon after the start of Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin since they were not great warriors and she had feared for their safety. They were assigned the task of overlooking the dwarves in their labors. They saw to it that the orbs were packed safely within crates, and recorded the names of all the fallen heroes.

Anno and Mirë were delighted to see their mother; they had missed her the last time she had paid a brief visit to the castle. Buffy was most anxious to speak with the twins, she wanted to talk to them about Sharru-kin and the dream that she had had. The thought that her children could possibly be a direct link to Ilúvatar was mind-blowing to the Slayer. She wanted confirmation and advice.

She took her children to her suite of rooms where they could talk in private. Buffy seldom spoke of her prophetic dreams with any, preferring to keep them to herself. Before taking their seats in one of the sitting rooms, Anno poured each of them a glass of wine.

“You have come seeking our counsel,” commented her daughter.

Buffy smiled. “You know me so well.”

“What troubles you, mother?” asked her oldest son with concern. “Is it the vision that Eru has sent you?”

“You know about that?” she questioned with surprise.

“Indeed,” replied Mirë. “Anno and I have been chosen as an instrument of Ilúvatar. Our objective is to guide you through the various phases of your journey. ”

“The mortal Sharru-kin will become the first king of Luthor’s domain, Kish,” revealed Anno.

The Slayer felt the blood drain from her face. She was absolutely shocked by her son’s statement. She hadn’t told anyone about her plans to appoint some of her beloved Maiar as chief deities of the city-states she intended to build.

“Sharru-kin will be vital to your success in dominating the East,” began Mirë. “His love and devotion to you will be unwavering.”

A dumbfounded Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So, you’re telling me that Eru wants me to break my wedding vows to Maglor? He wants me to have an affair with this mortal… this Sharru-kin.” That didn’t make any sense to her.

Mirë smiled reassuringly at her mother. “Bedding another does not change the love that you have for your husband… ”

“Monogamy is not part of your essence,” interjected Anno. “It never was, and never will be. It’s who you are, mother. And you have never truly been faithful to Kanafinwë… we were born during your courtship with the elf.”

“But… but,” stammered the Slayer. “We weren’t really together yet. We had only visited each other in dreams. I didn’t… cheat on him.”

Her daughter chuckled. “You can say whatever you wish to pacify yourself, mother. We are not here to condemn you or your actions.”

“You can attempt to hide behind the laws that you pass that keep the races separated, but that will not change your destiny. You are fated to be with the mortal king for it is Eru’s will,” declared her son. “You are the Vala of Love, mother! You cannot run from who you are nor can you go against the Allfather’s commands. What is meant to be, will be. Not one soul in all of Eä can circumvent His will.”

“Why, in the name of all that’s holy, would Eru want me to sleep with a mortal king?” asked a flabbergasted Buffy.

“That we do not know,” answered Mirë, “for Ilúvatar does not show us everything.”

“You will know his true purpose when He decides to reveal it, not only to you, but to us as well.” Anno fell quiet as he studied his mother intently. He knew that she would attempt to defy Eru’s will regardless of what he or his sister had to say. The Oracles knew very well that none could alter the plans that the Allfather had in store for you. Why else would there be destiny and fate?

“There is another matter that needs your attention, although it does not come directly from Ilúvatar,” started Mirë. “It has more to do with your friendship with Melian. Come spring, Thingol will summon all his march wardens to a council at Menegroth. From what I can see, two of them will not attend.”

“Oh, crap,” gasped Buffy, her eyes widening. Her heart felt as if it had dropped to the pit of her stomach. She rose to her feet, glass in hand, and walked over to the frost-covered window. Her Vala eyes pierced through the crystals on the pane; the entire landscape lay covered in snow. “I forgot about the elves of Doriath,” she whispered in a quavering voice. She turned towards the twins, her eyes still wide with panic. “What am I supposed to do? Túreb’s dead. I don’t have the power to summon him from the Halls of Mandos.”

“Our task is to tell you what the future holds, mother. Only you can decide what to do with that information,” answered her son before rising from his seat. “Perhaps we should leave you in peace so that you may dwell upon this conundrum. Come, Mirë.”

Before leaving the chamber, her daughter glanced over her shoulder and added, “Eru is delighted that you chose to build a temple in His honor before your own. Not even those in the West have shown Him such tribute.” The twins then left their mother.

Buffy remained alone in that room for a few days while she contemplated what to do. Her loyalty to Melian had to take precedence over her love for the elves. After everything that the Queen of Doriath had done for her, it was crucial that Thingol never learn of his men aiding the Slayer in her wars in the East. She only hoped that the survivors of Doriath would one day forgive her for the sin that she was going to commit against them. She had no other choice.

As soon as she made up her mind, the Slayer changed into warm garments and proceeded outside. Despite the frigidly cold weather, she visited all the graves of the Moriquendi that had died in battle. While she walked from mound to mound, many of those from Folkvang watched from the windows of the castle. Their hearts ached for their mistress knowing that this was the first time she had had the opportunity to grieve the loss of her beloved friends.

When she reached the resting place of those from Doriath, she somberly stood over the remains of Túreb. She recalled their first meeting many years ago when she still dwelled within the halls of Menegroth. It seemed like ages ago when she, Mablung, and the elves of Taurost hunted the vampires in Brethil. Buffy fell to her knees, sinking into the depths of the snowdrift, and wept. She loved her flaming red-haired friend and it pained her that he was no longer in Middle-earth. She wished that she had bound him to her as she had done with the loyal Green-elves of Ossir. But she hadn’t, and now he was gone. The grief of losing Túreb would pain her for centuries to come.

“Pull yourself together,” she sniveled. After drying her eyes, she placed her gloved hands on the mound, and uttered an incantation. All of a sudden, a maelstrom of white light sprung from the ground, spinning itself around the Slayer. Only a minute later, the light waned; Buffy then moved on to the next grave. She performed that same spell forty-four hundred times, for that’s how many elves from Doriath had perished. When she had completed her task, she returned to the warmth of Hírilost and informed the Maiar, including the twins, that it was time to return to Eridu. The coronation would take place the following day.

The arrival of the Slayer and the many Maiar that accompanied her was met with great welcome. Those stationed on the mount were taken aback by the presence of so many Holy Ones. Buffy, herself, was perplexed by the sight of so many mortals on the hill; it was against her direct orders. Luthor immediately pulled her aside to explain the situation.

“I understand that you did not want the mortals here,” he said. The Maia linked arms with the Slayer before leading her towards a partially completed structure west of Eru’s future temple. “They insisted on aiding us in building a home worthy of the great Inanna Ishtar!”

Buffy scowled. “I specifically said that I didn’t want them around me.”

“I know, I know,” answered Luthor as he continued to guide her towards the unfinished palace. “What’s with the sudden hostility towards the mortals? Have they done something to incur your wrath?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” The Slayer could feel the Maia’s penetrating gaze; she refused to make eye contact with him.

“You’ve had a vision, haven’t you? Is man going to do something horrid?”

“I told you, Luthor, I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway,” answered Buffy with an air of annoyance in her voice. She stopped and faced the Maia. “You’ve deliberately contested my will and that doesn’t please me in the slightest. If you can’t respect my commands then perhaps we should do something about that.” Luthor attempted to protest, but she refused to let him speak. “Listen,” she continued with a small smile, “I love you, old man, I really do. But I think you’re too set in your ways to follow my orders. You’ve been the Lord of the Deeper Well for a while now… ” She paused; her eyes scrutinized the man whom she regarded as a father figure. “I think the time has come for you to have your own kingdom.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that as soon as we get the mortal population up, we’re gonna form new cities. I want you to be the chief deity of your own city. You still have to abide by the laws that I set, but if you want to co-mingle with the mortals, then more power to you. I, personally, want them segregated from me and my Household. Don’t get me wrong, I love the mortals, especially those from the line of Brolach, but… I just think it’s important that we don’t encourage too much interaction between the races.”

“You did have a vision!” whispered Luthor anxiously. “And I deem it wasn’t a pleasant one for you to wish to separate the races.”

Buffy laughed. “I wouldn’t call it unpleasant… disturbing is more like it.” She turned her gaze back to the stone hall in front of them. “So, are you gonna give me the grand tour or what?” Luthor smiled, took the Slayer’s hand, and led her into her ‘temporary’ living quarters. Her permanent abode in Eridu would be her temple once it was built. Nevertheless, she was overjoyed at having a more ‘civilized’ type of dwelling.

The Slayer talked privately with both Olofin and Orchal into the wee hours of the morning. She was shocked to learn that Ulmo had visited her son in a dream while she was away. He told the half-elf to place Acathla’s remains in a stone ‘box’ and toss it into the river. The Lord of Water’s servants would then hide the entombed beast where none could find it until the ‘changing of the world.’ Buffy was grateful for the Vala’s aid. She had already decided to officially deify both him and Aulë, for they had contributed their talents for her profit.

At dawn the following morning, everyone stationed himself or herself around the massive foundation of the Temple of Eru. Only those involved with the coronation were permitted to stand on the hallowed ground, which included Buffy, her children, a handful of Maiar and Orran. As the sun ascended into the crisp, clear blue sky, the elves sang their holy songs in honor of Eru Ilúvatar. The actual ceremonies began at noon.

On New Year’s Day, Yr 166 F.A. (based on the reckoning of the Eldar) Luthor proclaimed Buffy as King of the East and Supreme God of Sumer, before placing a crown of lapis lazuli on her head. She was astonished that the crown, (which was made by Marto), looked exactly like the one in her vision. She quickly pushed all thoughts of her prophetic dream out of her mind, not wanting anything to ruin that most glorious day. The Maiar and elves then sang many songs in the Vala’s honor while man presented her with gifts. Before the mid-day feast, she placed a gold and ruby crown upon the head of Orran, whom she then pronounced as King of the Mortals of Eridu, the first city-state of Sumer. He and all his descendents were destined to be the greatest of the mortal bloodlines.

As part of the ceremony, the Maia scribes recorded Orran’s name as the first king of Eridu in a blue leather bound book adorned with an eight-rayed star of lapis lazuli. The elves, who had brought no books on the journey, penned the son of Brolach’s name on a scroll while man inscribed his name on a clay tablet. So began the Kings List of Sumer and the recording of all events that transpired in the East.

During the festivities, the twins noticed their mother’s apprehensiveness towards the mortals. They quickly alleviated her fears by assuring her that Sharru-kin had not yet been born. Buffy was relieved to hear that and became less standoffish with man. She even allowed Orran and his kinfolk to eat at her table with many Maiar, elves and the dwarves from the Deeper Well. That would be the only time that the Slayer would feast with all the other races in public.

The celebration allowed the Slayer the opportunity to really observe man in his element. She enjoyed watching the young mortal children at play, especially the fair-faced daughters of man. As she watched the girls in particular, she decided that the fairest of them would make ideal priestesses in her temples. Under the tutelage of the Maia High Priestesses, the young girls would become powerful spiritual leaders as well as proficient in magics. She believed that choosing the maidens before they reached puberty was pivotal in molding them into ideal ministers of love and truth. She enacted a new decree during the fete proclaiming just that. Since Buffy was the only one with the authority to anoint a priestess, she selected fifteen girls during the feast (between the ages of eight and twelve) to become her future mortal representatives.

When the sun sank behind Orocarni, the party became livelier. The inhabitants of Eridu had consumed large quantities of wine, ale and mead as the night wore on, many were drunk. The sound of laughter filled the hilltop as people danced to the merry melodies of the elves. It was such a joyous occasion and Buffy was delighted that everybody was having such a wonderful time. Yet, all good things come to an end, as they say, and New Year’s Day of Yr 166 proved no different.

None at first, with perhaps the exception of the Oracles, noticed the ram drawn chariot approaching the mount from the sky. Inside the vehicle stood a mysterious stranger that Buffy would come to name as foe, a rival that would become her bane well into the Second Age of Middle-earth.

The Vala of Love first caught a glimpse of something soaring across the star-speckled sky while she was dancing with Orchal. Initially, she thought it was a shooting star, but then realized that it was much too low for that. As she focused her eyes on the moving object, she noticed that it was no shooting star, but someone in a shimmering white chariot pulled by six beasts. The Slayer stopped dancing as she stared at the shadowy figure in the airborne vehicle.

“Who the hell is that?” she asked, drawing her companion’s attention to the figure in the sky.

Orchal followed her gaze. “Do you think it’s Morgoth?”

“No way. I’d know if it was him,” she replied confidently. “That’s someone else, a someone I’ve never sensed before.” A sudden chill swept over her, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She knew that that intruder’s unexpected arrival did not bode well for her, yet she wasn’t willing to smite the stranger without just provocation. Buffy decided that she had better rally her children and personal guard as quickly as possible, just to be on the safe side.

As the group made their way to the palace, the Slayer used her telepathic powers to order the Valkyries to escort the vehicle in fey form. The chieftains immediately did as they were told while the Maia men armed themselves, before securing the perimeter of the uncompleted fortress. Surprisingly, most of the mortal populace didn’t notice the sudden departure of many Maiar and elves from the festivities - they were too engrossed with the revelry.

Buffy took a seat on her throne in the main hall of the castle. She nervously awaited the arrival of the mysterious stranger. She didn’t have long to wait. Ten minutes later, the new arrival was ushered into her chamber by a group of Maia guards. The Slayer’s eyes scrutinized the man intently. She could sense that he was akin to her, an Ainu. The man was tall and slender; his long black hair interwoven into a single braid. His dark, penetrating eyes looked at Buffy with amusement and wonder; power radiated from his essence. He approached her throne, casting a glance at the hundred plus armed men and women in the room.

“I come in peace,” proclaimed the man in a deep voice. He held his palms up; he was weaponless, thanks to Buffy’s guard. “I had to come and pay my respects to the one who usurped the power from Illyria,” he continued.

“Who are you?” asked the Slayer, her brows furrowed.

The man smiled broadly, revealing gleaming white teeth. “I am known by many names, like you, Inanna Ishtar. My people mostly call me Amarutu or Marduk.” The smile faded from his face. “I prefer Marduk, if you will,” he added with a slight nod of his head. He glanced around the chamber once again. “You’re not very hospitable, are you? I would think that you would at least offer the true King of the East a seat to rest his weary bones. I have traveled far to see you.” His cold, dark eyes lingered on her.

Buffy thought her heart was about to beat out of her chest. The gall that that Marduk had by coming into her house calling himself King of the East on the very day that she proclaimed the same angered her greatly, although she tried not to show it. The arrogance in his tone was quite unbecoming. The tension in the room was so thick, you could cut it with a knife! The Slayer signaled one of her men to bring Marduk a chair and both of them a glass of elvish wine. She didn’t want to gain a reputation as being inhospitable.

“Thank you kindly,” he said to the elf attendant before taking a seat. “It has been many long years since I’ve seen this many elves in these parts. I can vividly recall when the firstborn of Eru left Cuiviénen for the West with the Great Rider. My, oh, my, that has been ages ago!”

“What do you want?” asked a leering Buffy.

“Well, you’re not one for small talk, are you?” asked the stranger with a chuckle.

“No, I’m not,” she answered sternly.

“I am amazed that one so small was able to dethrone the mighty Illyria. I thought you’d be bigger!” The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Yet I suppose that you did not find it too difficult to overthrow your own daughter. That is impressive! I must say, Inanna that it pleases me that you have taken on a more pleasant facade than your firstborn. I, too, do not believe in taking on a menacing guise for intimidation purposes. I daresay she gets that from her father!” He laughed, the sound echoed in the massive chamber.

“What the hell do you want?” she queried. He ceased his laughter, fixing his gaze on her.

“It has been brought to my attention that you claim all the lands in the East as your own, but that is most certainly not the case, my dear.” With narrowed eyes, he leaned forward in his seat before continuing. “I have dwelled in these parts since the beginning. Melkor and I reached an agreement long ago, and I have made allowances by turning over some of my least desirable cities to his daughter. I have kept my word with the Dark Lord.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” hissed the Slayer.

“No? You have come into my realm and lay claim to my lands by calling yourself King of the East. Illyria was not strong enough to take me down and I can assure you, my dear Lady, that you do not have the numbers to wage a successful campaign against me. I will obliterate all your forces if you attempt to thwart my designs.”

“You have some nerve coming into my house speaking with such insolence,” she said through gritted teeth. Buffy could feel her blood pressure rising, her face reddened.

Marduk fell quiet for a moment; his eyes carefully studied the small woman sitting before him. “I mean no disrespect, yet I expect the same from you. I am the King of the East! Do not undermine my authority here, Inanna, and we will have peace for many years, I deem. You may keep the lands that you have won for they are small in comparison to mine. My goal is to reunite all twelve tribes of man, yet I can wait a little longer for that. I will grant you the right to command the five tribes of man that Illyria had ruled over… that is, until you become jaded and seek to return to your home in the west. All I ask in return is a few moments with the Oracles, for I wish to consult with them.”

All eyes immediately turned to the twins. It now became apparent that that was the real reason behind the Ainu’s visit. It was now Buffy’s turn to laugh.

“You come into my house, insult me, and then wish to speak with my children,” she laughed. “I don’t think so. You need to learn some manners, Amarutu Marduk! Here’s my advice to you: sweeten your tongue the next time you dare set foot in my lands! Your haughty behavior is unacceptable. If you wish to speak with the Oracles then you best present them with gifts worthy of that honor. As for me, I don’t take your threats lightly. If push comes to shove, I’ll destroy your cities… and I don’t need an army to do that. I’ve got weapons that you can’t even fathom, my dear.” Buffy smiled in triumph. “Now get your ass out of my lands before I give you a demonstration of my power.”

Marduk looked scornfully at the Slayer as he rose from his chair. He shoved his near emptied glass into an elf’s hand. “Now I see why you’re the wife of Melkor. You’re both willful and seek to dominate all others. We will meet again, dear Inanna. I can only hope that you take my counsel to heart. I bid you a good evening.” He turned; his white cloak billowed behind him as he left the chamber accompanied by many guards. The double doors closed silently behind the arrogant Ainu.

Buffy rose from her seat and headed over to the sideboard. The room was so quiet; you could hear a pin drop. She placed her glass on the table as she grabbed a bottle of wine. The Slayer was livid. Instead of pouring the delectable nectar into her glass, she flung it against the white stone wall, shattering the bottle and spraying red wine all over. Breathing heavily, she clenched her fists so tightly that her fingernails dug into her flesh. She remained facing the wall, her green eyes turned to black.

She called forth her Valkyrie chieftains, who immediately took their positions behind their mistress. Buffy turned and faced them, the women gasped in surprise when they saw her eyes.

“I want to know everything about that arrogant son-of-a-bitch,” she began, her voice full of contempt. “It’s time for you ladies to step up to the plate. Disguise yourselves as mortal maidens of great beauty and infiltrate his domain. Let’s see if we can breach his leadership from the inside. Seek out those in positions of power and seduce them! Find out everything, especially in regards to weaponry and the militia. I don’t care if you have to fuck every mortal in his cities, don’t come back until you have the intel I requested.”

The Valkyries nodded obediently before hastily leaving the chamber. Buffy knew that she needed to bring more of her warrior maidens from Folkvang, eleven women would not be nearly enough to accomplish the task that she had assigned to them.

In upcoming days, the Valkyries would prove to be invaluable in the art of espionage. The mortals in Marduk’s realms would come to refer to them as ‘party girls’ while the Ainu himself would designate them as the ‘dirty girls of Ishtar.’ Buffy and Marduk would soon vie for complete supremacy over all the lands in the East.


Chapter 56 - WHEN SHE WAS BAD

Buffy leaned against the railing of the balcony off her bedchamber, nursing her fifth glass of wine as she stewed over the events that had transpired earlier that night. Nothing infuriated her more than discovering that the twins were aware of the existence of that Marduk character. The Slayer had reproached the children of Marto for withholding valuable information from her. She continued to brood over the tirade that she had had not an hour before:

“… He waltzes into my halls and humiliates me in front of my Household,” she ranted. “The disrespectful bastard!” She stopped in front of the Oracles, her eyes bore into theirs. “What the hell is he? A Maia? Vala? A hybrid?”

The twins warily eyed one another before Anno answered, “He is a Vala, akin to Aulë.”

“A Vala?” queried a stunned Buffy. She really wasn’t expecting to hear that. A wistful expression came to her face as she resumed pacing, nervously twirling a lock of her golden hair. “Why is he here? Irmo told me that only Melkor and I are supposed to be in Middle-earth, and now I have to contend with this… Marduk.”

“He is a renegade Vala, mother,” answered her daughter.

“Renegade?” repeated the Slayer, turning towards the twins. “Oh, that’s just great! Here I thought we’d earned the right to have some peace, and now I have to deal with an intruder who, do I need to remind you people, calls himself King of the East! If you’ve paid attention, you’d know that’s MY title! MINE!” she snapped, no longer able to curtail her anger.

Luthor stepped forward from the throng of spectators and said, “Calm down, Bella… ” When Buffy turned her dark eyes on the Lord of the Deeper Well, he reconsidered sharing his thoughts and returned to his spot amongst his kindred.

The agitated Slayer plopped down upon her throne before draining the contents of her glass. With a snap of her fingers, someone came rushing forward, refilling the cup with red wine.

“Leave the bottle,” she instructed, swigging the second glass faster than the first. Buffy turned her attention back to the twins. “So, am I supposed to make war with Marduk or what?”

“As long as you leave him in peace, he will do the same,” answered her oldest son. “He is not a warmonger, unless provoked to action.”

“He’s not gonna attack me at unawares, or attempt to infiltrate my cities with his spies?” questioned the Slayer skeptically.

“Not that I can see,” replied Mirë.

“Well, I don’t trust ‘em,” slurred Buffy before replenishing her glass and taking another long drink. “I’d rather bring him down before he has a chance to do the same to me.” She shook her head, loathing the disquiet that Marduk’s sudden arrival had brought about…



As the Slayer drained the contents of her glass, she couldn’t help but wonder why she had never heard about Marduk before. Irmo had never mentioned him, nor had Melkor. Why would they not tell her about that enigmatic Vala, especially Morgoth? Were they protecting him? And what role was Marduk destined to play in the big scheme of things? She desperately wanted to know that, in particular. From Buffy’s perspective, he was an interloper in her realm, regardless of how long he had dwelt in the East. He wasn’t supposed to be there! She would overthrow him the first chance she got. But right now, she had to be patient. She wasn’t ready to wage war on Marduk or anybody else for that matter, man’s numbers had to increase considerably before she would even consider challenging the renegade Vala.

“It’s cold,” said Thranduil, who had come up behind her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “I’d hate to see you catch a chill.”

“Thanks,” she replied gratefully, still watching the merrymakers below. “How come you’re not partying with everybody else?”

“Not in the mood,” answered the forlorn elf.

“C’mon, let’s go inside. It’s getting too chilly for me.” They returned to the warmth of her bedchamber. Both Buffy and Thranduil curled up on her bed. “What’s wrong, little man?” He shrugged his shoulders in response. She locked eyes with the silver-haired elf, attempting to perceive his thoughts. After a few moments, a smile came to her face. “Cahal is fine, Thranduil. In fact, when I brought him back, he asked to be re-embodied as a boy, and he’s not the only one. I’ve never had any ask to be brought back as a child before, not until my last visit.” The elf glanced up at the chuckling Slayer. “He’s running around Folkvang in the guise of a twelve year old. It’s kinda nice, you know, hearing the laughter of children there.”

“He is well then,” he said in a tone that revealed his fondness for the boy.

“Yep. You don’t need to worry about him. He accepted his death, and is relishing his rebirth.” Buffy gave the elf’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll see him again, I promise. It won’t be for a long while, but… ” She smiled warmly as her words trailed off.

“That’s good to hear. He’s a very brave young man,” he answered with a sigh. Thranduil had wanted to know the status of his young friend for some time, but the opportunity to ask Buffy had never presented itself until that moment. He felt better knowing that Cahal was enjoying the bliss of Folkvang. “We’re going to be here for a while, aren’t we? In Sumer, I mean.”

“Why? Are you ready to go home?”

“No, not really. I miss the fair woods of Ossir, is all.”

“Well, maybe we can remedy that.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “In a few days, I’m gonna start searching the lands for desirable and strategic locations for our new city-states. I’ll definitely find a place that reminds us of Lindon.” She folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the ceiling and added dreamily, “Perhaps somewhere along one of the rivers where the trees are so tall that their shadows reach across the river.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Only if you can sprout wings and fly,” she answered with a laugh. “I intend on going in falcon form. I wanna check out Marduk’s realm while I’m gone, see what the bastard’s up to.”

“You better be careful on your journey then. I don’t much like that Vala. He appears to be in cahoots with Morgoth and I fear that he’ll retaliate against you on the Dark Lord’s behalf,” stated Thranduil gravely.

“I guess that’s always a possibility. But rest assured, little man, I’ll be vigilant!” They fell silent for a few minutes. Buffy scrutinized the elf; he still seemed glum to her. “Is something else bothering you? You seem… sad or something. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I’ve grown up.” Buffy found his response amusing. She nearly burst out laughing, that is, until she noticed that Thranduil was serious. “Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin was the first real war that I’d ever fought in,” he continued morosely. “It’s one thing to hear tales about great battles; it’s altogether different to be a part of it. Somehow, the pain and terror of it all cannot be appreciated unless one experiences it firsthand. Watching those that you love and care about falling at the hand of the enemy is horrifying… the cries of anguish, the stench of death that lingers in the air… ” The elf shuddered. “I had no idea what warfare was really like… I feel that I’ve acted like a foolish child for far too long. I’m a man, the future king of the Laiquedi; I need to start acting the part.”

“War’s never pretty,” remarked the Slayer, “but sometimes it’s necessary, a necessary evil as the wise say.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. Thranduil looked imploringly at her, hoping that she would speak some words of wisdom to ease his worried mind. “How do you go back to living your life as you did before after witnessing such atrocities?”

“Life goes on,” she replied with a forced smile. “We can’t stop living because those that we love perished in battle. That would make their deaths meaningless, hollow… Don’t think for one second that it doesn’t affect me, it does!”

“Yet you’re somehow able to resume your life again with some semblance of normality.”

“What other choice do I have? Listen, I never signed up for this gig, I was chosen. I was no older than Cahal when I learned that I was the Slayer. And believe me; I wanted no part of it! I’ve been slaying demons for two hundred and twelve years now. Over time, you learn how to separate the warrior you from you as a person.”

“In other words, you adapt.”

“Exactly!”

“I don’t know if I can adapt, Bella,” he continued softly. “After witnessing so much death… and the deviousness of Úrion… I’ll never be the same.”

Buffy let out a heavy sigh. “Well, war has a way of changing people, unfortunately. But you can’t dwell on the past. Learn from it, take that knowledge with you into the future, you’ll be a better man for it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Hey, believe me; I know what I’m talking about.” The Slayer shifted to a sitting position, deciding that she desperately wanted to lighten the elf’s mood. “Do you know that your defeat of Goliath will be remembered throughout all the ages of the world?” Thranduil’s eyes lit up when she said that.

“You’re jesting!”

“Nope. Our battle and victory will become legendary. None in the East will ever forget it, and by the Forth Age, all the world will know of it. You, my dear elf, are a living legend although the world doesn’t know it just yet.”

That revelation appeared to lift Thranduil’s spirits, even though Buffy wasn’t entirely truthful about it. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that mankind would alter the story, naming one of their own as the slayer of the Lord of Giants. She knew that the distorting of history tends to happen over time. Even her own position in the story would evolve into something completely different. The Slayer had never recalled any stories from mythology or otherwise, that mentioned a daughter of Eru being sacrificed on the cross, only ‘the son’ of God. Did that mean that there was no Jesus Christ? That it was always she, but man altered her tale as well.

Whilst sitting upon her throne at Sussrúmnir, Buffy had also seen the historical impact that the destruction of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and Numeira would have on the world. She knew that the tale of the fall of those two infamous cities would endure as long as the world did. As the languages of mankind evolved in later ages, those cities would be widely known by their Hebrew names, Sodom and Gomorrah, which meant ‘Burnt,’ and ‘Buried,’ respectively.

Thranduil ended up falling asleep in the Slayer’s bed. While he slept, she contemplated her next move. Before she left on her long journey, a few things had to be addressed, namely the situation with the elves of Doriath. Buffy knew that it was of the utmost importance that they return to their home before Thingol held his council. While she wasn’t looking forward to the extreme measures that she’d have to employ, it had to be done nevertheless. At first light, she would put her plan into action.

Once the Sindar were gone, Buffy intended to deal with the Green-elves in front of the multitudes of people. She believed that if the good people of Sumer witnessed the punishment of the traitorous elves, it would discourage them from following in their treacherous footsteps. She hated to admit it, but Melkor was right about one thing: a good leader can lead with love alone, but a great leader must instill fear into the hearts of his followers. The Slayer had the foresight to know that mankind had to be watched closely for he could easily be lured to the dark side with false promises, more so than the elves and dwarves.

None truly understood how deeply Úrion’s betrayal had affected her. He had single-handedly managed to turn her fear into paranoia, especially when it came to his successful corruption of the Green-elves. It was important to Buffy that she make an example of the traitorous elves. Their punishment had to be as horrific as what Úrion had done to her. Within twenty-four hours, she would proclaim that the traitorous elves were to be executed in the most heinous manner possible. Their deaths had to be brutal enough so that none would even entertain the thought of betraying her. She needed her big gun for the job - Failo. Yes, she would need to bring the masochistic Maia from Folkvang to inflict the most unimaginable torments upon the traitorous elves.

Unable to sleep, she let Thranduil be as she left her bedchamber for her throne room. Buffy immediately summoned all the Maia men that were present in Eridu to meet her in the courtyard behind the palace. When they arrived, she asked forty-four hundred of them to volunteer for an important mission, a mission that would require them to stay in Middle-earth for an undetermined amount of years. All the men were willing to aid their mistress in the hour of her need. After much debate, the forty-four hundred were selected.

Buffy then performed one of the greatest spells that she had ever done in all her days. One by one, she approached each man and gave him an open-mouthed kiss. The kiss was by no means done out of affection or passion, it was purely magical. Her kiss transferred the remnants of each fallen man of Doriath’s essence into a Maia so that he became the spitting image of the dead elf, complete with memories and mannerisms. None would be able to discern that they weren’t the ‘real deal,’ including Melian. Buffy’s men would then be sent back to Doriath to fulfill their roles in Thingol’s regime.

However, changing the Maiar to elves was the easy part for the Slayer. It was altering the memories of the survivors of Doriath that caused her much distress. There was no way that she could risk their exposing the truth to Thingol. Buffy had to protect Melian at all costs. That was extremely important to her. All the elves that were disfigured in the war would be made whole again, courtesy of the magics of Istahiro. The memories of the past four years had to be erased and new ones implanted. Instead of the elves battling the forces of darkness in the East, they would believe that they had been hunting bands of yrch on Doriath’s borders. When Buffy summoned the Moriquendi to her halls, she put them into an enchanted sleep. She and her chief healer wielded their magics before sending the elves back in groups to different locations along the western borders of Thingol’s kingdom. Once they had arrived, they would wake, feeling completely refreshed; the memories of the East long gone.

Buffy refused to allow herself to become consumed by guilt. She had made up her mind that that was the best thing to do. When Luthor learned what the Slayer had done, he was horrified. He condemned her actions and told her that she was heading down a dark path that would ultimately have disastrous results. She took his warning with a grain of salt. Buffy was beginning to tire of the old man’s critical attitude. Who was he to say anything to her after all that he had done in his past? The Slayer wasn’t ‘acting the fool,’ she was protecting those that she loved. She felt that her actions were justifiable.

Shortly thereafter, she returned to Folkvang and gathered another one thousand Maia men, fifty Valkyries and her chief torturer, Failo. Once the group was assembled, she brought them back to Eridu where they were assigned various tasks. She and Failo then retreated to her private chambers where they discussed various means of tormenting the traitors.

Later that evening, Buffy pronounced her judgment on the Green-elves in the presence of hundreds of people from all the races. She looked like a mighty queen, dressed in her ceremonial dress, the crown of lapis lazuli on her golden head, a ruby scepter clutched in her hands. Despite her petite size, her presence alone commanded the respect one would give a Vala King. At that moment, she no longer concealed the power of her divine race, it radiated from her very essence.

Orchal, who had become her chief herald in Sumer, stood at the bottom of the dais. He was responsible for formally naming the accused and the charges brought against them.

“The act of treason is the most abhorrent sin that any can commit in my kingdom,” she declared to the condemned. “I will not tolerate it in any way, shape or form.” She turned her wrathful gaze on each of the ninety elves, most trembled when her eyes fell upon them, while a few remained undaunted by her glaring look. “I hereby find all of you guilty of the crimes that you’ve been accused of committing: murder and treason. My judgment is thus: each of you will be subjected to the most horrific torments that we can devise until it results in your death. That is the only reward for disloyalty. Rejoice in knowing that your torments will be similar to those that your lord inflicted on me. These death sentences shall be carried out at sunrise in two days time.”

Buffy then commanded all to witness the executions of the traitors, whether they be man, woman or child. The punishments would take place at various locations along the bottom of the mount, so that the traitors’ blood couldn’t sully the sacred mound of Eru. Besides, the willow saplings, which grew in abundance on the eastern side of the mount, played an integral role in one of the methods of execution that Failo wanted to test.

Once again, Luthor went ballistic. When he ran into Buffy in one of the corridors of the palace, the Maia grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a deserted room.

“What is wrong with you? Have you gone mad?” questioned the exasperated old man.

The Slayer shifted her eyes to Luthor’s hand, which remained clutched to her left arm. “I advise you to get your hand off me.”

He released his hold and quickly added, “What madness has overtaken you?”

“They betrayed me,” she hissed, folding her arms across her chest defiantly, “and they must be punished accordingly.”

“That’s something I’d expect to hear from Melkor, not you, Bella,” admonished Luthor.

Buffy’s face contorted to rage. It took everything she had to restrain herself from unleashing her anger on the Maia. With her fists balled at her sides, she barked, “Don’t you EVER compare me to him!” Her eyes were alit with fury. “I’m nothing remotely like Morgoth.”

The old man couldn’t help but notice the Slayer’s aggressive posture. “What’s with all the rage? I’m not the enemy here.” He attempted to place his hand lovingly on her shoulder, but she pulled away, taking several steps backwards. She then walked over to one of the tall windows and looked at the workers who continued their labors by firelight. Luthor was confused and hurt by her behavior; it was so unlike her. “Why won’t you talk with me?” he continued as he took several cautious steps towards her. “What have I done to offend you so?”

She faced the old man; a look of sadness replaced the rage that she had had on her face only moments before. “You called me mad… and you compared me to Melkor,” she whined. “Melkor, Luthor! How can you compare me to the likes of him?”

“When you speak of killing the elves, what am I to think? What happened to redemption and forgiveness?”

Buffy sighed heavily as she glanced back out the window. “They went out the door when the elves conspired against me. I can’t forgive any that aided Úrion,” she answered softly before shifting her gaze to Luthor. “You tell me how you could forgive someone for nailing you to a cross and setting you aflame. You tell me how to forgive someone who did that to you.”

“Úrion was the one responsible for those deplorable deeds, not the Green-elves.”

“They helped him!” she protested, her temper rising again. “Aiding and abetting a murderer makes you as guilty as he. I died, Luthor! Yeah, I came back, but you can’t imagine the pain that I had to endure. Turn about is fair play. Death is the only appropriate punishment, whether you agree or not. I don’t care. My word’s law, not yours.”

“That’s rather harsh,” commented the old man.

“That’s life.”

“I fear for you, Bella,” started Luthor somberly. “A dark shadow lies over these lands and I fear it has already begun to consume you. You have ousted Illyria from her seat, only to take her place as the new Dark King.”

“I’m not evil!”

“No? And slaughtering the firstborn of Eru demonstrates your righteousness?”

“Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“You call yourself wise, you figure it out,” she answered with an air of annoyance in her voice. “I don’t have time for this; I’ve got things to do.” She began walking off.

“Bella?” called Luthor. She stopped in her tracks, refusing to face him. “Why don’t we forgo things here in the East and return home? Surely Maglor would love to have his family back.”

“And let Man be corrupted by Marduk? I don’t think so. This is where I’m supposed to be. This is home.” She marched out of the room, leaving the crestfallen Maia alone.

Luthor was beginning to see that the more he pushed the Slayer, the further she pulled away from him. It broke his heart. But what bothered him most was her eagerness to execute the elves. She had always been a firm believer in redemption and second chances. The fact that Illyria still lived was proof of that. The old man knew in his heart that Buffy’s firstborn would one day reemerge from a Hellmouth and seek vengeance on her mother. He loathed the thought, but deemed that it was inevitable. If only she would listen to reason, it would save her much heartbreak in the future.

“She’s as stubborn as they come,” uttered Luthor before leaving the chamber.



The following morning, Buffy’s people quickly went to work setting up the ‘stages’ where the executions would take place. Barricades were set up around the various sites to prevent any curiosity-seekers from meddling with the various torture devices. Over the course of the day, processions of people departed the city and gathered around the barred areas so that they could get a clear view of the slayings that would take place the next morning. The mortals viewed the ‘rituals’ as a form of entertainment, and were quite excited to see what kind of punishments that the Vala King would inflict on the betrayers. They were of the opinion that the elves’ reprehensible deeds warranted the cruelest of death sentences.

On the morning of the executions, just before sunrise, the chiming of the bells of Eridu alerted the residents that the guilty had begun their death march. Both elves and Maiar, garbed wholly in black, escorted the lawbreakers to the various sites. At Buffy’s insistence, the executioners wore hoods that covered their faces so that none knew their identities.

Most of the people gathered at the bottom of the mount were mortals, dwarves and some of the elves. Buffy, the Maiar, and most of her Household watched the events unfold from the top of the hill since their positions provided them with an unobstructed view of all the sites. The Slayer couldn’t help but notice that two people had defied her direct orders and refused to be present at the executions: Luthor and Olofin. Both were appalled by her decision to torment the elves in such a ruthless manner.

Failo was anxious to try out a means of execution that he referred to as ‘Death by Saplings,’ which required two of the flexible willow trees. He instructed an elf to climb each sixty-foot tall tree, securing the topmost branches with two ropes. The other ends of the cords were tossed to the ground; one was fastened to the harness of oxen while the other would be tied around the victim’s legs. As the Maia’s assistants led the beasts of burden away from the trees, the saplings began to bend towards the ground. Before the ropes were released from the harnesses, they were anchored deep into the ground with large wooden stakes. It was now time for the evil elf to take his position.

Two of Failo’s masked assistants then grabbed one of the criminals. The ominous looking contraption terrified the elf so much that he wet himself. He struggled with his captors as they dragged him towards the spot where two more executioners stood waiting. All the while, the spectators taunted the petrified elf as he passed them by. The four-cloaked figures threw the lawbreaker onto the ground, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. While stunned, he was pushed down flat on his back, spread-eagled, as two of the executioners tied each leg with the remaining ropes. The crowd stopped jeering and waited impatiently for the finale. The only sounds heard were the howling of the elf and the moaning of those waiting their turn with Failo’s torture device.

Two of the cloaked figures stepped away, while the other two grabbed the axes embedded in the ground. They readied themselves beside the ropes attached to the stakes. The tall, dark form of Failo then raised his arm high above his head. When he brought it down, the executioners hit the cords with their blades, snapping them in two. The elf let out a blood-curdling scream as his body suddenly began to soar through the air. A loud popping sound echoed in the early morning light as his right leg ripped not only from its socket but from his torso as well. A river of crimson poured from the wound as the elf let out another shriek. Like a catapult, the elf was launched over the treetop and slung violently to the ground before the force pulled him back, separating his other leg from his trunk. The whole ordeal lasted only a matter of seconds. The crowd roared with delight, cheering the macabre sight.

The anguished cries from another stage diverted the Slayer’s attention from the gory scene that she had just witnessed to yet another one. Fifteen elves had been stripped naked and were laid on stone tables as a different set of executioners inserted blunt tipped poles, about four inches in diameter, into their anuses. Once the wooden rods were shoved nearly a foot into their rectums, the cloaked figures carried the ‘elfsicles’ to a clearing where the poles were fixed upright into the ground. The more that the elf wiggled and squirmed, the quicker his body slid down the post. It was, by far, the most excruciating form of torture used on the traitors.

Failo had told Buffy that the elves torment was increased by using a blunt ended object instead of a pointed one. A pointed spear, for example, would quickly pierce all their internal organs, bringing death swiftly. By using a blunt ended pole, the internal organs would be pushed aside as the rod made its way through the body, thus prolonging their suffering. The master torturer told Buffy that it would take a couple of days for the evildoers to die by that means of execution.

Buffy’s eyes went from stage to stage. She watched as a few men were buried neck deep in the earth, only to have honey poured over their heads. The sweet nectar would attract a variety of bugs, especially ants; it was not a pleasant way to go. One of the forms of execution that the people enjoyed immensely was the torment known as ‘stoning.’ That was the only punishment in which the Slayer allowed any type of ‘audience participation.’ Those selected were able to throw rocks of various sizes (depending on ones strength) at the villains, who were bound to a tree. Those individuals that participated in inflicting torments on the elves did so in Buffy’s name. They glorified and praised her before throwing their stones. All considered the elves betrayal an abomination. And since Buffy was their chief God, the Deliverer of Mankind, they felt it was befitting that they could unleash some of their own hostilities on those that had caused her great pain.

The executions would go on throughout the day and night.

After a couple of hours, Buffy had seen enough. She was ready to leave on her journey while the others were left to see the executions through to the end. There was no doubt in her mind that her message had come through loud and clear. Any that betrayed her would be subjected to the torments that they had witnessed or perhaps something even worse. Her plan had served its purpose: it instilled fear into the hearts of her followers. While the Slayer remained in the East, she never encountered any disloyalty from her people. In fact, they loved her even more.


Chapter 57 - WILD AT HEART

Buffy spent nearly five months searching all the lands surrounding Eridu. While flying in falcon form, she was able to make out the borders of Marduk’s realm clearly. Nearly one hundred miles to the east of Eridu stood mammoth stone markers engraved with an ‘M’ rune as well as the image of a ram. The Slayer’s excitement grew when she realized that she had entered the renegade Vala’s realm. Much to her relief she would discover that only one city lay close to her own, Lagash, the rest were located several hundred miles northeast of her own little kingdom. Apparently, Marduk had marked off the area when Melkor forced him to surrender a portion of his lands to Illyria. Buffy was puzzled by the fact that her firstborn was not given control of the sixth and last city in that region.

When she came upon his great cities in the north, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy; they were magnificent and strange, rolled into one. The Slayer’s animosity towards the Vala only increased when she noticed that he had a lot more mortals under his command than she. Her newfound envy, together with the humiliation that she had experienced at the hands of Marduk, fueled her determination to defeat the renegade Vala, to defeat him and seize all that he possessed.

In falcon form, she entered all Marduk’s cities unnoticed, including his chief one, Nippur. Buffy was delighted that she managed to find and speak with several of the Valkyries. They were doing a fabulous job of sleeping their way to the top of the power chain. None in Marduk’s regime had a clue that the fair mortal maidens that had fled the wars in the south were actually the Maia spies of Inanna Ishtar. So captivating was their beauty that they easily ensnared those in high government positions. Already, the ladies had obtained a great deal of information regarding the goings-on in those parts.

When Buffy learned exactly what Marduk was up to, she was left completely dumbfounded. Evidently, the Vala was known for his great ‘scientific’ abilities. He had established a huge ‘research center’ in Nippur where he conducted bizarre experiments on the mortals. While he did some good, such as teaching man the art of healing, he also did things that were shocking and revolting. Marduk had successfully managed to splice human DNA with animal DNA, creating new horrid-looking species that Buffy remembered from mythology. She had always assumed that centaurs, satyrs, sphinxes and so forth were creatures created from the opium-induced imagination of some writer from ancient times. However, that was not the case, not at all. It appeared that those old tales were rooted in truth after all. It bothered her greatly that Marduk was playing ‘God.’

Since she wasn’t ready to confront the renegade Vala just yet, she focused her energies on finding more territories to add to her domain. She liked four areas north of Eridu best, due to their strategic locations to Marduk’s cities and the abundant natural resources that they offered. Potable water, rich soil, and access to a navigable river (the Buranun) were major factors in choosing those locations.

Constructing the new cities moved up on Buffy’s list of priorities. While she had no intention to halt the building of Eru’s temple, she felt that all would be better served if some of those laborers were dispersed to those other regions so that they could be fortified quicker. Besides, there were far too many people in Eridu attempting to work on the temple; their presence only slowed down the process.

As soon as Buffy got back, she summoned the councilors and leaders from all the races to a meeting. Once she had explained to them her intentions, the engineers began to work on the designs of the new city-states. Much to her chagrin, the dwarves demanded another (greater) payment for their services. The Slayer was so anxious for the building to begin that she readily gave in to their demands although she kicked herself for not utilizing the Brisingamen in her negotiations. A few days later, thousands upon thousands of laborers were transported to their various destinations.

The mortals that remained in Eridu begged Buffy to let them erect a temple in her honor. The gesture touched her deeply; she didn’t hesitate to grant her approval. Man, unaided by the other races, then began constructing the holy dwelling for the Slayer across the courtyard from the temple of Eru. While all the building was taking place, Buffy retreated to Folkvang in order to fulfill her obligations as the Fëantári. When she had finished her task of deciding man’s fate, she began working on a new project in Marto’s forges.



It was four years later when the Slayer finally returned to Eridu. Kit and Kat had come to Folkvang and brought her back to the chief city of Sumer in the new chariot that Marto had made. Since the death ray of Humbaba had damaged the old one, the Maia took it upon himself to build a new one for his mistress. The new gold covered cart no longer bore the image of the cross, only the eight-rayed star.

Buffy’s arrival was marked by a great celebration. Both temples in Eridu had finally been completed. She looked upon Eru’s temple and saw that it was exactly as she had envisioned it, except for a banner with a red cross that flew high above the structure. She decided to overlook that icon, as the temple was the most beautiful thing that she had ever laid eyes on; it was spectacular. She blessed the sacred halls, naming them Eanna, which meant ‘House of Eru’ in Sumerian. The Oracles, at the command of Ilúvatar, set up their high seats in the centermost chamber beneath the glass-domed roof. From that position, one could see the multi-leveled galleries that encircled the room along with the many sweeping stairways. Everything was constructed from white marble. Long corridors led to a series of different chambers. ‘Cult rooms’ were made for the visitors to ‘worship’ privately with Buffy’s priestesses. At the rear of the building, there was a splendid porch where a cascade of water formed three of the ‘walls.’ Marto called it the ‘cooling terrace,’ as the water flowed from an aqueduct along the roof’s edge keeping that area consistently cool. It would become a favorite gathering place during the dog days of summer. Lavish gardens and fragrant trees surrounded the mammoth temple, courtesy of the Green-elves. The Vala of Love coveted that temple, for her own was not as lovely as Eru’s.

Man had constructed a ziggurat in honor of Buffy across the courtyard from Eanna. While looking upon the imposing structure, her dwelling place, she did her best to conceal her displeasure. It immediately brought to mind the torments that she had suffered long ago in the mystical pyramid. She couldn’t imagine why mankind would build something that caused her such anguish by its sight alone. She hated it. It was not what she was expecting. As the mortals gave her the grand tour, their enthusiasm and pride in accomplishing such a feat meant that the Slayer would have to live with her aversion of the temple. Yet, once alone in her private chambers, she looked out one of the windows only to see the splendor of Eanna gleaming brightly across the courtyard. She wept knowing that her temple would stand as a constant reminder of the pain that she had endured at the hands of Daehir. Not only that, but she now knew that Marduk was the power behind the vampire lord, the renegade Vala had ziggurats in his lands too.



Ten years later, the time had arrived to appoint new kings, governors and high priestesses to two of the four cities. Fifty miles north of Eridu, they had established the city-state, Ur. That area was located just south of the Buranun River and became the domain of Marto. Buffy appointed him chief god of that city and all were commanded to follow his word. The former cities of the Slayer’s followers (Admah, Zeboim, and Bela) that lay south of Marto’s realm had been deserted by the race of man during Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin. Out of those three cities, only one would be rebuilt in times to come: Bela, which the Slayer would rename Larsa. Thirty miles to the west of the vacated lands lay Buffy’s new city, Uruk. It was situated on the northern shores of the river and was within striking distance of Lagash. Only sixty miles separated it from Marduk’s city.

Only the Slayer had the authority to appoint kings and high priestesses. However, she did permit the kings to choose their own governors. All titles passed on in succession to the firstborn child of the officer, whether male or female. Since Orran’s eldest son was heir apparent to the throne in Eridu; his only daughter was befittingly proclaimed as the first queen of Uruk. His youngest son was made king of Ur.

Olofin’s city, Borsippa, was ready for the appointment of its rulers two years later. Buffy turned to the younger siblings of Orran’s father, Orrin, to fill the position as king of that city-state. The children were many and felt that they were entitled to hold prestigious titles in Sumer as well. The Slayer attempted to placate the descendants by offering them large allotments of land. That along with holding esteemed positions in the armies that she had begun to build seemed to appease them.

Borsippa was located about six hundred and twenty miles northwest of Uruk. Buffy had deliberately placed both Olofin’s and Luthor’s cities far from her own since they tended to disagree with her the most. While her son’s realm lay on the southern banks of the river, Luthor’s was positioned about thirty miles northeast on the opposite side of the stream. Both cities were within one hundred miles of Marduk’s chief city, Nippur.

Luthor’s city had not been completed to the point of appointing a king just yet. The Maia’s domain was the largest of all the new settlements, and also the most fertile. Instead of devoting his energies to erecting a massive stone city for his people, he formed smaller scattered townships first. Luthor taught the mortals the art of husbandry, (which he mastered during his time at the Deeper Well), and planted the first seeds in Sumer brought from Folkvang. In times to come, Kish would become renowned for agricultural production and the makers of the finest wine east of the Red Mountains. Because of Luthor’s eagerness to cultivate the lands, it would be four more years, Yr 184 F.A., before he sent word to Buffy that the time had arrived for her to choose a king for the Maia’s realm.

Now, the Slayer never forgot that vision that she had had nearly two decades ago regarding her affair with the first king of Kish. While she felt a certain amount of excitement as each city-state came into being, it also caused her to act aloof towards the mortals. In spite of that, over the years, she found herself becoming more lax in enforcing the law that restricted mankind from her holy cities. With the birth of so many children, Buffy was willing to bend the rule so that she could hear the laughter of the children as they played outside her doors. Yet she took it upon herself to restrict her interaction with mankind. Other than the priestesses in her service, no mortals ever saw her, except on Holy Days. She was determined to evade the will of Ilúvatar and assumed that by prohibiting mortal men from being in her company she would thwart the prophecy. Unfortunately, she would soon realize that none could outwit the Allfather, including her.

Buffy had received Luthor’s message one evening in late autumn. The following morning she left Eridu in falcon form for the long journey north. She chose to go in the guise of a bird so that she could fly over her kingdom and see the fruits of her labor. While airborne, the Slayer kept assuring herself that all she had to do was to go to Kish and proclaim one of the wise sons of Doran (second son of Orrin, son of Brolach) as king, and then return home. She would grant Luthor the power of placing the scepter in the future king’s hand on New Year’s Day. All kings ascended the throne on the first day of the year. Following that logic, she would be able to limit her contact with the mortals in that region and flee the area before something could happen.

As Buffy neared her destination, she saw men harvesting the final crops of the season: barely, soybeans and wheat. The fragrant smell of the freshly cut grasses along with her weariness from traveling enticed her to descend from the sky and take refuge in a tree near to where the men were busily cutting the tall stalks with their sickles. The Slayer perched herself on a limb in one of the topmost branches of the tree. She cocked her head to the side and observed the ‘gardeners’ hard at work. Buffy’s heart went aflutter when her keen eye fell upon a tall, broad shouldered, black-haired young man that stood much taller than the others - Sharru-kin. He was by far the most magnificent looking man that she had ever set eyes upon in her whole life. He was much more handsome in the flesh than in her dream. A warm, tingly sensation swept over he body; she was instantly smitten. From that moment on, she desired nothing else but the young mortal. All thoughts of her mission went out the window. Instead, she watched Sharru-kin toil in the fields throughout the duration of the day, contemplating her next move.

All the land lay shrouded in darkness after the sun sank behind Orocarni. Buffy had decided to visit the young man in his dreams as he had done to her years ago. After situating herself on a tree limb outside his bedroom window, she waited impatiently for Sharru-kin to become overcome with sleep. Little did she know that her life was about to change dramatically once she had encountered the mortal of her dreams. When she noticed his deep, steady breathing, the Slayer closed her own eyes and focused all her powers on the young man…

Buffy was amazed to find herself standing amongst tall stalks of wheat beneath a sun-lit sky. She stood there for a moment, honing in on the young man’s whereabouts. She pushed her way through the towering stalks until she came upon a clearing beside a large lake. There, at the water’s edge, sat Sharru-kin. He must have sensed her presence, for he immediately turned around and watched the Slayer as she made her way towards him. With his mouth agape, he rose to his feet and approached her. By the look on his face, the young man undoubtedly knew who she was.

When only a couple of feet separated them, Sharru-kin fell onto bended knee and said, “Greetings, o’ most Holy One.” His dark eyes looked at Buffy in reverence. While he had seen her from afar in the past, he never expected to encounter the Goddess of Love face to face. “What an honor it is to be in your presence, my Lady.”

Buffy smiled as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. “What’s your name?” she asked, eager to know his true ‘birth’ name.

“I am called Etana, son of Latham, from the line of Brolach.”

His reply stunned the Slayer. “How is it that one from the noble line of Brolach tends the fields instead of taking his rightful place amongst the mighty in the heart of Kish?”

“Our lord, Sin, has granted to my father vast lands as his inheritance,” answered the young man, who remained on bended knee. “My mother is none other than Abida, one of your beloved priestesses.”

Buffy concealed her anger upon hearing that revelation. How dare Luthor, whom the mortals called Sin, permit one of her priestesses to marry. It was unlawful for any of them to take a husband unless decreed by the Vala of Love. It became apparent to the Slayer that Luthor was attempting to undermine her authority in his realm. That was something that she deemed unacceptable and inexcusable. Yet she put aside those hostile feelings towards the Maia, for now. Rather than dwelling on Luthor’s impertinence, her heart filled with joy knowing that Sharru-kin was a descendant of Brolach. There was no longer any need to enter the city of Kish for Buffy had found its future king on the outskirts of the stone city.

“Then your blood is much nobler than I originally perceived,” said the Slayer. “From this day forward, you shall be known as Sharru-kin, the future king of Kish.”

“That is indeed a lordly name and I will gladly take it,” answered the awe-stricken young man. “But is not the king supposed to be chosen from the House of Doran? I am from the House of Dalzell (third son of Orrin).”

“You are still a descendant from the line of Brolach, that’s all that matters.” Her smile widened. “Besides, only I can choose kings and I’ve made my choice.” Buffy took a step forward and placed her hand on Sharru-kin’s stubbly chin, lifting his face so that she could study him closely. He was so tall that while on bended knee, they came face to face. “Do you remember meeting me before, Sharru-kin?” The young man shook his head. “We met long ago… before you were born. Our destinies are intertwined.” She slid her hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. “It’s my desire to take you back to Eridu with me. There I’ll mold you into the greatest mortal king that ever set foot in Arda. Do you desire the same? Will you come with me?” she asked hopefully.

Sharru-kin gently took hold of the hand that hung at Buffy’s side. He clasped it between his own before pressing his lips to her flesh. Such an innocent and simple gesture awakened the amorous nature that had lain dormant within her for many years. “I will go with you to the ends of the world, my Lady. No greater honor could you bestow upon me.”

“That remains to be seen,” she replied coyly as she leaned in closer to the young man. The Slayer pressed her lips against his before whispering, “Wake up, my love. Wake up and come outside… ”

Buffy opened her eyes. She immediately changed into mortal form before leaping gracefully to the ground. A few minutes later, as she stood waiting impatiently at the entranceway, the door swung open and Sharru-kin emerged from his dwelling. He approached the Slayer and fell on bended knee out of respect for the Vala of Love.

“I have come, o’ beloved Inanna.”

Buffy’s heart was racing. As she passionately kissed the young mortal, Kit and Kat materialized with the chariot in tow. “Let me show you your kingdom, Sharru-kin,” she said, cupping his cheeks. “Let me show it to you as you’ve never seen it.” She took his hand and the young man rose to his feet. Together they climbed onto the chariot. The lions then started running on the ground before gradually rising into the moonlit sky. The Slayer stood at the helm of the cart clutching the front panel while Sharru-kin stood closely behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other placed on top of her hand. The young man was amazed to see his future kingdom from the air. They spent a couple of hours sailing though the skies looking down upon Sharru-kin’s homeland.

When the tour was over, Kit and Kat vanished and reappeared at the courtyard between Eanna and her own temple, Zabalam, which meant ‘House Full of Brightness’ in the tongue of the mortals. The elves and Maiar that were on watch duty were flummoxed to see a mortal man in the company of the Slayer. They were also taken aback to see that the two did not hide their affection for one another.

Once inside her dwelling, she instructed her male servants to prepare a bath for Sharru-kin and to garb him in the finest linens. Despite the late hour, Buffy wanted to enjoy a decent meal with her lover before they retired to her bedchamber. While the cooks busied themselves in the kitchen preparing a roasted duck, the Slayer retreated to her private rooms and took a hot bath. She wanted that night to be perfect.

Buffy and Sharru-kin ate within the confines of her private chambers, not wanting any around to distract them. She learned much about the future king and the things that he enjoyed in life. His father had given up any claim to the throne when he took Abida as his bride. Since both had a love for nature, Luthor bestowed upon them a great deal of land for them to farm. They passed that same passion for growing things to their only child, Sharru-kin. The Slayer was shocked to learn that at his age, he had not yet taken a wife, which was custom in those parts. Not only that, but he had never taken a lover nor fathered any children. Buffy became more incensed at the Maia Lord, for he seemed to scoff at her laws in his own realm.

When the couple had finished eating, they left Zabalam and traveled through one of the underground passageways that led to Eanna. Buffy often took refuge within the Halls of Eru as she felt more at peace there and delighted in the beauty of the temple. Traveling by tunnel allowed her to avoid any awkward confrontations with the mortals who had poured their blood, sweat and tears into the building of her mammoth dwelling. Aside from that, the Slayer thought that it was most befitting for her and Sharru-kin to lose their virginity in the sanctity of Eru’s temple, since He was responsible for bringing them together.

“I marvel at the secrets concealed within these temples,” remarked the future king as they ascended a spiral stairway hidden inside the walls of the temple. “Do all the holy shrines have these underground passageways?”

“Yep. I had the Maiar dig a series of tunnels connecting all the important buildings in the city-states… even in Kish,” she answered, the scuffling sound of their soft soled shoes against the stone steps echoed in the dimly lit space. “I’m surprised you don’t know about them.” She glanced over her shoulder as she continued to climb the winding staircase. “Haven’t you ever been to the halls of your kinsmen? The passageways under their homes link to all the others.”

“This is the first that I’ve heard of it,” replied Sharru-kin dejectedly. He had been to his kinfolks’ dwellings on numerous occasions and not once was he told of secret passageways. His own mother failed to mention that as well and she was a priestess of Inanna! “Perhaps my kin deem that I am too young to know such things.”

“My ass!” exclaimed the Slayer, as they passed through a gigantic secret door that led to the suite of rooms that she claimed as her own. She closed the door that resembled an ornate mirror from within the chamber. Buffy faced the young man before continuing. “You’re way old enough to know. As the future king of Kish, you’ll know a hell of a lot more than they. I can promise you that.” She wrapped her arms around his waist before softly adding, “You’re special, Sharru-kin. I can see that. You’re nothing like the others, you’re better than they are. There’s an air of greatness about you. And soon, everyone will see that.”

“I hope that’s true.”

“Of course it is. Don’t underestimate the wisdom of Inanna for I’m a Vala and can perceive greatness in people.”

Sharru-kin pulled her into an embrace; Buffy rested her head against his chest. She smiled, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” asked the young man as he caressed her back affectionately.

“Most definitely.”

“Then you will not find it strange that I love you even though we’ve only just met,” said Sharru-kin as he lifted her chin, fixing his eyes on hers.

“No, not at all. I feel like I’ve known you forever… ” That warm, tingly sensation was becoming more pronounced. “I love you too.”

“It brings me great joy knowing that you feel the same,” he said before kissing Buffy passionately. His kiss was fiery, making her weak in the knees.

Sharru-kin scooped her up into his arms before carrying her to the bed. She allowed him to be the aggressor thinking that it would be good for him. That turned out to be a bad call on her part. Their first sexual encounter was nothing like she expected. Instead of mind-blowing sex, it was awkward and over way too fast to her liking. Thankfully, Sharru-kin was in the prime of his youth and their second time proved to be much better than the first.

Buffy lay in her sleeping lover’s arms, unable to fall asleep. For the first time in many years, she felt safe, content. The loneliness that had been consuming her was beginning to wane at long last. Nothing made her feel better than knowing that she could share anything with her young lover. The Slayer’s heart told her to trust Sharru-kin completely. And she did. How could she not? Sharru-kin was an agent of Ilúvatar, sent to aid her in her quest to tip the scales in good’s favor.

Yet, deep down, she wondered why she felt no remorse or regrets for betraying her wedding vows to Maglor. Here she was, a married woman, lying naked in the arms of a man that was not her husband. Was it possible to love two men at the same time? Or was Buffy attempting to rationalize her adulterous behavior?

No, she thought. I love Sharru-kin, no matter how creepy that may seem. Ilúvatar sent him to me. We’re meant to be together. I know it. I feel it.

In the end, she believed that her actions were the will of Ilúvatar. She was merely carrying out His wishes. Isn’t that what an obedient servant was supposed to do? As the sun rose in the east, Buffy finally drifted off to sleep.

It must be told that Sharru-kin’s parents were deeply dismayed when they discovered that their only child had gone missing from their home. Search parties sought for the young man but to no avail. Out of desperation, the grieving couple dispatched a messenger to Luthor, who upon hearing the news, visited Latham and his priestess bride at their homestead. The Maia was puzzled by the sudden disappearance of the gardener’s son. He believed that it warranted a visit to the Oracles.

Over the course of the next few weeks, word of the Slayer’s relationship with the future king of Kish began to spread throughout all of Sumer. The mortals were astounded that she took a personal interest in one from their own race. She had avoided contact with them for so long that many men of great stature and power in the various city-states envied the young man who had earned the Vala of Love’s favor. Eager were they to set eyes upon the ‘gardener’ who was plucked from the fields and placed on the throne.

Before leaving Kish, the rumor that Buffy had already chosen a young man from those parts to become king reached the ears of Luthor. The Maia was livid when he heard the news as he had hoped to appoint one from the line of Doran to the throne. When the kingdoms were set up, it was the chief god of that particular city-state’s responsibility to select the candidates for the kingship. The Slayer then chose which man or woman became ruler. Never before had she circumvented protocol. Until now. An angry Luthor had his men prepare a ship and he soon set sail down the Buranun River to the port outside of Eridu.

It was three weeks before the coronation, when the Maia had arrived at the sacred mount. Immediately, he headed to Zabalam in search of the Supreme God of Sumer. When Luthor entered the temple, he found one of Buffy’s High Priestesses sitting upon her throne.

“Where’s Bella?” he demanded as he approached the raven-haired beauty.

“Luthor, Luthor, Luthor,” began Rainë with a shake of her head. “You know very well that none are permitted to address Inanna by her ‘true’ elvish names. It’s forbidden!”

“I don’t give a damn… ”

“It’s her law. It would do you well to follow it, old man,” warned the Maia High Priestess. “Inanna is aware that you’ve been flouting her laws in Kish. Your disobedience will only lead to woe.”

“Where is she, Rainë?” asked the enraged old man. “I did not travel all this way to hear your disparaging remarks! Bella has taken one of my people hostage… ”

“Hostage?” she queried with a laugh. “Sharru-kin is no hostage. He is here on his own accord.”

“I speak of Etana, son of Latham, not this… this Sharru-kin,” he retorted.

The High Priestess did not conceal her amusement. “You are behind the times, Luthor. Sharru-kin is the one whom you call Etana… ”

The old man’s frustration was mounting. He roughly seized the High Priestess by the collar, yanking her from her seat, his eyes ablaze with fury. “I’m tired of playing your games. Tell me where she is, woman, or you shall feel my wrath!”

Rainë was terrified by Luthor’s brutish conduct. She had never seen him so angry. “She… she spends most of her time in Eanna. I’m sure you’ll find her there.”

After a long moment, he released his grip on the Valkyrie before leaving in a huff.

While Luthor was marching across the courtyard to Eanna, Buffy was indulging in one of her favorite pastimes: sex with Sharru-kin. When she wasn’t grooming the future king in the governing of his city-state, she was training with him in hand-to-hand combat. Their rigorous workouts were more like foreplay, for more often than not, they ended with carnal acts of some form or another.

Luthor found that gaining access to Buffy’s private quarters was not as easy as it once had been. Never before had he encountered so much security within a temple. He was an esteemed god of Sumer yet the Maiar guards waylaid him after he entered the holy shrine. The old man managed to bully his way to the topmost floor of the building where the Slayer’s private rooms were located. Once he had reached the top of the stairs, the Valkyries stationed there refused to allow him admittance into their mistress’ inner sanctum. The ladies knew that Buffy would be wroth if she were disturbed while enjoying her ‘downtime’ with her mortal lover.

“If you ladies do not let me pass, I’ll turn you all into boars,” threatened the old man, pointing his mystical scepter at the women. The Valkyries knew that Luthor spoke the truth, so they let him enter Buffy’s sanctuary. There he was met by even more of the Slayer’s guards, who were not so eager to let him go any further. A heated argument erupted outside Buffy’s bedchamber. Despite his aged appearance, the old man was deceptively strong; he literally forced his way into the bedroom.

A look of shock came to Luthor’s face when he saw the Slayer, glistening with sweat, straddling Sharru-kin, riding him like there was no tomorrow. He couldn’t believe it. He stood there, momentarily stunned, as the sound of the couple’s moaning and groaning filled the chamber.

“Bella!” he shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

Buffy nonchalantly glanced over her shoulder, her lips curled into a wry smile. “I think that’s quite obvious,” she panted.

“Sin!” exclaimed an alarmed Sharru-kin. The unexpected arrival of the mighty god of Kish caused the blood to drain from both young man’s face and nether regions, which in turn, angered the Slayer.

“For Eru’s sake, make yourselves presentable,” barked the old man. He shielded his eyes the best he could, tossing a robe to the Slayer. It landed on her head. “I can’t believe you, Bella. Etana’s but a boy!”

She pulled on the robe as she climbed off her lover. “Not any more,” she chuckled breathlessly. “He’s all man.” She planted a kiss on Sharru-kin’s lips as the young man pulled the covers over his naked body. He didn’t know what else to do.

“He’s only fifteen!” exclaimed the furious old man. “He is a child!” The Maia’s face reddened with rage, his nostrils flared as he spoke. “If you wish to make a sport out of fornicating with mortals at least have the decency to bed men that are older.”

The Slayer tied the sash of her robe as she approached the fuming old man. “Where do you get off saying that?” she questioned in a bitter voice. “Look at him, Luthor. He’s no fucking boy. How many boys stand over six and a half feet tall and have facial hair? No, he’s a man through and through.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself… taking advantage of… ”

Buffy cut him off. “He is of legal age!” she protested. “Need I remind you that we all decided that mortals reach adulthood at thirteen!”

“You decided, and coerced the rest of us into agreeing with you.” The Maia’s eyes bore into the Slayer’s. “Get dressed, Etana,” ordered Luthor, his gaze never leaving Buffy’s. The young man started to get out of bed. He loved Luthor dearly and feared incurring the Maia Lord’s wrath.

Buffy motioned for her lover to stop. “Don’t you move a muscle, Sharru-kin,” she commanded through gritted teeth. Her eyes remained fixed on Luthor. The terrified young man froze on the spot. The quarrel between the two Ainur left him reeling with confusion. “How dare you come into my halls and make demands… ”

“Your halls?” queried an appalled Luthor with raised eyebrows. “This temple was dedicated to Eru and all are welcomed here. Eanna may be your design, but it’s open to all, including me!”

“Not my private rooms.”

Luthor fell silent for a few moments, his chest heaving from the verbal sparring. He bit his bottom lip, attempting to regain his composure. “Your behavior is outrageous!” he chastised in a low voice. “What gives you the right to sneak into my realm and abscond with one of my people from his home in the dead of night?”

Buffy glared at the Maia. With each passing second, the tension in the room grew thicker. “I’m the fucking Supreme God of Sumer. I can do whatever the hell I want.” She took a step closer and hissed, “You’re my servant. Mine! Learn your place, Luthor or you’ll find yourself in big trouble.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, that’s a promise.”

The Maia looked hard at the Slayer. “I’m taking Etana back with me to Kish.”

“Like hell you are.” Buffy placed her hands defiantly on her hips. “If you want him, you’re gonna have to go through me, and believe me, old man… ”

Luthor pushed the Slayer aside as she spoke and shouted, “Get dressed, Etana. I’m taking you home.” He took one step towards the bed before Buffy grabbed the Maia by the arm and twisted it behind his back. Sharru-kin let out a shriek as the Slayer rammed Luthor face first into the stone wall. The blow opened a gash on the old man’s forehead; a trickle of blood ran down the dazed Ainu’s face. Buffy’s left hand remained tightly gripped on his arm while her right grasped a handful of hair at the back of his head. She kept the Maia pinned to the wall.

“I get it now, Luthor. You think you’re better than me, wiser than me,” she sneered, twisting his arm until the old man cried out in pain.

“No, Inanna! Please! Don’t!” shouted a frightened Sharru-kin, who remained cowering beside the bed.

Buffy ignored her lover’s pleas and continued to torment the Ainu. “Is that why you deliberately disobey my laws in Kish?” She kept tension on Luthor’s elbow so that every passing moment seemed agonizingly slow. “Don’t think for one second that I don’t know what you’ve been doing behind my back,” she hissed. “Who the hell are you to allow one of my priestess’ to marry? See, Luthor, you brought this all on yourself… You have the audacity to defy my will and think you’ll get away with it unscathed. It doesn’t work that way, old man.”

Luthor began working to free the hand that was trapped between his body and the wall. If he could get free, he’d then be able to use his scepter to restrain Buffy. Why does Dagnir have to be so damn strong? he asked himself.

“Is there no reasoning with you? Can we not discuss this rationally?” pleaded the Maia.

The Slayer cackled upon hearing Luthor’s words. “You’re the one who barged into my halls, forcefully I might add. You’re the aggressor here, not me. You forced me to defend myself.”

“I apologize, Inanna. I am truly sorry,” said the Maia in a defeated tone.

Hearing Luthor call her Inanna made her happy. She believed that he had finally come to his senses.

“Fine, we can discuss this like adults,” she said as she released her hold on the Maia, and started walking towards the bed. Suddenly, Sharru-kin screamed and dove in front of Buffy. While her back was turned, Luthor sent a blast from his scepter at her, but the young man took the hit instead. The next thing the Slayer knew, her lover was turned into a boar.

Buffy let out a cry of despair before attacking the old man. She backhanded the Maia with all her might, sending him flying across the room. The livid Slayer pounced on top of the old man before he had a chance to catch his breath. She wrestled with him for the scepter as the Valkyrie guards came dashing into the room, horrified by the wild beast running around the chamber.

“Don’t let him out,” the Slayer yelled to the women. “That’s Sharru-kin.” The ladies quickly shut the door and attempted to keep the young man away from the dueling Ainur. A loud cracking sound was heard amidst the confusion, followed by a wail from Luthor. Buffy snapped his wrist in order to retrieve his weapon. She delivered another blow at the Maia before turning the scepter on her lover. “Keep him still,” she ordered the Valkyries. A blast of white light shot out of the magical implement and hit the squealing creature. In the next moment, Sharru-kin returned to his mortal form, he was naked, on all fours, trembling from the ordeal. The Valkyries cloaked the young man and hastily ushered him out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Buffy was fuming. She couldn’t believe that Luthor had tried to turn her into a boar. A boar! How vile.

“You’ve got some balls,” she said, slowly approaching the old man as he lay on the floor. “You fucking tried to turn me into a beast!” Luthor realized his folly, but it was too late. He was about to incur the Slayer’s wrath. “I know what your problem is, Luthor. You don’t fear me.” She crouched down in front of the Maia, the scepter pointed inches from his face. “You had said that I was like Melkor, that I was evil. If I were evil, I would disembowel your right here and now and wear your entrails as a sign of victory.

“But I’m a merciful God, I really am,” she continued in an eerily calm voice. “But there’s something to be said for fear… it keeps people in line.” Luthor’s eyes widened, he was terrified at the prospect of her retaliation. “It’s time for you to fear me, wholly and completely.” She sent a blast from the scepter, turning the old man into a boar. Luthor panicked at his sudden transformation and began running around the room, knocking over tables, sending many valuable objects crashing to the floor. Buffy laughed at the sight.

“Turnabout’s fair play, don’t you think?” she queried haughtily as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes, I am a merciful King… or am I.” A wicked grin came to her face. Luthor repeatedly rammed his tusks into the door attempting to escape. “Perhaps I should set you free in Eanna. I’m sure the hunters in this realm would be grieved to see an unclean beast running amok in these sacred halls. I daresay that they’d kill you, old man. They’d view you as a sacrifice for the mighty Ilúvatar.” She twirled his scepter in her fingers. “And I’d let them.” The Maia stopped and turned towards the Slayer. “That’s better. What you did was wrong on so many levels. I don’t want to hurt you, Luthor. I love you. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, you will regret it, I promise you that.” She sent a jet of light toward the Maia, returning him to his ‘normal’ form. “This,” she held the scepter aloft, “is no longer yours. It’s mine. Get the hell out of Eridu. Respect me and my laws or you’ll find yourself on a spit. GET OUT!”

The Maia scrambled for the door and fled the room. Buffy examined the magical weapon closely. It was Luthor’s last link with Melkor, the one item that he had refused to part with after leaving Angband with her years ago. She slammed it to the floor, shattering the magical jewel clutched between the prongs of the rod. She tossed what was left of the scepter onto the bed before leaving to find Sharru-kin. She knew that her lover needed her more than ever. Buffy would comfort him as only she could.

Luthor was in tears as he rode galloping out of Eridu. He was living his worst nightmare. His mind was racing, his heart aching, his wrist throbbing in pain. He knew that he had made a huge mistake. He only hoped that it wasn’t too late to fix things. When the Maia reached the bottom of the hill, Kit suddenly materialized by his side, running alongside his horse. It took a few minutes for the lion’s appearance to register with him. The old man leapt off his steed and landed on the back of Buffy’s kitty. A second later, they vanished, only to reappear outside the gates of Olofin’s halls in Borsippa. The Maia sobbed, relieved to be in the realm of the only one who could help him out of his current predicament.


Chapter 58 - ENEMIES?

As Luthor recounted the events that had transpired in Eridu, Olofin diligently worked on treating the Maia’s injuries. He was saddened to hear the news concerning his mother. Unlike Luthor, the half-elf would never have confronted his mother in the manner that the old man had done. It had been bound to backfire.

“Drink, Luthor?” asked Olofin. He felt that the occasion definitely called for a tall glass of spirits.

“Yes, please.” The old man watched the half-elf closely as he poured the clear liquid into two large crystal goblets. He was anxious to hear Olofin’s thoughts regarding the situation with his mother yet as of now, he remained tight-lipped on the subject. “Thank you,” said the Maia when he received his drink. “So, what do we do now?”

Olofin took a seat across from him. He looked thoughtfully at Luthor before replying, “I think that we should carry on as usual.” The Maia’s jaw dropped when he heard that. Buffy’s son narrowed his eyes at the old man. “You tried to turn my mother into a boar, Luthor. I cannot imagine what you were thinking when you came up with that idea. That was, without doubt, the most imbecilic thing that you could’ve done. You’ve only aggravated the situation.” He took a long drink. “Let mother’s choice for king stand, for my heart tells me that he won’t rule Kish very long.”

“Are you saying that we should allow Etana to ascend to the throne even though he doesn’t qualify for the post?” queried a baffled Luthor. “He has not been prepared for the kingship nor has he a wife.” He paused for a moment as he collected his thoughts. “Do we stand idly by while Bella aids another in breaking the laws of Sumer? Or do we unite with Marto… ”

Buffy’s youngest child snickered. “Marto will side with mother, Luthor; you should know that by now. Why do you think his kingdom lies close to hers while we’ve been allotted lands hundreds of miles away?” asked Olofin. He didn’t allow the Maia the opportunity to reply. “Our views differ from theirs, that’s why. No, my friend, things must run their course.”

“Do we do nothing then?”

“I’ll speak with mother, but I don’t think it will do any good.”

Olofin slept very little that night. He had mixed feelings regarding the inevitable meeting of his mother’s young, mortal lover. The half-elf understood that the life span of Man was short, but at fifteen, Etana most certainly was a child. For heaven’s sake, the boy was one hundred and fifteen years younger than he was!

The following morning, as Olofin was finishing breakfast with members from his Household, Kat materialized beside his chair in the dining hall. The half-elf chuckled at the lioness’ unexpected appearance.

“You and Kit are on top of things, aren’t you,” he commented, as the cat placed her paws on his lap. “I deem the time has arrived for me to see nana.” The half-elf rubbed Kat’s head, he knew that she would be his mode of transportation to Eridu. It appeared that Buffy’s lions were doing everything in their power to help end the strife between Luthor and the Slayer. After he had finished eating, Olofin climbed onto Kat’s back, and the two vanished from the dining hall in Borsippa.

They reappeared, only moments later, in the huge entrance hall of Eanna. The Valkyries welcomed the half-elf warmly before escorting him to a private sitting room where he would meet with his mother. Olofin waited for more than an hour, the lions his only companions.

“Good morning, honey,” greeted Buffy, as she entered the room. Her son was lounging on the carpeted floor in front of the crackling fire with the kitties on either side.

“Morning,” he replied, a dismal look on his face. He was nervous about confronting his mother about the events of the day before. Apparently, the Slayer intuitively understood the purpose of his visit.

“You’ve already spoken with Luthor, I take it,” she said as she stretched out on the couch.

“I know about everything,” he whispered, not wanting to meet her gaze, “including the mortal.”

“Oh,” she answered, her discomfort obvious. “So, Luthor sent you here to scold me or what?”

Olofin looked up at his mother; his eyes glistened with tears. “You’re a grown woman, I cannot tell you what to do. I admit that it doesn’t please me to learn that you have been unfaithful to my father, but that’s your business, not mine.” He absently stroked Kit, averting his eyes. “Luthor feels that you have undermined his authority in Kish, and I happen to agree.”

“Color me surprised,” she murmured with a roll of her eyes. Buffy felt that those two always ganged up on her. At that moment, the door to the chamber swung open. One of her priestess’ came in carrying a tray of hot tea. The maiden placed the tray on the table, poured them each a cup and then exited the room without saying a word. “Come sit,” she said, as she shifted to a sitting position and patted the cushion next to her. “Drink some tea with me.”

Olofin complied with his mother’s wishes. He sat beside her and took a sip of the steamy beverage. “Do you still love him?” he queried in a small voice.

“Who? Your father?” The half-elf nodded. “Of course I do. I’ll always love your father.”

“Then why are you with that… er, Sharru-kin?”

“It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated?”

“Me. My heart… I can’t help how I feel. It is what it is… ” Buffy let out a heavy sigh. “I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this with you.”

“Fair enough,” replied her son uneasily. He really didn’t want to stir up any hostile feelings with his mother. Yet he had to address the issue at hand. “You do realize that Sharru-kin must take a wife if he’s to ascend the throne in Kish, or do you plan on rescinding that law?”

Buffy shifted her gaze to the dancing orange flames within the fireplace. She wasn’t eager to discuss Sharru-kin with her son in any capacity. “I will not revoke the law, Sharru-kin will have a wife by the time of the coronation,” she answered softly.

Olofin fixed his eyes on his mother; she seemed distant, lost in her own thoughts. “Do you intend on being his wife?”

She faced her son. “No, I’m already married to your father. I have no intention on taking another husband.”

They both fell quiet. The purring of the kitties and the occasional popping sound from the burning firewood seemed amplified amid the silence. The Slayer hated the thought that her young lover had to take a wife. Just the mere mention of it aroused feelings of jealousy within her. While the idea of exempting Sharru-kin from the law appealed to her, she knew that others, in time, would make the same demands. She couldn’t show any favoritism. Furthermore, the main purpose of the law was to keep the bloodline of Brolach going.

“I know your mind, mother,” her son finally said. “You’ve been having the mortals breed so that you can wage your war on Marduk… You have foreseen Sharru-kin leading your armies to great victory.”

Buffy chuckled. “I see that you’ve been speaking with the twins. Yes, I intend on attacking him. Marduk’s going down, and I’m gonna be the one to do it. It’s what I’m supposed to do, its Eru’s will.” She smiled.

“And is it Ilúvatar’s will that you bed the child king?”

The Slayer felt her face flush, her grin turned into a sneer. It was time to end the conversation. “I really don’t have time for this,” she replied, rising to her feet. “I’m sorry, son, but my schedule’s pretty full. Let Luthor know that if he crosses me again… he’ll be sent to the Deeper Well, but not as its Lord, but as a prisoner.” She gave Olofin a peck on the forehead before leaving the chamber.

“NO! I refuse to do it!” exclaimed Sharru-kin when Buffy told him that he must take a wife.

“But you have to,” countered Buffy.

“I love you. You’re the only one I wish to be my wife.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I already have a husband, you know that.”

“Then take me as your second husband. I will gladly wed you.”

“I can’t.”

“How can you expect me to marry a woman that I do not love, that I do not want to be with?”

Buffy grasped the young man’s hands tightly in hers. “This has nothing to do with love. It’s about preserving the noble bloodline of your forefathers… ”

“I beseech you: change the law! You’re the Holiest of the Holy - your will rules!” The young man looked imploringly at the Slayer.

“It’s not that simple. I can’t go enacting laws and then changing them at will.” Actually, she could. What bothered her was the fact that her young lover was trying to dictate policy. That annoyed her. The Slayer’s expression turned serious, her tone unyielding. “I refuse to argue about this any more. You will take a wife, and you will bear children with her.” She furrowed her eyes at Sharru-kin. “Just because I share my bed with you, doesn’t mean you’re my equal. You’ll do as I command or suffer the consequences.”

The young man fell to his knees in supplication. “I most humbly apologize, my beloved. I will… I will do as you wish. Can you find it in your heart forgive me, most beautiful one?”

Buffy smiled, her expression softened. “Of course,” she replied joyfully, pushing a few strands of stray hair from her lover’s face. “And to prove it, I’ll grant you, my dear Sharru-kin, the choice of choosing any of my fair priestesses as your bride.”

The young man nodded in defeat. The matter was settled.

Three days later, Sharru-kin wed one of Buffy’s golden-haired mortal priestesses in Kish. While she blessed the union and wove a spell of fertility upon the couple, she did not attend the nuptials. Instead, she mourned the event by getting drunk with Marto in Ur. The thought that she had to share her lover with another was not the happiest of thoughts, but she had no alternative. Sharru-kin had the makings of an exceptional warrior-king and Buffy had no doubt that that quality would pass to his offspring.

The lovers would not be reunited until his coronation on New Year’s Day. When Buffy laid eyes upon Sharru-kin’s wife, she was delighted to see that her aura revealed that the young woman was already with child. Impregnating his bride so quickly meant that her mortal lover was welcome back into the Slayer’s bed. In nine months time, the newlyweds would welcome the first of five heirs to come.

The crowning ceremony took place in the grand chamber at Ekishnugal, Luthor’s temple in Kish. Buffy’s elation over the whole event caused her to make peace with the old Maia at the start of the evening.

“Let bygones be bygones,” she told her dear friend. “We both erred in judgment and it would be tragic for us to toss aside our friendship over some… misunderstanding. I think we understand one another now. I don’t foresee any more problems, do you?”

“No, of course not.” Luthor had taken Olofin’s words of wisdom to heart: he would defer to Buffy in all instances when reason did not work. The Maia didn’t much like the person that she had become and it didn’t help matters any that the Slayer only surrounded herself with people that her son referred to as ‘yes men/women.’

Never before had a so many people attended a coronation of a king. Not only was the temple full, but also the streets, courtyards, and gardens that surrounded the holy shrine. People even congregated on the rooftops in hope that they might catch a glimpse of the new king that had become the protégé of the Vala of Love.

At the beginning of the ceremony, Luthor’s high priest said a prayer of thanks to Ilúvatar, followed by one to Buffy. As the Sumerians and guests fell to their knees singing her praises, she leaned towards Sharru-kin and said, “See how they love me, how they adore me… ” The Slayer sounded like some giddy teenager. “Their love for me is so great that they’d willingly sacrifice themselves for me… ”

“As they rightly should,” answered her mortal lover, taking her hand in his. “You’re the Supreme God in this world. You should be exalted above all others, for you are the greatest of the Powers.”

Buffy smiled at his words. “That’s why I love you so: you’re wise beyond your years.” He kissed the top of her hand. “We have one hell of a ride in store for us, my beloved. I promise you that the kingship of Kish is only a stepping stone to bigger and better things for you. For us.”

Luthor, who sat to Buffy’s right, raised his eyebrows when he overheard that comment. Her words brought to mind what Olofin had told him weeks before, that Sharru-kin would not rule Kish very long. The old Maia was curious as to what the Slayer had up her sleeve.

With her mortal lover now king, Buffy spent most days with him in Kish, working on combat tactics. At night, they would teleport to Eanna or her palace in Uruk, where they would remain until morning. Poor Adare, Sharru-kin’s wife, would seldom spend much time with her husband throughout their marriage.

Over the next three months, Sharru-kin had a massive growth spurt - his height grew to a staggering seven feet seven inches, making him the largest man in Sumer. He was an enormous, intimidating man who towered over all his subjects. Yet he also proved to be a compassionate leader, and was often called upon to mediate disputes between his kinsmen.

While Buffy was proud of the progress Sharru-kin was making, she loathed spending so much time in Luthor’s realm. It was a small city when compared to the likes of Eridu, which was the heart and soul of Sumer. In the capital city, one could find bazaars, hospitals, schools, bath houses, theaters, inns, banks, and an assortment of government buildings. It was reminiscent of cities in ‘modern’ times prior to the industrial age, except perhaps in appearance. Aside from the two temples, the two-tiered city had a very dwarfish feel to it, especially when it came to its architecture. It was a place that sparkled with the energy of its people, and the place that Buffy longed to be. Since the prophecy had been fulfilled, she no longer avoided contact with the mortals in her realm. She embraced them. She loved them. And she vowed to protect them as long as they remained true.

When early spring rolled in, Sharru-kin desired to spend more time in Eridu, helping the elves tend to the gardens of Eanna. To him, it was the fairest place that he’d ever seen in his young life. The Green-elves were impressed by the young man’s enthusiasm, so much so, that they had shared some of their own secrets in the art of gardening with him. The elves would become the biggest proponents in having the young king learn the ‘Sacred Language of the Gods’ - Sindarin. Not only that, but once they came to love the young man, they would christen him with an elvish name, the only king of Sumer to ever receive such an honor.

In early fall Adare gave birth to Sharru-kin’s first child, a son. Buffy took a special interest in the child, loving the infant as if he were one of her own. She intended to groom the boy for the kingship herself.

It was at that time that the Slayer decided that she was ready to make her first strike against Marduk. She wanted to test Sharru-kin’s abilities against the might of Lagash, the only neighboring city of the renegade Vala in those parts. Once they had conquered that city, they could move on to the rest, taking them down one by one.

The young man was dismayed that his Vala lover would not be accompanying him and his troops. Buffy felt it was important that Sharru-kin prove his worth to his mortal followers. He alone would lead the men from Eridu and Kish into battle. Only mankind was to engage the enemy. Those from the Slayer’s Household would merely observe their progress from the cooling terrace of Eanna. For the first time ever, Buffy would turn the wall of water into a magical screen so that all could witness the prowess of the King of Kish.

The element of surprise is a key factor in determining the outcome in any war. And that’s where the Sumerians had the advantage. Buffy wasn’t about to have her men march across the plains to Lagash. That would alert Marduk and his people, thus destroying their advantage. No, she would teleport the armies as she had done in the last war.

Looking at the impressive form of Sharru-kin clad in armor nearly took her breath away. If Buffy hadn’t known his lineage, she most certainly would have thought that he had giant blood in him. Her smile widened as she pictured his menacing form on the battlefield. She knew that he had to ability to inflict fear into the heart of the enemy.

The young man fell to his knees before the Slayer. “O’ most Holy One, bestow upon me your blessings, your strength, so that I may achieve victory in your glorious name.”

Buffy closed her eyes before placing her hands on his head. A flash of white light emanated from her hands, gradually swathing Sharru-kin in its warmth. “I’ve placed a spell of protection on you, my beloved,” revealed the Slayer before planting a kiss on the young man’s forehead. “Make me proud.”

She escorted the king and his many officers outside the Halls of Eru. Thousands of men stood in formation in the courtyard, eager to begin the assault of the enemy. With a wave of her hand, Buffy’s armies were instantly transported outside the city of Lagash. She immediately teleported herself to the cooling porch where many members of her Household were congregated, waiting on the Slayer to cast her spell on the wall of water so that they could watch her men in action. When the spell had been activated, she took her seat amongst her friends and watched the scene unfold before their eyes.

The early morning raid caught the inhabitants of Lagash off guard. The bells of the city rang out, warning the residents of the sudden attack. The men of the Lagash scrambled to the top of the wall, and attempted to hinder the approaching troops by shooting flaming arrows at them. Little effect did that have on the Sumerian soldiers; mere arrows could not penetrate the mail and armor wrought by the dwarves and Maiar.

Within thirty minutes, the Sumerians’ battering ram had breached the wall that encircled the city, allowing them to flood through the gap like a wave crashing upon the shore. At the front of the pack was none other than Sharru-kin. He was so intimidating that many men fled in fear when their eyes fell upon his monstrous form. Those that had the courage to stand up him were cut down with ease. Sharru-kin’s strength was so great, his weapon so superbly wrought, that he was able to cleave his blade through the mail of the enemy like a knife through butter. He was unstoppable.

In less than two hours, the battle was over. The lord of Lagash had raised his white flag and surrendered. Buffy was pleased that her lover’s first campaign had proved successful. That victory gave him such self-confidence that he was eager to continue striking down the enemy cities. And the men that accompanied him were more than willing to follow that magnificent warrior-king that had conquered an entire city in record time.

Sharru-kin’s success delighted the Slayer. She and her Household celebrated with mugs of mead as they continued to watch the events in Lagash. She was anxious to see the lord of Lagash bow down in servility to the King of Kish. The Slayer sprayed her honey-flavored beverage from her mouth when she saw who the lord of that realm was: it was none other than Lutz, minion of Morgoth. He was the Maia shape shifter that had given her and Sauron shelter in the city of Numeira when she had first encountered the deviant mortals of that city. While he now resembled a dark-haired mortal, the Slayer had no doubt that it was he, she easily recognized his four immortal concubines.

“Inanna, what is it?” queried Orchal, as he wiped the mead from his face. He, unfortunately, was in Buffy’s line of fire when the mead spewed from her mouth.

“The lord of Lagash is one of Morgoth’s cronies; I’ve met him before.” Her companions gasped when they heard that revelation. Everyone had assumed that Marduk was the power behind the throne of that region, not Melkor Bauglir. Even the Slayer was taken aback by that. But that’s not what set her off against Lutz, it was something altogether different.

She saw the Maia lord offer the young King of Kish his bevy of beauties in exchange for mercy. The whores then threw their arms around the dumbstruck mortal, planting kisses all over his armor-covered chest (they couldn’t reach any higher) and gloved hands. Big mistake! As the members of her Household turned their gaze to Buffy, they saw her eyes burning with anger.

Buffy immediately vanished and reappeared in her bedchamber at Eanna. She went to the copper trunk, unlocked it, and dug through the various weapons that were stowed there. She used her telepathic abilities to inform Sharru-kin that she would be arriving in a matter of moments. The Slayer’s voice broke the spell that the women were weaving about him. In his ire, the King of Kish flung back his arm, sending the women flying several feet.

“Bind them,” ordered Sharru-kin as he sat upon Lutz’s throne. While several men placed the women and Lutz in fetters, others began collecting the booty of their conquest. The mortal king was anxious to see his beloved in his moment of triumph.

Only a few moments later Buffy arrived, dressed in full royal regalia. When she entered the chamber, all her people dropped to their knees. Those that held the prisoners pulled them forcefully to ground as a sign of deference to the true King of the East. The Slayer glanced around the sun-drenched room, taking in her surroundings while the men of Sumer offered her words of praise and adulation. She approached Sharru-kin who remained on bended knee beside the vacated throne of Lutz. She cupped his blood-streaked face with her hands before pressing her mouth against his, giving him a well-deserved victory kiss.

“Well done, lover,” congratulated the beaming Slayer. “I’m so proud of you.” She then gestured for all to rise. Sharru-kin gallantly assisted her onto the throne before taking his place to her right. He stood there, a tall and menacing figure, eyeing the captives with contempt. “Bring forth the prisoners,” she ordered.

“Inanna, dear Inanna,” began Lutz in his deep and gravelly voice. He spoke like they were old friends, stunning the Slayer. “I’m so glad that you have come. Surely, the Mistress of Angband will show mercy on the one that succored her in her hour of need.” The Maia looked much different since the last time she had seen him. Back then, he looked like a middle-aged man, now he resembled a young man: dark wavy hair hung to his shoulders, his beard and mustache well groomed, his green eyes sparkling with wisdom.

“And why would I show mercy on a servant of Morgoth?” she queried, half amused.

Lutz looked affronted. “Do you not judge a man by his deeds? What wrong have I done to you, my Lady?”

“You’re a minion of Morgoth! How many times do I have to repeat myself?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

“I am not merely a servant of Melkor,” replied Lutz, “I am also a servant of yours as well.” Buffy looked skeptically at the Maia. “By all rights, you are still the wife of my Lord… ”

“I am not Melkor’s wife!” she interjected angrily.

“I mean no disrespect, but you are. You had exchanged vows with him long before the elf; your union with the Noldo is invalid.”

Buffy quickly left the comfort of the throne and marched menacingly towards the Maia. “For your information, he bewitched me,” she countered. “Using magicks on someone in order to wed them doesn’t qualify as a binding agreement; both parties must be in their right frame of mind. Our marriage is, was, and always will be null and void.”

“In your eyes, perhaps, but not when it comes to the laws of Arda.”

“Don’t give me that ‘laws of Arda’ shit,” she spat back. “Since when do any from Melkor’s Household follow the laws set by the Valar?” She didn’t let him answer. “They don’t! They manipulate them along the way… or disregard them altogether.”

“Like you, my Lady? I see that you’ve done the same thing… That’s further evidence of the special bond that you have with Melkor, you and he are very much alike.”

Those words stung the Slayer. She was nothing like Melkor. Yes, she tweaked some of the laws, but only for the betterment of the mortals. She didn’t hold any hostage, they were free to go wherever they wished, whenever they wished. She took it upon herself to nurture the race of man, to make them stronger, more powerful. Only those that betrayed her trust suffered her wrath. She was a good King. No, a great King.

It’s the will of Eru, she reassured herself. I‘m only carrying out His will. Yet a nagging voice in the back of her mind said, ‘He did not sanction the love affair with Sharru-kin. That was your own doing. The mortal was in awe of you, as one would be with any of the Powers. You took advantage of the situation for your own selfish purposes.’

“I’m nothing like Melkor,” she finally said. “I’m better than him. He’s beneath me.”

“In some respects, you’re absolutely correct. It has taken Melkor millennia to achieve what you have in decades. Look at what you’ve accomplished over the years, Inanna. You have dominion over Ainur, Elves, and Men, and one cannot overlook your affinity with the Dwarves. You have done what others have not: you’ve united the races of Arda under one banner, and I daresay that was no easy feat.

“You are a formidable opponent whom I have no desire to cross in any way.” He took a step closer, the chains of the fetters clanged as the Maia boldly entered Buffy’s personal space. “I am not the enemy; I’m your ally,” he said with conviction. “Since you’ve ousted Illyria from the throne, you have taken your rightful place: to rule the race of man. As Melkor’s Queen, it is my duty to serve you, to aid you in overthrowing Marduk, for he has no place in Middle-earth.”

The Slayer stood there for a few moments before cracking a smile. Shaking her head, she folded her arms and looked amusingly at the Maia. “You expect me to welcome you, a servant of Melkor, into my fold with open arms,” she remarked with a laugh. “Boy, oh, boy, this is my lucky day!” she added sarcastically, looking over her shoulder at Sharru-kin.

“Indeed it is.”

“Listen, Lutz, I appreciate what you did for me in Numeira, really I do. But I find myself in a rather precarious situation right now. I don’t trust you. I can’t trust you.” She furrowed her brows, studying the Maia carefully. “By all rights, I should kill you on the spot.”

“I beg you not to do that,” said the Maia coolly.

Buffy continued to scrutinize Lutz. “Unbind him.” As one of the mortals undid the fetters, freeing the servant of Morgoth, the Slayer grabbed a chair and placed it behind the Maia. “Sit!” she ordered. She gestured for the guards to back off while she circled the man like a predator stalking her prey. “I have ways of determining whether you speak the truth, my dear Maia, did you know that?”

“I… I would assume so, my Lady,” replied Lutz uneasily.

She stopped behind the man, placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt the Maia’s muscles tense at her touch. “I’m not a bad person, you know. Sometimes I think I’m misunderstood, but I guess that’s the price one pays for glory.” Buffy walked around Lutz until she came face to face with him, her left hand remained on his shoulder. “Everyone expects me to take things at face value, but when you’re a powerful King, you can’t do that. You have to dig deeper, see what makes those cogs turn.” She placed her hands on either side of his head before taking a seat on his lap, straddling him. “Let’s see what makes yours turn.” Buffy pulled out a dagger from her cloak pocket, slowly unsheathing it in front of the nervous Maia’s face.

“W-what are you doing?” he queried, his eyes bulging, his body trembling. The Slayer was enjoying tormenting the Maia.

“Fear drives us to do things… things that some may find unconscionable.” Buffy teasingly waved the blade slowly before Lutz’s face, his wide eyes followed the movements of the weapon.

“I suppose that’s true,” he responded, his voice full of dread.

The Slayer let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t worry, darling, I have no intensions of killing you… yet.” She carefully pushed his hair aside; his carotid artery throbbed in his neck.

“What are you going to do with that?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on the dagger.

Buffy wrapped her arms around the Maia’s neck, and moved inches from his face. “Your blood will reveal whether your friend or foe. Surely, you don’t expect me to take you at your word. I’m not that stupid.” She placed the tip of the blade on the artery. “Just a little prick.” Lutz closed his eyes tightly; he winced when he felt the metal pierce his flesh. Buffy then pressed her mouth to the open wound, sucking the blood from the Maia’s neck. Her touch titillated him. Lutz moaned softly, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist.

Images of the Maia’s past flashed in her mind as the warmth of his life force ran down her throat. The Slayer saw that he spoke the truth yet she also saw his greatest weakness, which would lead to his downfall. She ran her tongue over the puncture mark, healing it instantly. Much to the annoyance of Sharru-kin, Buffy remained seated upon Lutz’s lap. The Maia opened his green eyes; they lingered on her lips as she provocatively licked the droplet of blood from the tip of the blade.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” she queried seductively. The Maia was captivated by her mouth; he longed to kiss her lips, to taste her. Unable to speak, he shook his head. Buffy smiled, immensely enjoying the effect that she had on Lutz. “You’re into some kinky stuff,” she uttered teasingly, increasing his hungering for her. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.” She chuckled, her tone then turned serious. “Swear your allegiance to me, Lutz. Tell me that I’m the only one you’ll follow.” She gently caressed his cheek while she spoke. “Assure me that you’ll put no other lords before me and I’ll pardon the deeds of your past.” Her lips remained parted, the Maia could smell the sweet scent of mead on her breath.

“I swear, Lady Inanna, that I will be loyal to you… and only you,” he whispered breathlessly. “I will gladly forsake all my old alliances if you will take me as your humble servant, for you have won my heart.”

“Your words are like music to my ears, my dear Lutz.” Her face lingered only inches from his. Did she want him to kiss her? Her lips were so inviting that the Maia couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. Lutz made his move. Parting his lips, he inched closer to her, pulling her tighter in his arms. Buffy immediately pulled away and climbed off his lap. That was not the reaction that the Maia was hoping for.

The Slayer glanced at Sharru-kin and smiled. He remained perfectly still beside the throne, frowning at his beloved’s behavior. She winked at him as she walked back to the throne and took a seat.

“Did I offend you?” asked the frazzled Maia, disappointed that she was no longer on his lap.

She smiled coyly. “Sharru-kin isn’t fond of the intimate nature of my method of obtaining information from men,” she said looking up at the still scowling young man. “The last thing I want to do is to cause my honey any pain.” She took the king’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze while fingering the dagger in her other hand. Buffy then turned her eyes back to the Maia. “Talk is cheap, Lutz. Actions speak louder than words.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he answered, slightly confused.

“Well,” she began, crossing her legs. “Perhaps some symbolic gesture to show that your intentions are true… an act of some sort, but not a sexual one.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “What would you do to show your devoutness to me that you wouldn’t do for Morgoth? That’s what it’ll take to win me over.” She smiled at the Maia waiting for his response.

“May I approach your throne, my Lady?” he asked courteously.

“Why, of course.” The smiled widened on her face, she was anxious to see what kind of offering Lutz would make.

The Maia ambled up to her seat. He fell to his knees; he stretched his arm out before him, placing it on Buffy’s hand that still held the weapon. “May I?”

“May you what?” she asked with an inquisitive look on her face.

Lutz smiled. “May I borrow that magnificent dagger of yours?” The Slayer nodded. He took it from her hand. Sharru-kin instinctively grasped his sword, not knowing what the Maia had in mind. “I will demonstrate my affection for you, my Lady. You are indeed the greatest of the Powers and worthy of sacrifice. I will do for you what I would never do for Melkor.” The Maia rose to his feet and walked over to the four women, who remained shackled.

Buffy looked up at Sharru-kin. “I’ve gotta see this.” She was expecting Lutz to perhaps cut off a finger or something like that. In a hundred years, she would never have imagined what the Maia did next. Everything happened so fast that no one really had the time to react. Shock has a way of doing that to people.

“I am sorry ladies, but it seems that our journey ends here,” he said before plunging the blade into the first woman’s chest. Everyone, aside from Lutz, gasped in shock. Before Buffy realized what had happened, all four women lay dead in a pool of blood on the stone floor. The Maia’s actions floored the Slayer.

“He’s a madman!” shouted Sharru-kin in disgust.

Buffy sat there, absolutely stunned, as Lutz approached her, wiping the blood from the dagger on his breeches.

“Does that not prove my devotion to you, most beloved one?” he queried as he fell on bended knee, offering her the weapon.

She took the dagger with a shaky hand. “I’ve gotta say, Lutz, I wasn’t expecting that, not by a long shot. They are Ainur, they’ll only return to Melkor in Angband.”

He shook his head. “They are bound to me, my Lady. You may claim their souls as my tribute to you.”

Buffy nodded her head. She was still a little dazed by the whole ordeal. “Okay, Lutz. I’d say you proven yourself. You have destroyed that which made you weak.” She smiled. “Welcome to the family.”


Chapter 59 - TOUGH LOVE

Buffy decided on her own to remove Lutz and all the inhabitants of Lagash to her sacred city, Uruk. The ‘prisoners of war’ were told that they could only take with them one bag of personal belongings, the rest were the spoils for Sharru-kin and his men. Even though the Slayer reached an agreement of sorts with Lutz, she wanted to give the illusion that Sumer had indeed invaded, defeated and destroyed the only city of Morgoth in the east. It was important to her that both Melkor and Marduk think Lutz dead and that she claimed all the people of Lagash as her thralls. While that most definitely wasn’t the case, she did in fact, insist that the Lagashites devote five years to her service before being granted the right to become citizens of her holy city.

When the Sumerians had finished looting Lagash, and all had vacated its boundaries, Buffy personally burned the city to the ground. Seeing Morgoth’s last tie to the east go up in flames delighted the Slayer. It called for a celebration, for their victory was twofold. Not only did the Slayer just strengthen her armies, but Lutz also had provided her with valuable information pertaining to the defenses of Marduk’s realm.

Kit and Kat brought all the mighty Lords to Eridu to celebrate Sharru-kin’s victory. Neither Lutz nor any of the Lagashites attended the festivities. Buffy wanted to inform the other Lords of what she had done before bringing any of them into their company. While the people made with the merry-making, she summoned all three gods and the Oracles to a council in a private chamber within Zabalam.

“You did what?” exclaimed an agitated Luthor upon hearing Buffy’s disclosure regarding the people of Lagash. “How dare you bring a servant of Morgoth into this realm!”

Olofin’s eyes darted to the Maia; he shook his head in warning.

“Calm down, old man,” said Buffy. “What’s the big deal? Bringing Lutz to Sumer is no different than when I brought you to the Deeper Well. It was my call, and I stand by it!” The Maia sank back in his chair, nervously chewing his bottom lip. “Besides, I’ve got some good news for you, Luthor.” He cocked an eyebrow upon hearing that. “Sharru-kin is giving up his claim to the throne of Kish on New Year’s Day, so you can appoint whomever you want to the kingship.” She smiled at the old man. “That’s my peace offering to you.”

“And, er, Sharru-kin has agreed to surrender the scepter,” remarked Luthor incredulously.

“Of course he has. I’ve decided to appoint my sweetie as King of Sumer, meaning all other kings must answer to him.”

“So, you’ve taken it upon yourself to exalt the mortal,” remarked Luthor. “What of Orran? The King of Eridu is supposed to wield more power than the others do. Is it not unjust to demote the rightful heir to throne?”

Buffy snickered. “Orran’s at death’s door. He won’t survive the whole of next year. His descendants will still hold their titles, but Sharru-kin will be the overlord of all the mortals. Are we all in agreement? Shall we see a show of hands?” Everyone raised his or her hand except Luthor. Once he had seen that the others agreed with Buffy, his hand slowly went up in the air. “Good,” she said after the vote. “Now there’s something else that I want to bring up with you guys… ”

“Does this too have to do with Sharru-kin?” asked her youngest son.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She leaned forward, placing her folded arms on the table. “I know that we all decided years ago that no mortal is to learn the elven tongue, but the Green-elves feel that we should teach our ‘secret’ language to Sharru-kin, and I happen to agree… ”

“No surprises there,” mumbled Luthor.

“Sorry?” She looked questioningly at the old Maia. “Did you say something?”

Luthor cleared his throat. “I said I’m in total agreement with you, Inanna. As Supreme Ainu you’re entitled to whatever your heart desires.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to see things my way, Luthor,” said the beaming Slayer. “You’re absolutely right. Come New Year’s Day, Sharru-kin will take the throne as Sargon the Great, King of Sumer, and I will personally teach him the elvish tongue.”

“Hasn’t she been doing that for the past year?” uttered the old man to Olofin. The perturbed half-elf closed his eyes. Not only was Luthor’s comment uncalled for, he spoke loud enough for the rest of the group to hear.

“What is your problem with mother?” asked an annoyed Anno. “I’m quite tired of hearing your tripe. If you have something to say, for the love of Eru, say it!”

Luthor glanced at each person sitting at the table. “If I speak my mind freely, will I end up being pulverized by our illustrious King?”

Before Buffy could offer a snappy comeback, Mirë answered, “No harm will befall you for speaking your mind, Luthor. I only hope that your words are not said as a mere attempt to provoke mother.”

“He can say whatever he wants,” said the Slayer, glowering at the old man. “You need to keep in mind that you manhandled my women, then barged into my private bedchamber and turned my lover into a boar… I was only reacting to the situation.”

“You thrashed me, breaking my wrist!” shouted the Maia, leaping from his seat.

“You tried to turn me into a hideous beast!” argued Buffy, now on her feet too.

“You destroyed my scepter!”

“You interrupted me and… ”

“ENOUGH!” yelled Olofin, slamming his fist on the table with a loud thud. “You’re both acting like a couple of elflings! For Eru’s sake, put aside your differences once and for all.” The half-elf turned his attention to the old man and heatedly said, “If your words are only some contest of power, then be done with it, Luthor; mother’s will rules.” He then turned to the Slayer. “And you, mother, need to stop brandishing your banner of power wherever you go. We know that you rule over us, but for the love of the Valar, please stop instigating confrontations with Luthor. Enough is enough!” Both Ainur sank back into their chairs uttering apologies.

The half-elf paused, attempting to regain his composure. He then continued in a softened voice, “After Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin, we all decided to remain in the East in order to aid mankind. Our directive for the mortals is still the same: to increase their population and to impart upon them the wisdom that we possess… If they see dissension in our ranks, they’ll soon follow.” He turned towards Buffy. “Do you remember telling me, when I was a child, that old saying from your mortal youth: ‘monkey see, monkey do?’ That applies here. Man emulates our behavior. If we do not conduct ourselves properly, neither will the mortals. Do not let pride be the cause of our downfall. If we don’t stay united, we will inevitably fall.”

“You’re right,” answered Buffy. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring the… incident up again.”

“Nor will I,” added the old Maia.

“Good!” said Olofin with a forced smile. “We’re family here. There’s no need for all this friction. Despite the powers that some of us possess, none here are omnipotent. Where one is weak, another is strong. We must place a greater value on wisdom than strength… ”

“I think we’ve addressed Inanna’s demands,” interjected Luthor. He eyed Buffy uneasily as he rose to his feet. “I say it’s time for us to join the festivities. I daresay that I could use a glass of elvish wine right about now. Coming, Inanna?”

Buffy sat there for a minute pondering Olofin’s last sentence. It was obvious that that comment was directed at her, she was the one that placed a greater value on strength. Were Luthor and Olofin plotting against her? Were they attempting to sway Marto from her way of thinking? Were they saying that wisdom wins battles, not strength?

She rose from her seat, her mind whirling with the conspiracy she saw unfolding before her.

“Yeah, I’m ready to do a little partying,” she replied with a grin.

With that, the meeting was adjourned.

It was only a few days after the celebration when Buffy captured the feys of Lutz’s former lovers in the Orbs of Thezula. As she stared at the glowing spheres, she determined that the time had arrived for Dvalin and his fellow dwarves to return to the Deeper Well. Over the years, they had imprisoned many Maiar, and the dwarves needed to build many sarcophagi to house the trapped souls. With a heavy heart, the Slayer transported all the dwarves of the Deeper Well back home along with the thousands of orbs that had been stored at Hírilost.

Once the dwarves were gone, Buffy’s thoughts turned back to warfare. Before attacking Marduk’s cities, she consulted with many of the lords from the various races, including Lutz.

“Let us strike Eshnunna first,” advised Lutz, “for it is situated in the northernmost regions of Marduk’s territory and is isolated from all the other cities. We’ll be able to defeat the enemy city with relative ease. I have spies there, and if I can inform them of the impending attack, we can wreak havoc from within the walls as well.”

“You’re thinking along the same lines as me, Lutz,” remarked a smiling Buffy. “My strategy from the very beginning was to see if we could pull off a coup d'état in every city. Victory will be so much sweeter if we can have Marduk’s own people turn on him.”

“Then I deem that a quick trip to Eshnunna is called for. We can meet our contacts and put our stratagem into action,” suggested Lutz.

“I agree,” replied Buffy.

“We should leave immediately,” proposed the former servant of Morgoth.

The entire council unanimously agreed with Lutz’s plan.

“I wish to accompany my beloved on such a journey,” offered Sharru-kin, looking hopefully at Buffy. “You will need an escort and I will see to it that no harm comes to you.” She exchanged a look with Lutz, neither was fond of that idea.

“I’d love for you to come, Sharru-kin,” answered Buffy. “But you’ll stand out like a sore thumb. This is… a covert operation, no one can know that we’ve infiltrated Marduk’s city. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here. Lutz and I will go.”

The young mortal king did not like hearing that at all, he feared that the two Ainur would end up consummating their ‘relationship’ while away from Sumer. He wasn’t naive; he noticed the way they ogled each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. A shadow fell upon Sharru-kin’s heart as Buffy bid him and her kin farewell before leaving Eridu with Lutz. The twosome vanished from the council chamber in Eanna to Buffy’s halls in Uruk. After packing some warm clothing, the two headed for the stables.

“Your lover seems displeased at our going alone on this journey,” remarked the Maia as they walked across the courtyard.

“Yeah, well, he’ll get over it,” she replied tersely. The Maia sensed the coldness of her reply and decided that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut in regards to her mortal lover.

It wasn’t Lutz’s comment that put Buffy in a bad mood; it was the thought of entering the frigid regions of the north on horseback. She and her companion could not just appear within the walled city, they would have to enter through the main gates. According to the Maia, it was of the utmost importance that the city dwellers witness their arrival by conventional means. Any obvious use of magic would draw unwanted attention to them and alert Marduk of their presence. Since Lutz had visited all the cities in the East outside Sumer, he knew that the safest place for Buffy to teleport them was a forest located a couple of leagues from the wall of Eshnunna.

By the time the Slayer had mounted her horse, her appearance had changed. She no longer resembled the short, blonde-haired mortal woman. Her hair and eyes were dark, like most Sumerians, and she added several inches to her height. She actually liked the idea of traveling incognito. It meant that she could be whoever she wanted to be, which would be a nice change of pace.

Buffy used her magics to transport them to the woods that lay to the southwest of Eshnunna. To her dismay, they’d have to ride in a torrential downpour under thick, dark-gray clouds. The winds blew fiercely from the northeast, sending the driving rain straight into their faces. Their cloaks did little to ward off the cold rain and within a matter of minutes, they were both soaked to the bone. To make matters worse, it had been years since the Slayer had last rode a horse, and her discomfort only increased with each long, miserable, passing moment. The six-mile trek seemed more like sixty under those conditions.

When they had neared the western gates of the city, Lutz finally broke the silence.

“Let me do the talking as men hold more authority over women in these parts.” The shivering Slayer scowled upon hearing that. “We cannot go by our true names, so you can call me Zahir, and you shall be my wife… What name shall I call you?”

Buffy thought for a moment. “Astarte,” she replied between chattering teeth.

“Is that not one of your holy names?”

“Not many know it.”

“Hmm, perhaps we should call you… ”

“NO! That’s the name I want to go by. I will not answer to anything else,” she said crossly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll honor your wish. Astarte you shall be,” he answered in an attempt to pacify the temperamental Slayer.

The gatekeeper questioned Lutz before allowing them entry into the city. The rain continued to pour down in sheets, leaving no question as to why they found the streets deserted. No one in his or her right mind would be out on a day like that.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the inn. Buffy refused Lutz’s assistance, preferring to dismount from her steed by herself. It was unfortunate that she didn’t take the Maia up on his offer; she leapt off the horse into a puddle that was nearly knee-deep. Cursing under her breath, she sought refuge beneath the canopy in front of the main doors of the inn, leaving Lutz with the horses. Not a second later, one of the doors swung open, and the ostler came out pulling the hood of his cloak over his head.

“Go on inside, miss. You’ll find it much warmer on the other side of these doors.” Buffy didn’t need to be told twice. She dashed through the door, eager to be out of the rain once and for all. The bells attached to the door jingled loudly as it slammed shut. Buffy pulled her hood back and scanned the small vestibule with weary eyes as she waited for Lutz to join her with their luggage. Beyond the archway to her right, she heard a chorus of boisterous voices.

“I’ll be right with you,” came a man’s booming voice above the raucous sounds from the adjoining room.

She let out a sigh of relief when Lutz finally joined her with their belongings a few minutes later.

“Remember, let me do the talking,” he whispered, placing their wet bags on the bench by the door.

“Just hurry up, I’m freezing,” she moaned, trembling from the cold.

A few moments later, the innkeeper appeared behind the reception desk. He gave Buffy the once over before turning his complete attention to Lutz. “What can I do you for this evening, my good man?” he asked in his most pleasant voice.

“We seek accommodations for the night,” replied Lutz, pulling off his gloves.

While the Maia tended to business with the innkeeper, Buffy stood on the worn carpet flexing her feet in an attempt to squeeze the excess water from within her boots. She couldn’t recall the last time that she had felt so miserable. She was cold, wet, tired, her ass and legs ached horribly, and she stunk like wet horse, (which in itself was a very unpleasant odor.)

“This way, please,” said another man who acted as their porter. Grabbing their wet bags, he led them through the door to their left and up a flight of stairs. As they walked down the narrow corridor, Buffy heard the wind howling against the window at the end of the drafty hall. “Here we are, number eleven,” said the man, fitting the key into the lock. “Wash room is down the hall, last door on your right.”

The Slayer looked hard at Lutz and mouthed, “No private bathroom!” The Maia dismissed her words with a shrug of his shoulders.

The porter opened the door, allowing them to enter first. The small dingy room didn’t appeal to Buffy at all. It was dark and dank. The bed, which took up nearly all of the space, was so worn that she could see the depressions in the mattress from its previous occupants. A frayed blanket in a hideous shade of green lay on the bed and matched the curtains that covered the only window in the room. The only bright spot was the roaring fire in the fireplace; the Slayer made a beeline for it.

“Good evening,” said the man, closing the door behind him.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” remarked Lutz as he undid the clasp of his cloak.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“That look on your face speaks volumes,” he replied, stretching his cloak over the back of the only chair in the room. “The room’s not that bad.”

“Pfft,” she sounded. With her back to the fire, Buffy looked the room over with an expression of utter disgust on her face. “Look at this place - it’s a hovel! Surely, you could’ve found some place nicer, cleaner… more suitable for me!”

“You’ll have to make do for tonight.”

“These people don’t even comprehend the word ‘cleanliness.’ Look at the dust,” complained the Slayer, brushing her finger against the lamp on the table beside the bed. “Ew, it’s sticky,” she whined, vigorously wiping her finger on her wet cloak. “Eru only knows what that is.” She shuddered at the thought.

“It’s probably oil residue,” replied the Maia as he sat on the bed pulling off his wet boots. He found her little diatribe endearing. “I can see that you’re definitely out of your element. You’ve grown too accustomed to those magnificent palaces of yours. Tomorrow we’ll have lodgings more to your liking, I deem.” Buffy groaned in response. After such a wretched journey, she yearned to rest in a clean, warm bed. That apparently wasn’t going to happen. “You know, my dear Inanna, it seems to me that you’re out of touch with the plight of the common man. It might do you some good to be around the lowly mortals for a few days.”

“I’m not out of touch with the mortals,” protested the Slayer, taking a seat on the chair. She started unlacing her boots. “I just prefer to surround myself in beauty. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Perhaps not. But you should spend more time amongst the mortals, you never know, you may learn something from them.”

Buffy chortled at Lutz’s comment. “Yeah, like how to spread disease through lack of hygiene.”

“Humility.”

“Huh?” She looked up at the Maia with a curious expression on her face.

“You could stand to learn a little something called humility,” he answered, pulling off his wet stockings.

She pulled off her boots and placed them by the hearth. “I bow down to no one. I’m a Vala; people humble themselves before me, not vice versa!”

Lutz studied her for a moment before breaking out into laughter. “Spoken like at true king.” He rose to his feet, standing mere inches from Buffy. “Let me help you out of this,” said the Maia, undoing the clasp of her cloak.

“If you’re attempting to seduce me, don’t bother,” she replied with a smirk. “I’m not about to let my naked flesh touch anything in this squalid room.”

“I was trying to be considerate,” said the Maia, placing her cloak on top of his on the back of the chair. “Since none of your attendants are present, I thought that I’d take it upon myself to help you change out of your wet garments.”

“Yeah, right,” she answered, eyeing Lutz doubtfully. “And that’s supposed to convince me that your intentions are honorable and… pure.”

“I never said that,” responded the Maia, a sly grin on his handsome face. He wrapped his arms around Buffy’s waist. “We both know why we’re here alone together. Our attraction is mutual. Why not surrender ourselves to our passions?”

The Slayer leaned in closer, a seductive look on her face. Her eyes slowly lingered on Lutz’s lips before she raised them to meet his enamored gaze. Desire was overcoming the Maia, so much so, that he wanted to throw her on the bed and take her, willing or not.

“I wouldn’t fuck you in this shit hole for the kingship of Arda,” she cooed with an impish grin before sweeping past him. As she dug through her bags, she continued, “I advise you to push those thoughts out of your mind.” Buffy glanced over her shoulder, that same smile still on her face. “Force yourself on me, and I’ll rip your dick off and shove it down your throat.”

A dumbstruck Lutz stood there, mouth agape, as the Slayer stripped out of her wet gown. If her words were meant to deter him from pursuing his heart’s desire then the Vala of Love was sadly mistaken. Her threat only heightened his yearning for her. She was feisty. And he liked that.

Lutz remained transfixed on the spot until Buffy covered her nudity with a long, dark blue, velvety dress. She turned and faced him, pulling a brush through her damp hair. “Are you gonna change or stay in those wet clothes all night?” she queried, sidestepping him so that she stood before the heat of the crackling fire. The Maia quickly turned his back to her in a desperate attempt to hide his arousal. He took his time rummaging through his satchel in search of dry clothes. “I think we should go downstairs and see if these people can make a decent cup of tea,” she continued, unaffected by the Maia’s brusque demeanor. “I think that’s the only thing that’ll warm me up.” Lutz bit his tongue as he changed out of his soaked garments. He knew how to warm the Slayer up, but wasn’t about to risk losing his favorite appendage by demonstrating his affection for her.

Once the Maia had dressed, he offered his arm to Buffy and together they left the confines of their cramped quarters. Her spirits seemed to lighten as they made their way towards the pub portion of the inn. When they reached the archway, everybody in the room stopped what they were doing and eyed the newcomers before resuming their lively conversations. Lutz took the Slayer by the hand and led her through the throng to an empty table in the back corner.

After ordering a pot of tea and some of the inn’s ‘famous’ apple cake, the couple remained huddled together, people watching. As they sat there, making snide remarks about the locals, Buffy came to realize that perhaps Lutz was right - she was out of touch with commoners. Over the years, she had spent most of her time with the aristocrats of Sumer, not the common folk. Was it possible that she could learn something from the simple people that now surrounded her? The Slayer had her doubts. To her, the inhabitants of Eshnunna were nothing but heathens. Not only did they follow the wrong god, they took no pride in how they presented themselves in public. Those in the pub acted like a bunch of uncouth buffoons, carousing in the middle of the afternoon when they should be doing something more productive with their time. She found it disgraceful.

Yet their little stop to the inn paid off in one way: they overheard that the king’s only son lay dying from a grievous wound suffered by some untamed beast while on a sojourn outside the city. Rumor had it that the poor prince would not last the night. Buffy and Lutz looked at one another; both astonished by the news.

“That is indeed good news,” whispered the Maia excitedly in her ear. “With the king vulnerable, we should gather our armies in Uruk and raid the city. The king won’t know what hit him until it’s too late.” Lutz seemed overjoyed at the prospect of war.

Buffy sat in silence while she mulled over the latest turn of events. While she was prepared to unleash her troops on Eshnunna, destroying any that contested her will, that latest news made her reconsider her strategy. Perhaps it would be more advantageous for her to approach the situation in a more god-like fashion as opposed to warrior-like. If she could use the king’s grief to her profit, she could avoid shedding blood needlessly, while gaining command of Marduk’s northernmost city.

“No,” she finally said. “Let’s approach this from a different angle first. If that doesn’t work, well, then we’ll resort to more drastic measures.”

Lutz was crestfallen. “That wasn’t our strategy.”

“You don’t have any children, do you?” asked a scowling Buffy.

“Er, no. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything. I pity the poor bastard. No one should have to watch their child die.” She stared at the dregs in the bottom of her cup. “Some people are ruled by their emotions. It makes them stronger or weaker, depending on the circumstances. Maybe if I turn the king’s sorrow into joy, he’ll be more apt to see things my way.” The Slayer glanced up at the Maia. “If I show him that Marduk has forsaken him… ” Her words trailed off, her lips curled into a smile.

“He’ll change his allegiance to you,” added Lutz, finishing her thought aloud.

“Exactly.”

“But how?”

“Leave it to me, my darling.”

The Maia smiled. “I see the cogs turning.” She chuckled.

Later that night, as Lutz lay sleeping alone in the bed, Buffy sat in the wooden chair staring into the flickering flames of the fire. She was nervous about astral projecting without the water of Ulmo to protect her. She hoped and prayed that no malevolent spirit would claim her hröa while she was away. Her fey then left its house, rising higher and higher until she hovered above the silent city. It seemed like it had been ages since she last felt the freedom of traveling through the air in spirit form. She loved the experience; nothing fazed her including the elements. The Slayer then soared above the dimly lit streets towards the king’s halls beside the temple of Marduk.

While the townspeople may have been sleeping, none in the king’s house seemed to be. Already, the occupants had entered a state of mourning. Buffy could sense the anguish of the people long before hearing the wailing of the women of the household. The prince had died before she had reached his bedchamber. She shot out of the house like a rocket in search of the fey of the fallen young man. She caught sight of his phantom form heading in the direction of Valinor. Utilizing her gifts, she summoned the fey to come to her instead of her brother. She bound the young man’s spirit to her before leading him back to her body at the inn.

As soon as her fey entered its hröa, she opened her eyes. The ghostly form of the young man hovered before her, waiting for further instructions. ‘Do not fear me,’ she said with her mind. ‘I’m your salvation.’ She then pursed her lips together and inhaled deeply; causing the young man’s fey to enter her mouth like wisps of smoke. Having his soul merge with hers was euphoric, to say the least. Buffy spent the remainder of the night comforting the young man within her. She couldn’t help but be amazed at yet another newfound ability.

Lutz stirred awake at dawn. He couldn’t believe that the Slayer had chosen to spend the entire night sitting in the hard wooden chair instead of lying beside him.

“You look tired,” observed the Maia. “Are you up for a short journey this morning?” He got up, pulled the curtain aside, only to see that it was drizzling outside. “Looks like we’re going to have to endure more rain.”

“That’s okay,” she replied, anxious to be on their way.

Within fifteen minutes, they were on their horses, riding through the wet, cobblestone streets of Eshnunna. They were not going directly to the king’s house, but to an associate of Lutz’s first. They were ushered into the stately four-story brick structure by one of the servants of Atif, a respected councilor to the king. Lutz had met the mortal years ago, before his rise to power. Buffy and the Maia were seated on a gold and red striped couch in the front parlor while they waited for the master of the house. Several minutes later, a middle-aged man dressed entirely in black entered the room escorted by another man. When his gaze fell upon his guests, a smile came to his face as he shuffled his companion from the room. He then shut the double doors.

“Zahir, my old friend,” said the mortal, embracing the Maia. “It has been a long while.” He pulled out of the hug, examining his friend with wonderment in his eyes. “You haven’t aged a bit.”

“Well, love has a way of keeping one youthful,” chuckled Lutz, shifting his eyes to the Slayer.

“Ah, yes,” replied Atif, leering at Buffy. “My, she is a lovely one.” He took a step towards her, his eyes inspecting her slowly. “You are indeed the fairest one yet,” he continued in a low lascivious voice. The man then reached out his hand and grabbed Buffy’s breast, causing her to gasp in shock. The stunned Slayer made a move to knock the mortal’s hand from her person, but Lutz seized her before she could strike the man. The Maia wrapped his arms around her, pulling her out of Atif’s clutches.

“I’m afraid that you misunderstand, Atif,” said Lutz. “Astarte is my wife. I do not intend to share her with any.”

Buffy’s eyes darted to the Maia. She couldn’t believe that that mortal thought that she was one of Lutz’s whores.

“Oh, er, I am sorry,” replied the embarrassed mortal, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “I assumed… er, well… er, forgive me, my dear Lady,” apologized a stammering Atif. “It’s just… er… ”

“No harm done,” interrupted Lutz, slapping the man affectionately on the back. “So tell me, Atif, what is this news I hear about the king’s son?” he asked, steering the mortal away from the Slayer.

While Lutz talked with the mortal about the prince, Buffy wandered around the room looking at the various portraits on the wall. She couldn’t help but notice that Atif watched her closely from the corner of his eye. It seemed obvious that, in the past, Lutz had dangled his ‘maidens’ before the mighty lord like the proverbial carrot. It angered the Slayer that the man mistook her for one of the Maia’s whores, more so than she let on.

She sniggered to herself. She couldn’t wait until she revealed her true identity to the inhabitants in Eshnunna, especially Atif. Who the hell was he to touch her like that? She was the powerful Inanna Ishtar, Goddess of Love and War, greatest of the Valier, and Deliverer of Mankind, not some simple fair-faced Sumerian woman. She was really regretting her decision to travel incognito. Buffy definitely preferred being who she really was - the Supreme God of the East, who commanded respect and loyalty from all that followed her, not some unknown mortal. She would have to bide her time. For now, she’d have to play the role of Astarte, the devoted and obedient wife of Zahir.

“…What do you say?” Buffy was staring at the portrait of the young man whose spirit now resided within her. “Astarte?” Lutz placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a little shake.

“Huh?” She turned towards the Maia.

“Atif has invited us to join him and his family for breakfast. Hungry?”

She glanced at the mortal who stood a few feet away. “As long as our host keeps his hands to himself,” she said with disdain. “I’m sure his wife would be most displeased to learn of his… groping a woman of noble blood.”

“Now, now, my Lady, I did apologize for that,” replied Atif, wringing his hands nervously.

“Be thankful that I hold no power in your city,” she smirked, taking a step closer to the man. “If thy right hand offends thee, cut it off… ”

Lutz laughed, sliding his arm around Buffy’s waist. “That’s my Astarte. She’s quite the jester.” He gave her ‘the look’.

Buffy rolled her eyes; she’d play along. “Yeah, I’m all with the jest.”

They then experienced one of those awkward silent moments. “How bout that breakfast, Atif?” Lutz said in an attempt to lighten the mounting tension in the room.

“Yes, of course.”

Buffy and Lutz actually enjoyed a decent meal with Atif and his family before they accompanied him and his household to the king’s halls. The Slayer was absolutely thrilled by the number of people gathered outside the king’s fortress to pay their respects. There was no doubt in her mind that she was about to take control over Eshnunna, one way or another.

Lutz couldn’t help but notice the Slayer’s change of attitude. She had been in a foul mood ever since they had left Uruk, but now she appeared somewhat cheerful. The Maia could see the cogs in her mind turning. He knew that something dreadfully spectacular would soon take place, but had no idea of what it could be. He only wished that she would let him in on her plan, Lutz hated being left in the dark.

Only the highest of officials got to express their condolences to lord Tadeusz in person, Buffy and Lutz included. The king was under the impression that Lutz was Atif’s kin, visiting from Nippur. At least, that’s what the councilor had told the guards, allowing them an all access pass to the king.

“My deepest sympathies, my lord,” said Atif, taking the king’s hand in his. “Lazaros was indeed a great young man. What a tragedy that Eshnunna has lost one of such decent and noble birth.” Buffy watched the councilor’s interaction with the king very closely. “If there is anything I can do… ”

“Thank you, my dear Atif. Unfortunately, your words of solace bring me no peace,” replied the sorrowful king. “How I wish to have my only son returned to me… alas, that cannot be… ”

Buffy saw her opening and took it. “Excuse me, lord,” she interjected, stepping out of the queue.

The king’s solemn eyes turned ireful as he fixed them on the Slayer. “It is heresy for a woman to interrupt while two men are speaking!” Tadeusz glared at her while his wife wore a curious expression on her face.

“What?” queried the dumbfounded Slayer. She had never heard anything of the sort before.

“I beg you to forgive my wife, lord,” pleaded Lutz, giving Buffy a severe look before he continued. “Sadly, Astarte disagrees with the religious doctrine of Marduk… ”

The people in the room, both men and women, gasped in shock. They were horrified that one had the audacity to defy the canon that their god had set into law. The Slayer remained undaunted.

“It is sacrilege to… ”

“Oh, come on now,” said Buffy, inching closer to the king. “Don’t give me that sacrilege crap.”

“Take her to the dungeons!” barked the lord of Eshnunna. The king’s guards moved towards her. Things were not going as well as Buffy had hoped. But there was no way that she was about to allow some mortal to treat her like that. With a wave of her hand, she sent the guards flying backwards, knocking several bystanders to the ground in the process.

“She’s a witch!” screamed someone within the chamber.

“The woman is evil!” yelled another.

Amid the confusion, Lutz uttered, “Now, you’ve done it,” from the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were trying to avoid a violent confrontation.”

“I am,” she mouthed to the Maia before approaching the king. When she had reached his throne, she placed her hands on either arm of the chair and leaned forward, only inches from Tadeusz face. “The laws of Amarutu Marduk are null and void,” continued a sneering Buffy. “He is nothing but a pretender. The time has come for the rightful King to claim the throne.”

“You’re… you’re Inanna Ishtar in disguise, aren’t you?” asked a terrified Tadeusz, recoiling in fear.

“The one and only, sweetheart,” she answered with a wide grin on her face. Buffy’s appearance suddenly changed back to that of the short, blonde Slayer, the form that she preferred wearing above all others. Many people frantically fled the chamber when they witnessed that bit of magic; others fell to their knees, praying for Marduk to intervene. They recalled the words that their divine lord had told their forebears: that the day would come when the Goddess of Death and Destruction would wage war against him and his people.

Lutz, Atif and the mortal councilor’s household attempted to keep the armed guards at bay while Buffy spoke with the king.

The hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end; one of the guards was creeping up on the Slayer, a dagger clutched in his hand. In one swift motion, she pivoted, grabbing the man’s arm that held the weapon, snapping it in two as she wrenched it behind his back. The man cried out in pain as the momentum allowed her to gain the upper hand; she subdued the culprit with a chokehold. Buffy kicked the blade that fell to the floor over to the Maia.

“That’s some welcome for the Supreme God of the East,” she spat, restraining the struggling man. The Slayer locked eyes with Tadeusz. “Let me show my appreciation for your hospitality.” She then twisted the neck of her captive; a loud cracking sound rang out in the chamber.

“Amgad!” screamed the horrified king, nearly rising from his throne until Buffy threw the limp form in her arms to his feet.

Before the body came to a standstill, she took a seat on the arm of the queen’s chair, wrapping her arm around the petrified woman’s neck. “Tell your men to back down or your lovely… er, wife gets it next,” warned the Slayer, tightening her grip on the weeping woman. Tadeusz motioned to his men; they stopped brawling with Buffy’s companions. “Good boy,” she said mockingly. She glanced at the fallen man on the stone floor. “I didn’t want to do it,” she said softly before shifting her gaze to the king, widening her grin, “but something in me made me do it.”

The chamber was nearly silent except for the muffled cries from some of the occupants. Buffy turned her attention to the trembling queen within her grasp. “It’s okay, sweetie pie, I’m not gonna hurt you,” she said soothingly, stroking the woman’s dark hair. “But I think I’m more deserving to be sitting in this chair right now, you know. My ass is sore… it’s all the horseback riding. I’m just not used to it.”

The queen looked at Buffy with wide eyes, tears running down her face, as she slowly rose from the chair. “Let me help you,” said the Slayer, assisting the woman to her feet. “See, I’m a woman of my word.” She plopped down on the throne as the queen ran to her husband’s side; her hands gripped his shoulder as she leaned against his chair for support. “Hmm,” continued Buffy, scrutinizing the couple, her eyes kept moving from one to the other. “Yeah, I think I do see the family resemblance.” She faced Lutz, her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell me that Marduk condones incestuous relationships.”

“He not only condones it, he encourages it. Dear, old Marduk believes that’s a sure way to preserve the noble bloodlines,” answered the Maia with a wry grin.

A look of revulsion came to the Slayer’s face. “That’s so… gross.” She eyed the king and queen. Her expression turned thoughtful. “Brother marries sister and gives birth to a son… so that makes the kid your nephew too.” She looked up at Lutz. “Is that right?”

Before the Maia could answer, Tadeusz said, “Half-sister. My wife is my half-sister.”

Buffy fixed her eyes back on the king. “That is so fucking sick.” She shook her head in disgust. “Incest is an abomination and I will not tolerate it in my lands. Marduk is one twisted fuck.” She looked up at Lutz. “Is his ‘royal anus’ wed to his sister too?” She was of course referring to the god.

“No,” came the reply.

The king then turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury. “You will pay for insulting my god, evil one… ”

“Evil one?” repeated the Slayer with a chuckle. “You’re calling me evil when you’ve been doing the nasty with your sister?”

“HALF-SISTER!” barked a red-faced Tadeusz, spittle flying from his lips.

SMACK! Buffy backhanded the mortal, knocking out a few of his teeth. The people in the chamber howled in despair as the queen attempted to comfort her brother-husband. Tadeusz spit out three teeth mixed with blood; they landed on the dead man at his feet. With a shaky hand, he wiped the trickle of blood from his chin.

“How dare you speak to me like that!” hissed the Slayer, rubbing the top of her throbbing hand. “I will not tolerate insolence from anybody, especially a mortal!” Things were definitely not going as she had expected. Buffy had hoped that she could convince the king to switch his allegiance to her without any violence, but it appeared that that option was nearly out the door. As she attempted to regain her composure, the whimpering sounds from the occupants became more pronounced. “Listen, Tadeusz,” she began in a much calmer tone. “I don’t want to hurt anybody. I swear. But you must not forget that I’m superior to you. I’m superior to your kind. I’m superior to Marduk. I’m the Holiest of the Holies. And it would be wise for you not to forget that.”

She leaned towards the king, her arms folded on the arms of the chair. “I came here with good intentions. I came her with a proposition for you, Tadeusz… ” The king refused to me make eye contact with her. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, god damn it!” she blurted out in rage. It annoyed her that the mortal was being so disrespectful. The lord of Eshnunna slowly turned his gaze to hers.

“That’s better,” she said. “As I was saying… I’ve come with a proposition for you. I, the great Inanna Ishtar, can bring back your only son.” The king’s eyes widened. “That’s right. I own his soul. He’s in my possession. If you renounce your allegiance to Marduk, I’ll bring him back. I’ll make him whole again. You can have your wish come true. Lazaros will come back to you.”

“How do I know it won’t be some demonic creature masquerading as my son?” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. His cheek was turning purple from the blow that Buffy had delivered.

“I’m not the creator of evil, my dear. That’s not what I do… that’s more along the lines of Marduk, isn’t it? Breeding humans to beasts… that’s wrong on so many levels… But that’s beside the point. I am justice. I am love. I’m am the bringer of peace and the slayer of wickedness.” She then licked her palm and placed it on the king’s swollen cheek, instantly taking away the painful throbbing in his face. “I am the healer of the sick. I am the champion of Eru Ilúvatar. I am mother to those reborn. I am the wielder of the Light and the lover of mankind.

“Do not allow yourself to be deceived by the pretender Marduk. He has unlawfully taken my seat as the King of the East. He names me Goddess of Death and Destruction only because he knows that doom is upon him. I will defeat him. He cannot run from fate.”

“I do not deny your powers, Holy One, but you did not answer my question. How do I know that you’re not deceiving me with false promises? Tempting me with that that I desire most, only to… ”

“Give you the shaft?” she said, finishing the man’s sentence.

“Precisely.”

“I’m not a liar,” she responded. “I’m capable of doing things that Marduk can’t do. Where’s your god in your time of sorrow? And how exactly did your son die, Tadeusz? Do you know?” He gave her a bewildered look. “I do. He was killed by one of the pretender’s hybrid beasts.” The people in the room gasped once again. “That’s right. Your son died at the hands of Marduk,” she added, nodding her head. “What kind of despicable lord would do that to someone that they proclaim to love… ” She fell silent for a moment, letting the tension build. “Unless he that you claim to love above all others has forsaken you, that he thinks so little of you that you should lose your only son to me. Is that who you wish to worship, the killer of your kin?”

Buffy grabbed the king’s hand between hers. “Take me to him. Take me to Lazaros and I will bring him back to you.” She caressed the top of his hand. “I will grant your wish, Tadeusz. I promise.”

“Can you really, my Lady?” he asked hopefully, tears spilling from his eyes. “Can you bring back my son?”

“Take me to him.”

The king led Buffy to the temple of Marduk located next to his own halls. A parade of people, including Lutz, Atif and the mortal’s household followed closely behind. After climbing the steps of the ziggurat, they entered the temple where even more people were congregated, waiting to pay their last respects to the fallen prince. The hordes of mourners were escorted out of the Holy Chamber of Marduk, allowing only the king and his train access to the great chamber. Buffy permitted only a few people to join her on the sprawling semicircular dais where the body of Lazaros rested upon a black marble slab held aloft by the horns of four marble rams. As she made her way towards the prince’s hröa, her eyes were drawn to the enormous stone statue of Marduk standing directly behind the table. She was unimpressed by the craftsmanship of the monument. The mortals’ skills did not even come close to matching that of the elves or dwarves.

When the Slayer had reached the table, she looked down at the body of Lazaros. He was dressed in his princely regalia, a sword clasped in his left hand, a magnificent dagger attached to his belt. She pulled the knife from the bejeweled sheath.

“Zahir, come here,” she ordered. The Maia came to her side. “Hold his mouth open for me.” Lutz did as he was told. Buffy held her arm over the dead man’s opened mouth before slicing her wrist with the blade. A stream of blood poured from the wound into the mortal’s mouth. Normally, she would heal the wounds by dripping her blood directly onto the injured areas, but since the prince was dressed in his finery, she decided to heal his body from the inside out. She uttered a spell in Quenya that would speed up the healing process. When the Slayer felt a little lightheaded, she licked the incision on her arm, healing it instantly.

“Behold the powers of Inanna Ishtar!” she proclaimed loudly before the congregation. She brushed Lutz’s hands away before placing her mouth to the mortal’s open mouth. She then released Lazaros’ spirit from her body, a soft white light began emanating from both her and the dead man. The light increased intensity until it flashed brilliantly for a few moments, blinding all the spectators. The light faded from the mortal yet still radiated from Buffy’s form. She withdrew her mouth from his, yet continued to lean over the young man. “Hear the sound of my voice, Lazaros. Awake… Awake.”

The young man blinked his eyes open. Slowly he stirred causing the spectators to shriek. Buffy smiled.

“My Lady,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

“Rise, my son.” She helped the young man to a sitting position.

“It cannot be!” said the stunned king. “How is this possible?”

“Lazaros,” cried the young man’s mother, throwing her arms around her son’s neck.

The Slayer instructed the woman to back off. “He’s disoriented. Let him get his bearings.”

After a few minutes, Lazaros reached for the knife in Buffy’s hand. “May I?” he asked. She handed him the dagger. The young man looked at the weapon as if it were some sacred relic. He licked the blood from the blade, savoring the taste of the Slayer’s life force. He then leapt off the marble slab, staring at the Vala of Love with awe-struck eyes. He fell to his knees, taking her hand in his. “I am forever indebted to you, most magnificent one. You are, by all rights, the true King of the East and I hereby pledge my love and allegiance to you, o’ glorious Inanna.” He kissed the top of her hand. “Command me, mighty one.”

Buffy kissed the top of the mortal’s head. “Rise, my son.” The young man stood, towering over the Slayer. She placed her hand on his heart and whispered, “Do what you will with the gifts I have granted you.”

The young man turned and faced his parents. He walked up to his mother and embraced her, uttering something in her ear that none could hear. Tears steamed down the queen’s face as Lazaros stepped before the king.

“Do you still doubt the true heir to the throne of the East, father? Has Inanna Ishtar proved that she is a God of her word? Will you convert your allegiance from Marduk to her?” The king eyed his son with disbelief, unsure whether it was really him.

“How do I know that you’re my son? How do I know that you are indeed my beloved Lazaros?” He looked skeptically at the young man. “No son of mine would speak such blasphemy.”

“Can you not look into my eyes and see that it is me, father?” Tadeusz continued to scrutinize the young man, but said not one word. Lazaros let out a heavy sigh. “It grieves me, Tadeusz, lord of Eshnunna. It grieves me that you cannot recognize your own kin by looking into my eyes… The great Inanna Ishtar has bestowed upon me another gift - the gift of discernment.” The young man furrowed his brow. “You never planned to change your allegiance from Marduk.” He took a step towards his father, shaking his head disappointingly. “Then this is a very sad day.”

Lazaros then rammed his blade in his father’s stomach. “You’re a fool, father. Your fate shall be the same as your brother.” He then repeatedly stabbed Tadeusz in the stomach and chest amongst a room of gaping natives. None of the king’s men intervened in the act of patricide.

“Seal off the city,” yelled Lazaros to his men. “I forbid any from leaving Eshnunna.” He tossed his father’s body to the floor. Blood dripped from the dagger that remained clutched in his hand. “Atif!” shouted the new king. “Come forth.” The mortal councilor apprehensively approached the young man.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” asked the councilor.

Lazaros grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him over to the marble table. “You have violated my God and shall be punished accordingly.”

“NO!” screamed Atif as the mortal held the councilor’s outstretched arm on the slab. “Please, Lazaros! I beg of you! Please don’t!”

“If thy right hand offends thee, cut it off!” declared the king before bringing his blade down on Atif’s wrist, severing it from his arm. The councilor let out an earsplitting scream that resonated in the chamber. “Learn your place, Atif. Disrespect my God again and your punishment will be most severe.” He wiped the blood on the man’s cloak before adding, “Get him out of my sight.” A couple of men from the councilor’s household grabbed the weeping man, taking him out of the temple.

The young king then approached Buffy. “Thank you, my Lord. I will see to it that all traces of the pretender are destroyed. Is there anything that I can do to show my devotion?”

“You know what to do, king of Eshnunna,” she answered with a smile. “But as for me… a hot bath and a warm bed is all I ask for. It’s been a long night.”

The young man smiled broadly. “That is but a simple request and one that I can easily fulfill.” Lazaros then called over his mother, instructing her to take care of Buffy.

After a hot bath, the Slayer crawled into the magnificent canopied bed that was readied for her. Exhausted, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Buffy slept the day away, not waking until dusk. She opened her eyes, only to find Lutz lying beside her, his green eyes keenly observing her.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” she queried with a yawn.

“I find watching you sleep more appealing then watching the new king execute the loyal followers of Marduk.”

“Lazaros is executing them!” she said excitedly, rolling onto her side. “Damn, he seems to be one of those take-charge kinda kings. I’m impressed.”

“What happened back there? How did you get Lazaros’ soul?”

The Slayer chuckled. “I’m a Vala of many skills.”

“It would be nice if you had shared your plan with me. That was quite a surprise back there. I mean, cutting of Atif’s hand… was that really necessary?”

“I had nothing to do with that. That was Lazaros’ doing.” He gave her a suspicious look. “He overheard my comment and, well… carried it out.”

“If thy right hand offends thee, cut it off,” he said softly. “Would you have the young king do the same to me?” he whispered huskily. Lutz then placed his right hand on her breast, gently massaging it. “Does my hand offend thee, o’ glorious one?” he queried, mocking the voice of Lazaros.

“You still have it, don’t you?”

“You are an enigma, my dear Inanna. How I relish the thought of being with you, learning from you.” He pulled her into his arms. “But I cannot endure your torments any longer, you’ve made me wait long enough.” He pressed his lips to hers, eager to experience the loving bliss of the beautiful Inanna Ishtar…


Chapter 60 - SUPERSTAR

As each day passed with no word from Buffy, Sharru-kin became more and more morose. He feared the worst: that Lutz had won over the heart of the Slayer. Anxious to get to the bottom of things, he left his grand halls atop the mount for Eanna, eager to speak with the Oracles.

“Hail, Sharru-kin. What brings you to Eanna?” asked Mirë, a sly smile on her face.

“I’ve come seeking your counsel, o’ Wise Ones.”

“And what gift have you brought for us, king of mortals?” queried Anno.

“I have brought you this ruby and gold necklace,” answered the young man holding out the item. “It was wrought by your father in Folkvang,” he added as the jeweled necklace flew from his hand to Anno’s.

“You have brought us a gift wrought by our father,” repeated the woman with surprise. “Why would you give us such a priceless gift? Surely, this was meant to be an heirloom of your house.”

“I am desperate for news of Inanna, and am willing to part with any trinket in my possession. To me, your mother is the only treasure that I hold dear and would not willingly part with.”

Anno took the jeweled necklace and placed it around the neck of his sister. They smiled at the gesture, yet knew that that was not his true purpose for the visit.

“Mother is fine,” replied Anno.

“She has gained control of Eshnunna and is working with the new king to enact her laws in that city,” added Mirë.

“That is not what he means, my dear sister,” said Anno turning to Mirë. “He wonders about mother’s relationship with Lutz. Am I correct, Sharru-kin?” The young mortal nodded in reply.

“Hmm,” began the woman. “You must remember, Sharru-kin, that mother is the Vala of Love. She will not remain faithful to any one man… it is against her true nature.”

“But do not doubt her feelings for you,” interjected Anno. “She loves you and her time with you will be a memory that she will treasure for all her days.”

“That is good to hear, but I miss her terribly,” said the young man. “I feel that she has taken my heart with her. I feel empty inside.”

“Your loneliness will abate in a fortnight when she returns,” revealed Mirë, studying the mortal carefully. “My heart tells me that you’ve actually come to make a bold request. What is it, dear mortal?”

Sharru-kin’s face turned to one of surprise; his jaw dropped. He was hoping to make some small talk with Buffy’s twins before requesting a favor from Ilúvatar. Mirë chortled at the young king’s reaction. It amused her that he thought that she and her brother didn’t know the real reason for his visit.

“You are both rightly called the Oracles, I see,” chuckled the young man nervously. The twins looked at him with bemused expressions on their faces. “It is for your mother that I’ve truly come. But she did not send me. I am here on my own accord. I would give Inanna all the world if it were in my power, but alas, I am but a mere mortal and possess no great talents. Her happiness and bliss is all that I wish for, and I know, in the bottom of my heart, that she does not have that.”

“And what would make mother happy?” asked Anno, cupping his hands together on his lap.

“The House of Eru, my Lord and Lady,” replied Sharru-kin without skipping a beat. “This place brings her great joy and I know she would like to claim it as her own. She would never make such a bold request, yet I would. And I now have.” He paused before he resumed speaking. “Inanna has said that I came to her in a dream long before I was born… I have no memory of that but if I am truly a servant of the Allfather, then I would beseech Him to grant unto the Lady the temple that she desires most, for she would like nothing more than to make this her permanent abode.”

“Mother will never truly have a permanent dwelling outside of Folkvang,” disclosed Mirë. “Yet I do not doubt your words as I too see that the great Inanna Ishtar covets Eanna. This is already known to Ilúvatar.”

“Mother has many temples, Sharru-kin,” said Anno. “Why is it that she longs for this one above the rest? Surely, her halls in Uruk closely resemble this one.”

“But Eridu is the heart of Sumer,” said the mortal king with pride. “And the Great War was fought upon this very mount. Here, she died and was reborn. Here, people saw her in her full glory. Here, she defeated Illyria. Here, she established the first city. Eridu is dearer to her than all other places… ”

“And will remain so until the End of Days,” revealed Anno solemnly.

“Will Eru not grant His champion the right to call Eanna her own? Will He not exchange holy shrines with her? She would gladly give Zabalam to Him as His holy place of worship.”

The Oracles fell quiet for a few minutes or so it seemed. Sharru-kin could not hear the conversation taking place in their minds with the Allfather. To him, the entire temple was silent except for the faint voice of the minstrel who sang day and night as was custom in all the temples that Buffy controlled.

“You are indeed in the Allfather’s good graces, young Sharru-kin, for Eru Ilúvatar will grant your prayer,” said Mirë at last. “Eanna is now the holy temple of his favored daughter, Inanna Ishtar. He does not desire Zabalam in exchange. That shrine was wrought by the mortals out of love for the Vala of Love and shall remain hers as long as it stands.”

“He does ask that His icon, the Holy Cross, be affixed to the wall behind us in this chamber. We understand that you wish to make alterations to the temple that mother will find befitting, but you must first erect that symbol before doing anything else,” informed Anno.

“I will do as the Allfather has asked,” replied the mortal king, bowing before the Oracles. “Thank you kindly, Lord and Lady.” Sharru-kin then left the chamber, his heart less heavy than when he came.

Mirë rose from her seat, as did Anno. “Young Sharru-kin will have a great impact on mother,” she said as she and her brother descended the steps of the dais.

“His descendants will have an even greater impact on Arda,” added Anno as they left the chamber.

Just as the Oracles had foretold, Buffy arrived back at Eridu two weeks later. She excitedly told the story of how she had captured the city of Eshnunna with the help of the new king. Fearing a possible revolt, she had placed a few troops from Uruk in the former city of Marduk in an attempt to thwart a possible uprising. Lazaros had disposed of most of the loyalists of the renegade Vala, but the Slayer in her didn’t want to take any chances. Her warriors’ presence was meant to intimidate and dissuade any from retaliating against her or the king.

In hope of quelling Sharru-kin’s abandonment issues, the Slayer spent most of her time with the young man. They continued to train, preparing for the next strike that would take place after the first of the year. The black-haired young man had successfully talked Buffy into joining him in battle, something she had not intended to do.



“And on this day, I proclaim you Sargon, King of Sumer,” declared an ecstatic Buffy as she placed a new, more elaborate crown on her lover’s head. His name meant ‘Lord of Stone’ in the elvish tongue, signifying his high status in the East as ruler of all the city-states. “Together we will conquer all the neighboring nations and rule them in peace.”

“Amen,” uttered the young man with a smile.

Despite the ceremonious nature of the coronation, Sargon, as he was now called, scooped the Slayer into his arms, kissing her passionately in front of thousands of spectators. The Sumerians cheered with approval. The mortals were envious of the young king that had won the heart of the Vala of Love. Being the beloved of Inanna Ishtar meant that one was granted great wealth, privilege and power. Already, many men hoped that the day would come when one of their descendants would win the heart of the King of the East, making them more powerful than they ever imagined.

Over the course of the following week, Buffy brought thousands upon thousands of warriors from the surrounding city-states to Eridu. She deemed that it would be much easier to teleport them all from one location as opposed to many. As soon as she and her armies left, the artificers began their labors. While some were to work on the cross of Eru, others began mining Buffy’s favorite gemstone, lapis lazuli. Sargon had not yet told her about the temple, wanting to surprise her after the war.

Fighting again proved to invigorate the Slayer. While she had brought along the Brisingamen to help sway the enemy to her side, she stowed it away until she felt compelled to utilize its powers. Her young warriors needed to experience combat firsthand. She wanted to share with them the power that one possesses when a weapon’s clutched in his or her hand, the rush one gets when that blade pierces both the flesh and bone of the enemy. To feel the ecstasy that one has when one snuffs out the life of another. For Buffy and Sargon, it was more than just the thrill of the kill: slaying made them both amorous. After each victory, the couple submitted to their desires of the flesh amidst the moaning cries of the dying that lay on the battlefield. It was their way of celebrating their success.

One by one, each of Marduk’s cities fell under Buffy’s dominion, leaving Nippur to fight alone. Nippur was the prize of all prizes. It was a magnificent city built long ago under the guidance of the renegade Vala. It was the power center of Marduk’s realm and also the home of his chief dwelling place. It was mid-spring, Yr 187 F.A. when Buffy and her troops arrived. Thanks to the powers of the Brisingamen, the Slayer’s forces had increased threefold. Each time she conquered one of the renegade Vala’s cities, his men joined her armies, leaving Marduk greatly outnumbered.

The battle for Nippur lasted only four months before Marduk fled the city in his ram drawn chariot with his wife and son. Buffy’s hope of killing the renegade Vala proved futile. While she did take to the air in an attempt to shoot down his chariot with her Glove, she only managed to kill two rams. She would later discover that Marduk and his family had escaped to his refuge in the middle of the desert located west of Cuiviénen.

It was in Nippur that Buffy first encountered the most pitiful of creatures from Marduk’s experiments with gene splicing. These were the beasts that didn’t turn out as well as say the centaurs, satyrs, and sphinxes, (which she would later learn were released into the wild before Buffy’s raid of the city.) While there were many strange and vile looking beasts, one stood out above the rest. The creature seemed to be a cross between a human and a pig. Its skin was more like a pig’s, pinkish in color, covered in light hair. Attached to its short humanlike limbs were hoofs as opposed to hands or feet. The creature could walk unsteadily upright, but mostly moved about on all fours. Its hideous face incorporated the traits of both species with its eyes being the most human-like feature. They were brown, crusty and looked at the Slayer and her companions with interest. The mouth was twisted and foamy drool constantly dribbled from the corners of its mouth. The creature made a series of odd sounds, something between a grunting noise and a moan. Buffy got the impression that the beast was in constant pain. The odor that emitted from it was horrid; it smelled as though it had been rolling around in its own feces, which would explain the brown encrusted patches all over its body.

Both Buffy and Sargon stood there, mouths agape looking at that bizarre creature. That’s when they discovered that it was in fact male or so they assumed. Two large testicles, the size of softballs, dangled between the creatures legs. As it rose to an upright position, they noticed its penis, which was long and curved. They were further stunned when the organ grew in size before inserting itself into a slit on the stomach. The creature then started copulating with itself.

“Oh my Eru!” exclaimed the mortal king.

“It’s a hermaphrodite,” mumbled the Slayer. Sargon gave her a strange look. “It has both sexes, obviously.” The weird thing was that no matter how much Buffy wanted to turn away, she couldn’t. She had never seen anything like that before and she remained frozen to the spot. After a few minutes, the beast made a high-pitched squealing sound before its watery excrement spewed from its anus, which apparently was located above the slit. The creature trembled before falling to the ground in spasms, revolting the Slayer to no end. “Put that pitiful son-of-a-bitch out of its misery, Sargon. The last thing we need is to have that thing reproducing,” she said, gagging as she distanced herself from the foul odor. The pig man let out another ear-splitting squeal as Sargon rammed his blade through its chest. “Don’t mutilate it,” she said, covering her nose with her sleeved arm.

“Are you alright?” asked her lover, who came to her side, stroking her hair. She nodded. “What kind of unholy creatures are these?” he asked, as his eyes scanned the other monsters in the garden.

Buffy knew that Sargon and the other mortals would not comprehend a lengthy and detailed explanation of DNA splicing, so she decided to give her lover a different account on how those creatures came into being.

“This is what happens when mortals have sex with animals. They bring forth these hideous beasts.” She shook her head in disgust. She turned to another companion. “Bag it! And kill the rest. I want them brought back to Sumer so all can see the results of committing such sinful acts.” She then hastily fled the garden with Sargon by her side.

If anyone appreciated the works of Marduk, it was Istahiro. He was dumbstruck by the strange beasts and looked forward to dissecting them. He desperately wanted to get his hands on some living specimens, so Buffy authorized a bounty on the creatures, fifteen gold pieces to those that captured the monsters alive, ten for dead ones. The healer and his assistants (including Nestor) remained in Nippur where they had access to Marduk’s laboratories and research.

Buffy attributed their successful campaign to the heroic deeds of Sargon and granted him the right to rename the newly acquired territory. He called it Akkad, and in reverence to his Vala lover, he commanded that a new city be built in her honor. In years to come, Agade would become the new capital of that eastern territory. With the war now ended, the Slayer left Eridu with half her troops. The rest were dispersed throughout the newly conquered regions in order to maintain order.

When they arrived back to the capital city, Buffy was stunned by the changes to the temple of Eru. The entire exterior was now covered in lapis lazuli, sparkling beneath the sunlit sky like some magnificent star. High atop Eanna blew her banner in the early afternoon breeze.

“Do you like it?” asked Sargon, wrapping his arms around her waist.

A speechless Buffy stared at the temple wide-eyed for several minutes. She turned to her lover, a look of confusion on her face. “You did this? I… I don’t understand.”

“I spoke with the twins,” he answered with a huge grin on his face. “And Eru has granted you His temple,” he continued, taking her hands in his. “Eanna is now officially yours.” Buffy’s reaction pleased the young king; he knew that she loved it. “Let me show you the changes that I had made.” He then led her up the stairway. When they reached the top, she noticed for the first time, the two mammoth golden statues representing Kit and Kat that flanked the main entrance to the temple. She was so touched by that thoughtful gesture. Sargon knew how important her kitties were to her and found a way to incorporate them into his designs.

The silver cross that graced the wall of the main chamber took her aback. There was no way to avoid seeing that sacred symbol, as it was well over fifty feet tall. Unfortunately, seeing that icon displayed so prominently on the wall brought to mind the torments that she had endured at the hands of Úrion. But how could she refuse Eru’s one and only request?

The tour ended, appropriately enough, inside her bedchamber. The entire room was tastefully redone in sapphire blue and gold, from the striped fabric wallpaper to the oversized canopied bed. The bedstead was made from lapis lazuli as well as the bedposts, which were carved in the likeness of her cats standing in an upright position. As Buffy moved in for a closer look, she noticed three scenes carved into the headboard: her death upon the cross, her rebirth, and her crowning as King of the East. It was so beautifully done that the images didn’t disturb her in the slightest. It was a work of art that Buffy loved dearly.

Buffy rewarded her mortal lover with not only a mid-afternoon romp, but also bestowed a new title upon him: High Priest of Eru. Since she did not accept men as priests in her temples, she decided to make him one of Ilúvatar’s. It only made sense, since Sargon had been sent to her as a messenger from the Allfather years before.

Only a week later, Buffy announced that she had to return to Folkvang to carry out her sacred duties. Many men and women had perished in the battles and it was time for her to determine their fates. Sargon pleaded with her to delay her trip, but the Slayer refused.

“Take advantage of this opportunity and bring forth another heir for me, my beloved,” she told the young man. “And it wouldn’t hurt my feelings any if you took a second wife. It is law, after all.” Sargon loathed her departure. He knew that he would not see her for some time. And he was right. The Slayer wouldn’t return for more than two years.

Buffy didn’t spend all that time in Folkvang. She refused to return to Eridu until her mortal lover had expanded his family. As long as she was around, Sargon would not sleep with his wife. It was imperative to her designs that he bring forth more children.

By the time that Sargon had reached his thirtieth year, he had fathered five children with his primary wife and one with his second. Out of all his children, Buffy would come to love his firstborn daughter, Enheduanna, most of all. Once she had reached her teens, Enheduanna had become the Vala of Love’s chief hymnist, whose songs of devotion to Buffy were remembered for millennia.

It was around that time when Sargon proposed that he and the Slayer have a child together. Buffy had never really given any thought to procreating with a mortal before and found the prospect of doing so quite intriguing. Olofin proved to be as great as his siblings were, even though he had elvish blood running through his veins. Would bearing a child to the mortal king have the same results? Yes, Sargon was a fierce warrior but he was also gentle and kindhearted, making him an ideal mate for her. But Buffy was unsure. Committing adultery was one thing, but having a child with a man that was not her husband was altogether different. She thought that that was taking things a little too far. Yet Sargon would not let the matter die. He was persistent and used to getting his way, a trait that he had picked up from his Vala lover, for Buffy had always gotten her way.

In the end, she relented. She agreed to have a child with her mortal lover.

Now, Buffy had always assumed that her ‘will’ played a role in the conception process. If she willed it, it would happen. Unfortunately, that proved to be false. She and Sargon started trying to conceive in spring and by the time that summer rolled around, she still wasn’t pregnant. Something was wrong. How was it that the Vala of Love could not become pregnant? She could cast fertility spells left and right, yet here she was unable to conceive. She looked to the Oracles for answers.

All she got from the twins was that whole song and dance about it being Eru’s will.

“Why the sudden need to carry the child of your lover?” asked a frowning Anno. He locked his disapproving gaze on his mother. “You’re a Vala, nana, a Vala! Do not be so hasty to mix your blood with the mortals. They are weak and fickle.” His tone became less harsh. “You have not been around mortals much, not until Sargon came along. Already flecks of gray appear in his hair, the lines of age deepening on his face. He is mortal, mother, and mortals age swiftly, they are not long for this world. That is Ilúvatar’s gift. Do not forget that. Bringing forth a child from one of that race does not mean the child will be immortal - it will not. It does not matter that you are an Ainu. Any being with mortal blood is destined to die unless one with greater powers alters that.”

“I have the power to grant the gift of immortality,” she said softly.

“Indeed you do,” replied her son. “However, when the time arrives when you do bear a child with a mortal, Ilúvatar will prevent you from making him immortal. He will be long-lived, yes, but not immortal.”

“I’m gonna have another son?” she queried, slightly taken aback by that revelation.

“In time. He will be a son of Sargon the Great, but that is many, many years away.”

“Enough, Anno,” chimed in Mirë, linking her arm with her mother’s. “It’s my turn to spend some quality time with nana.” She gave Buffy a warm smile. “Let us walk through the gardens of Eanna. There is something that I wish to discuss with you.”

Buffy and her daughter left Anno on the cooling terrace as they made their way towards the lavish gardens that surrounded the temple. “What do you want to speak to me about?” queried the Slayer, already knowing the answer.

“Sargon.”

The Slayer chuckled. “He seems to be the topic of conversation lately, doesn’t he?”

“It appears so,” answered her daughter. “I am a seer, mother, it is what I do. I have seen much that will happen in the future… Have you not given thought to granting your lover everlasting life?”

Buffy stopped and faced her daughter, a serious look on her face. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Do you think I’ll always be here… in Sumer, I mean?” she asked somberly. Mirë did not answer. She saw the pain on her mother’s face, in her voice. “At some point, I’ve gotta return to Beleriand. If I make Sargon immortal, do you think he would stay behind?” Buffy studied her daughter. “No, he’d follow me. And I know I don’t have to tell you what kind of problems that would cause. Sargon will die, and I will be there when he does. I will then take his fey to Folkvang.”

“That is against the laws of Manwë. You are only to claim those that die on the battlefield, not those that die a natural death.” Her daughter’s tone was full of warning.

“I don’t give a damn about the laws of Manwë Súlimo. He may have a say in Valinor, but not here. I call the shots here,” she said heatedly. “I’m a Vala, Mirë. My will rules. None can hinder my plans.” She placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek, caressing it affectionately; her lips curled into a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me, my sweet girl.” Buffy placed a kiss on her forehead before wondering off to join her lover in his labor of love.

“Therein lies the problem,” uttered Mirë to herself. “Things do not always go according to plan.”

When Sargon heard the news, he was disappointed. Having a child with Buffy would have been a tremendous honor, but he accepted, without question, the will of Ilúvatar.

“If Eru said it wasn’t meant to be, then so be it,” he had told her. “It was but a fleeting dream.”

Buffy never mentioned to Sargon that she would one day have a child with one of his descendants. She felt that it served no purpose. In after days, she found herself somewhat relieved by Eru’s decision. While she loved Sargon dearly, he was still a man of Kish, a man of Luthor. He was born to a line of devoted followers of the Maia, who held him in the highest of esteem. There were even times, in the past, when her mortal lover sided with the wisdom of the old man, annoying the Slayer considerably. But Buffy had become resourceful over the years, learning how to manipulate the others. She knew that none contested the will of Ilúvatar, not Luthor, not Olofin. It didn’t matter whether His will was voiced by the Oracles or herself, all abided by it, without question. Buffy never admitted to any that there were times when she proclaimed things to be Eru’s will when they were in fact her own. The Oracles dare not dispute the words of their mother because she was indeed carrying out Ilúvatar’s will whether she thought so or not.

It was only a few years later when the first whisperings of revolution reached Buffy’s ears. While Sargon’s empire had known peace and prosperity, a few of the lesser kings wished to usurp not only his position of power, but also his status with the Vala of Love. The most eager of these kings was the king of Ur, Nimmar. When Buffy caught wind of the mortal lord’s plan to wage war on Sargon in order to win her over, she immediately visited him in secret.

The King of Ur proved successful in winning the Slayer’s affections. She found both his brazenness and good looks alluring. They became lovers only hours after their initial meeting.

For many months, she kept the affair secret, not wanting to upset Sargon. The king of Sumer had accepted that he was powerless when it came to her affair with the Ainu Lutz, but that wasn’t necessarily the case when it came to a mortal lover. He could do something about that.

It was during the winter of Yr 193 F.A., when Buffy left Eridu for Ur. She had been gone for many weeks when Sargon learned of the affair from one of his kinfolk who was conducting business in that city-state. Enraged by the audacity of the king of Ur, the King of Sumer declared war upon Ur. A vast fleet of ships carrying 130,000 warriors left the port outside of Eridu for the southern city. At the helm of the first ship stood the massive, intimidating figure of Sargon whose love for the Vala inflamed him to action.

Fate must have been on the King of Sumer’s side, for thick mists shrouded the Buranun River and the scores of ships on its waters. It was on a moonless night when they arrived at Ur; all the land lay sleeping. None knew of the arrival of the armies until they neared the gates of the city. Marto quickly dispatched a messenger to Sargon in hope of parleying with the wrathful mortal king.

“I have come for the head of Nimmar, who attempts to seize from me she whom I love dearly,” he said to the messenger. “Send forth the thief or else I will break down these gates and take what is rightfully mine!”

When Marto heard the threatening words of Sargon, he summoned Buffy to his temple. The Maia wasn’t prepared for battle and feared incurring the Slayer’s wrath if he personally attacked her mortal lover. Buffy, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled that Sargon came for her. What woman hasn’t dreamt of having two lovers fight to the death over her? She viewed the sudden raid as a game, a game in which the victor wins her affections as his prize.

Sargon, in his rage, didn’t wait for an answer from Marto. As soon as the messenger had mounted his steed and galloped off to the Maia’s holy shrine, the king’s men set up the battering ram outside the iron gates. By the time Buffy arrived at Marto’s temple, the loud, cracking sound of iron colliding with iron echoed beneath the pitch-black sky.

Buffy stood atop the Maia’s ziggurat staring at the armies of Eridu in the distance. Her heart pounded wildly in anticipation of the impending clash. Witnessing the lengths that Sargon was willing to go to out of love for her convinced the Slayer that he was indeed the man for her. He was a doer, not a sayer.

“Let them come,” commanded Buffy, her hands clasped behind her back. The bitter cold wind that swirled around her and her companions had no effect on her. Sargon’s demonstration of love touched her so deeply that all she felt was the warmth of his heart, and the heat of their passion. She knew that none could withstand the might of Sargon the Great, including Nimmar.

“Must we have this unnecessary bloodshed?” barked Marto angrily. “My people do not deserve to die over a spurned heart. This is madness!”

“Let them come,” she repeated before teleporting herself back to her own temple. Marto was furious at Buffy’s indifference but even more furious with himself. He could not rally his forces quickly enough to defend his own.

Buffy casually resumed her nightly activities as though nothing was going on. While Sargon’s men broke through the gates and his armies flooded the streets, she climbed into the hot bath that had been waiting for her. As she eased into the tub, she was glad that Marto’s emergency meeting had not taken so long; her bath water was still steamy hot. Buffy excitedly watched the images of the battle on the water’s surface as her maidens tended to their duties.

The soldiers of Ur, awakened by the clamor, took to the streets with their weapons in hand. With Sargon at the forefront, the forces of Eridu steamrolled over every person that attempted to impede their march to the king’s halls. It was by no means a battle; it was a slaughter.

By the time that the two kings had begun their duel over Buffy’s affections, she was slipping into a low cut red gown. Her priestesses busied themselves by lighting hundreds of candles within her bedchamber. The fragrant scent of burning myrrh filled the chamber. Once Buffy deemed that she was presentable, she sent her maidens away. She sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room waiting expectantly for Sargon to come through her bedchamber door.

The Slayer’s gaze remained fixed on the doorknob. Her excitement grew as she watched it slowly turn. The door swung open and there stood Sargon with the severed head of Nimmar in his hand. Buffy stood, her heart racing, as her lover approached her with the morbid token. Her smile widened when he fell to his knees before her, offering her the head of his rival.

“I, Sargon the Great, King of Sumer and Akkad, High Priest of Eru Ilúvatar, and beloved of the most holy Inanna Ishtar, have proven my utmost love and devotion to the Holiest of the Holies. I will let no man stand between us.” He lowered his gaze in subservience.

Buffy grabbed the severed head by the blood-streaked strands of hair. She used her other hand to stop the head from spinning so that she could examine the lifeless face of Nimmar. His vacant eyes stared blankly at her; his face was already cool to the touch. She tossed the head to the floor before lifting Sargon’s chin. His dark eyes searched hers, anxious for approval.

“I’m so proud of you, my Sharru-kin,” she said in a throaty whisper. “Words cannot express how turned on I am right now. You went to war over me! That is so hot!” She pressed her lips against his with such fervor that they both toppled to the floor. Buffy had never wanted him as much as she did at that very moment. She took Sargon on that very spot…

While Buffy was rewarding her mortal lover with her affections, a small embassy of mortal men left the pyramid of Marduk’s in the west. The renegade Vala and his son, Nabu, stood outside the entrance watching as the men rode across the desert on their camels.

“Are you sure that those twelve men will bring about Inanna Ishtar’s downfall, father?” asked Nabu, his tone revealed his skepticism.

“Do you not have faith in your sire?” asked Marduk with a sinister laugh. “The Vala of Fornication will soon have a plague on her hands! Those men, my dear son, carry a malady that I’ve devised especially for Ishtar’s followers. They’ve been instructed to go to her temples with great offerings ensuring that they will be given quality time with her harlot priestesses. Once they’re afflicted, the disease will spread throughout the East until it finds it true target - Inanna Ishtar.”

“But father, it will take years for the men to reach the nearest city of Ishtar.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” answered the Vala, stroking his beard. He faced his son before adding, “Patience is a virtue, my son. When you’re immortal, all you have is time… time to exact your vengeance on the enemy. And I name Inanna Ishtar as the enemy. Remember that, Nabu! Trust in your father for I am watching out for our best interests.”

“But won’t the malady claim the lives of the men before they reach her cities?” questioned the young Vala.

A wicked grin came to Marduk’s face. “There is an incubation period. None in Sumer or Akkad will know that they carry the plague until it’s too late.” He turned his gaze to the men, their forms fading in the distance. “My goal is to afflict the Queen of Fornication. Nothing will bring me greater joy than seeing her fall… ”


Chapter 61 - SPIRAL

It didn’t take long for Buffy to see how right the twins were: time did pass by amazingly fast. Before she knew it, she one day found herself lounging around the gardens of Eanna beside a seventy-two year old Sargon. Lost in thought, she absently twirled a lock of her golden hair while slowly inhaling the intoxicating scent of the rose that she held beneath her nose. How she longed to be in the loving arms of Shulgi, her favorite lover for the past seven years. She could be having sex with him at that very moment. Instead, she and her beloved Sharru-kin reminisced about the ‘olden days,’ as he called them. That’s what Buffy’s time with the King of Sumer and Akkad had been reduced to, walks and talks.

Sargon’s chuckle, which soon turned into a coughing fit, brought the Slayer out of her reverie. She immediately bolted upright, dropping the flower in her haste, and offered her beloved a sip of wine. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a drink, pointing to the lions at the foot of their chaise. Buffy glanced at her kitties. They were pouncing on the butterflies, catching them in their mouths.

“They’re still quick as ever,” he said after catching his breath. The Slayer smiled, picked up the rose and drifted off in thought again.

The old man watched her closely. She still looked young, so very young. Inanna had always told him that the latter years of life would be the hardest to deal with, and she was right. Seeing himself wither with age while she retained her youthful beauty was extremely painful. There was many a time when he had asked her, no, pleaded with her to grant him the gift of immortality. But, alas, she wouldn’t hear of it. The Vala promised him greater rewards in the afterlife, but his current one had to end first. That was part of the deal. How he longed to have his youth and strength returned to him, to take his beloved in his arms as he once did. The memory of their intimate days seemed so faraway to him. He detested his aged, shriveled body beyond anything. Sargon knew that death was coming; he felt it in his battle weary bones.

She’s thinking of him, again, thought the mortal king. What’s his name? Shulgi? Yes, I think that’s it. He let out a heavy sigh, as he continued to watch a distracted Buffy. He knew about the other men, her lovers. But at his age, he was powerless to do anything about it. He appreciated the fact that she tried to conceal her affairs, but living amongst people meant that one had to deal with gossip. He heard the stories. Sargon still vividly remembered that sorrowful day when Buffy had recoiled at his touch, when he was no longer welcomed into her bed, when she revealed her revulsion to his aging form. It was only a matter of time before she looked to others in search of comfort and pleasure.

The aged king also understood that the Slayer was responsible for the current peace and tranquility within his kingdom. Ever since he had received his injury in that last battle fourteen years ago, the kings of the other city-states ceased their attempts to overthrow his regime. He knew that that was the Slayer’s doing. The kings were biding their time, waiting for the old King of Sumer and Akkad to ‘kick the bucket,’ eager to usurp the scepter from his bloodline. Yet Sargon trusted his beloved, she assured him that she would never let that happen.

The waning of the afternoon sun triggered Buffy’s restlessness. She could hear Shulgi calling to her. She turned to Sargon, who seemed to have drifted off to sleep, his breathing slow and deep. The Slayer placed her small hand atop her beloved’s much larger one. His aged spotted hand felt like leather to the touch, the veins more pronounced.

“It won’t be long, my love,” she cooed softly, stroking his skeletal-like fingers. “Soon I will restore your youth, and you will be my immortal king in Folkvang.” Buffy thought that the inevitable would happen within weeks, perhaps even days. She didn’t know for sure.

Sargon’s eyes darted open after she had spoken. He placed his other withered hand on top of hers. “It’s time for you to go, I take it.” His voice was low and gravelly.

“It’s nearly time for your evening meal,” she said in an attempt to shift the topic of conversation away from her departure.

“I wish to lie here for a bit longer,” he replied, glancing at the flowers that he loved so dearly. “The roses have stayed in bloom longer this season… Their fragrance brings to mind the passion that we once shared.” He shifted his gaze back to her; Sargon still looked at her with that same loving adoration of his youth. Buffy gave the old man a warm smile, gently squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Yes, I wish to lie here a bit longer,” he repeated with a sigh. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replied, her heart aching at their parting. Buffy leaned over and kissed his wrinkled forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sargon gave her a small smile, revealing his missing teeth. “Then I shall wait with bated breath for the sun to rise.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Oh, my beloved Inanna, how I do love you.”

“I love you, too.” Buffy felt horrible that she felt uncomfortable by saying those few words to her aged lover. Her beloved pressed his lips against the top of her hand before she rose from the lounger. She placed the red rose in Sargon’s hand. He breathed in its sweet scent. He’ll be fine tonight, she thought reassuringly to herself. He’ll be fine. The Slayer called her kitties over, rubbing them affectionately behind the ears. “Stay with Sharru-kin, babies. Okay? Do that for mommy!”

She had started walking away when Sargon said, “Give my regards to Shugli… or whatever his name is.”

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. Her beloved had never said his name before. And even though he said Shulgi’s name wrong, his words felt like a dagger in her heart. She felt like a shallow bitch. The Vala of Love refused to respond. Her eyes welled with tears as she vanished from the garden. She reappeared before the throne of Shulgi, in his halls in Ur, the same halls where Sargon had killed his father’s father years ago.

The king immediately noticed her sad disposition. Rising to his feet, he came to her. They stood face to face, their eyes searching each other. Buffy didn’t love him. She didn’t love any of them except for her beloved Sharru-kin. And after witnessing the deterioration of Sargon the Great, she vowed never to fall in love with another mortal again. Men, she had decided, were toys to be played with, whether in the bedroom or on the battlefield. They were merely a distraction from the monotony that had become her life.

“You smell like old man,” whispered Shulgi, further closing the gap between them. Buffy could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. He was teasing her, driving her mad with desire. Eru, how she yearned for him.

“Well then, let’s see if we can do something about that.” She pulled him into a passionate embrace, eager to feel his touch, to taste the sweetness of his kisses. Buffy wanted to take him on that very spot. The guards quickly filed out of the chamber, well aware of what was about to transpire between their king and the Goddess of Love. They were accustomed to the sudden overt displays of affection between the lovers. It was the guards’ duty to see to it that the lovers weren’t interrupted whether they were ‘sharing their love’ in Shulgi’s grand chamber, or on the stairway, or even in the broom closet. They behaved like a couple of horny teenagers when together.

Now, Shulgi was not your ordinary mortal, far from. He was the first half-breed, being half Maia on his mother’s side. After the debacle with Nimmar, Buffy placated Marto’s wrath by allowing Nimmar’s eldest son to father a child with any of her priestesses. The son chose to beget a child with the Valkyrie High Priestess of Eridu, Rainë, thus bringing forth his heir, Shulgi.

Once their carnal act had ended, the lovers joined the rest of the household for dinner before retiring to the king’s bedchamber for the night. Since Shulgi was Rainë’s son, Buffy taught the half-Maia a thing or two about sexual magic. There was one spell in particular that they were both rather fond of, especially the Slayer. It was similar to an out of body experience except that their fey’s never actually left their hröa’s. The Slayer found their magical union to be akin to an ‘orgasmic journey through time and space,’ the like she had never experienced before, not with Melkor, not with Maglor, not with Sharru-kin. The spell tended to dull one’s senses to the present and cause the loss of all one’s concept of time. When they had finished their mystical union, the exhausted lovers fell into a deep sleep. Neither realized that that was the last night that they’d ever spend together, for when the Slayer awoke the following afternoon, she would discover that her world had been turned upside down.

At one o’ clock the following afternoon, Buffy awoke with a start. A heaviness pervaded her heart like never before. Her sudden movements stirred Shulgi from his slumber. She was already dressing when he bid her good morning.

“Where are you off to in such haste?” he asked, surprised by her unexpected urge to leave. Shulgi playfully grabbed at her arm in an attempt to convince her otherwise, but the Slayer slapped his hand away.

“Something’s not right,” she mumbled under her breath, lacing up her boot. “I feel it… Something’s wrong, so terribly wrong.”

“Can it not wait? You’ve only just arrived.”

Buffy rose to her feet, too preoccupied to answer her lover. She quickly ran her fingers through her tousled hair in an effort to better her appearance. “I’ve gotta go.” Shulgi tried to give her a good-bye kiss, but she disappeared before he got the chance.

The moment that the Slayer arrived in her private chambers in Eanna, she knew. That ominous feeling of dread that encompassed every fiber of her being quickly turned to despair. The mournful melody that resonated throughout the corridors of her temple told her that it was true. Refusing to believe, she took off for the main chamber on foot, wishing to prolong her hope a little longer. With each step, her trepidation grew. Uneasiness enveloped her heart, which now sank to the pit of her stomach. Buffy found not only her own chambers deserted, but also the hallways on the topmost floor. None of her maidens were in sight.

Don’t let it be true, she said over and over in her mind. She hastened her pace as she neared the gallery that overlooked the atrium. It was then that she heard the first shrill cries from the bereaved. The sound of their wailing bounced from wall to wall, drowning out the minstrel, singing his song of lamentation. Beads of sweat formed on Buffy’s brow. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she looked over the balustrade to the throng of people below. There, on the dais, where the twins’ thrones normally sat, lay the lifeless body of Sargon the Great. Kit and Kat sat on either end of the red velvet draped marble slab. Buffy’s jaw dropped, her mouth went dry.

“No! No! No! No!” repeated the Slayer, her eyes burning with tears. She then swan dived over the balustrade, turning into a falcon midway down. She flew over to the dais, landing on the table at the feet of her beloved. After changing into her mortal form, with a wave of her hand, Buffy removed all the occupants from Eanna to the outside, including Sargon’s kinfolk. Only her maidens remained with her. She straddled the lifeless body of her deceased lover, tears splattering on his finery. “Sharru-kin!” she cried out, placing her trembling hands on his sunken, pale cheeks. His skin felt cold. The Slayer’s touch confirmed that Sargon’s fey had indeed left its hröa. “NO!” she shrieked, collapsing onto the dead man, sobbing uncontrollably.

Loud claps of thunder rolled across the plains, bolts of lightning flashed across the mid-afternoon sky as Buffy lost control over her emotions. Her pain and despair was affecting the weather: hail, the size of her fist, rained down from the heavens, beating against the metal and glass roof like the hammering of many dwarves. Those Sumerians that the Vala had sent outside attempted to flee the storm by running to the safety of Zabalam, dozens being injured in the stampede.

Buffy couldn’t believe that she wasn’t with her aged lover when he passed away. She failed him. She broke her sacred vow to escort him personally to Folkvang where he would have been High King over all the mortals. To deepen her dismay, the Slayer couldn’t blame anyone but herself. She chose to leave Eanna. She chose to go to Ur. She chose to perform magics that altered her state of consciousness.

She remained, for a long while, atop the corpse of her lover, drowning in a wave of sorrow and guilt.

The twins were the first to approach the grieving Slayer. “Come, nana,” said Anno, gently taking hold of his mother’s arm. “There is naught that we can do.”

It took a moment for Anno’s voice to register with Buffy. Slowly, she turned her tear-streaked face towards her children. “He’s gone,” she cried. “My beloved Sharru-kin is gone.”

“I know,” replied her son, rubbing his mother’s back consolingly with his free hand. “Sargon was truly a great man. All will miss him.” He wrapped his arm around her, attempting to remove her from the corpse of the fallen king. “Come, mother.”

Buffy slid from the dead man, inadvertently knocking the sapphire cross from his grasp. The icon hit the marble floor with a clang. She reached down and picked it up, clutching the blessed object closely to her chest.

“I’m so sorry, nana,” said Mirë as she and her brother threw their arms around their mother, comforting her the best they could. The twins calmed their mother down, somewhat, enough that the hail turned into a torrential downpour. They then told Buffy all they had learned about Sargon’s death. The Slayer instructed them to inform the kings of the other city-states that the funeral would take place in two weeks. All were expected to attend. She then sent the twins away, preferring to be alone to mourn her deceased lover.

The Slayer sank to the floor, leaning against the marble block on which her beloved rested, her fingers stroking the cross that she had given Brolach over a century before. She remembered when Orran gave that sacred object to Sargon while on his deathbed, officially shifting the power from one son to another. Kit and Kat moved to either side of her, their paws rested on her legs, their tongues licked the tears that continued to stream down her face.

She remained at the base of the marble slab for the duration of the afternoon, guzzling the spirits that her maidens had brought her in an attempt to ease the pain within her heart. Unfortunately, all it did was make her sleepy. She passed out on the dais, curled up with her kitties.

Day after day, the Slayer drank herself into a stupor as she stared at the lifeless body of Sargon. Nothing seemed to dull her heartache and she sank into a deep depression. All her attempts to manipulate time back to that fateful night proved futile. It was as though a higher force was suppressing her magics. Sargon’s fate had been sealed. There was no doubt that her mortal lover’s soul had been claimed by her brother, Námo, incensing her all the more.

Luthor arrived in Eridu ten days later. He was deeply concerned to find the distraught Slayer sitting on top of the marble block, drinking her sorrow away.

“Leave us,” he said to the priestesses stationed in the atrium. As they filed out of the chamber, the Maia cautiously moved towards Buffy. While his heart ached at the loss of Sargon, he grieved more for Buffy. Luthor couldn’t deny that, over the years, the mortal king had had a calming effect on the Vala of Love; he kept her more grounded than the Maia ever could. He hoped beyond anything that Sargon’s death would cause the Slayer to look for peace in the west, to return to Beleriand where she could heal her broken heart.

When the Maia had reached her side, he warily placed his hand on the back of the sobbing Slayer. Dare he call her by the name that she had once held dear? The old man thought that he’d give it a go.

“Bella?” he said softly, rubbing her back affectionately. “I’m so sorry for your loss, our loss.”

Buffy raised her head and faced the old man. “Luthor,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

“Come here, my child,” said the old man with open arms. The Slayer looked back down at the wrinkled face of her beloved Sharru-kin; her teardrops fell with a splatter on her lover’s lifeless face. “Come, Bella,” advised the old man, pulling her into his arms. He held her in a tight embrace before he, himself, began to cry. The Maia felt Buffy’s pain, her anguish. Yet he couldn’t help but think that the mortal king’s death was actually a blessing in disguise. It seemed like it had been ages since the Slayer had last allowed the Maia to comfort her in her time of sorrow. Over the years, their relationship had become somewhat strained; the Vala was usually cold and distant in Luthor’s presence. But now, it appeared that they had reconciled at last.

While consoling the Slayer, Luthor was reminded of the words that Anno had spoken to him decades ago:

“Only through tragedy will mother see the error of her ways… ”

“He’s gone, Luthor,” she bawled, her glistening face rested against his chest. “I… I… ”

“Shh,” sounded the Maia, stroking her long blonde hair. “Everything will be alright. I promise.”

“But I… I wasn’t there for… ” Buffy’s legs gave out, the near empty bottle of spirits slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor. Luthor scooped her into his arms before she could fall. Softly speaking words of comfort, he decided to carry her upstairs to her private chambers. As he headed up one of the spiral staircases, he whistled. The Vala’s handmaidens quickly appeared from out of nowhere, and followed the old man and their grief-stricken mistress up the stairway.

The Maia waited in one of the sitting rooms while Buffy’s maidens bathed her; that always seemed to have a soothing affect on her. The old man poured some of Istahiro’s elixir into a teacup knowing that sleep was the best thing for the bereaved Slayer right now. With the funeral four days away, the old man felt that it was in everyone’s best interest to keep Buffy in a sedated state.

It was almost an hour later when she joined him. Buffy curled up on the couch, clutching a white handkerchief in her hand.

“Tea?”

“I was thinking something a bit stronger,” answered the puffy-eyed Slayer.

“I agree.” Luthor poured them each a glass of wine, adding the elixir to hers. “Here you go,” he said, handing her a drink.

“Thanks,” replied a sniveling Buffy, turning her gaze towards the nearest window.

The old man moaned as he plopped down in the seat opposite her. The sound of the rain lashing against the windows and copper roof seemed amplified to the Maia’s ears. He keenly scrutinized the Slayer. She remained aloof, staring at the bolts of lightning that streaked across the darkened afternoon sky. Mournful claps of thunder rolled deep beneath the Earth, shaking the temple at its very foundations.

“How are you holding up, Bella?” asked Luthor, eager to lend a sympathetic ear.

She glanced at him for a moment, before returning her gaze to the window. “I don’t know.” She drained the contents of her glass, placing the empty cup on the table. Wrapping her arms around her folded knees, she continued in a soft, broken voice, “I screwed up, Luthor. I wasn’t there for him. I can’t believe I wasn’t there.” Buffy took a deep breath; she didn’t want to cry any more. She was tired, so tired.

“Have you given any thought to the possibility that it was not Sargon’s fate to go to Folkvang?” asked the old man.

The Slayer faced the Maia. “But I promised him! I vowed to take him there, personally.” The tears began to flow again.

“I deem that Ilúvatar thinks otherwise,” replied the old man solemnly.

“Humph,” she sounded, her eyelids getting heavy. Silence fell between them as the storm continued to rage on. “Then that was a mistake on His part,” she said at last.

The Maia shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he perceived the underlying threat of her words. “I know that I tend to consider myself the voice of reason, but I beg of you Bella, do not do what I think you are considering.” Buffy glanced at the old man with furrowed brows. “I do know your mind, child.” He leaned forward, clutching his glass with both hands. “It is folly.”

The Slayer rose unsteadily to her feet. The Maia leapt to his, steadying her. “I’m alright,” she said, pushing his hand away. She walked over to the fireplace, wiping her eyes and nose on the handkerchief as she went. “Námo has taken what is rightfully mine.”

“And is the lose of hundreds of thousands of people worth one soul?” questioned Luthor, now standing behind her. “The Valar will decimate your forces. There’s no way that you can wage war against… ”

“Who says?” she queried, facing the old man. “Who says that I can’t defeat them ‘cause I beg to differ?”

“You are only one, they are many. You will only find yourself in deeper despair. They’ll lock you up in Mandos for the rest of time. Is that what you want?” The Maia shook his head. “Don’t make that foolish mistake. You have too much to lose.”

“I just want my beloved back,” replied the Slayer softly. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Listen, Bella,” he began, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not a big proponent of your, er, lifestyle, but surely there are other men out there that can bring you comfort… ”

“There’s only one Sharru-kin,” she interjected, barely able to keep her eyes open.

The old man let out a heavy sigh. “That is true. He was an honorable man and I loved him dearly… but now, I think it’s best that you rest. You’re tired, Bella.”

Buffy didn’t resist as Luthor took her to bed. By the time her head hit the pillow she was fast asleep. Much to the Maia’s relief, the raging storm that had plagued Eridu for over a week finally turned into a drizzle.

The twenty-third day of the eleventh month was recorded in the annals of Man, Elf and Maia as a day marked with errors and bad judgments on Buffy’s part. Not only was it Sargon’s funeral, but the Vala decided to crown his successor on that day, something that many thought was a bad omen, since coronations traditionally took place on New Year’s Day.

The funeral took place at ten o’ clock in the morning. All the mighty lords from Sumeria and Akkad attended the ceremony including all the Maiar and Elves. The only one missing was Olofin, who was away at his mother’s request, hiding the remains of the Judge. A grief-stricken Buffy arrived at the ceremony dressed entirely in black; a long black veil concealing her face. She, like any widow, had entered the traditional state of mourning, meaning that she would only dress in black and abstain from sex for one year. She owed Sargon that much, she thought.

The tension within Eanna was profound. Kings from neighboring nations warily eyed one another, anxious to win the Vala of Love’s favor and affections. Her mortal lovers that were present were dismayed by her outright rejection of them. Buffy had no intension to continue any of her affairs.

Before Sargon’s body was removed to its final resting place, Buffy took the sapphire cross that she had placed in her dead lover’s grasp and mistakenly handed it to the fallen king’s second son, Rimush the Golden-haired. The Slayer was so heavily under the influence of alcohol and tonics that she didn’t realize her blunder. Manishtushu, the rightful heir to the throne, was devastated by the mishap, but dare not say anything to the Supreme God of the East.

The tension seemed to be mounting as the mourners stood silently for a minute in honor of the fallen king. Only the cracks of thunder and the pounding rain against the roof disrupted the otherwise stillness of the temple.

To everybody’s amazement, the Slayer actually concluded the ceremonies by singing the following song:


“Only love
Can make it rain
The way the beach is kissed by the sea.
Only love
Can make it rain
Like the sweat of lovers
Laying in the fields.

Love, reign o’er me.
Love, reign o’er me,
Rain on me, rain on me.

On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart, alone
I need to get back home to cool, cool rain
I can’t sleep, I lay and I think
The sky is hot and black as ink
Oh God, I need a drink of cool, cool rain

Only love
Can make it rain
That makes you yearn to the sky
Only love
Can bring the rain
That falls like tears from on high

Love, reign o’er me
Rain on me
Over me, over me
Love, reign o’er me
On me
Love” *


When the last note had faded, Buffy turned and disappeared from the atrium, leaving many mighty warriors completely dumbfounded. The song was not merely a way of expressing herself; it was the means by which she chose to cast her spell. Visions came to those in power, visions of war and bloodshed. The Slayer had decided that it was time to see which king had the makings to become the next Sharru-kin, the greatest warrior to have ever set foot in the East.

Over the next couple of years, Buffy spent nearly all her time in the chamber that housed Sargon’s remains. The fallen king had designed the room years earlier when the first signs of old age had crept upon him. The circular room had a wall of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, and overlooked the garden that her beloved Sharru-kin loved most. In the center, on a columned platform of black marble, sat Sargon’s sarcophagus of lapis lazuli. Etched in silver on the surface of the elaborate box was the king’s epitaph, written in both Elvish and Mannish script. Arranged around the room were several comfortable chairs and benches for visiting family and distinguished guests.

It was on the fifth anniversary of Sargon’s death that Buffy found herself alone in that chamber. After all that time, the guilt of losing her lover’s fey had not lessened, driving her to deep despair. Nothing seemed to ease her pain or distract her from her torments. But the Slayer didn’t suffer alone, mankind suffered right along with her. War had broken out amongst most of the city-states shortly after Sharru-kin’s death. Some were caused by kings desiring greater territory or control over some trade route. Others were started by ambitious young men eager to win Buffy’s love and respect by seizing the scepter within their own land. Nevertheless, no city-state experienced great peace in those days except for the sacred city on the mount. There, bloodshed was forbidden, even that of those that had been sentenced to death.

As Buffy lay stretched out on one of the benches, her mind numb from alcohol, she felt a sudden presence. She could feel someone silently watching her.

“What business do you have here?” she queried without turning her gaze from the garden.

“I have come to pay my respects to my grandsire.”

The Slayer frowned, but remained motionless. “And I’m sure that you’re well aware that none are to interrupt my solitude when in this chamber, son of Sargon.”

“I apologize, my Lady,” said the man, “but I have also come seeking you.”

She snickered. “Many men seek my companionship, why would I give you the time of day?”

“Because I come on behave of my grandsire, Etana Sharru-kin, Sargon the Great.”

“What do you mean?” Buffy felt her muscles tense at his words.

“Will you not look me in the eyes?” pleaded the man. “Can I not tell you of the gift that my father’s father had commissioned and is now finally finished?”

“Gift?” The Slayer pivoted on the spot, facing the grandson of her beloved. Her jaw nearly fell to the floor when she laid eyes on the young man. He was the spitting image of her late lover except in stature. She was shocked and surprised. Never before had she set eyes on the grandson of Sargon. Buffy had avoided the male heirs of Sharru-kin shortly after learning that she would bear a child with one of them. She didn’t want to risk sleeping with someone that she had known since childhood. The thought of that creeped her out and rightly so. Yet now, one stood before her, one who resembled his forefather so greatly that it gave Buffy goose bumps. “What’s your name?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off the young man.

“I am called Naram-Sin, son of Manishtushu,” replied the mortal with a wide grin. Naram-Sin was rightfully an heir to the throne of Sumer and Akkad despite the fact that the Slayer had shifted the power to his uncle. His father had promised him the scepter, should he convince the Vala to return it to their bloodline along with the sacred cross of Brolach. The entire family had decided that the presentation of the gift that Sargon had had made for Buffy would be the perfect opportunity for them to sway her favor back to their bloodline.

The Slayer rose to her feet and approached the young man. “The resemblance is uncanny,” she remarked as she circled Naram-Sin. He was a vision of beauty. And it didn’t bother her in the slightest that he was nearly two feet shorter than his forefather had been.

“May I escort you to the halls of my father where the gift is housed? I promise that you will be most pleased when you see it.” Buffy stood there, looking at Naram-Sin thoughtfully, but spoke not one word, making the young mortal slightly uneasy. “I may have something to help ease your pain, my Lady. My people are quite knowledgeable when it comes to herbs that grow in this region; we have… plants that will take away your sorrow.”

A gift plus an herbal remedy to make me feel better, thought the Slayer. How can I refuse that!

“Yes, I will go with you, Naram-Sin.” The prince offered his arm, which Buffy gladly took, before he led her from the tomb of Sargon.

Of all the mighty lords in the East, Naram-Sin was the most ambitious and the most dubious. At the tender age of twenty-two, he already had five wives and nine children. He was a carouser, a womanizer and had entitlement issues. From an early age, he was told that the Vala of Love would be captivated by his good looks. That was an important factor with her. If she didn’t find a lord attractive, there was no way that he could win her favor. She only invited the handsome ones into her bed. It was Naram-Sin’s duty to show her how charming a son of Sargon could be. The young man had devoted many hours to studying the journals and books that his grandfather had penned before his death, learning what qualities Buffy liked and disliked in a man.

People were amazed to see the Slayer out and about, she had spent the past five years holed up in Eanna, seldom leaving its Halls. When the couple arrived at the house of Sargon’s kindred, she was welcomed as a Supreme God should be. Naram-Sin led Buffy to one of the parlors in the house where they could be alone. Leaning against the wall was a cloth draped object that stood about eight feet tall. The Slayer’s excitement grew as the young man took her hand and led her to it.

“My grandsire had this commissioned years before his death, but the artisan has only finished it recently,” declared Naram-Sin. “It was Sargon’s last wish that this portrait be presented to you upon its completion.” Buffy smiled warmly at the prince before pulling the red cloth from the portrait. She let out a gasp of astonishment when she saw the portrait. It was of her, of course, but the portrait was unlike anything she had ever seen in all her life. Her likeness wasn’t painted on the canvas but was made from a plethora of minute fragments of gemstones. Her hair was done in thin threads of real gold. It was incredible. It was, by far, the most magnificent gift that she had ever received. “You like it, I take it,” remarked the young man.

“It takes my breath away,” she whispered. “It’s truly a work of art.” She faced the young man. “I’d love to meet the person responsible for creating this masterpiece.”

Buffy’s request startled Naram-Sin; he hoped that he would be the one to receive her accolades. But the young man was quick on his feet. “I’m sure that I can arrange that, although Ashtorutu in not in the city at the moment. I will send a messenger as soon as I may.” He gave the Slayer a huge smile. “Perhaps you care to indulge in some of the herbal remedies that we have. It’s guaranteed to ease your weary mind, my Lady, I promise you that.” They sat down on the couch as Naram-Sin pulled a glass vial of a powdery-like substance from his pocket.

“Is that cocaine?” asked a surprised Buffy.

“Cocaine?” he queried with raised eyebrows. “I’ve never heard the word before. No, my Lady,” he said as he popped the cork from the end of the tube. “This is a derivative of the lovely red flowers that grow in abundance across the plains. My people call them poppies.” For the first time, the Slayer noticed the long finger nail on the young man’s pinky. Using his nail as a shovel, he scooped up some of the powdery substance and brought it to her nose. “You must inhale it for the quickest affects.”

Buffy stared hesitantly at the pile on his fingernail. “It won’t hurt me.”

“Ooh, no, my Lady. This stuff puts one into a blissful state of mind. It’s wonderful. I use it all the time.”

“Hmm, well, I guess if eating poppy seeds is okay, then a little of that powdery stuff can’t hurt.” Naram-Sin pinched one of her nostrils closed as she deeply inhaled the substance through the other passageway. In only a matter of seconds, her sinuses went numb. The young man refilled his fingernail again, allowing her another sniff. She sat there for a moment, a bitter taste ran down the back of her throat, which also went numb. A smile came to her face as the feeling of euphoria swathed over her.

In the ensuing weeks, Buffy spent much time with the grandson of Sargon, who influenced her life greatly at that time. Many were pleased to see that the Vala’s mourning period had finally come to an end. The beautiful love songs that she adored so much were once again heard within the temples of Eanna and Zabalam. The Slayer started throwing lavish parties in her temple where guests partook in food, drink, and drugs. More often than not, those parties ended with massive orgies. While Buffy herself did not openly participate in such activities, she most certainly did behind closed doors. She was celebrating life, for it was good again.

After several months of courtship, Naram-Sin earned the coveted spot in the Slayer’s heart. He had become her favorite lover. He was the healer of her heartache and brought her much happiness. As a reward, when his Uncle Rimush died four years later from the plague that had reached Eridu, Buffy returned the cross of Brolach and the scepter back to the elder line of Sargon. Manishtushu then handed the blessed objects to his son, Naram-Sin, who thereby became High King of Sumer and Akkad on New Year’s Day Yr 241 F.A.

It was three years later, on a beautiful spring morning, when Buffy first realized that something was wrong with her. When she took her morning pee, she felt a burning sensation from her nether regions. She dismissed it as a bladder infection and took the necessary medicine to eradicate the problem. Yet it persisted and got progressively worse. The burning and itching was soon followed by the appearance of small putrid smelling, yellowish, pus-filled blisters that first materialized in her private area and began to spread over her body. A horror-stricken Buffy then realized that she had been afflicted with the plague that was spreading throughout the East…



*Lyrics by Pete Townsend


Chapter 62 - ENTROPY

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said a perplexed Istahiro. “I’ve been seeing these symptoms for years, especially outside of Eridu. I’ve told you that at least two dozen times, Inanna.” The healer let out a heavy sigh as he walked over to the basin and washed his hands.

“So there’s no cure?” questioned a frantic Buffy. Wringing her hands, she began pacing back and forth in her bedchamber. “I’m… I’m just supposed to watch my flesh rot off… to smell that… that stench.” She’d rather have died and remade her hröa, but for some reason that option was closed to her. She had already tried, many times in fact. She even went as far as to slice her wrists in an attempt to bleed to death. Unfortunately, whenever she had passed out from the blood loss, she’d wake up later, only to find that her wounds had somehow healed themselves. The Slayer suspected that dark magicks were behind her ailment, perhaps Morgoth, getting a bit of revenge. As far as she was concerned, his mission had been accomplished!

“You can try an oatmeal bath for the itching… ”

“This isn’t fucking chicken pox!” she spat angrily. Buffy could feel her face reddening from both her ire and frustration. Her pacing came to a stop, and she took several deep breaths. She didn’t mean to snap at her chief healer. Once she had regained her composure, she resumed speaking; her tone revealing her desperation. “You’re a healer, Istahiro, a Maia healer, no less… Surely, there’s some cure buried beneath all that knowledge in that brain of yours.”

His head hanging low, the healer replied, “I am truly sorry, Inanna, but this is beyond my expertise.” He shifted his sorrowful eyes towards his mistress. “If I knew of some cure, I would’ve healed those that had been afflicted with this malady before now. I’ve never seen anything remotely like this before - a disease transmitted by sexual contact,” he said in a baffled tone, drying his hands on a towel. “And while that is strange enough, not everyone that contracts this ailment suffers from the symptoms. I deem that it’s safe to say that you’ve contracted this from Naram-Sin, yet he exhibits no symptoms… ”

“I swear,” interrupted Buffy with a threatening hiss, “when I get my hands on that son-of-bitch, he can say bye-bye to his dick once and for all!” When she was diagnosed with the ‘malady,’ as Istahiro called it, the mortal king had fled Eridu and gone into hiding. The Vala was sure that Naram-Sin’s kinfolk in Kish had granted him asylum.

The Maia sighed again, placing the towel in a cloth sack. “That won’t solve the problem, now will it?”

“No, but it’ll make me feel better.” The Slayer walked over to the window and glanced at the elves singing in the garden below. “So what can I expect next?” she queried in a small voice. The healer didn’t answer. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. “It must be pretty bad. My guess: my flesh will continue to decay, then my tissues and muscles… until… until I’m nothing but a walking skeleton.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Maia. “Is that about right?”

“I can’t rightly say how this ailment will affect you. You’re a Vala; sickness should not affect you, regardless of its source. There’s some devilry at work here.”

“No surprise there,” replied the downcast Slayer. “Me and devilry tend to go hand in hand. You, of all people, should know that by now.”

While Istahiro tried to remain hopeful, Buffy knew that his efforts were pointless. Whoever it was that was behind that bit of dark magick had it in for her. None of the Maiar or Elves had been stricken by the plague, even though they were guilty of committing the same sins as she. Only mortals and the Slayer suffered the painful symptoms of the debilitating disease. The only difference between their agony and hers was that mortals found relief through death, something Buffy would come to envy in months to come. The wielder of the dark spell had no intension to kill the Vala; his goal was to make her weak and vulnerable. And the only one that seemed to like her in that state was Melkor Bauglir. The Slayer convinced herself that Morgoth was wreaking his vengeance upon her at last. It was pay back time for her acts of betrayal.

By the time that midsummer had arrived, Buffy very seldom left her private chambers in Eanna. So horrified was she by the number of blisters that had formed on her body, that she only wore long sleeved, floor length gowns with matching veils to conceal her ‘disfigurement’ (as she called it). Making matters worse, was the fact that those pustules broke with the slightest bit of friction, releasing a foulness that would turn anybody’s stomach. There were many times when the Slayer stood naked in front of the mirror, in tears, staring at the grotesque pockmarks and lesions that covered her entire body. With each new outbreak, the sores unmercifully ate deeper and deeper into her flesh. She found herself in excruciating pain. If not for the opium, hashish and alcohol, Buffy couldn’t have endured her torments as well as she did.

It was shortly thereafter that the inhabitants of the far eastern regions of Middle-earth began to suffer the direct results of her illness. As the disease affected her nervous system, Buffy became more emotional, prone to sudden fits of rage or melancholy, dramatically altering the weather throughout the area. Terrible storms beset the lands, resulting in floods, earthquakes, tornadoes, and hurricane force winds along the coastlines. Unfortunately, the ‘natural disasters’ that afflicted Sumer and Akkad had tragic results - many people had perished, crushed beneath crumbling buildings or drowned by the flash floods.

Buffy was horror-stricken by her lack of self-control. She didn’t mean to cause any harm, but she couldn’t help it - her powers were out of her control. Everyone became fearful of her inability to restrain her emotions, especially mankind. They believed that she was punishing them because their king was the one responsible for inflicting her with the debilitating disease. They attempted to placate her wrath by offering her mighty gifts and tokens of their love, but to no avail. The only time the lands experienced a reprieve from the turbulent storms was when the Slayer put herself into a drug-induced stupor. Yet Sumer and Akkad were already reeling from the aftereffects of her unexpected outbursts of delirium. Most of the croplands either withered from lack of rainfall or lay submerged under several feet of water. Tornadoes had ravaged Luthor’s domain of Kish, destroying many of the silos that stored grains that would’ve supplied the populace during the winter months.

The last time the Slayer left her inner sanctum was in late fall of that same year. By that point, the disease had already affected her mental capacity, rendering her incapable of making sound decisions. She no longer involved herself with the goings-on in the city-states, nor did she concern herself with the daily operations of the government or temples. Instead, she wallowed in self-pity, condemning those around her that retained the beauty that she so coveted.

It was during that stormy night in late fall when Buffy clearly demonstrated the first signs of madness, (the final symptom prior to death for mortals.) She found herself standing alone in front of the empty dais in the centermost hall of Eanna, staring at the Cross of Ilúvatar that glimmered on the back wall. Falling to her knees, she lifted her gaze towards the heavens before beginning her prayer to the Allfather:

“Please, Lord, I beg of you, restore my health as it once was. How can I effectively be your champion if I’m not capable of fighting? I know that I’ve strayed from the path of righteousness, but should I suffer so horribly? Is that my purpose? Is that your intension?” Her softly spoken plea echoed within the enormous chamber. The only sound that she heard was the pounding rain against the glass-domed roof. Buffy was half expecting to hear words of solace from Eru. As she knelt there, her thoughts revolved around the twins association with Ilúvatar. She was greatly perturbed that He spoke directly to them, but not to her. Was she not worthy of receiving His divine wisdom? Had the Allfather forsaken His favored daughter in her time of need? After all that she had done for mankind, at His command, only to suffer needlessly, embittered the Slayer all the more.

She rose to her feet, tears of frustration running down her face, her fists balled at her sides. Buffy fixed her wrathful gaze upon the Cross. In that moment, something inside her snapped. He has forsaken me, she thought to herself. Eru Ilúvatar has tossed me aside like an old rag doll. He has turned against me out of spite… Well, two can play at that game. Enraged, the Slayer sprinted up the steps of the dais, and began to pry the Cross from the wall, all the while, hurling curses at the One. Utilizing the remaining strength that she had in her fatigued body, she managed to loosen the silver icon from its prominent position within the room. She kicked and pulled with all her might until the holy symbol came crashing down upon the marble floor, breaking apart where the two bars intersected. The loud noise alerted her priestesses, who came running into the room; their gasps resonating within the chamber when they saw the spectacle before them.

“Fuck you, Eru!” screamed a wild-eyed Buffy at the heavens, circling the dais like some rabid beast. “Do you hear me? Fuck you! You wanna desert me… leaving me to suffer. Well, guess what, I can do the same.” She reached down for one of the massive silver beams, stunned that she struggled to lift the heavy object from the floor. Her Slayer strength was gone. As that realization dawned on her, she lifted her head, only to see many priestesses gathered at the bottom of the dais, a look of pity on their fair faces.

“Ilúvatar has forsaken me,” said a breathless Buffy through gritted teeth. She stood tall, smoothing out her black dress and adjusting her veil before continuing in the same contemptuous voice. “I will no longer tolerate that symbol in my kingdom.” She pointed her lace-covered finger at the broken icon at her feet. “I want those cursed pieces destroyed. I forbid any to display that mark of evil in my lands. Take the banners down. Burn them! If any continue to brandish that… cross on any of their emblems, I’ll consider it an act of treason - a crime punishable by death!” She cast one last scornful look towards the heavens prior to vanishing from the chamber, leaving her distraught maidens behind.

The sound of hail began to rain down upon the glass-domed roof momentarily distracting the ladies. Seconds later, a loud roaring sound was heard in the distance. Two tornadoes had formed at the bottom of the mount, ripping their way through the mortal section of Eridu.

Vórëa approached the broken icon, her mouth agape. She knew that the Slayer’s breaking of that sacred symbol was a bad omen. She took it as a sign of things to come.

“I fear that the madness associated with the malady has claimed our mistress at last,” the chief Valkyrie announced to her sisters, the sadness in her voice quite apparent. “Surely, Inanna is not in her right frame of mind, she’d never desecrate the Cross of Ilúvatar nor blaspheme the Allfather’s name.” She looked down at the two gleaming silver bars, still in shock from Buffy’s destructive behavior. Vórëa was not one to contest the will of her mistress, but in this case, she couldn’t imagine destroying the sacred symbol of Ilúvatar. It was sacrilege. She knew that the banners in Eridu had to come down as quickly as possible or some heads were going to roll. Messengers needed to be sent throughout the lands to notify the lords of Buffy’s proclamation. The Maia feared that her Holiness would use her magics to visit those lands and punish those that still paraded that symbol. The Valkyries needed to act fast. For the first time ever, Vórëa and her sisters would go against the direct orders of the Vala of Love, in hope that the Slayer would one day see her folly.

As she got her thoughts in order, the Maia declared, “We stand here this evening as witnesses to the beginning of the end of our beloved Inanna Ishtar’s reign in the mortal lands. The desecration of the Cross of Ilúvatar signifies that her fall from grace has begun.” She eyed the sorrowful maidens that stood before her, some of them weeping. “Do not blame our mistress for the sinful acts that have transpired; she is no longer herself. The disease has poisoned her mind. We will not forsake her! We will show our love and devotion to her as we’ve always done.”

Vórëa then ordered some of the women to hide the broken silver beams in the vaults located deep beneath the mount while others were to remove all signs of the cross from Eridu, starting with the temple itself. That, in itself, would be no easy feat. The cross was the most popular icon displayed throughout the East, as the peoples of that region associated it not only with Eru Ilúvatar but also with the Vala of Love. The cross symbolized Buffy’s death and resurrection and many Houses used it on their crests, shields, and banners.

While the Valkyries and priestesses busied themselves with their tasks, a rattled Buffy sat on her bed, pulled back her veil, and started snorting enormous amounts of opium. The nerve-racking experience she was going through caused her to tremble all over. She couldn’t believe what had just happened downstairs in the atrium. That wasn’t her. She’d never intentionally challenge the will of Ilúvatar or commit sacrilege against Him. The Valar - yes, but not Eru! What the hell was wrong with her? Where did that outburst of deep hatred come from? The Slayer feared that she was turning into some malevolent beast with a bloodlust that rivaled Morgoth’s. She surely looked the part, complete with rotting flesh. Add in her total lack of self-control, lust for power and need for immediate gratification and adulation - and you pretty much define most evil beings that roam the vast space of Eä.

“No!” she said aloud, rising from the bed. “I’m not evil!” She looked beseechingly at the ceiling, hoping beyond anything that Eru Ilúvatar could hear her. “I’m sorry, Lord. That wasn’t… that wasn’t me. I didn’t mean to… It’s just that… ” Her words trailed off. There was no point in her saying anything else. She broke the Allfather’s sole commandment, and there was no way of undoing it. At that moment, she knew that her doom was upon her, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t about to escape it. That thought alone terrified her.

Buffy filled her goblet with red wine, downing the beverage in a couple of gulps. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax, to get a grip on her emotions before she wreaked total devastation on all the lands in the East. What else could she do other than keep herself in a sedated state? She wished beyond anything that her body would just give out so that her fey could escape. The idea of traveling alone in spirit form for a couple hundred years seemed quite appealing to the Slayer. What she wouldn’t do to have the blessed gift of death.

When the effects of the opium kicked in, the Slayer stretched out on the bed, gladdened by the mellowness that engulfed her. She closed her eyes, listening as the hail hitting the copper roof eased up, turning to rain, then to a drizzle. She tried to think happy thoughts, but was unable to. All she could think about was how much weaker she was becoming - in mind, body and soul. Buffy knew that it was probably only a matter of time before her enemy revealed himself, which only added to her distress. There was no way that she could defend herself and her people from a sudden attack. She was nearly ripe for the picking.

The Vala of Love didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally opened her eyes. She let out a startled gasp upon seeing many of her Valkyries standing solemnly around her bed.

“God damn it, you scared me,” she said, reaching for the wine bottle. It unnerved the Slayer that she hadn’t heard them enter or sensed their presence.

“We’re here to serve you, my Lady,” answered Laurië, one of her Valkyrie chieftains.

“Hmm, yeah, right.” She refilled her goblet and took a long drink, watching her maidens over the rim of the cup.

“Is there anything that we can do for you, most Holy One?”

Buffy fluffed her pillows before leaning against the lapis lazuli headboard, delighted that she still felt somewhat numb. She pondered the Maia’s question before answering, “Yeah. Bring me cases of wine and spirits. And dried fruits and meats. Go to the mortal healer’s and confiscate all the poppy powder that they have in their stores… ”

“Are you going somewhere, my Lady?” questioned Laurië with surprise.

The Slayer became forlorn. “Yes and no,” she replied softly. “I think it’s best that I quarantine myself from the rest of the Household.” She fixed her gaze upon the Valkyrie chieftain. “There’s no telling what I’ll do next. I fear for everybody’s safety. I won’t leave my chambers until the end, whenever that may be.”

“As you wish,” answered the golden-haired Maia. She nodded to her sisters, several of them left the chamber to carry out Buffy’s orders.

While the remaining Valkyries watched, the Slayer began inhaling more of the white powder. She had developed a taste for the bitterness of the drug; she likened it to coffee. And she absolutely loved the altered state of consciousness that the opium put her in. Buffy felt that she could stay in la-la land forever.

The room fell quiet. Other than the distant sound of the minstrel’s song, the only other sound heard was the sniffing noises made by Buffy. Out of the corner of her eye, the Slayer noticed something very strange. Eager for a closer look, she hurried to the window, asking, “Is that snow?” in an astonished voice.

“Indeed, it is,” answered Laurië. “It started several hours ago.”

The Vala smiled as she watched the snowflakes gently fall from the sky, blanketing her lands in white. In all her years in the East, she had never seen any. The sight brought to mind her time at the Gap, where snow was a regular occurrence. For the first time in many years, she felt a pang in her heart for home. She longed to return to Maglor, to have her beloved nurse her back to health. But, alas, she couldn’t go, no matter how much she wanted to. If Káno learned of her deeds in the East, her past relationships, then he wouldn’t want her. Deep down, she believed that their marriage was irrevocably broken. There was no home for her at the Gap, only fair memories of distant days.

The Slayer shuddered, a sudden cold chill swept over her, putting her in a gloomy state of mind. Why did she have to think about her husband and those that she had left behind in Beleriand? Anxious to ease her pain, she crawled back into bed, ready to depart her current reality for another.

Istahiro woke Buffy the following afternoon. It was time for her treatment. The Maia had concocted an oil-based mixture for her to soak in to ease her burning and itching flesh. It didn’t stop the spreading of the sores, but it did ease the pain somewhat and masked the odor for a while. The Slayer remained despondent throughout her treatment, dismaying not only the healer but her maidens as well.

When Buffy climbed out of the tub, she slipped into a red gown before taking a seat in one of her sitting rooms. Crates of goods were stacked in the corner of the chamber. Her Valkyries had brought enough foodstuff and medicines to last at least a year. As she sat there sipping wine, she eyed the beautiful maidens that stood within the chamber. A prickling sensation coursed through her body. She could feel her blood pumping through her veins, sweat forming on her forehead. The tension in the room increased with every passing minute, causing the women to stir uneasily about the room. The Slayer looked yearningly at the lovely faces and smooth, flawless skin of her High Priestesses. Her jealousy and envy were mounting to new heights. Buffy felt an overwhelming urge to strike out at the Valkyries. Fearing that she would follow through with her morbid thoughts, she banished the women from her chamber.

“Get out,” she ordered in a low voice, attempting to avert the impending assault.

“But my Lady… ” pleaded Feawë.

“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. She picked up the wine bottle and hurled it at Feawë’s head. The Maia ducked; the bottle shattered against the wall, red wine streamed down the fabric wallpaper, fragments of glass littered the floor. The Valkyries quickly fled the chamber, distressed by their mistress’s downward spiral. “Oh god, I’m losing it,” cried out the Slayer, plopping back down on the couch. She couldn’t understand where the anger was coming from, why she was acting so violently towards those most loyal to her. She feared for the Valkyries safety as well as the inhabitants of the East.

Buffy recognized that the disease had affected her mind beyond her control. Eager to protect those whom she loved dearly, she performed one last (intentional) spell. She mystically locked all the doors and windows leading to her private quarters, thus barring all others, including her children, from her self-imposed prison. Very few would witness her complete deterioration.

Despite the Slayer’s isolation, the Sumerians and Akkadians did their best to exist under the new, harsh conditions. Unfortunately, times were very difficult. With the farming season over, and with the disasters that plagued the rural lands, food had already become scarce by the time that winter rolled in. Many of the largest households throughout the East had turned people out into the wickedly cold weather, unable to provide them with enough sustenance. The bitter cold killed most of those that were homeless as they sought shelter from the never-ending snowfall. Mortals slew the livestock by the droves since there were no longer any grasses to keep the beasts fit and healthy. The inhabitants of the East no longer cared about the future, only about surviving the present.

Those city-states that had Buffy’s favor did not suffer as badly as their neighbors. When the lords of those cities came to Eridu, bewailing their misfortune, the Valkyries stepped in to ease their suffering. Numerous bales of hay and sacks of grain were brought from Folkvang to keep their livestock and people alive. Lembas bread became a staple of many of those noble houses. When word spread of the food supply in those territories favored by the Slayer, the kings and governors of the deprived areas called their people to arms. Man’s plight had become so severe that many repented of their love to the Vala of Love and War, naming her an enemy instead. Wars broke out between the city-states because of the food shortage. In mankind’s eyes, desperate times called for desperate measures, a motto adopted by Buffy long ago.

With the Slayer out of commission, Vórëa had stepped in as the temporary ruler of the people of the East. She vowed that if any armies entered the Holy City on the Mount, that she and her sisters would personally obliterate the challenger’s city-states of Arda. None dared to argue with the powerful High Priestess. The elves’ animosity towards mankind increased during that time as well. Their initial feelings of love and friendship had turned to scorn when Buffy was stricken with the malady, but now hearing Man blaspheme her name in the open, they began to detest the Secondborn of Ilúvatar. It was the Green-elves that led the rally to evict mankind from the Holy Mount. After three months of persuasion, the High Priestesses agreed, ejecting all mortals from the Holy Mount except for the descendants of Sargon the Great.

As the weeks passed by, Kit and Kat remained outside the main entrance to Buffy’s private rooms, scratching unmercifully at the doors with their sharp claws. Even with their own special brand of magic, the lions were unable to break through the magical barrier that their mistress had put up. After much effort, the kitties gave up on their attempts. Instead, they stationed themselves outside her doors, acting as sentinels. They’d lie on the rug that the priestesses had placed there, watching the comings and goings of the maidens of the Household. They seemed rather content, that is, until the New Year arrived. Shortly thereafter, the lion’s behavior changed dramatically, revealing their growing anxiety. Often Kit’s roaring could be heard echoing down the corridors of Eanna, his growl sounded mournful to Maia ears.

With the approach of the annual celebration of Buffy’s Resurrection Day, the cats vanished from their post, shocking all the dwellers of the temple. A concerned Feawë went to Folkvang in search of the lions, but they had not entered that mystical realm. None knew where they could’ve gone.



Olofin had explored nearly all of Middle-earth outside of Beleriand while on his quest to hide the remains of the Judge. Over the years, he had discovered many new peoples and places whilst on his journey. Not only had he accomplished the task assigned to him, but the Lord of Borsippa had also made the first complete map of all Middle-earth (aside from the one Morgoth had in his possession). The map was to be a gift to his father, who, in turn, would duplicate it and distribute copies to all the Noldorin lords in Beleriand. Since embarking upon his trip fifty years before, the half-elf had come to discover that he too possessed some great powers - namely, his ability to shape shift. Upon completion of his assignment, Olofin freed his horses, abandoned his cart, and traveled in the form of a falcon, as his mother had done many times before.

It was during the winter of Yr 245 F.A. when the half-elf became weary of travel. Still far from home, he took refuge in the woodland realm of the Silvan Elves whom he had befriended years earlier. Those elves were the kinsmen of the Green-elves of Ossiriand, and their lands were very similar. In the fair woods of Lindórinand (“Vale of the Land of the Singers”), the Silvan Elves built their houses high in the treetops, reminding the half-elf of his mother’s homeland. Amdír, the king of that region, had welcomed Olofin as long lost kin. There, the young man was treated with the utmost respect, as the Silvan Elves knew that he was the son of Bellaseth Dagnir, the Blue Lady of Ossir and the leader of the Green-elves.

Olofin enjoyed being amongst the kin of those from his mother’s Household. He spent much time with Amdír’s only son, Amroth, who was around the same age as the half-elf. They often spent their days sailing upon the Anduin River, falling under the enchantments of Ulmo, whose essence flowed deeply in those waters, or wandering through the leaf-carpeted forests of poplars, elms and oaks. His stay in Lindórinand rejuvenated the half-elf and reaffirmed the relations between Buffy and its people. The land reminded him so much of Ossir, that Olofin soon lost track of time. Before he knew it, spring had arrived, signaling the upcoming celebration of his mother’s Resurrection Day. The young man wanted nothing more than to surprise Buffy by showing up on her special day yet he found himself thousands of miles away. There was no beast or bird that he could transform into that could get him back to Eridu in time.

Regardless, the hour had arrived for Olofin to return to his home in the East. No sooner had he informed his hosts when Kit and Kat arrived to the fair wood of Lindórinand, astounding the young man. He had attempted to summon the lions on numerous occasions, failing in all attempts. The young man had no idea that the kitties had come of their own accord. They weren’t there to take him home as a surprise to his mother; they were there to bring him home to save her.

Olofin departed the elvish realm with joy in his heart, not knowing that, in a matter of seconds, that joy would quickly turn to sorrow. When the lions re-appeared with the half-elf at the Temples Courtyard in Eridu, the Lord of Borsippa was immediately bowled over. He arrived right in the middle of a fierce blizzard, the howling winds immediately cut through his thin garments. The snow was so thick, his visibility so poor, he could barely make out the mammoth temples that stood towering before him. The sight devastated him. He never imagined Eridu getting snow, much less a blizzard, especially in springtime!

Kat nipped at Olofin’s hand while Kit nudged him from behind, directing him towards the snow-covered path that led to the ziggurat. To his amazement, the lions’ breath somehow melted the snow on the pathway as they continued to guide him towards Zabalam. The half-elf was confused as to why the lions were leading him there; his mother hadn’t dwelt there in decades.

The Lord of Borsippa was shocked and appalled by what he saw when he entered the temple. Many elves, Maiar and mortals were openly engaging in sexual acts with Buffy’s priestesses and each other. Normally, those deeds took place behind closed doors but it appeared that that was no longer the case. Sickened by the display, Olofin left for Eanna, anxious to speak with his mother about the debauchery that he had witnessed within the sacred halls of Zabalam. When he exited the ziggurat, he turned into a falcon and flew across the courtyard to Buffy’s dwelling.

The young man’s sorrow increased when his half-brother intercepted him on his way up the spiral staircase in Eanna. Taking the half-elf to a private parlor, Anno told him of all that had transpired since his departure a half century before. Olofin was saddened to hear of Sargon’s death but grieved bitterly when he learned of his mother’s sickness.

“Why wasn’t a messenger dispatched to find me?” he barked to the Oracle.

“Well, you see… we had no way of… ” the half-Maia’s words floundered under Olofin’s wrathful gaze.

“Don’t give me any of that bullshit, Anno. Nana’s lions found me in Lindórinand! You didn’t want me to know. You didn’t want me to help mother.” He gave the Maia a contemptuous look. “What kind of son wishes ill of his mother?” In his disgust, Olofin headed for the door, slamming his shoulder into his older half-brother as he went by.

“It’s not that simple,” protested the Oracle, rubbing his throbbing shoulder. “Certain things must happen, certain events must unfold, my brother. These things have been preordained by Ilúvatar!”

Olofin stopped and faced Anno, his eyes ablaze with fury. “When it comes to mother’s well-being, nothing else matters, not even the will of the Almighty Himself.” With that, the angry half-elf left the chamber for his mother’s rooms on the topmost floor.

By the time that Olofin had reached her doors, Kit and Kat were already there waiting for him. Unable to break through Buffy’s mystical barrier, the half-elf climbed on Kit’s back and instructed the lion to take him to Luthor. They vanished, only to re-appear a moment later outside the main entrance to Ekishnugal. The young man let out a cry of dismay when his elvish eyes saw mortals battling mortals on the outskirts of the snow-covered city. He was torn: should he join the fracas or seek Luthor’s aid? Perhaps he was being selfish; he chose to seek Luthor first and foremost. The door wardens allowed the Lord of Borsippa to enter the Maia’s Halls and to escape the frigid cold. Once inside, he honed his senses and soon found the worried Maia alone in his library.

“Olofin! You’re back!” exclaimed the old man, jumping to his feet from behind his ornate desk. Rolls of parchment lay flat on the wooden surface; it looked to be inventory lists. Luthor wrapped his arms around the half-elf, patting his back affectionately. “Well met! Well met indeed.” He pulled out of the embrace; his blue eyes scrutinized the young man fondly. Luthor’s cheerful and casual demeanor took the half-elf aback.

“You are aware that there’s a war going on out there, are you not?” questioned Olofin, arching his brow.

“I’m well aware of that, my son.” The Maia smiled. “Is it wrong for me to express my joy at seeing one whom I love dearly return in my time of need?” The smile faded from Luthor’s face, deep concern took its place. “The mortals seek to win all my food stores. I’ve tried reasoning with them, even dispersed what I could to them, but they’ve become greedy and want to claim it all… I’m at my wits’ end here, Olofin!” He nervously chewed on his bottom lip. “If push comes to shove, I’ll have to resort to more drastic measures… and I loathe the thought of that.”

Olofin placed a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I promise to do whatever I can, Luthor, but I’ve actually come here seeking your help.” The Maia furrowed his brows.

“What is it? Bella?”

“I’m afraid so. She’s locked herself in her rooms… ”

“Damn it! Those bitches lied to me!” interjected the old man angrily. He felt the sudden urge for a stiff drink. He continued speaking as he walked over to the sideboard. “I’ve been trying to contact your mother for the past three months! Those… those Valkyries of hers told me that she was traveling throughout the kingdom attempting to restore peace.” He guzzled his miruvóre. “I should’ve known better.” Luthor faced the half-elf. “Why else would we have snow at this time of year?” He shook his head disappointedly.

“It seems that the weather has caused the most grief in these parts, or so I’m told. If I can get to mother, I’m sure I’ll be able to bring an end to this mayhem. Anno says that her emotions have been affecting the weather…”

“Indeed. We’ve had snow for six months now. Six months, Olofin! Do you know how that has affected our food supply? It has fallen to dangerously low proportions. And with this weather, we’re unable to plant any new crops. The entire East lay covered in snow, the rivers have iced over… The masses are famished and there’s not a damn thing that we can do,” remarked the grimacing Maia.

“I understand how bleak things are for you, Luthor. And I will aid you when I may, but I must ask - will you come with me? Will you help me overthrow mother’s spell so that I can get to her? If I don’t reach her in time, all hope will diminish and we will all fall.” The half-elf looked imploringly at the old man.

“Of course. Of course, I will.” Without informing any of his servants, Luthor climbed on the back of Kat as Olofin mounted Kit. They vanished from the Maia’s temple and re-appeared outside Buffy’s doors in Eanna. Climbing off the beasts, the two then worked together to override the spell that the Slayer had placed on her doors. After twenty minutes, they had successfully broken the barrier.

“Let me go by myself,” said the half-elf gently, stopping Luthor from turning the knob. “She needs me. See if you can get some of the Valkyries to help you in Kish. I must deal with mother alone.”

The Maia nodded before taking off down the corridor, the lions followed.

When Luthor had disappeared out of sight, the half-elf entered his mother’s private rooms. The noxious smell nearly turned his stomach as he crossed the threshold into the cold, darkened chamber. With a wave of his hand, the candles flickered to life, illuminating the first chamber that he had entered. Olofin’s jaw dropped. The room looked as though it had been ransacked. The floor was covered with broken pieces of glass that glittered in the dim candlelight. All the tables had had their tops removed, leaving behind only their sturdy frames. The couches were missing, chairs were overturned, and the drapes were tied closed. The half-elf walked over to one of the tall windows and pulled open the curtains. The entire windowpane was painted with a red substance. He took his fingernail and scratched the surface of the glass.

“Blood,” uttered Olofin, examining the flakes under his nail. He went to another window, ripped open the drapes, and discovered that that window was also coated in the crimson fluid. All the windows were. The half-elf felt his heart drop to his stomach. He ran across the chamber to the next door, the candles flickered to life as he passed quickly through the room; it was in a shambles just like the previous one. So were the next one, and the next. When Olofin reached Buffy’s bedchamber, he found the door blocked from the other side. He rammed his shoulder against the door repeatedly. Gradually, the heavy furniture on the other side gave way, screeching across the marble floor.

“Nana! Nana!” he shouted, trying to squeeze through the opening. It wasn’t wide enough. The half-elf cursed under his breath as he gave one good last push, knocking over the tower of stacked couches. “Nana!” he called again, clambering over the furniture. Amidst the blackness, Olofin could hear the faint incoherent ramblings of his mother. Stumbling to his feet, he attempted to cast the spell to light up the room. Apparently, there was nothing that gave off light in that chamber. No candles. No moonstones. No sunstones. His mother lived in complete darkness.

Olofin continued to call the Slayer’s name as he tried to make his way through the labyrinth of debris. It disturbed him that the blackness seemed extraordinarily thick, so thick that his elvish eyes couldn’t penetrate the gloom. He tripped, landing on a jagged piece of glass. Cursing, the half-elf tended to his wound in the dark. “I’m coming, nana, I’m… ” His words faltered. The room started to glow in a myriad of colors: red, blue, green, white, bronze and gold. The jewels and metal threads that made up the portrait of Buffy glowed from their place of honor, on the wall across from her bed, illuminating the entire chamber.

While that was amazing in itself, the half-elf was stunned by the state of his mother’s inner sanctum. His heart broke as his eyes scanned the room. Pools of dried blood were everywhere and the room smelled akin to rotting corpses on a battlefield. Portions of the fabric wallpaper were stripped from all four walls; in its place, written in blood, were the words, “Beware of the whore of Babylon,” in the elvish runes. The young man didn’t know what to think of the words of warning. He had never heard the word ‘Babylon’ before, and had no idea what it meant. Nevertheless, the foreboding message sent shivers up and down his spine. The half-elf abhorred his mother’s living conditions and felt that the Valkyries were partially to blame.

Olofin heard Buffy’s gibberish coming from behind another stack of furniture in the corner of the room. She had evidentially constructed a cave-like structure, using miscellaneous furnishings and the bedclothes. It resembled something that a child would make except for the ‘fortification’ of tabletops.

He proceeded cautiously towards the cocoon that concealed his mother, wiping the blood from his bleeding hand on his breeches. From within, he could hear her mumbling, “Twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… ” She kept repeating that sequence of numbers, pausing after saying them three times.

“Mother?” he whispered softly, crouching by the ‘entrance’ to her makeshift cave. She didn’t answer, but continued to utter the numbers. The half-elf pulled back one of the blankets draped over the furniture and peered inside her hidey-hole. There sat his mother, her back facing him, her legs crossed, rocking back and forth like a lunatic. Pillows, stained with Eru only knows, lay all over the floor of that confined space. As the half-elf crawled inside, he noticed the pots of opium, bottles of alcohol and several veils scattered about the area. “Mother?” he repeated in a broken voice. “It’s… it’s me. Olofin.”

The Slayer stopped chanting. “The light!” she cried out, pressing a pillow to her face. “It burns! Make it stop! Make it stop!”

“Alright, nana. Alright.” He pulled the blanket over the hole, dimming the rainbow of lights within the makeshift structure. “Is that better? Is that better, nana?”

Slowly, Buffy lowered the pillow and turned around, her eyes narrowed slits. Olofin let out a cry of anguish when his mother faced him. Weeping ulcers covered her emaciated sallow skin. The lustrous golden hair that once framed her lovely face was now greasy and knotted; chunks appeared to either have fallen out or had been pulled from her head, he wasn’t sure which. The half-elf was surprised to see that her eyes were no longer green but black.

“Olofin?” questioned an alarmed Buffy, her lifeless eyes widened upon recognizing her son. She hesitantly raised one of her spindly, decaying hands towards his face. When she caught sight of her marred flesh, she quickly withdrew it. “He’s captured you too. Oh, Olofin, you’re not supposed to be here. I’m the one being punished, not you.”

“No one has captured me, nana,” replied the young man, silent tears running down his face. “I’ve come to help you, to save you.” He reached out for his mother; she shrank back into her corner, clutching the pillow to her chest.

“You can’t save me. I’m suffering for my sins. I deserve to be in Hell… But it never stops. It never stops!” she whispered solemnly. Buffy suddenly became agitated, fidgety, and started rocking again. “It’s my fault… it’s all my fault.” A tormented expression then came over her face as if witnessing some faraway event. “Eärendil!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “He killed my babies! He killed my babies!” She suddenly became eerily calm. Shaking her head, rocking back and forth, she continued, “I did my best, Eärendil; I did my best to fix the situation. Don’t hate me; don’t hate me and Maglor. We did our best.”

Olofin had no idea what she was talking about. He had never heard of Eärendil. He inched closer to his mother unable to control his own emotions any more. “Mother, it’s me, Olofin. There’s no Eärendil here, only me.” The crazed look in the Slayer’s eyes caused the half-elf great sorrow. “Don’t you recognize your youngest son?” He began to weep uncontrollably, slumping over onto his mother’s lap.

“You must go!” she warned in a whisper, stoking his long dark hair awkwardly. “He seeks to take all that I have. Flee before he comes.” She began pushing her sobbing son away.

“I won’t leave you, mother. I’ll never leave you.” He fixed his teary eyes on her. “I’m going to help you, nana. I’m going to get you cured. I promise.”

Buffy kicked and thrashed at her son when he tried to remove her from her ‘sanctuary.’ “Go away! He seeks to destroy those whom I love most. Love is a weakness, it brings no strength.” She covered her ears with her hands and began screaming, “Make it stop! Make it stop! I’ve seen enough! Please… ” In the very next moment, her body went limp in Olofin’s arms. A blank look came over her face and she once again began chanting the numbers, “Twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… ”

The half-elf clung tightly to his mother. Never before had he experienced such pain and anguish. While Olofin wasn’t always in agreement with his mother, he loved her dearly. It was tragic to witness one so great, fall so hard. Whoever had inflicted the malady on her was cruel and rotten, just like the disease itself. As he held his babbling mother in his arms, the half-elf tried to figure out who was responsible for Buffy’s condition. From what he had heard in the past, he doubted that it was Morgoth. Despite being the biggest and baddest villain of them all, it wasn’t his style. The half-elf knew that the evil Vala took pleasure in his mother’s beauty and had restored her health in the past. Therefore, he ruled him out. That left the Vala, Marduk, the one who delighted in science, altering DNA and having the skill to create communicable plagues.

Olofin, with Buffy in his arms, started to ease out of the makeshift cavern. When the light engulfed them, the Slayer began wailing, covering her eyes with her sore covered hands. “No! No! Not the light. Take me to the dark.” The half-elf pulled the blanket from between the couches that formed the ‘door’ to his mother’s prison cell. He hurriedly draped it over her frail form, speaking in his most soothing voice.

“It’s alright, nana,” he said, making sure that she was completely covered. “I’ve dimmed the light. I’m gonna get you help, nana. Soon, you’ll be all better. I promise.”

“No one can help me,” she whined. “I’m meant to suffer.”

“That’s not true, nana. Marduk did this to you and he… ”

“MARDUK!” she squealed, struggling to free herself . “No! He wants my babies. No! No! No!” She began to cry hysterically as Olofin tried to subdue her. “Leave me alone!” She kicked and clawed unrelentingly at her youngest child.

The half-elf was amazed that his mother had managed to wriggle out of his arms in spite of her poor health. He kept the blanket over her, pinning her body to the floor with his weight. Glancing around the wreckage, Olofin grabbed a leg from one of the overturned table frames and pulled it closer. While he used his weight to restrain the Slayer, he snapped a leg from the frame. The half-elf repositioned himself, holding the object tightly within his grasp, he tearfully said, “Forgive me, nana,” before bringing the wooden rod down upon her head. A loud cracking sound rang out in the room. Buffy let out a soft groan before falling into unconsciousness. He threw the club aside, scooped his mother back into his arms, and rose to his feet. His tears continued to flow. Olofin couldn’t believe that he had to resort to such tactics in order to help his ailing mother. He was only looking out for her best interests, after all.

With his mother concealed beneath the blanket, the young man left her chambers more distraught than when he had first arrived. Several Valkyries were waiting at the end of the corridor, anxious to hear news of their mistress’s well-being. When a teary-eyed Olofin bypassed them; the women took after him.

“Have the chariot harnessed to the lions by the time I reach the ground floor,” he ordered as he crossed the gallery leading to the spiral stairway. The maidens disappeared in the blink of an eye, eager to carry out the Lord of Borsippa’s command.

Once the half-elf had reached the chariot at the main entrance to the temple, he had managed to dry his tears and pull himself together. With his mother in his arms, he climbed onto the platform of the cart. Ignoring the weeping women that surrounded him, he told the lions to take him to the dwelling place of Amarutu Marduk. The front doors of the temple flew open as the lions made their exit. Instead of descending down the seventy-seven steps, they soared through the air before vanishing from sight.

Only a moment later, they re-appeared high above several pyramids that stood menacingly upon the desert, west of Cuiviénen. The lands were experiencing a severe sandstorm. Olofin grabbed hold of the front panel, burying his face in the blanket as the lions circled lower, and lower. The ferocious whirlwind didn’t faze Kit and Kat in the slightest, even when they landed on the sandy floor outside the main entrance to Marduk’s ‘home.’

The half-elf struggled against the whipping winds, the sand pounding against his skin like little daggers. All of a sudden, he lost his footing as the lion-drawn chariot began to fall beneath the earth. Tightening his grip on Buffy, they fell from the cart into utter darkness, the squalling cats and chariot close by. Apparently, they had been on top of a trap door, which opened at Marduk’s command, sending them plummeting underground, a shower of sand raining down upon them.

The brunt of the impact left Olofin winded, yet he continued to hold his mother tightly in his arms. The gap in the ceiling must have closed for the half-elf no longer heard the roaring winds from above. The only sound he heard was Kit and Kat, who were hissing wildly several feet away. A blinding white light suddenly filled the chamber. The lions yelped, and then fell silent. Olofin called out to the noble beasts as he desperately tried to rub the sand out of his eyes. He heard no response. The half-elf began to move towards the kitties until he was stopped by a sharp blade to the throat. Then another. And another. The young man let out a cry of dismay as Buffy was torn from his arms.

The shrill sound of Marduk’s laughter resonated within the space. “Well, well, well. Look what the cats dragged in!” Olofin blindly reached out for his mother. He heard a loud crack and then all faded to black…


Chapter 63 - BENEATH YOU

The cuffing of his cheek roused Olofin to consciousness. Immediately, the pain in the back of his head intensified causing the half-elf to moan groggily. Reaching for the injured area, he quickly discovered that his wrists and ankles were shackled to the chair on which he was sitting. “Nana,” he called out faintly. He squirmed in his seat, attempting to blink the sand out of his itchy eyes. His alarm increased when he couldn’t change his bodily form and escape. Somehow his magic’s had been suppressed. Olofin began shouting Buffy’s name repeatedly.

“There’s no need to yell; she can’t hear you,” replied the renegade Vala smugly. He stood before the half-elf, dressed in a long white tunic, his arms folded across his chest. On his head was a plain silver helmet with a ram horn protruding from either side. The Lord of Borsippa thought it strange that Marduk chose such a foul crown as the symbol of his power. “Fear not, Olofin Tirnon, your mother is safe, as are her pets… for now.”

“Where is she?” queried the young man, squinting his irritated eyes at the towering figure in front of him. “We’ve come in peace.”

Marduk’s diabolical laughter filled the chamber. From the shadows, Olofin heard others snickering along with their Lord.

“Did you hear that?” the Vala sniggered, turning towards the others hidden in the dark recesses of the room. “The elf comes in peace, with his ailing harlot of a mother, no less.” Quickly, he faced the half-elf, startling the young man with the swiftness of his movements. “I know why you’ve come, Lord of Borsippa.” Marduk positioned his hands on top of Olofin’s, placing pressure on them as he leaned in closer. “You’ve come seeking a cure for your mother’s illness.” He lowered his voice to a mere whisper before continuing. “Your mother got what she deserved. Perhaps if she had kept her legs closed, she wouldn’t find herself in her current predicament.”

“Now I have a better understanding as to why you chose to restrain me,” answered the half-elf between gritted teeth, his eyes glinting with scorn. Under different circumstances, he would’ve knocked the Vala out for insulting his mother, but Olofin found himself in a rather precarious situation at the moment. The Slayer’s health mattered more than a disparaging remark or two. He wasn’t foolish enough to prolong her suffering. He’d have to bite his tongue and take Marduk’s abuse.

Olofin’s comment brought more derisive laughter from the renegade Vala. Marduk had waited a long time for his plan to come to fruition. In fact, he was quite surprised that it had taken so long for the Vala of Love to become afflicted with the disease that he had created especially for her. He was disappointed that she hadn’t come sooner. He had always envisioned her groveling at his feet, pleading for a cure to her ailment.

“Tell me,” started the Vala, straightening his position, “why would I help the one that supplanted me from the throne?”

“Heal my mother and she will relinquish her kingship in the East. Heal her, and I’ll see to it that she leaves these parts for good.”

“You have no authority to make such a claim. Only Inanna Ishtar can surrender the scepter.”

“She’s obviously in no condition to make any decisions. I’m her heir apparent… I speak on her behalf.”

“Heir apparent?” queried the Ainu, his brows raised in surprise. He took a seat across from Olofin. His dark eyes scrutinized the young man. “How is it that her youngest child is heir to the throne?” Marduk paused for a moment; a look of understanding dawned on his face. He nodded. “Ah, I see. You’re the favored child. Makes sense, I suppose. Illyria… well, dear ole Illyria isn’t one to follow orders, is she? I reckon that’s why her own mother disposed of her. And the twins, well, I daresay, that speaks for itself; no one can share the kingship. That would only create discourse over time. So naturally, that leaves you, Olofinwë, descendent of the noble Noldorin line of Finwë. The valiant and virtuous half-elf, the Lord of Borsippa… ”

“You know nothing about me or my family,” retorted a scowling Olofin. He resented the renegade Vala’s haughty attitude.

“No? I know more than you think, my good elf. From what I hear, Vórëa the Valkyrie has taken the throne of Sumer and Akkad, not you. Perhaps she’s the one that needs to parley with me, son of Ishtar.” Olofin tried to conceal his astonishment upon hearing that revelation. How in Eru’s name did Marduk know that? The half-elf concluded that the renegade Vala must still have spies within Buffy’s kingdom.

“Vórëa’s duty is only with the running of the temples, not the city-states.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” Marduk leaned back in his chair, the fingers of his right hand tapped rhythmically on the arm of his throne. His dark eyes studied the half-elf keenly. “I am not opposed to dealing with you, Olofin. In fact, I deem that you have more wits about you than most of those that your mother surrounds herself with. Your reputation as being a moral and honest being precedes you. But how do I know that Inanna Ishtar will honor any agreement we reach? How do I know that she won’t betray me as she has Melkor? Her past deeds show that she is untrustworthy.”

“You have my word,” answered the half-elf firmly.

As Marduk sat there pondering Olofin’s last words, a wicked idea came to him. His frown quickly turned to a wide grin. “Unbind him,” ordered the Ainu.

And so began the negotiations between Olofin and the renegade Vala. It took them nearly an hour to hash out an agreement, but they reached one nevertheless. The half-elf knew that Buffy would be displeased by the ceding of the throne to Marduk, but it was in everyone’s best interests for her to do so, especially her own. As far as Olofin was concerned, the sooner he got his mother out of the East, the better. There was something unwholesome about the land, as if some evil haunted the region. It had already ensnared the Slayer, and he was most anxious to bring her home to Beleriand, to the only place where she would find healing.

After the pact was made, the half-elf was permitted to see his mother. He was taken deep underground to a small, well-lit room. In its center, sat a large glass tank that resembled a coffin. Three tubes were attached to either side connecting a series of large colored bottles located outside the box. A frail, nude and unconscious Buffy lay at the bottom of the tank, her hair cropped to the head. Marduk had placed her in an enchanted sleep to ease her pain and to protect his people from her sudden outbursts of delirium. The entire container was filled to the brim with a pink jelly-like substance that gave off a fragrant herbal scent.

Olofin took a seat beside the glass casket while Nabu, Marduk’s son, retrieved a tonic to ease the throbbing half-elf’s head. While he sat there, he stared at his mother’s seemingly lifeless body hoping beyond anything that she wouldn’t be too wroth with him for what he had done. All he wanted was for her to be healthy again. As soon as she was fit to travel, they would depart the renegade Vala’s realm forever.

It unnerved Marduk that Buffy’s son refused to leave his mother’s side. He had declined all offers of food, drink and a clean bed. The Ainu’s disquiet increased with the half-elf’s relentless questions regarding the healing methods employed. Every time any neared the glass tomb, Olofin wanted to know specifically what they were doing. That only made Marduk more paranoid. He feared that the young man would find out exactly what he was up to before the Vala was ready to reveal that himself. After three days, Marduk banned the ever-watchful half-elf from the medical ward. A heated exchange followed, resulting in the Lord of Borsippa’s banishment from the temple altogether.

“I’m not leaving without Inanna Ishtar!” proclaimed the half-elf loudly, struggling with the guards as they attempted to remove him from the ward. Olofin managed to grab a khopesh (“sickle-sword”) from one of the soldiers. “Your master is a liar and a thief!” he cried out, defending himself from the growing mob of security personnel.

Marduk suddenly appeared, well aware of the ruckus going on within his Halls. “You ask too many questions, Olofin Tirnon.”

The Lord of Borsippa then felt a whoosh of air from behind. A thick white mist then engulfed the young man, causing him to become woozy. The blade fell from his hand, clattering against the stone floor.

“What… what have you done to me?” sputtered Olofin, his eyes getting heavy, his body weak. He collapsed to the floor before he heard any response.

The renegade Vala then ordered his men to confine the half-elf in the temple furthest away from his own. It was important that the Lord of Borsippa remain in his lands, as he would be integral in manipulating the Vala of Love. So pleased was Marduk that everything now appeared to be going according to plan, that he even permitted Buffy’s lions to keep the young man company while in captivity. He no longer feared the noble beasts’ using their magics to disappear from his realm; he had managed to suppress that ability from them.

With Olofin gone, Marduk could now focus his attention on something that concerned him greatly, his son. The half-elf had not been the only one to keep a constant vigil by Buffy’s side. Nabu was guilty of doing the same, much to the Vala’s chagrin. After one week had passed, the elder Ainu decided it was time to confront his son about the matter.

“I’ve heard that you haven’t been home since Ishtar arrived,” he said gently, glancing at the Slayer’s comatose form. “Why is that, my son? Why are you neglecting both Sarpanit and Tashmet? Their concern grows with each passing day. They both miss their Lord.” The Vala spoke in his most pleasant, non-threatening voice.

The younger Ainu placed his hands on top of the glass box; his remorseful eyes gazing longingly at the marred body of Buffy. Restoring her health and beauty had become his top priority.

“Ishtar is my charge. I will not leave her until she is well.”

“That burden need not fall on you, Nabu. There are others that can look after… ”

“I dare not leave her!” snapped Nabu, shifting his distrustful eyes to his father.

“There’s no need for all that hostility,” replied a defensive Marduk.

The younger Ainu’s face contorted in anger. “You did this to her, father,” he said heatedly before turning his attention back to the sleeping Slayer. He caressed the glass top as though it was her fleshly form. When he resumed speaking, his tone softened. “I didn’t know that the virus would do this to her. I would never have agreed to be a participant in that scheme of yours had I known that she’d be ravaged so.”

Marduk grabbed his only son by the shoulders, forcefully pulling him away from the glass casket. “You speak as one who has been bewitched!” He turned his wrathful gaze upon Buffy. “It seems her powers are greater than I deemed.” He faced Nabu, his hands still tightly clutching his son’s shoulders. “Do you not see? Ishtar is a powerful Vala. She’s using her magics to her advantage even as she sleeps. Do not fall prey to her, my son. She’s dangerous!”

The young Ainu brushed his father’s hands from his person. “Dangerous?” Nabu repeated with a snicker. “You’re the dangerous one, father. Look at her!” He grabbed Marduk by the arm and dragged the reluctant Vala back to the box. “Look what you’ve done! If that’s what one must do for glory, then I want no part of it! That’s the epitome of evil. You should be ashamed of yourself… ”

“How dare you disrespect your father! Ishtar’s the evil one, not me. I’ve always been a proponent of life… ”

“Is that what you call this?” interrupted his son. He released his hold on Marduk, and pointed to a comatose Buffy. “You’ve always taught me that all life is sacred… yet you’re the one that’s responsible for creating the plague that is killing off mankind. How does that demonstrate your advocacy for life?”

“Mankind must be punished for both their depravity and disloyalty,” answered Marduk in a low growl. “She is the one responsible for their decline. The race of Man needs cleansing. And I will continue to cleanse the wicked until they accept me as their rightful God. Then and only then will they receive deliverance from the affliction.”

“I think there’s been enough suffering,” said Nabu softly, caressing the glass box once again. A frowning Marduk gestured to the men standing by the door. They immediately came in and grabbed hold of the Vala’s son. “What’s going on? Father? What are you doing?” shouted the younger Ainu as he was pulled from the room.

“I must tend to Ishtar, Nabu. She must endure one more treatment from me… The storms have passed. Why don’t you get some fresh air? I shan’t be long.”

“I swear,” screamed the younger Vala, disappearing around the corner, “if you harm her, I’ll leave, father. I will take Ishtar and I will leave these lands forever!”

Marduk slammed the door shut. How that boy of his could frustrate him so. He sighed heavily, staring at Buffy’s still form as he leaned against the stone door. He would see to it that she caused no more problems within his kingdom or Melkor’s.

A couple of hours later, the Vala Lord had the Slayer moved to another room. Her emaciated body no longer showed any signs of the ravaging disease; her skin was whole and pink as a newborns. Buffy’s golden hair had grown a bit longer after the ‘treatment’ as well; it was now shoulder length. While Marduk was able to heal her body, he wasn’t successful at healing her mind or her spirit, which was part of his agreement with Olofin. The elder Vala believed that his son was more suited to handle that part of her recovery as Marduk despised the thought of spending that much time in the company of his nemesis. He summoned Nabu.

When the troubled young Vala appeared, he was captivated by the Slayer’s renewed beauty.

“I’ve kept her in an enchanted sleep,” revealed his father. “Perhaps you should be the one that brings her to. I deem that she’ll feel less threatened seeing your face upon wakening than mine.” The elder Ainu then left the chamber whistling a merry tune as he went.

Nabu took a seat on the edge of the bed. He took the Slayer’s hand in his, kissing the top softly. He deeply inhaled the fragrant smell of her smooth pink skin. He found her scent quite intoxicating. Wary of his father’s earlier actions, Nabu gave Buffy a complete physical in order to confirm that Marduk had indeed healed her body. When he had completed his examination, he crawled into the bed and lay beside her. Clutching her left hand in his right, he closed his eyes, and drifted into the realm of dreams, eager to search for the beloved Inanna Ishtar…

The young Ainu was stunned to find himself standing alone in a desert, surrounded by many lofty dunes. He called out to the Slayer, only to hear his own voice answering back in echo. He began to scale the tallest mound, the hot sun blazing down upon him. His leather-covered feet sank into the sand, forcing Nabu to crawl on all fours to reach the apex. He gasped in shock when he reached the top. Before him, he saw a blood red sea, its frothy waves lapping at the sandy shore.

From out of nowhere, he heard the sound of hundreds of doves cooing overhead. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he looked towards the sky. Flocks of white and gray doves were flying above him, circling lower and lower before plunging into the crimson waters. A few long seconds later, the birds rose to the surface. Dead. The bewildered Ainu searched the shoreline until he caught sight of something floating near the water’s edge. As he hastily descended the sand hill, his eyes focused on the form in the sea. He lost his footing and tripped, rolling the rest of the way down. Nabu rose to his feet, wiping the granules from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He then ran as fast as he could towards the figure in the water, as more birds plummeted from the sky. The currents carried the dead carcasses of hundreds of doves to the still form of the Slayer.

As he neared her body, he cried out, “Ishtar!” Her motionless body floated face down in the blood red sea. He waded into the ocean, surprised at its warmth, and pulled Buffy into his arms. Lifting her from the water, he carried her back to the shore, calling her name over and over. Her lifeless green eyes stared blankly at him. “Come back, Ishtar! Come back!”

When Nabu reached the shoreline, he plopped down, holding the Slayer tightly in his arms. He continued to call her name as he brushed aside the blood-streaked strands of hair that covered her face. She wasn’t responsive. He felt for a pulse. There was none. He laid her on the ground and placed his ear to her chest. No heartbeat. “No! It’s only a dream. Wake up, Ishtar. Wake up.” He shook her body. Nothing. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her unconscious form to his, and squeezed. “Come on, Ishtar. Wake up!” he said pleadingly, as he attempted to expel the fluid from her lungs. Buffy spluttered, spewing forth a combination of mucous and blood, which ran down Nabu’s shoulder. He gently cradled her in his arms. “Welcome back, Ishtar.”

The wheezing Slayer blinked several times, attempting to get her bearings. She glanced at the sea before turning her attention to the man holding her. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling herself to a sitting position. “It’s coming,” she warned in a broken voice.

“What’s coming?” he asked nervously. “I don’t understand.” Buffy went limp in his arms.

“It’s coming,” she repeated in a whisper.

All of a sudden, the sun dimmed. A loud roaring sound resonated throughout the area. The Ainu looked towards the sea, his jaw dropping as he laid eyes on the humongous crimson wave gliding over the water’s surface. It was so tall that it literally blocked out the rays of the sun, casting an eerie red glow on their surroundings.

“Wake up, Ishtar! Please, wake up!” he said in a panic-stricken voice.

Buffy shifted her teary eyes towards the sea. She let out a distressful moan when she saw the tidal wave. “It’s coming... ”

“I beg of you, Ishtar. Wake up! For the love of all that you hold dear - WAKE UP!”

“I can’t,” she replied, burying her face in Nabu’s shirt.

The Vala Lord glanced back at the ocean, his eyes wide with fear. “You must,” he said imploringly. The wave was speedily approaching them. “WAKE UP!” Out of desperation, the Ainu grabbed hold of Buffy’s arm and pinched it as hard as he could. She let out an ear-piercing scream…

Buffy bolted upright, her shrill cry rang out in the chamber. She clutched her sore arm, alarmed by her unfamiliar surroundings. Her breathing came in gasps as her eyes scanned the sparsely furnished room.

“It’s over, Ishtar,” said the breathless Vala Lord, delighted that they were both wide-awake within his father’s pyramid.

Nabu’s voice startled the disoriented Slayer. She locked her gaze on him. Unsure as to whether he was another figment of her imagination, she hesitantly reached out for him, her fingers brushing against his smooth handsome face. When she felt his skin beneath her fingertips, she tried to pull away, but he stopped her, holding her hand in place with his. His brilliant blue eyes looked at her with kindness and compassion.

“I saw you… in my dream,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Who are you?”

“I am Nabu, son of Amarutu Marduk.” The blood drained from Buffy’s face. Her eyes widened. She wriggled her hand from his grasp and attempted to distance herself from the son of her enemy. “No, no, no, no,” continued the Vala in a soothing voice, gently taking hold of her arm. “I won’t harm you. I swear!” He looked beseechingly at her. “I’m only here to help you… to bring an end to your suffering.”

“Where am I?” she queried uneasily. She tried to remember, but drew a blank.

“You are in my father’s Halls in the South Lands.” Upon hearing those words, the Slayer pulled herself free and staggered off the bed, frightened at the prospect of being in the Halls of her enemy. She had no idea how she came to be there or why. She closed her eyes tightly, thinking of Eanna, but she was unable to teleport. “Don’t be frightened,” he continued in a reassuring voice. “I’m nothing like my father.” Nabu gave her a small smile in an attempt to alleviate her fear.

“What’s Marduk done to my powers?” she asked, her panic rising. “Why am I here? How did… ”

“I’ll answer your questions, Ishtar, I promise.” He patted the mattress. “Do not overextend yourself. Have a seat.” Buffy shook her head, not trusting the son of Marduk. She felt slightly better knowing that a few feet separated them.

“Alright then,” he replied with a nod. “The Lord of Borsippa brought you here… ”

“Olofin?” she interjected, her heart racing at the mere mention of her child’s name. “Why? Where’s my son?”

The Vala Lord sighed. “I’m afraid that he’s gone… ”

“Gone?” Buffy’s uneasiness was escalating. She folded her arms across her chest, nervously eyeing potential weapons in the room. “My son would never leave me here alone. He’d never… ” She stopped mid-sentence. The sudden realization that she had no memory of being brought to Marduk’s Halls concerned her greatly. She tried to recollect the events that lead to her current situation but she remembered nothing. She furrowed her brows, thinking hard, yet nothing came to mind. “Why would Olofin bring me here?” she said that more to herself than to the stranger in the room.

“Are you going to let me speak or are you going to keep interrupting me with endless questions?” asked Nabu lightheartedly.

Buffy frowned. She took a seat in the chair beside the bed, concealing her amazement that neither she nor her companion was covered in blood. She eyed the young man with suspicion before saying, “Speak,” with an air of authority in her voice.

The young Ainu chuckled. For one so small, the Vala of Love definitely had a commanding presence. “You were stricken with the plague that has been unleashed in these parts, my Lady. Your son, the virtuous Olofin Tirnon, brought you here out of desperation. My father’s skill in the art of healing is unrivaled by any that dwell in these parts. He has healed your body, but not your soul.” He smiled warmly at the Slayer. “That is my task, to heal your broken spirit… ”

Buffy did not remember any illness. “Where’s my son?” she asked, her scowl deepened.

“He has departed these lands.”

“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “He’d never do that.”

“I’m afraid that was part of the agreement. My father is not one to leave things to chance. He feels that you’ve used dubious means to usurp his kingship and will not risk having your son do the same. He agreed to heal you under the condition that you alone remain here. Your son agreed to his terms and has returned home.”

It was at that moment that the floodgates of her memories opened, revealing all the things that had happened to her. She recalled her sickness, her frightfully unpredictable behavior, her descent into madness. When she remembered the weeping ulcers that covered her body, she held up her thin arms, the sleeves of her gown falling to the elbow, exposing smooth unblemished skin. She quickly placed her hands on her face. Her skin felt soft and supple to the touch.

“As you can see, we’ve kept our end of the bargain thus far. Father has restored your beauty, your health.” He gave her another small smile. “The time has come for us to devote our time and energies to fattening you up… and working on your muscles, of course,” added Nabu with a chuckle.

The Vala Lord expected Buffy to be on cloud nine, but that wasn’t the case. Once she had realized that all her powers had diminished, and that she was not free to leave Marduk’s realm, she fell into a deep depression. While Nabu tried to assure her that her magics would return as soon as she got her strength back, it did little to ease her worried mind. What could be worse than finding yourself alone and vulnerable in the middle of enemy territory?

As the days turned into weeks, loneliness consumed the Slayer despite Nabu’s constant presence. The young Ainu ate all meals with her, slept in the chair beside her bed, and even remained in the chamber when the maidens of the Household bathed her. He very seldom left her side for more than a minute or two. It saddened the Vala Lord that Buffy had withdrawn deeper and deeper into her shell. She remained morose and despondent, and hardly ever spoke more than a few words on any given day. Little did the Ainu know that she was dealing with her own inner demons.

After seven weeks, the Slayer’s physical condition had improved considerably. Yet mentally, she still remained distant and downcast. Nabu tried to lift her spirits by reading his poetry to her or singing songs about the things he loved most, but nothing cheered her up. He presumed that Buffy staying in his father’s Halls was hindering her mental well-being. The younger Ainu approached the elder about taking Buffy from his home to Nabu’s, nearly seventy-five miles away. Once he had promised not to abscond with Marduk’s ‘hostage,’ he was permitted to take her to his pyramid deeper in the South Land.

Buffy and Nabu made the seventy-five mile trip in Marduk’s ram-drawn chariot. It was while soaring high above the desert that she asked, “What do you call these lands?”

“Egypt.” The Vala Lord gave her a peculiar look when she burst out laughing. While he was glad to hear her mirth, he was unsure whether it was at his father’s expense. “Do you find the name amusing?”

“No, not really,” answered the still chuckling Slayer. “I mean, it’s Egypt! The land of Pharaohs and pyramids.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe how dense I can be.” She leaned over the side of the chariot, surveying the vast desert lands below. “Long will Marduk’s nation stand.” She glanced at the Ainu and added, “Egypt will endure until the End of Days.”

“Is that so?” he asked, taken aback by Buffy’s disclosure.

“Yep.” She remembered enough of history to know that she couldn’t say the same for Sumer or Akkad. She wondered what would happen in the future to bring about the end to what she considered the greatest mortal civilization to date. “I can’t believe that I’m flying over Egypt in a chariot pulled by six ram. Who would’ve ever guessed?”

Buffy’s sudden change in attitude overjoyed Nabu. It reaffirmed his belief that he had made the right decision about her leaving his father’s Halls. Unfortunately, the Slayer’s happy demeanor was short-lived. Even though she opened up a bit more to the Ainu in after days, not once did he hear her laughter other than on that first journey to his home.

Over the many weeks they had spent together, Nabu had learned her likes and dislikes, and had done his best to accommodate her every need. Unlike his father, the young Ainu treated Buffy as an honored guest in his Halls. He housed her in a beautiful underground chamber decorated with exquisite furnishings in vibrant colors. The Vala Lord had the maidens of his Household garb her in gowns fashioned from rich fabrics with matching elaborate beaded headdresses, items that Nabu deemed worthy of the Vala Queen. His approach proved more effective than Marduk’s. Buffy’s mistrust of him was beginning to wane. Although there were still times when she sat alone, lost in her own thoughts, she would often speak fondly of her children, loved ones, and her accomplishments in the East. The Ainu found her stories riveting.

On Midsummer’s Day, Nabu decided that Buffy’s body had recovered enough from the trauma of her illness to introduce weapons training into her exercise regimen. He thought that she’d enjoy that, since her prowess on the battlefield was already legendary. From what he had heard, none could withstand her in combat. She was the best of the best, the Champion of Eru Ilúvatar. Sadly, their first session was disastrous. Buffy’s slayer- strength had not yet returned, and the mighty Vala of War struggled in her efforts to wield a sword effectively. After only a few minutes, she threw down the weapon, refusing to continue.

“Come now, there’s no need for that,” said the Vala Lord, picking the blade up from the floor. A frowning Buffy stood in the center of the room, her arms folded across her chest, a look of disgust on her face. She stamped her foot in frustration, annoyed by her own weakness. “Don’t let yourself become so easily discouraged,” continued Nabu as he grabbed a lighter sword from the display case. “Let us try this blade. It’s not as heavy as the last, but it’s a highly effective weapon nonetheless.” He offered the hilt to the Slayer. She started to reach for the proffered weapon, but stopped midway. The color faded from her face as she stared wide-eyed at the sickle-shaped blade. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” asked the Vala Lord, concerned by her sudden look of distress. Buffy shifted her gaze to the man for a moment before fleeing the chamber, terrified. The Ainu took off after her, unaware that he had offered her a weapon wrought by Marto during the reign of Sargon the Great.

The Slayer was unable to escape her pursuer, as she had nowhere to go. Nabu managed to corner her in her bedchamber. She demanded her release, wanting to return to her home in Sumer immediately, but the Vala Lord refused, saying that he had promised Olofin that he wouldn’t bring Buffy back until the Ainu had healed her body, mind, and soul. And at that point in time, he didn’t feel that that had been accomplished just yet. That enraged Buffy. In her ire, she began throwing anything within reach at Nabu, yelling at him to leave her room at once. The baffled Vala Lord left the chamber, dismayed that all the progress that he had made with her had been for naught. Knowing that the sword had something to do with her sudden coldness towards him, he sent word to his father.

It was at that moment Buffy realized that she was being held captive. Why else would she not be able to return home? Physically, she looked as fit as ever even though she was as weak as any ‘ordinary’ mortal maiden. Surely, her powers would return soon, as they always had before. As far as her mind went, she was lucid and coherent. She could understand, rationalize and make decisions based on reason, although she felt slightly foolish that it took her nearly three months to realize that she had been bamboozled by the enemy. That left her soul, her spirit yet to be renewed.

“My fey,” she suddenly mumbled aloud. Buffy stopped biting her fingernails and quickly walked over to the chair beside the bed. She took a seat, placing her arms on the armrest. “Relax,” she said to herself. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly each time. She decided that astral projecting her fey to Olofin was her only hope of escaping her prison. Concentrate, she thought. Buffy tried with all her might, but nothing happened. She must have spent hours in that chair, yet it was in that chair that she remained, fey and all.

Buffy finally gave up in her attempts to use magics to escape. She had tried every spell and incantation that she knew to free herself, but nothing worked. She was powerless. Trapped. She was unable to defend herself against the hosts of enemies that now surrounded her. In other words, ‘she was screwed,’ (as she would later tell it). The Slayer grudgingly accepted what fate had in store for her, but she couldn’t help but question Olofin’s whereabouts. Nabu had been lying to her from day one, so there was no telling where her son was. He was alive, that much she could tell. She’d know if something happened to him. She’d feel it.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but wonder what made her son seek the aid of the enemy. She understood how grave her illness had become, but bringing her to Marduk for a cure was absurd. Olofin should’ve known better. Buffy had undermined the renegade Vala. She had ousted him from his throne causing him to flee Nippur in shame. She cringed at the thought of his retaliation. Stripping her of her powers first was a smart move on his part, but she couldn’t fathom what was to come next. All she knew was that it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Buffy shunned Nabu while he waited for the response from Marduk. The young Vala Lord begged and pleaded with her to discuss what had upset her so, but she remained mum. It wasn’t until the Ainu had received a message from his father, two days later, that he understood her enmity towards him. Apparently, the blade in question was taken from a fallen Sumerian lieutenant’s body during Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin. The young man now had a better understanding of the Vala of Love’s reaction. It grieved him that he happened to select that particular sword, the khopesh, from all the weapons in his private stores. Things might have gone much differently otherwise. As it was, Marduk’s message was twofold: Nabu was commanded to bring the Slayer to the elder Lord’s Halls without delay.

The conflicted young Ainu remained seated on his throne. He unrolled the papyrus with trembling hands and re-read his father’s message again. For the first time in his three hundred and fifty-seven years of life, Nabu was torn, torn between his loyalty to his father and his newfound love for the Slayer. While he lamented the loss of his blossoming friendship with the Vala Queen, he feared more what Marduk was capable of. The renegade Vala had been plotting his revenge for many years, and it sickened Nabu that Buffy was to be on the receiving end of said revenge. The young man had only spent a few months in her company, yet he’d come to see that she possessed many admirable qualities that his father had overlooked. It was Marduk’s jealousy and enviousness of the Vala of Love and War that fueled his wrath. She had accomplished more in her short reign as Supreme God than the renegade Vala had in millennia.

The papyrus made a crunching sound as Nabu balled it up in his hand. He had made up his mind. Rising from his chair, he tossed the message from Marduk into the fire as he left the chamber. He went straight to Buffy.

The door to her bedchamber swung open, startling the Slayer. She stopped pacing and fixed her sneering gaze upon her most unwelcome guest. Before she had the chance to order him out, Nabu had already crossed the room and grabbed hold of her arm.

“We must go. NOW!” ordered the anxious Ainu.

“What are you talking about?” Buffy struggled to free herself from his grip. “Get your hands off me.”

“Now is not the time to be willful,” said Nabu, throwing her over his shoulder before racing from the room.

“Put me down!” squealed the Slayer, beating her tiny fists against his lower back. “How dare you disrespect me this way!”

“I mean no disrespect, my Lady, but there is need for haste.” The young man headed down the first of many stairways, taking three steps at a time. “My father has ordered that you’re to be brought to his Halls sooner than I anticipated. No good will come of your arrival there before fall. We must flee these lands as swiftly as we may.”

“What? Why?” Buffy stopped striking the Ainu. She could tell by the tone of his voice that something was seriously wrong. He appeared nervous and agitated. “What the hell’s going on, Nabu?” she asked, still hanging over his shoulder.

“Not here. Not now.” The Vala Lord refused to say anything else while they were in the pyramid.

Buffy’s mind was racing a million miles per second as they boarded Nabu’s chariot. He had finally put the lightheaded Slayer down, much to her relief. Her face was flushed from all the blood rushing to her head. She leaned against the front panel, waiting for the dizziness to pass. While servants handed the young man provisions for the trip, the Slayer stared in amazement at the creatures harnessed to the vehicle. Two male winged sphinxes sat waiting for further instructions from their master. The Slayer listened in disbelief as the two beasts discussed the best route to travel to the Underworld.

Ten minutes later, Buffy and Nabu were flying high above the desert plains against a purplish-pink backdrop. She bombarded her distracted companion with numerous questions. First and foremost, she wanted to know where they were going. She assumed the Underworld was some mystical realm like Folkvang or Valinor, but that was not the case. The Slayer would come to learn that that place was none other than Africa, (as it would be called in the End of Days.) Marduk had established his first kingdom there after he had left the Blessed Realm with his Maia followers, the Anunnaki. It was a fertile region, rich in minerals and ores, and supplied his fortresses in Egypt with much needed supplies.

“Why are you helping me?” queried the Slayer, arching her brow in suspicion.

The Vala Lord sighed, looking into the distance. “Because I’ve played my part in this scheme of father’s, and for that I am very sorry.” He shifted his remorseful blue eyes to her. “Father intends to hurt you.” Buffy rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard that before? “Do not underestimate my father, Ishtar. He is vindictive. His desire for power… well, it rivals your own, I suppose. He seeks to reclaim what was once his: all the East, including Sumer and Akkad. And none will stand in his way; I promise you that. If father can’t have it all, then no one else will either.”

A cold child swept over Buffy, causing her to shudder. The Ainu placed his cloak around her shoulders, his eyes studying her carefully.

“Surely, Marduk wouldn’t destroy… ”

“You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“If that’s the case, then it’s foolish for us to stay in his lands. From what you’ve said, the Underworld’s the power center of his realm. We need to go east, instead of south. If Marduk wants war, I’ll give him war. Take me to Eridu. I’ve got legions of armies at my disposal… ”

“It’s too late, Ishtar.” The young Ainu looked at her with sorrow. “Whilst you’ve been in Egypt, father has already deployed his might to the north. Your people have been informed that both you and Olofin are being held hostage. They are under… ”

“Olofin?” The blood drained from the Slayer’s face. Her head was spinning, her heart aching. “My son… but you said… ” Her voice faltered. Buffy dreaded hearing those words. It confirmed her earlier suspicions. “Where is he? We gotta find him!”

“There’s no way, my Lady. Olofin is housed near my father’s Halls. We will get caught!”

“I don’t care.” She grabbed the front of Nabu’s shirt. “He’s my son!” Her green eyes looked pleadingly at the Ainu. “I can’t leave him behind. We have to go back.”

The Vala Lord shook his head. “It’s perilous! We’ll get caught. Father is ever watchful, Ishtar.”

“I don’t care,” countered the flustered Slayer.

“I do. I’ve defied my father’s orders by taking you from my Halls. His punishment will be most severe… ”

“I don’t care! If Marduk wants to kill me, he can kill me… while I stand beside my son. I refuse to leave Olofin behind.” She turned towards the sphinxes. “Turn this chariot around and head to Marduk’s pyramid.”

“NO! Stay on course,” Nabu ordered the flying beasts. He grabbed Buffy by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Father does not want to kill you. He has something far worse in mind. He calls you the Vala of Fornication and that’s what he intends for you to be - a plaything for his abominable creatures. If we return to his Halls, that’s the doom that awaits you. He will throw you to the den and his beastly creations will have their way with you. We can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen!”

Buffy gulped; her mouth went dry. That thought alone made her want to run as far away as possible. But she couldn’t leave Olofin. She wasn’t about to let that happen. The Slayer’s eyes welled with tears.

“Please, Nabu. I can’t leave my son behind. Without him, I have nothing. I am nothing. He’s my life. He’s a good decent man. He’s better than me, he deserves his freedom.” She fell to her knees weeping, her arms clutching his legs. “Please, Nabu. I can’t leave Olofin. I can’t. Please! Help me. Let’s go back! I beg of you!”

The Ainu felt the Slayer’s anguish, but he feared his father’s retribution more. He squatted down in the cramped confines of the chariot. He lifted her chin, her face wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, Ishtar,” started Nabu, his voice full of compassion. “Once I get you to safety, I’ll come back for Olofin. But I must take you to my sanctuary in Ered Mithrin (“the Grey Mountains“) first. Father will not find you there. He does not know of it.”

Buffy buried her face in her hands. She had lost all hope. Without Olofin, she had nothing, nothing to believe in, nothing to fight for. Even though she no longer possessed her slayer strength, she would fight tooth and nail for her child. He was the best thing that had ever come from her. He was untainted and pure. Unlike her.

Nabu pulled the Slayer into an embrace as he sank to the floor of the cart. She curled up on his lap, sobbing, as the darkness settled around them. After a long while, Buffy ceased crying and fell into a fitful sleep. The exhausted Ainu kept watch as the chariot continued to fly due south. Nabu’s hope increased with every hour that passed without incident. Despite his uneasiness, he was lulled to sleep by the soft snoring of the Slayer.

“Halt, son of Amarutu Marduk!” shouted a voice, jolting Nabu from his slumber. Marduk’s men had caught up with them just before dawn. The startled Ainu quickly grabbed the shield wedged in the frame of the cart and propped it in front of him and Buffy.

“Wake up, Ishtar,” said the frantic Vala Lord, shaking her with one hand, as he fumbled for his weapon with the other. The Slayer awoke with a start. “Stay low. Father’s men have found us.”

“Shit!” She blinked her eyes wildly. Her heart began pounding in her chest as her adrenaline kicked into overdrive. She grabbed hold of the strap on the back of the propped up shield, keeping it in place. Nabu pulled out his weapon, which look similar to a rifle from ‘modern’ times.

“We’ve been sent to retrieve the harlot Vala!” yelled one of the men from atop his winged horse.

Buffy peered from behind the shield, glancing out the opened back of the vehicle. Scores of men, riding atop the winged beasts of Marduk were closing in around them. Some had bows and arrows while others had weapons akin to Nabu’s.

“Over my dead body!” replied the young Vala Lord, sending a blast of lightning from his weapon. It hit the speaker and the beast he was riding upon, splattering them both to smithereens.

“Wicked,” marveled Buffy. His firearm reminded her of the Gloves that she and Marto had made together.

One of Marduk’s minions drove his master’s chariot into the path of the sphinxes, forcing the beasts into a sudden nose-dive. The near collision sent Nabu flying backwards. Buffy yelped, dropping the shield, as she quickly seized hold of her companion’s legs, preventing him from falling out of the cart. The chariot then jerked upwards, sending the shield flying out of the back of the vehicle.

“Traitorous scum!” yelled the man in Marduk’s chariot, aiming his weapon at Nabu. The Vala Lord ducked as a blast of fire went over his head. He looked at Buffy, his eyes wide, his face grim.

“We’re in dire straits here.”

Buffy was terrified. She was defenseless. Only Nabu kept her from the enemy, and quite frankly, things looked awfully bleak. They were outnumbered and out powered.

“What are we gonna do?” asked the frightened Slayer, eyeing their foes as they neared the chariot. How she wished that she possessed any of her powers.

“I’ll have to fend them off the best I can.”

“But you’re only one, they’re many!”

“What other choice do I have?” he panted. Nabu clenched his teeth, his facial muscles tensed before he leapt to his feet, sending blasts of lightning at the enemy. Buffy felt helpless cowering in the corner behind the long legs of her companion. She couldn’t find anything that would make an effective weapon other than a satchel of food or the water skins.

A bright orangey light flashed before her eyes, momentarily blinding her. Nabu cried out in pain before slumping to the floor. Buffy pulled him into her arms, blood gushing from the gaping hole in his chest. She quickly pressed her hand over the wound, knowing that it was much too large for her to stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay, Nabu. It’s okay,” she said trying to remain calm. Buffy tried to heal the young Ainu’s wound with her saliva, but it didn’t work. She was literally powerless. “Oh Eru!” she exclaimed, looking around in desperation. “Help us! PLEASE HELP US!” The Vala Lord’s face turned ashen. He was losing so much blood. “Don’t move!” Buffy grabbed one of the satchels from the pocket of the cart and pressed it to his injured chest. She could feel the warmth of the crimson fluid soaking through her garments.

“I… I failed,” sputtered Nabu, placing the weapon in her hand. He started wheezing as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Stay with me, damn it. Don’t you die on me, Nabu.” Buffy tried to reassure the Ainu that he’d be alright, but with his losing so much blood, death was imminent.

He hacked, splattering blood on Buffy’s face.

“Look… for… him.” Nabu reached out for her. She took his hand in hers.

“Who?” asked the confused Slayer, tears welling in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t supposed to end this way, my beloved Ishtar,” he gasped with his last breath. The light faded from his eyes, his hand went limp. Nabu died in her arms as one of Marduk’s men leapt onto the cart. An angry Buffy turned her weapon on the enemy and blasted him from the cart. She was ready to kill every single one of those bastards. She jumped to her feet, only to feel something tightening around her throat. Buffy dropped the weapon as she reached for the noose around her neck. In one swift motion, she was pulled off her feet and out of the cart. She gasped, struggling for breath. And then all went black.

The cool wind against her face brought the Slayer to consciousness. She found herself upright, squashed between the front panel of Marduk’s chariot and the brute that stood behind her. Her head was pounding, her throat sore. The intensity of the pain overrode the increasing discomfort of the gag that must have been placed in her mouth while she was out. It was the strangest of its kind that she had ever seen. Buffy’s teeth clenched a small metallic ball (a little bigger than a walnut) that forced her jaw agape. It was secured by leather straps that fit snugly around her head. She found it highly uncomfortable and difficult to swallow, drool was dripping down her chin. Buffy struggled; both her wrists and ankles were bound. As her eyes came into focus, she couldn’t help but notice the towering pyramids looming ahead. Already the chariot was descending from the sky, bringing Buffy to her doom. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She dreaded the confrontation with Marduk, for surely she would suffer the consequences of his only son’s death.

When they had landed, her captor shoved her off the cart. She tripped and fell on all fours onto the hot sand.

“Get up, harlot!” bellowed her abductor, seizing her by the back of her gown and pulling her to her feet. She rubbed her sticky sand-covered hands on her lavender dress as she was pushed towards the entrance to the pyramid. She didn’t see Nabu’s body anywhere.

Buffy’s captors shoved her into a small, dimly lit chamber just inside the entrance of the pyramid. When the stone doors slammed shut in her face, she turned to see three men dressed in long white tunics standing beside a long wooden table. She was stripped of her garments, jewelry and that god-awful gag before she was forced to lie on the table. Helplessness and despair took on a whole new meaning as the men proceeded to ‘inspect’ every orifice in her body for ‘potential weapons.’ Never before had she been subjected to such an intrusive search. She found the entire experience humiliating. To make matters even worse, she wasn’t allowed to dress. The Slayer was to be brought before the elder Vala Lord naked.

Buffy was surrounded by at least a dozen men as they marched her through the Halls of Marduk. Hundreds of men lined up along the corridors and stairways, leering, jeering and making rude gestures as she went by. The Slayer’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet as she placed her arms strategically over her nudity, doing her best to avoid making eye contact with any. One of her captors knocked her on the side of the head, saying that she was forbidden to cover any part of her body.

When they had reached Marduk’s great chamber, it was full to capacity with hundreds of people and human-like hybrid creatures. Buffy couldn’t help but think of Nabu’s comments about her being a plaything for the vile beasts of his father. She could feel the bile in her stomach churning. Her feet felt like lead as the crowd parted, creating a pathway for her and her captors. Beads of sweat formed on the Slayer’s face as she approached the dais of Amarutu Marduk.

The renegade Vala was pleased to see that all shreds of Buffy’s dignity were gone by the time they came face to face. Yet his jubilation was lost upon hearing the news of his only son’s death. And to discover that one of his overzealous men was guilty of the deed made it that much worse. He narrowed his eyes on the Slayer, trembling before him. Knowing that Nabu had spent the last of his life in the constant company of that woman only added to his grief. He resented that. It seemed rather obvious to him that she had used her womanly ways to corrupt his son to her way of thinking. His only heir was gone, and in Marduk’s eyes, the Vala of Love was the one to blame.

Buffy felt the coldness of the renegade Vala’s gaze. It caused the hair on the nape of her neck to stand on end. She was no fool. She understood how perilous her situation was. The chance of getting herself and Olofin out of their current predicament, unscathed, was slim to none. With Nabu’s death, it seemed impossible for her to play up to Marduk’s inflated ego to cut a deal. But she still had to try, nonetheless.

“Please, Lord,” she started, falling to her knees in supplication. The rumblings from the spectators in the room died down to hushed whisperings. “If I may, I’d like to express my condolences for your loss. Your son was an honorable man… ”

“Don’t you dare speak of my son, Queen of Harlots!” he barked, leaning forward in his seat. “If not for you, my son would still be alive.” His dark eyes bore into hers. She broke eye contact, hanging her head in deference. “On your feet!”

Buffy rose unsteadily. She could feel the hundreds of eyes watching her every move. The room was so silent that one could hear a pin drop. She stared fixedly at the floor, testing her magics once again in hope that they would miraculously return in her time of need. The sound of Marduk’s footfalls coming down the steps of the dais echoed throughout the chamber. The Slayer could see him approaching out of the corner of her eye.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around so that she faced the masses.

“My good men, before you stands the Vala of Fornication, the diabolical creature that deposed me from my rightful station. This is the harlot mother of all those… those… cunts who have used their feminine wiles to entice my highest ranking officials into betraying me.” Marduk’s followers hissed and booed. “Let it be known, henceforth, that women shall learn their rightful place in my kingdom: that they are beneath men! No longer will I allow any woman to hold any position of power! There will be no more temples honoring this Valië or any other. Women are meant to care for the home, to carry our seed, to raise our children, and to be subservient to their lords.” The men in the chamber cheered loudly at the renegade Vala’s declaration. “Their bodies are meant to sate the needs of men, not their own.” He spun Buffy around, his hands gripping her naked shoulders, a wicked grin on his face. “And now you shall face my judgment, Inanna Ishtar… ”

“Please, Lord,” pleaded Buffy. “Can’t we work this… ”

Smack! Marduk backhanded her, sending her to the floor. “Do not speak unless I command you to, harlot!” The sneering renegade Vala gestured to his men. They quickly pulled Buffy back to her feet. Her cheek was stinging, her eyes burning with tears. She felt sick.

“You’re not worthy. There will be no parleying. I shall take what is rightfully mine! And you, Ishtar, have now become my property.” He whistled. Many strange and creepy creatures emerged from the crowd. Buffy was terrified; Nabu’s ominous words rang out in her mind. As the creatures moved closer to the dais, Marduk began climbing the steps.

Buffy fell to the floor, grabbing the back of Marduk’s legs. “Please, Marduk! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything.”

He pushed her away. “Yes, you will,” he laughed, as he continued to climb the steps of the dais. Buffy shrank back from the half bird, half man that was swiftly approaching her. Marduk took a seat on his throne. “It’s time for some much needed entertainment, Ishtar. Come, my pets.” He beckoned even more creatures from the throng. “Here’s a new toy for you to play with.”

The Slayer shrieked, cowering against the stairs. The birdman flapped his wings as he stood over her. Buffy never knew such terror.

A sudden commotion by the entrance of the chamber distracted the occupants. Men cried out as an invisible force sent them flying backwards, knocking down more of their fellows. Marduk was startled by the unexpected arrival of his ‘guest.’ He rose to his feet and uttered one word, “Sauron!”


Chapter 64 - EMPTY PLACES

Buffy lifted her head upon hearing Sauron’s name, shocked by his sudden arrival. She was unsure whether he was there to help or gloat over her latest misfortune. Their eyes locked briefly, before Morgoth’s first lieutenant shifted his gaze to the Vala Lord.

“What is this, Marduk?” he asked in a low growl. To the Slayer’s surprise, the men nearly knocked each other over getting out of the Maia’s way as he crossed the chamber. The beastly creatures that surrounded Buffy squawked and squealed, bolting into the throng of spectators. It appeared that Marduk’s loyal followers feared the Necromancer.

The Vala Lord climbed down the steps, ignoring the Maia’s question. “Sauron, I must say, I wasn’t expecting you. Welcome! What brings you so far from home, my old friend?”

“I think that’s rather obvious, don’t you?” The Maia glanced from Marduk to Buffy. “It appears that I’ve arrived in the nick of time.” He fixed his narrowed gaze on the Vala Lord, undoing the wolf head-shaped clasp on his black silky cloak. “Tell me, friend, why is it that Melkor’s beloved is cowering on the floor naked?” Sauron helped a misty-eyed Buffy to her feet, covering her nudity with his cloak.

“You cannot fathom what that… that impudent woman has done to me,” he answered with such loathing. He came to a stop on the last step, standing inches over the Maia. “She has sought to destroy my House and is responsible for the death of… ”

“I had nothing to do with Nabu’s death!” blurted out the Slayer. She was astonished that her courage seemed to be growing by Sauron’s mere presence. Holding the cloak tightly closed, she looked the Maia in the eyes. “One of his own cronies killed his son. Not me! He’s just pissed because Nabu was helping me escape.” She cast a contemptuous look at the Vala Lord before turning her attention back to the Necromancer. “He’s holding me and Olofin prisoners, Sauron. I haven’t seen my son at all. I don’t know if he’s okay or not. And after seeing what Marduk was willing to do to me, Eru only knows what’s happened to him!”

A heated argument then broke out between Buffy and Marduk, each attempting to out-shout the other. It had gotten so bad that Sauron ended up pulling Marduk aside, talking with him in private. The Slayer watched the two Ainur intently; annoyed that she couldn’t hear a single word that they were saying over the din that erupted in the room. Occasionally, they would glance her way, the Vala Lord waving his finger threateningly in her direction. It angered Buffy that Sauron listened to Marduk’s side of the story before her own. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

After several minutes, the Maia came up to Buffy while the Vala Lord spoke with a handful of his minions.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’ve had better days.”

“Tell me, what is it with you and pyramids?” asked Sauron with a sly grin, attempting to make light of the situation.

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” responded the Slayer, her lack of amusement quite evident.

“Come,” he said, taking her by the elbow. The crowd dispersed as they crossed the chamber. “Marduk will bring you something more appropriate to wear and he’s ordering his men to bring Olofin here immediately.” He turned his narrowed eyes on the Vala Lord. “Melkor would have a fit if he knew what that scoundrel was up to… ”

“Melkor?” she queried, looking up at the Maia with surprise. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“No, I’ve come on my own accord.” He chuckled at the expression on Buffy’s face. “Don’t look so surprised. I still have spies in the East, Inanna. Lutz isn’t my only connection to these parts… although it’s quite distressing to see that his allegiance has shifted after so many years of loyal service.” He shook his head in disappointment. “He is yet another one of my brethren that you’ve managed to turn astray.” They started down the passageway. “You must possess some remarkable… er, skills to have had such an effect on Lutz, truly amazing… ”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, knowing damn well what the Maia was suggesting.

“For goodness sake, he even killed his lovers for you.”

Buffy stopped, eyeing the Maia with suspicion. “Why are you here?”

Sauron halted and faced the Slayer. A smile came to his face. “I’ve come to save you, my dear. And I daresay that my timing was impeccable, once again. A few more minutes and you and Birdman would be copulating for the amusement of Marduk and his fiendish followers.” He folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows raised. “I deem a word of thanks is in order, would you not agree?”

Buffy frowned. Why did Sauron have to be the one to come to her rescue? “Thanks,” she muttered half-heartedly as they continued down the corridor.

The Maia led her down a flight of stairs and into a large chamber that had far too few furnishings for its size. The room seemed sterile, just like all Marduk’s pyramids. How Buffy longed to return to the comforts of Eanna! Sauron instructed her to take a seat at the massive table in the center of the chamber.

“What the hell is this?” The Slayer had expected to be taken to more suitable quarters where she would be able to dress in something more appropriate than Sauron’s cloak. “I thought I was gonna be given some clothing.”

“You will,” replied the Maia, pulling out a chair. “We’ll wait here in the meantime.”

Buffy reluctantly took a seat. The ticking of a clock echoed in the otherwise silent chamber. She pulled the cloak around her tighter as a sudden chill swept over her. She looked nervously around the room, aware of Sauron’s constant gaze. After several long minutes, she spoke.

“He took my powers, you know,” the Slayer whispered in a broken voice. Her tear-filled eyes stared fixedly on the square flat stones of the floor. The Maia made no reply. Buffy could feel the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze watching her every move. Silence fell between them once again. She didn’t know what she expected Sauron to say. Something, she supposed. Anything.

“I must say that I’m quite baffled, Inanna,” said the Necromancer at last. “Why do I get the impression that you have no desire to return Beleriand?” She lifted her gaze, meeting his, but said nothing. “I would expect that you’d be most anxious to see your… beloved Maglor.” Buffy shifted her eyes to her lap at the mention of her husband’s name. She nervously fiddled with the fabric of the cloak. “What is it you fear?” he continued softly. “Do you fear that the son of Fëanor will learn of your infidelities? That he would not understand that he wed one that will never truly be faithful to him. Or is it that you’ve tasted true power and are not yet ready to let it go?” He chuckled. “Perhaps it’s both.”

The Maia leaned in closer. “If power is what you desire, then return with me to Angband.” He lifted her chin, so that their eyes locked. “My Master is a forgiving Lord, Inanna. His anger at your betrayal has waned. You have demonstrated that you and he are very much alike, that you’re meant to be together. Come back with me. Take your seat beside Melkor, and together you both can rule Arda as it was destined to be. All Middle-earth shall be your kingdom… ”

“I already have my kingdom,” she replied, easing backwards and out of Sauron’s grasp.

His lips curled into a small smile. “I’m afraid that that is no longer the case. Your kingdom in the East has been forfeited.” The Slayer looked questioningly at the Maia. “Oh, yes, my dear. Olofin has signed away your rights to hold the scepter in the East. He and Marduk have reached an agreement of sorts. Your reign here as Supreme Vala is over… ”

“I never consented to such a thing!” she exclaimed, leaping from her chair. “Olofin had no right… ”

“He is your heir apparent,” interjected the Necromancer, leaning back in his chair. “He had every right to act in your stead when you were… incapacitated! What’s done is done. Marduk healed you and in return he gets possession of Sumer and Akkad as payment for his services… ”

“Bullshit! That son-of-a-bitch took my powers. That wasn’t part of any deal!”

“Marduk did what he had to, to ensure that you would follow through on the promise made by your son.” He rose from his seat and slowly approached the Slayer. “Your powers will come back… in time,” he said reassuringly. Sauron paused; Buffy was not happy. “There is no way out of this, Inanna. Marduk has earned the right to regain the scepter. Come now, you’ve wasted enough time in the East. The time has come for you to return to your home in the west.”

“Why are you so anxious for me to return?”

“What can I say? Beleriand just isn’t the same without you,” he answered with a chortle. “You’ve been gone for nearly a century, Inanna, eighty-four-and-a-half years to be more precise.” Sauron stepped closer, invading her personal space. He raised his hand, cupping her face; his calloused thumb gently caressed her soft pale skin. Buffy remained still, unable to move. “So weak, so vulnerable,” he continued in a barely audible voice.

There was a look in his eyes that she had never seen before - was it pity? Sorrow? Concern? Or perhaps a combination of them all. Regardless of what it was, the Slayer felt as though Sauron could see right through her and the façade that she had put up years ago.

“You’ve come far, my dear Inanna, so very far.” His features softened, a wistful look came to his face. “You’ve been dumped into this world, blind and oblivious, only to discover that you’re so much more than just a simple Dagnir.” He traced her jaw line with his fingertips, his hand gently gliding down her neck. Buffy’s breathing came in rasps yet she remained frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the Necromancer’s eyes. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t turn her gaze away. Sauron’s hand came to a stop on her heart. “You have discovered the darkness that dwells within you… and have embraced it!” he continued in the same hypnotic tone. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When his eyes opened again, they sparkled with enlightenment. “You fear that you’ve become one of the creatures that you’ve been hunting all your life, a parasite that feeds upon the weak and humbling masses.”

“You… you don’t know,” stammered the stunned Slayer. “How… how can you know?”

“I see it all, here.” Buffy felt his finger poke her chest. “Your heart has betrayed you, Inanna. You cannot hide your true feelings from me.” He inched closer; his penetrating dark eyes made her feel more naked than when she was in Marduk’s Great Chamber minutes before. “I see all,” he whispered. The Slayer remained transfixed. She could feel Sauron’s warm breath on her skin. Both the look in his eyes and mannerisms made her highly uncomfortable. The door to the room suddenly swung open and the voices of many men carried into the room. The spell that Sauron had woven about the Slayer broke, causing her to take a step backwards before turning away from the Maia. Buffy was dismayed by her momentarily lapse of self-control.

A dozen men scurried into the room along with Marduk. The Vala Lord handed Buffy a plain grey tunic and a pair of oversized sandals. “You’ll have to make do with these,” he sneered.

“Where can I dress?” she asked, her face flush from the incident with Sauron.

Marduk gave her an incredulous look. “Do you actually expect me to cater to your whims, Ishtar? I think not!” he spat venomously. “Be grateful that I’ve given you garments to put on. Dress here, for all I care. It’s not like we haven’t all seen your nakedness.” A sinister smile came to his face as he gave her the once-over. “Besides, you have nothing that impresses me!”

As the men took their seats at the table, the Slayer walked over to the far corner of the room and changed into the tunic that was at least two sizes too big. She slid her feet into the overly large sandals, picked up the cloak, and headed back to the table where the men were waiting for her. She handed the satiny garment back to Sauron, doing her best to avoid making eye contact with him before taking a seat herself. One of the men then started to read the agreement signed by both Marduk and Olofin aloud.

The Slayer sat there, her lips pressed together so tightly that they were nearly white from lack of blood flow. A slight ticking in the muscle of her right cheek exposed her bitterness of the whole situation. It took everything she had to sit there, poised but powerless, as she heard the declaration that stripped her of all authority in the East. Marduk wanted it all - her entire empire. With a mere stroke of a quill, Olofin had signed away all Buffy’s rights to Sumer, Akkad, and all temples and fortresses east of Orocarni. Technically, Hírilost fell into that category, although it was not part of either territory. The Slayer was confident that the Vala Lord did not know of it, as it lay at the feet of the Iron Mountains in the far north, and outside the lands that he had frequented in the past.

Her eyes darted up when she heard the words, “… as signed by Olofin Tirnon on the 22nd day of the third month in Year 245 in the reckoning of Sumer.” The speaker looked up, meeting Buffy’s gaze. “And it is signed in the half-elf’s blood, rendering this document indissoluble. Any attempt at circumventing any of the aforementioned conditions will result in the death of your son.”

Before the Slayer could voice her objection, the stone door swung open again, and this time Olofin and a muzzled Kit and Kat entered accompanied by a handful of guards. Without hesitation, Buffy jumped from her seat and ran into her son’s outstretched arms. The half-elf pulled his mother into an embrace, lifting her off her feet. Both shed tears of joy at their reunion. Once separated, each looked the other over for any visible signs of injury. While hurriedly talking in hushed voices, Buffy learned that Olofin and the lion’s magics had been subdued like her own. As long as he and her babies were safe, she could deal with their lack of powers for a while.

She was now most eager to leave Egypt and return with her son and kitties to Eridu. Unfortunately, Marduk had something else in mind. He then began reading off his new edicts as Supreme God in the East. Buffy went ballistic when she learned that the Vala Lord had no intensions on releasing her son.

“Olofin shall remain in my custody as a guarantee that you will not violate my laws,” he said. “I know you, Inanna Ishtar. If you had your way, you’d retaliate against me. If you try to do so or usurp my power in any way, then your son dies.”

The Slayer was beside herself. Crying hysterically, she pleaded with the Vala Lord to let Olofin depart the East with her. When her tears failed to move Marduk, she turned to Sauron for support.

“I’m sorry, Inanna, it is normal custom in these parts. Olofin shall become a ward of Marduk. Be grateful that he is willing to take him under his tutelage. He will not be treated as a prisoner, but as an honored guest.”

“Please, Lord,” she cried, falling on her knees, grabbing hold of Marduk’s hand. “Keep me as a prisoner instead of my son. He has done nothing wrong. Take your anger out on me. Lock me in the dungeons. Kill me. I don’t care. But please set Olofin free. I beg of you, o’ most Holy One.”

“This is not a matter open to debate,” hissed the Vala Lord.

“I can’t return home without him. Please, Marduk. I’ll give you anything else, but please don’t take my boy.”

Marduk was savoring the moment. Nothing brought him greater joy than seeing the Slayer groveling at his feet. But what she didn’t know was that the Vala Lord did not want to keep the half-elf in his realm. It was a merely a ruse. As he listened to Buffy’s sobs, he looked over at Sauron. The Maia gave a slight nod of his head. Marduk’s smile widened in return.

“I will take pity on you, Ishtar.” She raised her head, tears continued to spill from her eyes. She nervously waited for him to continue. “I will give you a choice: Olofin or the Oracles. You decide who stays behind with me… ”

“The twins?” It then dawned on Buffy that that was Marduk’s intension from the get-go. He wanted Anno and Mirë all along. She remembered when she first met the Vala - he had come to Eridu seeking counsel with the twins.

The Slayer felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. Either way it was a lose-lose situation for her. Having to choose which of her children stayed behind with the enemy was gut-wrenching. She’d rather face the cruelty of the Vala Lord herself, even if it meant being thrown to his beastly creatures. She’s the one who ousted him from the throne, not her children. She should have to pay. Yet Marduk refused to budge. He wanted her to make a decision right then and there. Olofin offered to stay, but in the end, Buffy told the Vala Lord that the twins would remain behind.

As soon as her choice was made, things moved rather quickly. A large assembly of people including Buffy and Olofin would depart Egypt within the hour for Ur, where Buffy would inform Marto of what she had done.

Before Sauron departed, he pulled Marduk aside. “Your power has been restored, Marduk, but a word of warning: if you harm Inanna in a way, you will face my wrath… ”

“But… but she’s made a mockery of me,” protested the disheartened Vala Lord. “Turn about is fair play.”

“Belittle her all you want, I care not. But under no circumstance are you to physically harm her in any way. If you so much as pull a hair from her golden head, I will rip yours off and drink from your brainstem. Do you understand me?” hissed the Maia in a low voice.

“Yes, perfectly,” grumbled Marduk.

Buffy’s chariot was harnessed to Kit and Kat. She and Olofin rode in her vehicle along with one guard. They were surrounded by at least one hundred men, if not more. Marduk was also part of the group, flying in his ram-drawn chariot. The Slayer was grateful that the lions still possessed the ability to fly. It was their gift of teleporting at will that Marduk had suppressed.

A few days later, they arrived at Marto’s chief city in Ur. Buffy was free to go to her or Marto’s temple, but nowhere else. With Olofin in tow, she made a beeline for her temple where she sought help from her Valkyrie High Priestess.

“Tulcë!” exclaimed the Slayer repeatedly, running down the corridors. Men and women came flying out of the cult rooms, overjoyed to see that their mistress had returned, healthy and free (or so they thought). When Buffy found the Valkyrie, she pulled her into an embrace. “My powers are gone,” she whispered hastily. “Take us to Folkvang. Pronto!” The Maia grabbed hold of Olofin before she vanished, leaving both mother and son behind. “Damn it!” The Slayer’s hope of taking her youngest born to Folkvang were dashed. A couple of seconds later, the Valkyrie maiden reappeared, greatly disturbed by the Vala of Love’s inability to teleport to her own sanctuary.

Buffy instructed the High Priestess to gather all the other Valkyries at Eanna and remove all her treasures to Sussrúmnir, including the sarcophagus of Sargon. She wanted her temple cleaned out before the renegade Vala could lay claim of her most prized possessions. He could have Eanna, but not the contents. When the Maia left, the Slayer and Olofin traveled to Marto’s Halls. It seemed strange to her not being able to teleport at will. She had never journeyed through Ur by vehicle before.

Buffy met with Marto in private. She explained the situation to him, leaving out no detail. Her former lover did not take the news well. He wept upon hearing that his children were being forced into the servitude of the Vala Lord. He wanted to know how long the twins had to remain in the East, something that Buffy never thought to ask. Immediately, Marto set off to speak with Marduk. He wanted answers. Sadly, the Vala Lord refused to see anyone until after his crowning ceremony. The Maia then left for Eridu, so that he could inform the twins of their fate. Of course, the Oracles had already foreseen what destiny had in store for them.

It took twenty-hours for the populace to assemble in the courtyard in front of Marto’s Halls for the renegade Vala’s crowning ceremony. He vowed to heal the sick, if the people accepted and worshipped him as their only God. He even went as far as blaspheming Eru Ilúvatar by referring to himself as the ‘Allfather,’ and ‘The One.’ Buffy, under heavy guard, not only placed the crown on his head, but also handed over the Scepter of Ur. To her dismay, the fickle masses quickly turned on her, calling her the Vala of Fornication, at the instigation of Marduk. To add to her humiliation, Marduk made her to bow down before him and kiss his bare feet, which smelled like goat feces.

Buffy was in tears by the end of the ceremony. She couldn’t believe how quick mankind turned on her after all that she had done for them. While Olofin tried to assure her that everything would be alright, that most certainly wasn’t the case. Ur was just the beginning. Marduk forced her to travel from city-state to city-state in both Sumer and Akkad. He then proceeded to demean her before the cheering masses everywhere they went. The last ceremony was held at the chief city in the East: Eridu, home of the Valkyries, Maiar, and Elves.

Having all her loved ones present made a difficult situation much more bearable. Those faithful to her were outraged at Marduk’s deplorable behavior. They demanded retribution. They wanted to fight the renegade Vala with what might they could muster. Buffy begged them not to, as that would instantly get the twins killed. For Anno and Mirë could not flee to Folkvang either. Somehow, Marduk had altered their magics too. Her people had to accept, as she had, that her reign in the East was over.

The last of the ceremonies was by far the worst although not many actually witnessed it. Eridu was Buffy’s favorite city, Eanna, her home, and to witness so many people rallying to Marduk upset her greatly. Long gone was the sacred Holy Cross, the icon that represented both her and Eru Ilúvatar. She had already rued the day when she ordered that symbol removed from her beloved cities. Regrettably, she could not solely use her madness as an excuse. The Slayer still had mixed feelings about the cross since her crucifixion, but now she understood how truly important it was. The cross possessed truly amazing powers both in goodness and in repelling evil. By removing it from her lands, she permitted the wicked Vala to come in and seize her kingdom.

Over the dais in the centermost hall, Marduk unveiled a new symbol: the pentagram. Buffy recalled that icon from ‘modern’ times and erroneously believed it to be a sign of evil. Unbeknownst to her at the time, the renegade Vala made that icon to represent those whom he deemed to be the five most powerful deities in Eä: Melkor, himself, Aulë, Ulmo and Buffy. The Slayer would not learn the whole story behind it until centuries later.

As the Slayer climbed the steps of the dais behind Marduk, she couldn’t help but notice that Naram-Sin had returned from hiding. Dressed in his kingly regalia, he sat at the forefront of the crowd with others from his noble house. If looks could kill, the mortal king would’ve died on the spot. Buffy could not find forgiveness in her heart for the one that inflicted her with the malady that ultimately led to her downfall. She could only hope that the old adage, “what comes around, goes around,” would find its way to Naram-Sin, smiting him tenfold. The sight of him alone caused her to become so angry that when she fell to her knees before the Vala Lord, Buffy no longer felt mortified by the experience. As her lips brushed the stinking flesh of his feet (they stunk like vomit), she vowed that she would one day get her revenge on Marduk. She lifted her gaze, her eyes blazing with such fury that the renegade Vala looked at her in fear.

Sauron stood leaning against the banister of the gallery looking down upon the scene unfolding before his eyes with great interest. His heart went aflutter when he saw the utter look of hatefulness and disdain that the Slayer gave Marduk. That image was seared into his memory forever. For in his mind’s eye, that was the true Inanna Ishtar. And the Maia, for one, would see to it that Buffy never forgot the feelings that coursed through her at that particular moment in time. He would use it as a means of manipulating her to action when he deemed the time was right.

Marduk, alarmed by the look in Buffy’s eyes, demanded that she and her people leave the East at once. The Slayer rose to her feet, her lips curled into a malevolent grin, delighted that she sensed fear emanating from the Vala Lord. It was her one bright spot in the past several months. She turned, glancing around the enormous atrium one last time as she descended the steps of the dais. She spotted Sauron watching from the gallery above. He nodded his head in acknowledgement before Buffy left the building.

Once outside, she immediately began giving orders to the priestesses gathered around her. “Get me the Cross of Brolach from Naram-Sin. There’s no way in hell that piece of shit is gonna keep a token from my House.” She started climbing down the seventy-seven stairs accompanied by her maidens. “I want you guys to keep the journals of the royal bloodlines going in every city-state in the East. I want to know every birth and death that takes place while I’m in exile. I want copies of all Marduk’s new laws once enacted. He’s obviously gonna replace a lot of heads of state, so keep up to date with who’s appointed as what. Log all the royal bloodlines! I cannot stress how important that is to me. I want them all recorded into the journal, legitimate heirs or not. Record them all. Send me copies every five years with any pertinent information that I should know. Keep tabs on Marduk himself. With the death of Nabu, I’m sure there’s gonna be another heir. Try to get as many as you can to infiltrate the Vala’s camp… you’re best bet will be using the priests for that task.” She sighed heavily. “Just do what you can.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Buffy said her final farewell to the twins. Marduk had commanded that they remain in Eridu for one thousand years. That seemed like an eternity to the Slayer, but her children took it in stride.

“We knew this moment would come,” Anno confided to his mother, father, sister and half-brother as they huddled together at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at Olofin, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s the reason why I wasn’t so eager for you to take nana to Marduk. We knew that we’d ultimately pay the price.”

“I’m sorry, my brother,” said the sullen half-elf. “I’d trade places with both you and Mirë if I could.”

Anno place his hand comfortingly on Olofin’s shoulder. “Do not fret, Fin, mother needs you. At least Mirë and I have each other,” he glanced up at Marto, “and father, of course.”

“Rejoice in knowing that we shall have a little fun at the Vala Lord’s expense,” added Mirë with an impish grin. “Who is he to think that we shall tell him of everything that we see?”

“Mirë and I have already decided that some things will be left to chance,” chimed in Anno.

“A flip of coin should do the trick,” giggled his twin sister.

“That’s my babies,” said Buffy, pulling them into one last embrace. “I love you both. Take care of each other. And stay in touch. The falcons can get your letters to me quick enough. Be careful.”

“Do not worry, mother. No ill will come to us,” said Anno confidently.

“If Marduk harms you… ” Buffy’s words faltered, her eyed welled with tears. “He’ll… he’ll… ”

“He’ll die a horribly cruel and unmerciful death - the like never seen before?” suggested Marto.

The Slayer smiled. “Yeah, something like that.” It meant a lot to her that her former lover didn’t show her any animosity over the situation.

Minutes later, Buffy and her train began their long journey into the west. People lined up on either side of the main street that zigzagged down the side of the mount, jeering at the company as they passed them by. The Green-elves, their voices full of sorrow, sang a song of lamentation in the elvish tongue as they marched down the road. To them, the Slayer would always remain Queen and the Valië that they cherished most. And after witnessing mankind’s dubiousness yet again, they had no love for that race whatsoever. They would carry that aversion and resentment with them into the west.

When the caravan reached the lower tier of the city, thousands of mortals were waiting in anticipation. At the forefront was none other than Sargon’s daughter, Enheduanna, and her eldest son, Ishmal. They refused to honor the self-appointed despot and all those of like mind wished to follow Buffy and her group into the west. The Slayer was so touched by the people’s devotion that she readily agreed. Not only that, but the old woman presented the Vala of Love with the Cross of Brolach, which Buffy, in turn, gave to Ishmal, naming him High Lord of the Edain (‘the Second Ones’).

The last thing the Green-elves wanted was for mankind to join them on their exodus. They were quick to voice their grievances to the Slayer, pointing out that winter was rapidly approaching and that there was not enough provisions to sustain so many people. Buffy listened, but refused to budge on the matter.

“These mortals refuse to forsake me!” she countered, taken aback by the elves’ hostile attitude. “But you expect me to forsake them because the probability that they’ll turn on me somewhere down the line exists. Anyone can turn on anyone! Haven’t we already witnessed that firsthand? Did I dream up all that shit with Úrion and the elves from my own Household? Was that some fragment of my imagination?” Buffy took a deep breath. She didn’t mean to sound so indignant, but her nerves were quite frazzled. “Listen, I don’t want to sound bitchy, but as long as I’m leading this group you all have to comply with my wishes. They haven’t wronged me and they’re coming whether you like it or not. So, just let it rest. Tolerate them, for me. Okay?” The elves reluctantly agreed.

Once that matter was settled, the elves brought up another one: which route they’d take to Beleriand. The elves desperately wanted to go south so that they could look upon the shores of Cuiviénen once again. But Buffy didn’t like that idea; it would bring the people too close to Marduk’s fortresses in Egypt. Her heart told her that they must go north. She wasn’t sure how they’d cross the Red Mountains, but she was resolved to go that way nevertheless.

The caravan set off once again. Nearly one hundred and fifty-thousand mortals, elves and Maiar marched north across the plains along with many beasts of burden and livestock of all varieties. It was noisy and slow moving. There were many times when the Slayer looked over her shoulder, watching as Eanna became smaller and smaller the further north they traveled. Even from afar, it shimmered like a blue star under the fading light of the sun.

The group had traveled nearly thirty miles before they came to a halt for the night. Buffy wandered off alone and wept. She wept for her children and her own folly. She wanted beyond anything to speak with Luthor. She hadn’t seen him since she came back and wondered where he was. The Slayer couldn’t help but think that he had finally deserted her after all the grief she had put him through. She couldn’t blame him. She had treated him like shit.

Buffy was so exhausted, both emotionally and physically, that she collapsed onto the grass, eager for sleep. Yet she found no rest. She assumed that everyone was as tired as she was but that apparently wasn’t true. To her annoyance (and the elves), the mortals began copulating so loudly that they disturbed her slumber. She was miffed by their behavior, even though she had encouraged it in the past. Back then, she was concerned with replenishing mankind’s numbers and procreation was the only means of doing that. But now, their numbers had multiplied and the Slayer had a change of heart regarding their lack of morality as well as her own.

She ordered her chariot harnessed to the lions and quickly ascended into the starless sky, circling above the masses below. Buffy then delivered a speech, so powerful and profound, that Man trembled to hear her words. She demanded that they put an end to their licentious ways if they wished to seek salvation in the west. She recanted nearly all of the laws that had governed Mesopotamia (‘Land Between the Two Rivers’), including polygamy. In its place, she commanded all to follow elvish laws and customs, which she then named from memory. Those who did not wish to follow the new laws were free to return to Eridu without persecution. None had left.

She concluded her speech with, “I am a flawed God, unworthy of praise or devotion.” She choked back her tears, dreading what she was about to say next. “From this day forward, all are forbidden to venerate me as you once did. I have fallen from grace and must atone for my sins. I’ve lead you all astray… and that burden weighs heavily on my shoulders. Long shall be our road to redemption! Put your faith into Ilúvatar, for only He has the ability to answer your prayers. Not me.”

Buffy then flew back to her campsite. The Valkyries came running up to her cart.

“My Lady, how can you say such a thing - denouncing your rightful place amongst the Valier? That is madness!” said a shocked Vórëa.

“How can I have the mortals look to me after everything I’ve done?” she asked forlornly. The Slayer shifted her sad eyes from the Valkyrie to the cedar forest several miles ahead. “I need some of you to go to Folkvang and retrieve the bars from the Cross of Ilúvatar,” said Buffy, changing the subject unexpectedly.

Vórëa’s jaw dropped. She had no idea that her mistress knew that they had hidden the pieces. “How… how did you know?” she stammered.

The Slayer fixed her gaze on the woman. “I know more than you think!”

The woman dropped her head. “I’m sorry for disobeying you, my Lady. It’s just… ”

“You don’t have to apologize, Vórëa. Neither do the rest of you,” interjected Buffy, glancing at the other women that surrounded her chariot. She looked back at the chief Valkyrie. “The holy bars weren’t meant to be destroyed… you knew that.” She lifted the Maia’s chin. “That was one of the wisest decisions that you could ever have made.” The Vala of Love smiled warmly at the woman. “They’re more important than you imagine. But now, I need for you to retrieve them.” Buffy’s gaze shifted to the wood. She clasped the front panel of the chariot tightly with both hands and sighed. “It’s time to put them to use. Meet me at the wood. Bring both bars. Go!” The women jumped out of the way as Kit and Kat took off, soaring into the pitch-black sky.

Since her illness, the Slayer had a better understanding of how things worked in the world, including how to negotiate with a very powerful demon whose lands she wanted to cross. She knew that if she didn’t speak with Humbaba or present him with a mighty gift, he’d kill all the people that approached his forest. Besides, he was destined to become her ally. She had seen that.

The lions landed at the edge of the wood. Buffy climbed off the chariot and approached the stand of cedar trees. She stood, her head cocked to the side, listening hard for any sound. She heard no roaring sound, only a hooting of an owl some distance away. She held her hands up as she took a couple of steps into the darkness of the forest.

“I come in peace, Humbaba.” Buffy could feel a heaviness on the air. She knew that the demon was close by, watching and waiting. “I have been exiled from the East and I’ve come seeking your permission for me and my people to cross your lands so that we may escape the tyranny of Amarutu Marduk. That Vala has once again regained power.” Her eyes searched the darkness of the wood for any sign of the demon. She saw nothing.

The Valkyries suddenly arrived carrying the two heavy beams of the Cross of Ilúvatar. Buffy instructed the women to slowly follow her into the woods. “These are my gift to you, Lord. These two silver beams possess great supernatural powers. They were hallowed by me back in the day. It is Ilúvatar’s will that I give them to you. Take them to one of your clearings and bury them, one hundred feet apart and twenty-five feet deep. You, my Lord, have been chosen as the Guardian of these blessed objects. Water them with your blood and you shall soon see these things transform into something more splendid than anything that you ever imagined.” She told the women to place the beams on the ground and to wait for her at the edge of the forest. “All I ask in return is that you do not hinder my people from crossing your lands and allow me to return to your wood after the transformation is complete.” She fell quiet, waiting for some type of acknowledgement. She didn’t get one. “I’m going to assume that you accept my gifts and that my people are permitted to pass. We will not touch your trees.”

Buffy turned and started walking out of the wood. From behind, she could hear the silver beams being dragged across the forest floor. Humbaba had accepted her gift, and what a gift it was!

“You have my leave,” said the voice of the demon.

“Thank you.”

The Slayer approached her Valkyries. She felt better knowing that she didn’t have to worry about Humbaba shooting death rays at her people as they passed by. One problem solved. If she could only figure out how to get the masses to the other side of the Orocarni, she’d feel a lot better. The Slayer then ordered her women to travel in fey form along the mountain chain in search of the dwarf door that led to their dwelling place. If they could find that, surely the Naugrim would let them pass through their Halls.

At first light, the convoy of people started out once again. Buffy posted Maiar along the border of the cedar forest to make sure that none entered the wood of Humbaba. She was relieved when all passed by without incident. The group marched from sun up to sundown every day, making little progress in the Slayer’s eyes. Unfortunately, the northern winds brought the driving rains, which caused many of the carts to get stuck in the muddy fields. While Buffy wished they could forgo the wagons altogether, they carried many vital supplies and tools that were much too heavy to be carried on one’s back. She worried about the mortals and the hardship of the journey. Many would not live to see the beauty of the western lands. She decided to have some of the Maiar return to Folkvang so that those in the Blessed Realm could begin churning out lembas bread to feed the masses. With all the rain, it was nearly impossible to keep any fires going. It was going to be a long, miserable trip.


Chapter 65 - AS YOU WERE

It took eleven long, torturous months for the company to reach the outskirts of Borsippa. Buffy’s nerves were nearly shattered from the experience thus far, and they hadn’t even crossed the Red Mountains. The last time she had spent that much ‘quality’ time around mortals was during the war nearly a century before. She wasn’t used to whiny children running amok and the incessant shrill cries from what seemed to be a choir of babies. What’s more, the winter rains, combined with the floods that had taken place months earlier, had saturated the ground so much, forcing the caravan to trudge along for hundreds of miles in ankle-deep mud.

It was for those reasons, among others, that Buffy didn’t show outright elation upon meeting Luthor and the multitudes of people gathered around him on that late autumn morning in Yr 246 F.A. The mortals in the north, like those in Eridu, refused to forsake the gods that they’d come to love and adore. They refused to be left behind.

A weary Buffy threw her arms around the old man, glad that he hadn’t abandoned her as she had thought. The Maia pulled her into an embrace, immediately sensing that her magics had diminished. When he questioned her about it, she told him everything that Marduk had done to her, Olofin, the twins and the lions. Luthor was disturbed to hear such news. He was confounded by the renegade Vala’s talent at inhibiting another Ainu’s powers. He had no idea how the Vala Lord had been able to accomplish that feat.

Not wanting to waste time, the host, whose numbers now swelled to over two hundred thousand, turned west, and began the trek towards the mountain chain. After nearly a year of searching, the Valkyries could not find the dwarvish doors into Orocarni. Buffy could have kicked herself for not having visited with the Naugrim when invited years ago. The only entrance she knew about was on the western face of the mount, not the eastern.

“Have you given any thought as to how we’re supposed to get to the other side of Orocarni?” asked Luthor. The terrain was becoming more rocky and the ground more uneven, slowing the train even more. “We cannot scale that mount, not with this many people, nor with all the wagons and carts laden with goods.” The Maia glanced up at the imposing snow-capped peaks that formed the barrier before them. “Should we go south and turn west along the shores of Cuiviénen?”

Buffy gave the old man an incredulous look. “We just traveled seven hundred and fifty miles to get here! There’s no way I’m gonna turn around and head back the same way we’ve come.”

“Then what do you suggest?” She shrugged her shoulders in response. The Maia glanced around, making sure that no one could overhear what he was about to ask next. When he deemed that it was safe to continue, he whispered, “Do we dare enter Melkor’s secret door?”

The Slayer raised her brows, flabbergasted at the suggestion. “No! I don’t trust that to be the safest avenue,” she answered, slowly shaking her head. Long ago, Morgoth had had his servants dig a passageway within Ered Engrin that stretched from Thangorodrim in the west, all the way to the East, just passed Orocarni. Only three sets of doors opened from the Iron Mountains into Middle-earth: one at Angband, the one that Buffy and Luthor had used to escape, and the third, which was located a few hundred miles north from where they now stood. “I know Melkor hasn’t stationed men there in the past, but a lot can change over time. Especially since he knows we’re here.” She turned her gaze to the north and mumbled, “I know that’s how his minions escaped the East after the war.” Buffy faced Luthor, shaking off the thoughts that had invaded her mind. She resumed speaking in her normal tone. “I’m sure Morgoth’s got them guarded. No, it’s not worth the risk.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“We keep walking until I figure it out. I just need time to think.” In other words, the Slayer didn’t want to talk any more. She still had a couple of weeks or so before they would reach the foot of the mountain.

Buffy’s current dilemma stymied her eagerness to speak with Luthor about more intimate matters. With even more people’s lives resting on her shoulders, she could think of nothing else but crossing Orocarni. She remained aloof during the march, testing her powers nearly every minute in hope that she’d find that it suddenly returned. The Slayer’s anxiety increased a few days later when the fierce winds began to blow out of the north, bringing with it the torrential downpours that signaled the approach of winter. The fungus-covered rocks that formed on their roadway became slick causing man, beast and vehicle to slip and slide along its surface. As a result, scores of people were injured during that part of their trek.

It was during a break from the rains ten days later that Buffy finally had that moment of enlightenment that she had been waiting for. She ordered both Vórëa and Feawë to go to Sussrúmnir and retrieve her copper trunk. Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest in anticipation as she nervously fiddled with the key in her hand. The group had come to a halt about nine miles from the base of the mountain. Nobody had any idea that the Slayer was about to perform a ‘miracle’ that would amaze the masses and increase their reverence for the Vala Queen.

The Valkyries returned fifteen minutes later, placing the trunk on a tarp at Buffy’s feet. The Slayer unlocked the box and swung open the lid. Peering inside, she pulled out a long item wrapped in some red velvety material. A warm smile came to her face as she continued to examine the contents of the trunk. She reached back inside and retrieved the crown of luinil flowers that Illyria had given her years before. Her smile broadened as she placed the circlet of fragrant blossoms on her golden head. Buffy then unveiled the Trident of Ulmo amidst ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the elves and Maiar that had congregated around her.

“You’re about to witness history in the making, my dear friends,” she announced with an air of confidence. As soon as the words had left her mouth, she felt a twinge of doubt. “At least, I hope so,” she uttered under her breath, her voice now full of uncertainty. Buffy climbed onto her chariot, hoping beyond anything that her hunch about the Trident was right. After enduring the humiliation of Marduk, she desperately wanted to leave the East on her own terms, to go out with a bang instead of a whimper. “Hold back! I don’t want anyone moving from this spot.” Kit and Kat then took to the air, heading towards the plateau on the shoulder of the mount.

The Slayer glanced behind her at the thousands of people milling around below. Some were watching her with keen eyes while others attended to menial chores that had become ritual during breaks from the march. She turned her gaze back towards the mountain, the winds whipping her hair wildly about her head. She focused all her energies on getting the masses to the other side of Orocarni. If there was even a remote possibility that she had some residual magics left in her, she was sure that the Trident would amplify them. Already, she could feel her arms tingling from handling the mystically enhanced weapon.

When the lions had landed on the rocky ridge, the Slayer took a deep breath before she stepped off the chariot. She looked at Kit and Kat, their yellow eyes fixed on their mistress.

“I should say something poignant and memorable, shouldn’t I?” she said with a nervous laugh. She pondered what she might say as she glanced up at the snow-capped peak. “What the hell am I doing?” she spoke her thought aloud. She quickly shifted her gaze back to the kitties. “That doesn’t count!” Kat yawned in reply. Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine, let’s just get it over and done with.” She lifted the Trident with both hands. “How stupid can I be - I can’t even come up with something clever or witty to say… like… ” She rammed the prongs into the stone floor. It went through the rock like a knife through butter. “Like, I came, I saw, I kicked ass!” The Trident emitted a bluish-white light that engulfed the Slayer in its holy rays. The euphoric feeling that surged through her body reminded Buffy of what she was missing - power.

She clung to the three-prong spear as it began to vibrate violently within her grasp. A low rumbling sounded deep within the earth, gradually increasing in pitch. Kit let out a loud roar, his agitation apparent, as the ground started to tremble and shake violently beneath their feet. Both kitties were anxious to depart the rocky ridge. The Slayer yanked on the Trident, freeing it from the stone floor. She leapt back onto the chariot as Kit and Kat took off into the overcast sky, towing the chariot and Buffy behind. She had the lions remain within a mile of the plateau, circling a few hundred feet above the ground.

The grumblings from within the earth became louder and louder, shaking the ground for hundreds of miles around. The air became abnormally still as a thunderous cracking sound resonated throughout the entire region. The cats distanced themselves further from the mount, as mammoth chunks of rock, weighing thousands of tons each, broke asunder from the rock wall. By the time the fragments had hit the ground, they had somehow pulverized, covering the ground with a thick dust. Everyone looked on in awe as a cleft, nearly a half-mile wide, began to form between the towering peaks of the Red Mountains. The deafening noise did not cease until the gap went completely through the mighty peak. When it finally stopped, a calmness fell upon the land for several minutes. Buffy had the lions move in closer so that she could inspect the enormous fissure more closely. As they neared the opening, the winds picked up from the north, blowing thick clouds of dust to the south. Kit and Kat attempted to outrace the gusts of powdery rock, but the winds were so strong that they soon were engulfed in the tiny particles.

When they landed, all the people, including Luthor, fell to their knees, singing her praises at the top of their lungs. They couldn’t believe that they had just witnessed her parting of the Red Mountains in order for them to pass through. The Slayer was moved to tears by their gesture. Even though she didn’t want them to revere her in such a manner by the time they reached Beleriand, they were not yet there. She was beginning to see that deposing her holy status was not going to be as easy as she had thought. Buffy loved being idolized by the masses. It was what she ended up becoming in the end that she wanted to forget. She had no intention of letting any mortal set foot in the west until they had stopped speaking about the things that had happened in Mesopotamia. She was determined that the elves in the west would not learn of all the things that had transpired in the East, especially where she was concerned. The Slayer was willing to go to extreme measures, if necessary, to ensure that her life and everyone else’s lives in the East were kept secret.

As soon as the dust cloud had settled, the group set out once again. Buffy led the train with the Maiar and elves while mankind trailed behind. She ordered some of the Valkyries to continue the journey in fey form so that they could keep an eye out for any enemies daring to catch them at unawares. Others were positioned strategically along the caravan. At the Slayer’s insistence, only the Maiar and elves were permitted to bear arms. By the time the group had reached the cleft in the mountain wall, the rains had begun again. An earthy smell filled the air as they crossed the pathway between the towering peaks. It would take the group nearly ten days to reach the other side. Sadly, the company came to a standstill on the western slope. The fissure opened to a vast, dense forest. They could not continue on their trek until they built a road. That alone, would cause a several year delay.

The Slayer took to the air with Olofin, inspecting the lands below for the best possible route and the nearest water source. Ideally, she wanted the road to run parallel with a river so that they would always have a consistent water supply on their journey. They were very fortunate to find a fountainhead less than a mile from where the masses were setting up camp. Once they had determined which way the road was to go, the men commenced to hacking down the mammoth trees. In the meantime, Buffy instructed the Maiar and elves to use the wood to construct a massive log home for her and her Household.

Luthor also wanted some acreage cleared for planting the seeds that he had brought with him. He thought that that should take priority over the road since they had over two hundred thousand people to feed, and already some were complaining about their diet of lembas. In the end, they divided men into groups, some worked on the road, some the fields, and others on the dwellings. The women were primarily responsible for hauling water from the stream and tending to the camp, children and livestock.



Before Buffy knew it, spring had arrived, ushering in the most pleasant weather they had had in a long time. Often, she would wander off alone, eager to escape the noise of so many people gathered in too small of a place. She had discovered a small clearing along the wooded slope of the mount some distance away from the chaotic camp that offered privacy and seclusion from the others. It became her sanctuary, her place to think, and to sunbathe in the nude as well. Nothing relaxed her more than being alone at that spot, savoring the warmth of the sun’s rays on her pale naked skin.

“Make yourself decent,” she heard Luthor say, startling Buffy from her semi-conscious state. Lying on her stomach, she lifted her head, and turned in the direction of the voice. “I’ve brought some food,” he continued showing her the satchel slung over his shoulder.

The Slayer yawned as she grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head. “Please tell me that it’s not lembas!” she grumbled.

“I promise. No lembas. I’ve got a special treat for you - fresh ox,” he said with a smile, stepping out from the trees.

“Ox? Don’t tell me that things have gotten so bad that we’re already slaughtering our beasts of burden for food,” remarked the grim-faced Slayer.

“No,” answered Luthor. “One of the oxen broke its leg so we put it out of its misery.”

“Remind me not to break my leg,” she snickered, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

The Maia’s smile widened. “Come over here to the shade. I’m too old to be sitting in the sun without any protection.”

“Too old?” Buffy rose to her feet, grabbed her stuff and walked over to Luthor. “I’m older than you!” she added with a wry grin.

“Well, I haven’t been blessed with youthful skin,” he said, helping the Slayer lay the blanket beneath the boughs of a towering oak tree.

“Why is that?” she asked, an inquisitive look on her face. “I mean, you’re a Maia. You can change your appearance if you want, can’t you? You haven’t always been old-looking.” Never, in all their years together, had she ever asked him that question.

They took their seats on the blanket, as the old man started emptying the contents of his bag. Buffy immediately went for the wine while Luthor laid out the victuals.

“I suppose I could. I never tried, to be honest.” The Maia glanced up when he heard the popping of the cork. He frowned as he watched Buffy swig directly from the bottle. “I did bring goblets, you know.”

“Sorry, but my whistle needed wetting.” Buffy furrowed her brows, pondering her words. “Does that even make sense? My whistle needed wetting,” she repeated.

“Yes, my dear. It does,” he answered with a heavy sigh. Luthor retrieved their drinking vessels from the sack, and handed them to the Slayer.

Buffy crossed her legs and poured them each a cup of the deep red beverage.

“So, why do you choose to stay old?” she asked again.

“I don’t know if it’s something I chose… It sort of happened over time,” he answered, picking up a knife. “I believe that my inner conflicts with Melkor precipitated my aging.” A puzzled expression came to the Slayer’s face. Luthor paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “When one toils under pressure or great duress, it has a tendency to change one’s hröa. It ages the body,” he explained, cutting thick wedges of yellow cheese. “I really don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t come along. You, my dear Bella, were my saving grace.”

“Some saving grace I turned out to be,” she answered with a moan. “I was nothing more than a self-absorbed bitch.”

The Maia looked up, waving the knife as he spoke. “We all make errors in judgment. You, not the least. Be thankful that your wits returned sooner rather than later.” Buffy shifted her gaze to her goblet, her finger tracing the rim of the cup. “Listen to me.” Luthor raised her chin so that their eyes locked. “I’ve spent ages upon ages in Melkor’s service doing things that I wish I could forget. Your fall from grace was short-lived and for that, I am truly grateful. Things could have been much worse. Believe me!”

Luthor’s words did little to comfort the Slayer. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for her mistreatment of him over the years. After all the time they had spent traveling together, not once had she apologized for her atrocious behavior. Being alone with the Maia for the first time in what seemed like ages brought to mind all the pain and grief she had put him through. Luthor was the closest thing she had to a father and to know that she was the reason for their relationship becoming strained caused her great sorrow. A surge of emotions suddenly overwhelmed the Slayer. She had been harboring such guilt and despair for so long that she couldn’t hold back her feelings any longer.

“I’m sorry, Luthor. I really am,” she said, choking back her tears. She bowed her head in shame, pushing his hand to the side. The old man sighed, dropping the knife onto the wooden plate with a clatter. He leaned across their spread, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I know, my child… ” he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“I didn’t mean to treat you the way I did… ” she interjected, shaking her head from side-to-side. “I didn’t mean to break your scepter… I didn’t… I didn’t… ” Her words turned to sobs, tears streaming down her face.

“Bella,” he said in a soothing voice. He began to gently stroke her arms. His sad blue eyes looked at her with understanding. “You’ve been through a lot… ”

“No!” she exclaimed, shifting her teary eyes to the old man. “There’s no excuse for what I’ve done… ” She licked her lips, suddenly aware of the dryness in her mouth. “Luthor, I’m a monster… ”

“No!” he answered firmly, shaking his head. “You’re nothing of the sort.”

“I am. Look what I’ve done… Look at what I’ve become. I’m no better than Melkor or... or Marduk for that matter.”

The old man narrowed his eyes; a stern look coming to his face. “I don’t want to ever hear you say that again! Do you hear me? You’re nothing like either of them. They’re both a waste of space… ”

“And what am I?” asked the sniffling Slayer. “How many innocents did I kill? What kind of person am I that I can’t show another mercy?” She wiped her tears with the napkin clenched in her hand. “I’m as evil as they are.”

“That’s far from true!” countered Luthor. He paused, his expression softening. “You may have done some questionable things in the past, but you have a good heart, Bella. I’ve seen it. They’ve seen it,” he said, pointing a finger towards their encampment in the southeast. “Do you think all those people would follow you if you were evil? Do you think the Green-elves do not know the difference? Do you think that I cannot tell the difference?” Buffy looked down at her goblet, swirling the contents with one hand while wiping her runny nose with the other. Luthor watched her closely, allowing the Slayer a moment to pull herself together.

“We’re all capable of doing good and evil,” he began again, leaning against the trunk of the oak. “The potential to wreak great evil on the world and its inhabitants dwells within each and every one of us, whether we’re an Ainu, Elf, Dwarf, or Man. If you truly believe that everything is the will of Ilúvatar, then you must understand that the things that have happened were also His will. What matters now, is what you take from those experiences, what you learn from them. Never forget the past, my child, for if you do, then you will be doomed to repeat it.” Buffy sat there in silence, staring down at the contents of her cup while Luthor opened the tin that contained their main course. Immediately, the smell of roasted meat, garlic and onions wafted from the container, filling the glade with a wonderful aroma. The Maia then began cutting thick slices of the tender roast.

“Eat!” Luthor ordered, offering her the plate of warm meat. The Slayer waved her hand dismissively at the proffered food. “You need to eat. We may not get the chance to eat fresh meat again for a long while,” he said, attempting to entice her by waving the plate beneath her nose. He smiled. “Just smell that delicious aroma. Take a whiff, Bella. ‘Twas made by the elves, and I know how much you love their cooking.” It did smell yummy. Buffy’s mouth was beginning to water. “Come on, now. Eat.”

“Yeah, okay.” She tossed down her napkin as Luthor pushed a pile of meat onto her plate. She shoved a forkful of the tender roast into her mouth. It was to die for. The Slayer couldn’t remember anything tasting so good. It had been nearly eighteen months since she had last eaten fresh meat. The old man leaned back against the oak, scrutinizing the golden-haired woman as he slowly chewed his food. They remained fairly quiet throughout the meal. Luthor could tell that something was on Buffy’s mind. She seemed preoccupied by her thoughts.

When she had finished eating, he asked, “What is it? What’s bothering you?”

“I remember, Luthor,” she said in a low voice, looking up at the old man as he shoved a chunk of honey cake into his mouth. Her green eyes glistened with sorrow. “I remember the times… when we dwelled with Eru in the Timeless Halls, before the making of Arda.” The old man gasped causing him to choke on his food. Coughing, he reached for his wine. Buffy made a move to help but Luthor gestured her to stay put as he took a drink, draining his goblet.

“Are you alright?” she asked with concern, refilling his cup before doing the same to her own.

“Fine, fine.” Clearing his throat, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Once he had caught his breath, he fixed his blue eyes on the Slayer. “What was it you were saying about your memories?”

“I said that I remember my past, my real past.” Her voice softened, “The past of Maranwë Luinil.”

“The veil of concealment?” questioned Luthor, his frown lines deepening.

“It’s intact, again, but when I got sick, it started to unravel or something. I saw lots of things in my past, Luthor.” A look of confusion came to her face. “It’s… it’s like I relived those experiences all over again. The feelings… the loneliness… the bitterness… ” She took a quick sip of wine before placing the goblet on the grass.

“What’s to say that you weren’t experiencing hallucinations from your illness? Delirium is one of the effects of the malady, is it not?”

“It is. But what I experienced was… different. It felt… it felt familiar, for lack of a better word.” A thrush then swept through the clearing, momentarily distracting the Slayer. Her eyes followed the bird as it perched itself on a limb in a neighboring poplar tree. It then began to sing, filling the glade with its enchanting melody. “I loved him, didn’t I?” Buffy asked in a mere whisper, her gaze still fixed on the thrush.

“Hmm, whom?” asked Luthor, his attention also diverted by the songbird.

“You know who,” she answered, still watching the bird, but listening hard for the Maia’s response.

“Melkor?” Buffy nodded. “Well, yes, I suppose.”

She turned, locking her eyes on the old man. The color was rapidly draining from his face as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip.

“And he wasn’t the only one, was he?”

“Um… no,” he answered hesitantly, unsure where the conversation was heading.

“Well, there goes your whole hallucination theory,” she snickered. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands over her face in melodramatic fashion and falling backwards onto the blanket, knocking over Luthor’s drink in the process. “Why me?” she queried with her arms outstretched to the heavens. She let out a heavy sigh, dropping her arms to her side. Buffy continued to stare at the puffy white clouds in the otherwise clear blue sky while Luthor busied himself by blotting the spill. She really didn’t expect Eru Ilúvatar to answer her prayer, but now, more than ever, she wanted to know why the Valar felt it was so important to conceal her memories from her.

“Why me - what?”

“Huh?”

“I assumed you were asking me why you have had so many lovers,” replied the Maia, spreading the soon-to-be stain even more in his efforts to clean it up. “If that was your inquiry, then I deem it’s because you’re the Vala of Love.”

“Actually, it was a rhetorical question.” She rolled onto her side, propping her head with a bent arm. “But it’s nice to know that that’s your answer, though. I mean, how many times did I use that same logic, only to have you tell me, and I quote, “being the Vala of Love is no excuse,”” she said with a snort.

“What else do you expect me to say? You’re bringing up things that, quite frankly, I thought you would’ve asked ages ago.” He refilled his goblet, his eyes darting from the cup to Buffy. “What did you see or should I ask whom did you see?”

“I remember seeing Melkor for the first time.”

“And… ” he replied wide-eyed, waiting expectantly for more details.

“I loved him. I loved him from the moment I set eyes upon him.” Her lips curled into a half-smile. “Well, figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Of course.”

She rolled onto her back, staring up into the greenery of the tree. “He was so dark, like a thick cloud of blackness. I coveted that. I longed for him.” She chortled under her breath. “He was the one thing I had been searching for. When we combined our essences, I felt whole, complete. I was no longer blinded by the radiance of my fey. I had found peace and contentment at long last.”

“And what happened to change all that?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She turned her gaze towards the Maia and sadly replied, “He left me.” She shifted her gaze back towards the boughs hanging above them. A second thrush appeared and began to sing merrily along with the one in the poplar. “My lovers always leave me. Funny, huh?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, he merely continued on with his search for the Imperishable Flame. At least, that’s what he had told me.” Luthor took a sip of his drink before he added, “He said he would come back, didn’t he?”

Buffy shrugged. “I didn’t know it’d be thousands of years later. I really didn’t understand the concept of time back then.”

“He did come back, Bella,” revealed the Maia. “He came back and found you with Aulë.”

“What?” she queried, quickly bolting upright into a sitting position. “He saw me with Aulë?”

“Did you not see that in those visions of yours?” She shook her head. “Why do you think Melkor has sought to destroy all of Aulë’s great works?” Buffy stared at Luthor with her mouth agape. “It was out of his jealousy… and his rage at seeing another with his beloved Melisse.”

“I guess I didn’t see as much of my past as I thought,” she said, picking up her goblet. “I didn’t know he knew about us.”

“Not only does he know about him, but he knows about Ulmo as well.” He gave Buffy a sympathetic look. “And I don’t have to tell you that he has no love for that Vala either.”

Buffy drained her cup upon hearing that. “Then it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“What’s your fault?” he asked, the creases between his brows deepening even more.

“Melkor’s marring of Arda.” She was becoming teary-eyed again. “He did it because of me.”

Luthor broke eye contact, shifting his gaze to the third thrush that suddenly flew across the clearing. Dare he confirm her suspicions? Or should he downplay her role in the darkening of the world? It seemed obvious to the Maia that Buffy had not seen everything that had transpired in her past, only some. Was that what the Valar wanted to keep from her? Was it her role in the corruption of his kinfolk? Should he lie to protect her? Or would it be in her best interests for him to be the one to tell her the truth?

Why, o, why, he thought to himself, do I have to contend with matters of this nature. How I long to return to my Halls in the Deeper Well where I’m not forced to deal with situations such as these. Eru bless Aulë for making the Naugrim the secretive type of folk that they are.

“Do not go blaming yourself for the atrocities committed by Morgoth Bauglir,” proclaimed Luthor, his voice full of conviction. “You were an innocent, corrupted by… ”

“What?!” Buffy felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. “He… he corrupted me?”

“My child,” began the Maia, leaning forward. “You were the first thing that Melkor marred. He used you to bring him the others. The Maiar that fell from grace did so because of the love they felt for you.” Luthor’s own eyes started to well with tears as he stared into the distance as the memories of the past came rushing into his mind. “Surely, if the holy Maranwë Luinil saw something great in Melkor then we too would see it in time.”

“You… you… fell into darkness,” she gulped, “because of me!”

Luthor turned his eyes back to the Slayer. “I was deceived, as were you.”

She gave him an incredulous look, shocked to learn that she was merely a pawn in Morgoth’s game of corruption. For some reason, hearing that broke Buffy’s heart. She wept. Her reaction confounded the old man. He couldn’t understand why she was reacting that way.

“Holy Eru! Don’t tell me that you’re still in love with him!” exclaimed the Maia in disbelief. The Slayer tried to voice her objection, but only babbling sounds came from her mouth. Luthor pushed the remnants of their feast aside before pulling Buffy into his arms. She curled up on his lap as she had many times in the past when going through some type of emotional turmoil. “Oh, my child. I didn’t mean to upset you so. Shh… ” The Maia spent the next twenty minutes holding the Slayer, doing his best to comfort her.

“Do you want to talk some more about this?” he asked after she had calmed down. Buffy remained quiet, staring blankly into the woods. “What’s happened to you, Bella?”

“Do you believe it’s possible to love more than one person at the same time?” she whispered faintly.

“It depends on the context in which you are speaking. I love many, but none have won my heart, in a romantic sense.” She made no comment, causing Luthor to sigh heavily. “Yes, my dear. I do believe that one can love multiple people at the same time, even romantically… I do not doubt that you loved Sargon, and I most certainly know that you love Maglor. But Melkor? That’s a hard one to accept.”

“I never said I loved him,” said the disheartened Slayer.

“Hmm…” sounded the Maia. Buffy lifted her gaze, meeting his. She waited for the question she knew was coming. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you want to be addressed as Inanna Ishtar? It seems rather strange that you would choose to have the mortals and everyone else for that matter, call you by the name that Morgoth bestowed upon you. And Ishtar, well, I daresay that name comes directly from… ”

“My offspring,” said Buffy, finishing his sentence. “Ishtar’s the name that my demonic offspring call me. It came from them.”

“Is that so?” His tone revealed his skepticism.

“Why?” asked the shocked Slayer, the blood quickly draining from her face. “What do you know?”

“Ishtar is the name that Sauron calls you. He’s the one who came up with that name.”

“Oh.” Somehow, hearing that caused her to shudder, the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck stood on end. It wasn’t a pleasant thought knowing that both of her ‘kingly’ names came from the enemy. And the worse part was that she had no idea why she chose those names. Looking back on it, she could only assume that she had had the foresight to not tarnish her more respectful names: Maranwë Luinil and Bellaseth Dagnir. Buffy rubbed her arms feverishly in an attempt to rid herself from that sudden chill.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” Buffy licked her dry lips. “I thought I had learned a lot more about me in those visions, but I really haven’t. It’s so weird, Luthor. I see all this stuff that seems new to me, but it really isn’t. It’s like… it was only a confirmation of things that I already knew. Like Melkor. I knew he and I were… together, but seeing it, feeling it. It made it real.”

Sorrow crept back into her green eyes. “Things are gonna get bad. Real bad. And I’m the one that’s supposed to maintain the balance between good and evil! Luthor, there’s too many villains out there for one person to handle. How the hell am I supposed to fight when I struggle to lift a sword? I’m weak. I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag.” She shook her head, glancing down at the wine stain on the light green blanket. “Tulkas was the one who should’ve taken care of this mess.” She looked up at the Maia. “I remember when he volunteered to come in my stead. I didn’t want to enter Eä. I wasn’t willing to do it for Melkor or Aulë or Ulmo.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Ilúvatar. He wanted me here. Said I was needed.” She then repeated Eru’s words that had prompted her to leave the Timeless Halls:

“The world will be in peril if you do not intervene, Luinil. You weep for my children, but are you willing to fight for them?”

“What was that about Tulkas? Eru had asked you to come sooner?” queried Luthor, quite interested in the turn of the conversation.

“Yeah, right after you guys came. I was enjoying my… well, newfound freedom, and thought that I’d check out the Void, when I was summoned to His Halls. I pleaded and cried not to go. That’s when Tulkas stepped up and said that he’d go in my place.” Buffy remembered it like it was yesterday. “I begged Eru to let him go in my place and eventually He agreed. So Tulkas came, and well, screwed up royally, so now I’m here. Me!” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “This world, this life… it’s complicated and it’s hard. I never know what to expect. Friends turn out to be enemies, enemies come to my rescue.” She shook her head. “It’s confusing. I don’t know who to trust, if anyone… ”

“You can trust me, Bella. I’ll always be here for you, even in times of crisis.”

“I’d like to think that,” she said, forcing a smile. “Unfortunately, being crucified at the hands of Úrion proved that even those that I’ve come to love and respect can turn on me.”

Luthor was hurt by her words and it showed. He turned his head downward, absently fiddling with his hands.

“It grieves me to hear that,” he said softly. “I’d like to think that you know you can depend on me.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m always looking out for your best interests, Bella. I can only hope that you believe me when I say that.”

The old man’s reaction to her statement upset the Slayer. “I’m sorry, Luthor. I meant no offense.” Buffy sat there for a few moments watching as Luthor began packing away the dishes and empty cloths that littered the blanket. She felt horrible about the whole situation.

“I do trust you, Luthor,” she finally said, breaking the silence between them. “And I’ll prove it.” The Maia stopped what he was doing and listened attentively to what the Slayer had to say. “I have no idea how long I’m gonna be in this state of feebleness. Since I am in a weakened condition, I think it’s important that someone within my camp knows some of the spells that I’ve learned over the years… spells that I wouldn’t dare share with anyone unless I trusted them completely - like you.”

“What kind of spells?” he asked, raising his brows with interest.

“Well, the spell to open the Hellmouths, for one. And there’s the spell that unlocks the invisible doors that lead to the other dimensions, dimensions that exist on different planes. Things of that nature.”

“Bella, that’s dark magick!”

“I know. But the enemy can’t be the only one to know about that stuff. We have to know too. How else can we fight them if we don’t employ the same magicks as they?”

“I suppose you have a point there,” he answered, his mood improving.

“You mean a lot to me, Luthor. I swear, on all that’s holy, I’m gonna make things right between us if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

The old man chuckled. “I believe you, child.”

It was then that Buffy noticed the dozens upon dozens of thrushes that had flown into the glade.

“What’s the deal with the birds?” she queried, rising to her feet.

“Help an old man out, will you?” asked Luthor, holding his hands out. She took them and pulled the Maia to his feet as well. They looked up at the sky. Multitudes of doves were coming from the direction of their encampment. “I wonder what’s going on?”

“Yeah, me too.” Buffy whistled loudly. Gradually, the doves circled lower and lower until they reached the clearing.

“My lady, my lady,” squeaked one of the doves. “The armies of Marduk approach, most Holy One.”

“What?” queried the dumbfounded Slayer. “Where?”

“They’re approaching the Red Mountains as we speak.”

“What’s their numbers?” asked the Maia.

“Two legions,” answered the dove.

“Oh, crap,” said the Slayer.


Chapter 66 - LIVING CONDITIONS

Buffy immediately made a dash for the forest. Her sudden swift movements caused the doves to scatter, taking flight in different directions, the sound of flapping wings echoing within the small space. She had only gotten a few yards into the wood when Luthor shouted for her to return. Pivoting on the spot, she hurried back towards the Maia, who stood facing south, staring up at the sky.

“Is that not Olofin in your chariot?” he asked, pointing above the treetops.

The adrenaline rush combined with the wine left the Slayer winded and flushed by the time she reached the old man’s side. Looking to their south, she cursed when she saw her youngest child in the back of the chariot, flying east from the encampment. Even from that distance (approximately one league away), Buffy could see a lyre clasped in his hand.

“What the hell’s he gonna do, serenade the enemy to death?”

Luthor burst out laughing at the absurdity of the Slayer’s comment. “That’s highly amusing, Bella. However, do not underestimate Olofin’s abilities.”

“Luthor, Marduk tampered with his powers too. And now he’s flying into the thick of things - with a lyre!” A shiver went down her spine. “Where the hell are the Valkyries? They’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for this type of thing.” She cursed under her breath again as she and Luthor took off for the camp.

While the duo ran back into the forest, Olofin had the cats take him through the cleft in the mountain wall. He stood tall, clutching the lyre that he had made as a child close to his chest. He looked lordly and beautiful, his long dark hair billowing in the afternoon breeze. As soon as Vórëa had told him of the approaching armies, he knew that he was the one destined to thwart them. Unlike his mother and the lions, the half-elf’s magics had returned. He could feel it, the power coursing through his veins: the blood of the Valar. Despite his claim, the Valkyries were outraged when Olofin insisted that he confront the armies of Marduk alone. The women demanded that they accompany him, at least in spirit form. There was no way that they were about to let their mistress’ youngest child face the enemy on his own. They badgered the poor half-elf until he yielded. Even though he forbade the warrior-maidens from interfering unless he became injured, they flew in close proximity to the chariot, ready to strike the enemy at Olofin’s word.

It was two days later when they met up with the renegade Vala’s men. Twelve thousand mortals were marching along the pathway created by the splitting of Orocarni. At the forefront was the cavalry, nearly half of Marduk’s soldiers. When the armies caught sight of Olofin, the archers readied their weapons, looking around expectantly for the rest of Buffy’s forces.

“Halt, servants of Marduk!” said the half-elf in a commanding voice that resonated off the sheer walls. Kit and Kat kept the vehicle airborne, and a safe distance away from the enemy. “Return to your master or else suffer my wrath, for I am, Olofin Tirnon, Lord Lulal to the mortals of Sumer and Akkad, son of Inanna Ishtar… ”

At the mere mention of Buffy’s name, a couple of the foot soldiers pointed a massive weapon that resembled a long tube on a tripod at the half-elf, sending a blast of lightning towards the former Lord of Borsippa. The setting sun must have blinded the mortals as they missed Olofin and the lions by a long shot. All they managed to do was inflame the half-elf’s ire.

Olofin had Kit and Kat ascend higher and higher as he began plucking the strings of his instrument. The mortals below laughed and taunted the god, not realizing how truly powerful the young man actually was. He lifted his voice in song, casting a spell upon the sheer walls on either side. Loud, cracking sounds emanated from the rock face as large portions of stone broke off from the wall, raining down upon the men below. Their screams and cries rang out in that space as fleeing mortals watched their fellows crushed to death beneath the heavy blocks. Marduk’s armies’ attempt to outrun the shower of stones was to no avail. Both man and beast met their grisly demise on that pathway.

When the half-elf deemed that all were dead, he ceased his music-making. The last few chunks of rock fell to the ground, shaking the earth upon impact. Silence then followed. Olofin had the lions descend from their position so that he could inspect the aftermath of the volley. They flew about twenty feet above the carnage, darting around the huge pieces of rock that obstructed their pathway. Some of the men, and even some horses, weren’t quite dead yet, their painful moans barely audible. Their bodies lay twisted beneath the weight of the mammoth stone chunks.

Some of the dead were killed instantly, the force of the impact so great, that their innards were literally expelled through their mouths. Even though the half-elf had witnessed much bloodshed in his past, he had to admit that that was one of the most morbid scenes that he had ever encountered. He had to suppress the urge to vomit. Already, the flies were eagerly swarming the mangled corpses that jutted out from beneath the jagged slabs of mountainside.

Olofin hated the thought that many had to die. However, he had accepted long ago that that was a part of warfare; death was a necessary evil. As the Valkyries ended the suffering of those that lay dying, the half-elf finished his inspection, and started back towards the encampment. He was pleased knowing that any that dare tread that same road would find it most difficult to navigate around the humongous rocks strewn across the roadway.

The following day, he encountered his mother and her armies within the opening of the mountain. Buffy was amazed and delighted by her son’s accomplishment, (although slightly jealous by the return of his magics). Olofin had Kit and Kat take them in the chariot to the gruesome scene so that she could see the aftermath of her young son’s mystical attack. The Slayer in her couldn’t help but swell with pride. Her son had single-handedly destroyed two legions of Marduk’s armies and walked away unscathed! Now, that was something worthy of a great celebration!

Buffy had the lions land in a cleared spot amidst the huge blood-splattered rocks. She walked around the site, examining the carcasses that littered the ground. She then summoned the Valkyries, and ordered them to salvage what horsemeat that they could. What better way to celebrate their victory than offering the masses fresh meat. Shortly thereafter, she returned to the camp with Olofin while the others remained behind carrying out her request.

Immediately upon their return, Olofin penned a letter to Marduk, explaining that he and his people were unable to continue their trek until they built a road through the forest. He let the renegade Vala know that he was the one responsible for decimating his armies and that if the Lord of the East sent any more men, they too would perish like their comrades. He asked that the Vala Lord leave them in peace, as they were no longer east of the Red Mountains, which marked Marduk’s territory. Buffy then sent the message with one of her falcons, who quickly took off for Eridu, home of the renegade Vala.

The next day, at sunset, they held a celebratory feast in honor of the half-elf. While Buffy was happy that her son was having his moment of glory, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate by her own lack of abilities. She half-heartedly watched as Olofin entertained a group of young elflings and mortal children by shape shifting into different animals, much to the youngsters’ delight. As the children played with her son who was in wolf-form, she quietly rose from her seat and retreated to her house. An overwhelming feeling of sadness encompassed her spirit. Despite the multitudes of people that milled about the place enjoying the festivities, the Slayer felt utterly alone.

She plopped down wearily on her lapis lazuli bed that the Valkyries had brought back from Sussrúmnir, pulling her folded legs close to her chest. As her eyes scanned the room, they stopped when they fell upon the wooden box that sat on her dresser. Tears filled her eyes as her sadness quickly turned to despair. Rising, Buffy retrieved the box and sat before the flickering flames in the fireplace. She opened the box and slowly pulled out the contents, as the music of the elves drifted into her bedchamber through the open windows. As she listened to the joyful tune, her hands busily worked on the task at hand. The Slayer then grabbed a thin stick from the woodpile and stuck it into the flames until it was alit. Placing the pipe that she had retrieved from the box to her lips, she heated the bowl, melting the globules of hul-gil (“joy-plant”), while inhaling deeply. She held the smoke in her lungs until her face became red from lack of oxygen. Two hits later, she was already beginning to feel the effects.

A sudden rapping on the door startled the Slayer. She gasped, causing her to hack from sucking the smoke too deep. The door opened. Orchal peeped in. Upon seeing the coughing woman, his eyes widened. “Are you ill? Should I get Nestor or Istahiro?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern. Buffy held up the pipe, revealing the culprit, as she tried to catch her breath. “Ooh, opium,” said the elf, as he hastily entered the room rubbing his palms eagerly together. “Tell me, dear Bella, that you have enough to share,” he added hopefully, kicking the door closed with a sandaled foot.

“I have enough to last ten lifetimes of man, my good elf,” she answered with a wide-grin on her face. Orchal could tell by her eyes that she had already entered that blissful state of mind that accompanied the smoking or sniffing of that herbal substance: they were glassy and bloodshot. “Care to grab a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and join me?” The councilor moved so fast that he was seated opposite Buffy with the requested items before she finished taking a draw. “Here,” she said, trying to hold in the smoke as she handed off the pipe.

“Thanks,” he replied before taking a hit.

“I’ve got more. Help yourself,” she replied, after exhaling the smoke. “My mouth’s so dry. A little wine should do the trick.” She looked at the label. “Ooh, you grabbed the one from 73. That was an exceptional year for the grape.” Buffy opened the bottle and began pouring the delicate amber beverage into glasses.

“I swear,” started Orchal, blowing out a stream of smoke as he re-packed the bowl, “that you’re the only person I’ve ever known that always keeps a wine rack in your bedchamber.”

“Convenience, my friend, it’s all about convenience,” she replied with a chortle.

They sat there for a while, talking and getting high. The drug had served its purpose: the Slayer’s melancholy melted away. In its place, she experienced utter and complete serenity. That is, until the hardwood floor became too uncomfortable, causing her and Orchal to move their conversation to the comfort of her oversized bed.

Buffy lay there, next to the elf, twirling strands of her golden hair with one hand while clutching her wineglass with the other. Her half-opened eyes stared trance-like at the exposed wooden beam overhead. Orchal was still going on about the unsanitary conditions of the mortals’ camp, a problem that she was already well aware of, especially with the warming weather.

While the elf continued his rant, Buffy became more reflective of her current situation. She wished the mortals would stop defecating around their camp and begin utilizing the lime that they had stored in abundance, but she wasn’t about to take it upon herself to clean up their mess. If they wanted to live in squalor, then so be it.

The Slayer had kept her people segregated from mankind in an attempt to maintain peaceful relations between the races, yet the Green-elves’ love for the Second-born continued to lessen with each passing day, or so it seemed. The Laiquendi were more than willing to leave the mortals behind to fend for themselves, as the elves were now quite eager to return to the beautiful woods of Ossir.

When Orchal had finished his tirade, they both fell quiet, each drifting off in their own thoughts.

“Do you think Olofin’s righteousness has something to do with his getting his powers back before me?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm, that’s an interesting question,” replied the elf, “and one that, I’m afraid, I don’t have the answer to.” He turned towards the Slayer, watching as she continued to twirl her hair absent-mindedly. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, I’m still powerless and he’s not,” she answered dismally. “I can’t help but think that I’m being punished, punished for straying from the path of righteousness.” Buffy took a sip of wine before placing the glass on the nightstand.

“Punished by whom?”

“Ilúvatar.”

Orchal rolled onto his side, repositioning the pillows beneath his head. “That’s nonsense! Marduk’s the one responsible, not Ilúvatar.” She turned her gaze to the elf. “Bad things happen to good people all the time. Of course, they tend to happen a lot more to you than others… ”

“Why is that? Why is every bad ass out there gunning for me? Why don’t they screw with someone else for a change and leave me be?” She turned her attention back to the wooden beam above.

“I’ll venture a guess and say that it’s because you’re the only threat that stands in their way.”

“Pfft,” she sounded, rolling her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, giving the elf a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?” he queried with raised brows.

“Hmm, how ‘bout me!” she replied with a chuckle. “Actually, there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about.” She rolled onto her side so that she faced Orchal. “Since I’m starting my life over… yet again, I’ve decided that I need to make some changes. You know, turn over a new leaf, as we say in Ossir.”

“And what do you intend to do differently?”

“Pretty much everything I did in Sumer,” she answered with a sneer. She sighed before adding hopefully, “I just want to go back to Beleriand and have everything be… normal.” A thoughtful look came to her face. “Well, at least as normal as my life usually is.” She groaned, rolling onto her back. “I just want things to be like they were before we came here.”

“You’re speaking of your life with Maglor, aren’t you?”

Buffy moaned. Grabbing a pillow, she pressed it over her face and screamed as an overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over her. Just the mere mention of her husband’s name brought to mind her much anticipated reunion with the Noldo. The Slayer feared that if Maglor learned of her escapades in the East, he would surely leave her. Orchal grabbed the pillow, pulling it from her grasp, messing up Buffy’s hair in the process. As she pushed the wisps of hair from her face, the elf searched the Slayer’s eyes keenly.

“You have no plans to tell Maglor about your adventures in the East.”

“Adventures? Exploits seems the more appropriate word.”

“There is no way that you can keep the events that had happened secret,” said Orchal in a stunned voice. “Too many people know the tales. Maglor’s bound to find out one way or another. Have you given any thought to just telling him the truth? I fear that if you lie about what happened, it will lead to another lie and another. No good will come from it, I deem.”

“He can’t find out, Orchal. No one in Beleriand can,” she said, fixing her gaze on the elf. “I’ll do everything in my power to see to it that none learn about what happened in Sumer. I know that I can trust those in my Household to keep mum if I command it, but I’m a little concerned about the mortals.”

“I can see why. They are a fickle folk,” added the Green-elf.

“Maybe so, but not the Edain. They’re in a different class; they’ve proved that they’re faithful to me.”

“Perhaps, but I still have little love for them.”

“Well, I love them.”

“I daresay that you’ve proved that time and time again,” Orchal chuckled, breaking the mounting tension. “How many of the mortals did you actually bed, Bella? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“No!” she said, hitting the elf with a pillow. “I was never that slutty!”

“Perhaps not, but you do seem to have a weak spot for mortal men.”

“What can I say, they’re like my kryptonite,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Buffy shifted to a sitting position, clutching a pillow in her arms. “You know, I’ve gotta do something about that. I can’t get all weak-kneed every time I see a good-looking man.”

“And what do you propose to do?”

“Well, for one, I have no intention to sleep with anyone ever again except Káno.”

The elf laughed at that. “That’s something I have to see to believe.”

“You don’t think I have any self-control?” she queried with a frown.

“Actions speak louder than words, my friend. And while you’ve been on your best behavior since we’ve departed Sumer, my heart tells me that you will become enamored with one of the mortals before we set foot in Beleriand.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “No, no way,” she answered, shaking her head. “That’s never gonna happen.” Orchal looked unconvinced. She sighed heavily; her green eyes looked pleadingly at the elf Lord. “Will you help me?”

“How?”

“Don’t let me do anything stupid. Help me continue my campaign to remain celibate… ”

“Your campaign?” he asked, arching his brow, his smile widening. “And when did this campaign of yours come about?”

“When I got the malady.”

“Oh, I see,” he replied. The sadness of her tone stifled his amusement. Orchal could see by the look in Buffy’s eyes that her avowal was sincere. She really did want to change her ways. The smile quickly left his face. He placed a hand comfortingly on her arm. “I will help you, my dear. From this day forward, I will let no man compromise your… er, virtue.”

“Thanks, Orchal.”

“What are friends for?”

It was only a few weeks later when Buffy’s oath of abstinence was put to the test for the first time. She awoke to a fine morning, on the cusp of summer. As the sun rose over Orocarni, the mists that lay about the land dissipated, revealing a clear blue sky. The temperature was cool, but warming fast. After enjoying a leisurely breakfast, the Slayer decided to catch some rays. Setting out on her way, she came across a group of elflings playing along the edge of the forest that led to her hidden sanctuary. Fearing that the youngsters would follow, and discover her secret spot, she chose to forego her afternoon of solitude. Instead, she would check on the progress of the road, a task that was proving to be both tedious and time-consuming.

She mounted her horse and took off down the southern trail, Kit and Kat running alongside her. While the Maiar possessed the ability to blast a pathway through the forest in an instant, Buffy wanted every obstacle removed by hand. She was in no hurry to get back to Beleriand, thinking that time would be her accomplice in making the mortals forget the past. She had reached the conclusion that once the older generation had died off, history could be altered somewhat with the subsequent ones. Even though that seemed rather dubious on her part, she preferred doing that, rather than using magics on mankind.

Despite her overall objective, the Slayer was still a lover of mortals. None could doubt that. She continued to allow Man a say-so in the governing of things, although the Elves and Maiar held more authority. Since the Second-born were the lowest of the hierarchy, naturally, the most unpleasant tasks fell upon them. That included the cleaving of the roadway.

When the Slayer caught sight of the laborers, her jaw dropped. It wasn’t everyday that she encountered numerous men, naked from the waist up, working diligently beneath the mid-day sun, their muscular chests glistening with sweat. When she neared the heart of the group, most men stopped what they were doing and greeted her properly as she passed by. A few among them caused her heart to skip a beat. Buffy’s conscience screamed for her to return home, yet she found herself being helped off her steed by one of the burly men instead. Dozens of sweaty males surrounded her, delighted by her unexpected visit, each vying for her attention and favor. Before long, the Vala of Love was flirting shamelessly, proving that old habits die hard.

Buffy was so preoccupied with her companions that she didn’t notice the crowd dispersing. From out of nowhere appeared Orchal, on horseback. He rode into the throng and with one swift motion, scooped the Slayer onto his horse. His steed then hastily took off down the path. Buffy looked over her shoulder as the men waved good-bye. She made a clicking sound, and her horse and lions quickly followed her and the elf.

“I’ve saved you from making a terrible mistake, Bella,” whispered Orchal as they headed down the road.

The Slayer sighed heavily. “Yeah, thanks.”

That was the first and last time that she ever checked on the men’s progress with the road. Orchal, true to his word, very seldom let Buffy out of his sight after that. He accompanied her on her visits to the sanctuary, slept beside her every night, ate every meal with her. They were spending so much time together that some began to whisper that the elf and Vala were having an affair, which was most certainly untrue.

It took five years for the roadway to be completed. Before the group packed up their belongings and started the march once again, Buffy decided that having one lord over all the mortals was becoming too much of a burden for Ishmal. After debating the matter with her councilors, it was decreed that mankind would be broken up into three separate factions or Houses, based on where they had come from. For there was one common denominator amongst the Edain: all were originally descended from the peoples of Bela, Admah and Zeboim. Ishmal would still be lord of the First House and overlord over all mortals, since he was a direct descendant of Sargon, through the beloved Enheduanna. At the urging of Luthor, she appointed Hallel (descended directly from first line of Brolach, through his son Orrin) as the lord of the Second House, and Rimush the Golden became the lord of the Third and largest House since he was technically supposed to be king of Sumer.

The caravan departed the slopes of the Red Mountains on a fine autumn morning in Yr 252. It took a few months for the entire train to make it to the other side of the forest. They came out of the wood just south of a long ridge that jutted out from Orocarni for about fifty miles to the west. Even though the terrain was still somewhat rolling, the lands lay open before them as far as the eye could see.

After many more months, the company reached a wide river that ran north to south. Its waters were swift, the embankments high, preventing the travelers from crossing. They turned north until they reached yet another river that ran from east to west, emptying into the first river. They traveled east until they found a ford where they could cross the frigid waters safely. Unfortunately, they had to continue going some miles north before they could find shallow enough waters to cross the first long river. The journey proved to be incredibly frustrating. All in all, it took over three years to get everybody across that watercourse. To add to everyone’s misery, winter came early that year, forcing the group to hunker down beside the stream until the arrival of spring the following year.

In the meantime, the Maiar, unhindered by the cold weather, went on expeditions, exploring the regions further to their west for the best possible route to follow. While abroad, they encountered stray birds and wildlife that happened to be in the area. Consulting with the beasts, they were told to continue north until the saw a stretch of hills running from west to east approximately seven hundred miles to their north. From there they needed to go north-northwest until they reached a gap between the great forest and the feet of the Iron Mountains. That way they’d be able to bypass the springheads that formed three separate rivers in those parts.

When Buffy heard the news, she summoned all her councilors for a meeting. They gathered inside her pavilion, sitting around a table, looking over Olofin’s map.

“The beasts are correct,” said Luthor, tracing the route on the parchment with his finger. “Going north is the quickest way to go.”

“But what of Morgoth?” asked a grim-faced Olofin. “Ered Engrin forms the southern border to his realm. That puts us dangerously close to the enemy’s lands.”

“He’s got a point,” agreed the Slayer, surveying the map. “We can’t rule out some type of ambush.”

“We could travel due west, through the forest,” suggested Orchal hopefully. He was eager to spend weeks, even months, traveling amid the tall beech, oaks and firs that Olofin said grew there.

“Nice try, Orchal,” said Buffy, looking up from the map at her dear friend and constant companion. She smiled. “We don’t need to waste a bunch of time cutting a road when we can easily go around.”

“The lands are fair to the south,” commented Olofin, pointing to the region south of the forest. “It’s mostly open fields of grass and wildflowers. Although, there are falls located along the Anduin here, to the west,” he moved his finger to the spot on the map that marked the waterfalls. “We would have to cleave a way through the forest’s southern borders if we choose to go this way. The terrain becomes uneven here,” he moved his finger slightly to the east, “and will be perilous to some of our people, especially the elderly. No wagons or wingless beasts can pass that way - unless we go through the wood.”

“We should go north,” re-affirmed Luthor. “It makes no sense to go so far out of the way. Let’s take the direct path. The mortals are slowing us down as it is,” he said, tapping his finger on the northern part of the map.

“These lands are new to us,” chimed in Rimush. “My people look upon this strange place with wonder.”

“Well, I haven’t seen these lands before either,” revealed Buffy, “but I’m tired of living on the road and the elves are ready to go home.”

“Then we take the northern road,” said Luthor with a nod. “That settles that!” Luthor rose from his seat, everyone following suit, breaking into smaller groups, talking.

Olofin looked up at his mother as he rolled up the map. She felt his uneasiness.

“Don’t worry, son. I’ll have the Maiar and Valkyries be extra vigilant. If Morgoth plans an attack, we’ll be ready.”

“I hope you’re right, for my heart aches with warning.”

“Everything will be alright,” said an optimistic Buffy, nodding her head repeatedly. She had a fleeting moment of doubt, considering that Olofin’s powers had returned and hers had not. She quickly shook that feeling off, thinking it nothing more than paranoia. “I’m sure everything will be alright.”

It turned out that Olofin’s heart had not deceived him, as the company would discovered less than a year later. The group was traveling across the wide rocky plains of the north; the towering peaks of Ered Engrin loomed menacingly in the distance. Fall was in the air, the days were becoming cooler, the nights longer. Buffy’s sentinels were ever watchful, particularly along the wooded slopes of the mountain chain, waiting for any sign of the enemy. None knew that Morgoth had no plans to attack the masses with his armies; he had something far better in mind.

Now, Melkor was not ignorant about the goings-on in Middle-earth. And he was well aware that Buffy was leading the first group of mortals to Beleriand. That was all part of his plan. Already, his spies had infiltrated Mesopotamia seeking those willing to enter the Dark Lord’s service with promises of riches and power in the west, neither of which Morgoth intended to honor. It would take several more years before he would gather enough followers, intent on doing his bidding, to leave the East for Beleriand.

Yet one thing concerned Melkor greatly: the number of Edain that followed Buffy. He hadn’t expected that many in her train and gave no thought to the mortals procreating on their journey, which they had. Their numbers were even greater than when they had left Sumer! Morgoth chose to unleash his might when he felt the travelers would be most vulnerable, and that time came sooner then he foresaw. He did not hesitate to strike when the opportunity presented itself - sending the worst snowstorm recorded during the First Age of Middle-earth, The Fell Winter of 257.

What started out as flurries during the middle of the night, turned into a full-blown blizzard within a matter of hours. The abrupt change in weather made Buffy re-think her course of action. After speaking with all the councilors, the decision was made to continue on the trek despite the bitter cold. Melkor be damned! Unfortunately, not everybody in the caravan was of like mind. Some wanted to remain in camp, riding out the storm, while others yearned to go south to escape the ferocious winds. Regardless, it was decided that they’d continue on, and at first light, most did just that.

The group continued for only two days before they surrendered to the wickedly painful gusts. The snow had gotten so deep that they made little progress on their march. The company had no other option but to head south, relieved to now have the winds lashing at their backs. Their retreat provided little to no relief from their horrific conditions. At times, the intensity of the storm decreased, giving the company a much needed break, but then the winds would pick up again and visibility would be lost in a whirling of snow. All the lands that surrounded them lay blanketed under deep drifts of white.

It did not take long before the cold weather took its toll on the people, more particularly mankind. Thousands of mortals became ill. Bizarre mishaps became a daily occurrence, resulting in many injuries and deaths. The masses cried out that Eru Ilúvatar was punishing them for the sins of their pasts, something that the Slayer did not repudiate.

Shortly thereafter, the mortals began burning their belongings, including wagons and carts, in an attempt to ease their suffering and warm their freezing limbs. When there were lulls in the storm, the Valkyries took to the air, showering leaf-wrapped packets of lembas down on the throngs. The mortals, who called the elvish way bread manna, were grateful for the sustenance, but after several weeks, their craving for protein led them to take drastic measures. The mortals took to slaying their beasts of burden, horses, chickens, anything that satisfied their hungering for meat. Things had gotten so bad that Buffy had the Maiar take most of her animals to Folkvang, fearing the mortals would try to kill them during the night. One mortal actually had the audacity to go after one of her lions. His punishment: Buffy’s beasts got to eat him. For the first time since they had departed the East, the Slayer armed the people of Hallel with weapons and instructed them to police their kindred.

For five brutal months, the travelers endured the cruel torments of Morgoth. Non-stop snow of varying degrees haunted them for nearly two hundred miles. Many lives were lost, and the company encountered their greatest tragedy at the crossing of the river that ran southeast from the feet of the mountain peaks in the forest that Olofin had named Greenwood on his map. Eight of the mightiest lords and ladies from the First House and much of the entourage, perished while attempting to cross the frozen stream. The ice broke beneath their feet, sending them to their watery graves. Ishmal died attempting to save his mother, the beloved Enheduanna, chief hymn-maker of Inanna Ishtar. The news broke Buffy’s heart, especially hearing about the demise of her favorite daughter of Sargon. Her sorrow increased when the weather prevented them from retrieving the remains of those trapped somewhere beneath the ice-covered waters.

The company continued on their miserable journey for another two months before they escaped the unmerciful torments of Melkor. There was no jubilation when the peoples set foot upon the grassy plains of the southlands. So many mortals’ health had become frail from the journey, including Ishmal’s only son, Mansur. The healers kept busy tending to the sick while the others collapsed on the soft green grass, savoring the warmth of the sun that they had not seen in nearly half a year. All were weary from the journey, and eager to rest until their strength returned. In the distance, the snowstorms of Morgoth continue to fall upon the lands, gradually receding to the north.

Mankind was beginning to regret the fact that they had destroyed their animals and left behind the tools that would have been useful now that they found themselves in the fair lands of the south. Spring had sprung, and the time was perfect for planting seeds but they no longer had any, having eaten them all. The mortal lords turned to the Slayer, hoping that she would deliver unto them the seeds, tools and beasts needed to work the soil.

“That I will not do,” she announced, stunning the mortals that sat amongst the circle of the Lords and Ladies of her Household. “Ill-advised was it to slay your beasts and burn your goods,” she continued, her eyes narrowing at the men. “You must learn that there are consequences to your actions, and all of you acted rashly. Lembas would’ve provided you with enough sustenance until we reached the safety of the southlands.”

“But we were cold and ravenous!” declared Rimush.

“And do you think that we elves did not suffer? Nor the Maiar?” interjected a frowning Orchal, his temper flaring. “Your people even resorted to thievery, attempting to make off with what was rightfully ours.”

Rimush turned his sorrowful blue eyes to the Elf Lord. “I beg of you, Lord, please do not place the guilt on all my people when only a few are to blame. Not all were from my House! Is it not wrong to make the guiltless suffer as the result of the misdeeds of a few?”

“As lord of the Third House, you are responsible for the actions of your people. It was one from your Household, Rimush, that attempted to slay Bella’s holy lions… ”

“Enough!” interrupted Buffy, wanting to end the quarrel that was brewing between Orchal and the golden-haired mortal. “The guilty party received his just rewards. So let’s speak of it no more.” She locked her gaze on Rimush. “I don’t blame all your people, Rimush, but there’s something that you’ve got to understand: I won’t always be here to help you guys out of unfortunate situations. You have to learn to stand on your own two feet. Once we cross the Blue Mountains, it’s over. You cannot seek me out. You cannot pray for my aid because I can no longer give it. You must look to Ilúvatar. Pray to him for deliverance, not me!”

“I think,” started Luthor, “that the time has arrived for you to address the people, Bella. That time is upon us at last, I deem.” The old man nodded his head encouragingly.

Buffy’s eyes scanned the mortals seated around her. She couldn’t help but feel pity for them. The hardship of living a nomadic life showed more so on mankind than it did on the elves or Maiar. Those mortals in her presence, the mightiest of Men, were utterly exhausted, their garments worn and tattered, huge holes covering the bottoms of their shoes. There was no way she was ready to leave them to fend for themselves. Not yet, any way.

“Let’s wait still, Luthor,” Buffy finally answered. “The lords present here can inform their people that Eru has unleashed his wrath on us because some of the mortals will not stop speaking of the East. Adversity will prevail as long as you continue to do so. Speak no more of the East or misfortune will find you.”

The councilors then studied the map again, deciding that it was in everybody’s best interest to continue on. Without carts or wagons, the company could easily make their way through the wood without having to cut down a tree. To the mortals’ dismay, the Slayer instructed the masses to continue on with the march only three days later.

Their fortune changed for the better a few weeks later when they came out of the western eaves of the forest. Immediately, the Green-elves lifted their voices in song, delighted to be in familiar territory again. In the distance, running north to south were the Misty Mountains. If the company continued west, they would eventually come to the Anduin River, which formed the eastern border of Lindórinand, the realm of Amdír, kinsman of the Green-elves.

Buffy shielded her eyes from the sinking sun as she looked to the west. Her heart started racing when she noticed the three mighty peaks of the mountain chain: Caradhras, Fanuidhol, and Celebdil. A smile came to her face knowing that beneath those peaks dwelled the dwarves of Durin in the mighty halls of Khazâd-Dum. While the elves’ enthusiasm to continue the march was heightened at the prospect of seeing their kinfolk, mankind thought differently. The Slayer urged the Edain to continue the hike, at least until they reached the Anduin River. Most of the mortals relented and followed the elves and Maiar, but some tarried along the forest’s edge.

While making their way towards the Anduin River, the company came across the Onodrim for the first time during their travels. Man was baffled to see the Shepherds of the Trees, but the elves and Maiar were ecstatic. Buffy spoke with their leader, a female Onod called Fimbrethil in the elvish tongue. After hearing the travelers’ woeful tale, the Shepherds wanted to help. And help they did! For the Enyd loved the elves and were eager to teach the craft of agriculture to the younger children of Eru.

The Slayer took advantage of the situation and told the mortals that they were now in Eru’s good graces. She assured mankind that they had not happened upon the Onodrim by chance; it was His will. If the Edain continued to keep their past secret, even more blessings would He bestow upon the good people. Man did not refute her words, they took them to heart, and from that day forward, none of the mortals spoke openly about the events in Mesopotamia. For once, Buffy felt a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She had put another obstacle behind her, unaware that a new one would soon present itself in the most unexpected of ways…


Chapter 67 - ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING

The mortal lords had pleaded with Buffy to allow them to rest for a time until their people grew hale again. The journey had greatly affected the health of Man and many were still reeling from the shock of those that fell along the way. Forty-four hundred men, women and children had perished as a direct result of the blizzards of Morgoth. While that number may seem small compared to their overall numbers, to the Slayer, it was an enormous amount of people to lose in the span of five months. In the end, she consented.

Buffy then sent the Valkyries to Folkvang to retrieve much needed supplies including the livestock that she had sent back earlier fearing that Man would eat them. The Enyd had an abundance of seeds for planting, and as luck would have it, groves of fruit trees were a short walking distance from the camp. The only stipulation that the Slayer put upon mankind was that they could not cut down any trees along the Great River. The last thing she needed was to incur the hostility of Amdír and the people of Lindórinand, who were especially fond of the trees that bordered their territory.

Only a couple of days after they had come to a halt, fifty Wood-elves, led by Amroth, descended on the camp and welcomed the newcomers. The Green-elves were overjoyed to see their kinfolk; many had not seen each other since the Great March ages before. Buffy and her councilors spoke long with the elves of Lindórinand, telling them of the many trials that they had faced since their exodus from the East.

“You have indeed made good time despite all the hurdles you’ve had to overcome,” remarked the impressed golden-haired son of Amdír. “Grief weighs heavy on your people, and now we see why. Curse the Dark Lord in the North!” he growled, shaking his fist in the direction of Morgoth’s realm. Amroth paused. Taking a deep breath, his expression softened. Shifting his gray eyes back on Buffy he continued, “We Wood-elves will do whatever we can to ease the heaviness that has befallen you and your people.” His lips curled into a warm smile. “I must admit, Lady Luinil that we were not completely ignorant of the fact that you’d be passing close to our borders. The Lord Ulmo informed us that you’d be leading the Hildor into the west.”

That stunned the Slayer, causing her jaw to drop. “Ulmo,” she finally said. “He told you we were coming.”

“Yes,” answered the elf Lord. “Very seldom does the Lord of Waters visit these parts, mostly Salmar comes in his stead. However, after Olofin had left our lands, he came to us, and said that the Vala of Love and her train would be in need of succoring once they had reached these parts. He asked us to prepare for that day, and as you can see, that day is finally upon us.

“My father is especially eager to meet the Blue Lady of Ossir, the savior of the Green-elves, our kinfolk. Many tales have passed over Ered Luin, and to have a Vala visiting our lands would be an honor beyond measure. Lord Ulmo has asked that we provide you with lodgings along the banks of the Celebrant, which is located northwest of here. There, you and your kin will find peace, as the sweet sounds of that stream melt all weariness away.”

Buffy accepted Amroth’s gracious offer. It seemed like ages ago when she had last slept in a warm bed with a roof over her head. Before she set out, she ordered most of the Maiar to remain behind with the mortals, to protect them from a sudden attack from Morgoth or some other unknown enemy. Only the Green-elves, her Valkyrie chieftains, Olofin and Luthor accompanied her into the woodland realm. Half of the Wood-elves stayed at the camp, while others returned to Lindórinand to retrieve the supplies that they had readied long ago at the urging of Ulmo.

Nothing could have renewed the Slayer’s spirit more than entering that forest. It reminded her so much of Ossiriand, her favorite place in all Middle-earth. When they were crossing the Anduin River, she could hear the enchanting melody of Ulumúri, having heard it long before. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, knowing that the Lord of Water’s presence lay about the land. Even as they marched through the heart of the forest, she could still hear the sweet music from the Horn of Ulmo.

After meeting with the King, she and her companions were taken by boats to an enormous house built on a huge talan that overlooked the rushing stream. For the first time since leaving the slopes of Orocarni, Orchal was not at Buffy’s side. He had decided that it was safe for him to remain at Amdir’s Halls and visit with his old friend for a while since mortals were forbidden from entering the elvish realm.

Word of Buffy’s arrival spread like wildfire throughout Lindórinand, and many elves sought out the Vala of Love, curious to lay eyes upon the leader of their kindred. Many gifts they brought her, and for a time, she delighted in the visits from the Silvan Elves, especially the elflings. While members of her Household found the peace which Amroth spoke of, the Slayer did not. She still suffered from fits of melancholy, locking herself within her chamber, refusing to see any, including her son. Her behavior upset the Valkyries greatly and they turned to Luthor for counsel.

“Let Bella be,” advised the old man, slowly rocking in his chair overlooking the Celebrant.

“But Luthor,” protested Vórëa, “our Mistress is exhibiting the same signs as she did before she went mad… ”

“This is not the same thing as before, my good woman,” interjected Luthor. “Is it not obvious what troubles her? Are you women that blind?” he queried incredulously. “Bella suffers from guilt, nothing more, nothing less.”

“She has done nothing to feel guilty about!” cried out Laurië. “She is the most benevolent Vala to ever set foot in Middle-earth.”

“And you Ladies claim that you truly know your Mistress,” said the old Maia with a shake of his head. “You know nothing! You’re foolish if you think that we tarry in these parts for the mortals’ sake alone… Bella must deal with the misdeeds of her past before she can face the future, which is full of uncertainty for her. She has violated her sacred vows to Maglor, and I daresay that is now causing her great anguish.”

“And do we do nothing?” asked a heartbroken Feawë. “Do we sit idly by and watch her wither away?”

“Time heals all wounds, and that applies to Bella as well. We must be patient while she works through her inner turmoil,” answered Luthor in his most comforting voice. “No words of consolation will ease her despair. She must do it on her own! All you Ladies can do is keep an eye on her. If you push, she will pull further away, and none of us wants that. Bella will find healing in these lands, just give it time.”

The old Maia knew Buffy better than most, and his assessment of her current situation was on the mark. She was quite anxious to return home to the life that she had had before she left for the East, but was unsure whether that was possible. Could she carry on as though nothing had happened in Sumer? Should she tell her husband that she had fallen in love with a mortal, and seduced him while in his youth? Does she mention the other numerous affairs she had during that time? All those questions went racing through the Slayer’s mind, but the one thing that she feared Maglor finding out more than anything was her sleeping with Morgoth. That was, by far, the worst thing she could have ever done to the Noldo. Bitter was the hatred that the sons of Fëanor had for the Dark Foe, Maglor included. That betrayal was unforgivable. And Buffy was beginning to realize that.

The Slayer’s depression soon passed, and she emerged from her chamber as though nothing had ever happened. Often, she and her maidens walked along the river, talking about the events that had transpired in the East. She expressed her concern regarding the fate of her marriage, and the Valkyries were willing to help in any way they could. They offered to cast a disremembering spell on all the people including the elves, but Buffy felt that that was unnecessary. Instead, she finally gave the order than none in her Household was to speak of Melkor, Sauron or the assistance of the demonic armies in Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin. She didn’t care if any spoke about the war, but they could not mention the involvement of the Dark Armies to any in Beleriand.

When twenty-eight years had passed, half of the elves in her Household asked permission to return to Ossir. They were eager to return to Tol Galen and prepare for Buffy’s eventual homecoming. She agreed, knowing how badly the Green-elves wished to look upon the fair woods of their homeland. Her people left Lindórinand early one summer morning, escorted by scores of Maiar, at the Slayer’s insistence. It would be decades before she set eyes upon them again.

Oddly enough, not once in all those years had Buffy left the realm of Amdír. She had not visited with the mortals or held any councils. All communication was done through elvish messengers as she was doing her best to distance herself from mankind. She believed that it was time for them to stand on their own and not depend on her any more.

It was only a few days later when Buffy and her Valkyrie chieftains were swimming in the stream that Rainë arrived with sad news.

“My Lady,” she announced from the shore, “I bring grim tidings. It appears that Mansur passed away during the night from some sudden ailment. His kinfolk ask that you come say a blessing and anoint his eldest son as lord of the First House.”

“Damn,” replied Buffy. “I hate to hear that.” She swam to the shoreline. “Does anyone know what happened?” she asked, as she dried off.

“None can truly say.”

“Hmm, send my condolences to the family, Rainë. But I’m afraid that I won’t leave the forest until it’s time for us to return home. I told the mortals that I’m no longer anointing any more of their lords. They don’t need my blessing.”

“Oh, you’ll want to go this time, Maranwë,” said the beaming Maia, her eyes twinkling.

“Why?” asked the Slayer, giving the woman a suspicious look.

“Mansur’s son is the spitting image of Sargon, although a bit smaller in stature.” She shook her head. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Sargon?” queried Buffy with raised eyebrows, her mouth going dry at the mere mention of his name.

“I jest not, my Lady. You’ve got to see to believe.”

Immediately, the maidens retreated to the house and changed into more appropriate clothing. Orchal was not happy about Buffy’s decision to meet with those from the First House. He was doing everything in his power to keep her away from them, fearing that she would do something ‘stupid.’ The Slayer assured him that that was not the case and told him to accompany her and the Valkyries.

“I had no intention to stay behind,” remarked the elf. “I’m not about to let you do something foolish.” The Slayer chuckled at Orchal’s words.

Shortly thereafter, an embassy of twenty left their abode by the banks of the Celebrant for the daylong trip to the encampment on the eastern side of the Anduin. They rode their horses all day, arriving at the camp well after nightfall.

When Buffy set eyes on Mansur’s son, she felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. Rainë was right, he looked like a mini-Sargon, except for the eyes (his were gray; her former lover’s were brown). At his side was his wife, who clutched a sleeping infant in her arms. The Slayer locked eyes with the young man for a moment, causing her heart to skip a beat. For the first time ever, thoughts of reincarnation entered her mind. The resemblance was indeed extraordinary. She glanced over her shoulder at her maidens. Her eyes widened as she mouthed the words ‘Oh my Eru,’ without Orchal noticing. Buffy tried to play it cool despite the fact that her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. Her attraction to him was immediate, and would cause her great grief for the duration of her stay in that region.

Before being introduced to the heir of the First House, the Vala Queen said a prayer over the empty hröa of Mansur. His fey was long gone, having been summoned to the halls of her brother, Mandos. After offering her condolences to the family, Mansur’s widow introduced Buffy to her eldest child.

“This is my son, Balan, great-great grandson of Sargon the Great.”

Following Sumerian protocol, the soon-to-be lord of the First House fell to one knee, and kissed the garnet ring on her left forefinger. “My Lady, what an honor it is to meet you at long last.”

Buffy smiled in spite of the numerous mourners surrounding her. “You may rise.” The young man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, rose to his feet. She studied him for several minutes, the shadowy flames of the torches danced upon his face. “After the burial, I will anoint you as lord of the First House. You, dear Balan, shall be the last of Sargon’s children that I proclaim as lord.” That would prove to be a false statement, as the Slayer would anoint another of her former lover’s heirs before completing the last leg of their journey. Marach, son of Rimush, would succeed his father as lord of the Third House several years later.

As soon as Mansur was buried, the people turned their attention to Balan and Buffy. The heir of the First House asked that she anoint him beside his father’s grave. She agreed. The young man fell to his knees as Vórëa uncorked a small crystal teardrop bottle and handed it to her Mistress. As the Slayer said the blessing, Balan fixed his smoldering gray eyes on her, causing her to become weak in the knees. When she placed her trembling finger to his forehead, both let out a gasp of surprise. Buffy found herself paralyzed by a warm tingly sensation coursing throughout her body. By Balan’s reaction, he felt it too. His body gave a sudden jerk, his eyes widened as he stared transfixed at the Vala Queen. Both were spellbound. It took the prompting of Orchal for Buffy to finish the ceremony by marking a cross on the young man’s forehead with oil and presenting him with the Cross of Brolach.

“I wish you good fortune, son of Sargon,” she said, her face flushing in the dim light. Balan started to speak, but Buffy swiftly turned and made her way through the crowd, horrified by the feelings that the young man aroused in her. She and her party quickly left the camp for Lindórinand despite the late hour.

Orchal applauded the Slayer’s shunning of the mortal lord and told her so repeatedly on the trip back to their dwelling. “It’s a testament to your true strength, Bella. You do possess the ability to resist the temptations of your heart.”

Buffy made no reply. It took everything she had to maintain her composure on the trek back.

By the time they made it back to the house, it was mid-morning. Everyone was utterly exhausted and ready for bed. Orchal wearily followed the Slayer down the corridor leading to her bedchamber. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, she insisted on sleeping alone. She then shut the door in his face, leaving the elf both hurt and confused. It then occurred to Orchal that Balan was the mortal in his vision that Buffy would become enamored with, if she hadn’t already. That sudden realization provoked him to action. He hurriedly took off down the hallway, summoning all the elves and Valkyries in the house. He stationed guards strategically throughout their halls so that the Slayer could not sneak out without any knowing.

Buffy collapsed onto the bed and wept. She felt as though life was playing yet another cruel trick on her. Not only was she struggling with her current dilemma regarding Maglor, now she had to contend with her romantic feelings towards Balan. To make matters worse, seeing one that so closely resembled her former lover, rekindled the guilt she had been harboring about the late King of Sumer. She had never forgotten that she wasn’t there for him during his final hours.

After several days, the Slayer overcame her latest bout of depression, thanks in part to Nestor’s hul-gil tonic. She did her best to resume her normal routine but found that to be a challenge. Everywhere she turned, she saw Balan’s face. It didn’t matter if she was walking along the riverbank, or through the woods, somehow his face constantly came to her mind. At nighttime, it was much worse. She’d close her eyes only to see his handsome form invading her dreams, some that were quite erotic by nature. It unnerved her. She had no idea how to push the mortal from her thoughts.

In the ensuing months, things had gotten so bad that she even broached the subject with her councilors (minus Olofin). After hours of discussion, two conclusions had been reached: either Buffy could flee Lindórinand for Ossir, leaving the mortals behind, or she needed to stay and confront her fears, letting the proverbial chips fall where they may. Neither option appealed to her, as she feared going home, and feared staying. It was moments like that that really made Buffy yearn for Folkvang. She would’ve given anything to escape to her mystical realm.

Since she was undecided, she chose to remain where she was, as it required the least amount of effort on her part. Furthermore, both Amroth and Amdír had said that Ulmo was expecting her, and she was hoping that he or Salmar would attempt to contact her while she was in Lindórinand. She knew they were nearby, as the melodious music of the Ulumúri could still be heard faintly throughout the land.

The Slayer’s fits of melancholy became more frequent as she wrestled with her desires for the moral lord. She found herself suddenly bursting out in tears or snapping at loved ones without provocation. Those outbursts led to her locking herself away in her bedroom, consuming large quantities of herbal remedies to calm her frazzled nerves.

“Why me?” she sadly asked her reflection in the mirror after one of those episodes. “Why can’t my fey master its hröa like my brethren? Why do I keep yearning for another when I shouldn’t, when I don’t want to?” She turned her tear-filled green eyes towards the heavens. “Why are you doing this to me? Why have you put this curse on me? Please, Eru, give me strength! I don’t want to do wrong… I really don’t.”

Buffy received no visitors or visions to aid her with her current situation. The lack of help, especially from Ulmo and Salmar, was driving her crazy. She did her best to keep herself distracted, devoting hours on end to meditation and prayer in hope that she would find her inner strength. As the years passed by, the young mortal lord consumed her thoughts to feverish new heights. Nothing she did could push Balan from her mind, not even the thought of Maglor waiting back home at the Gap.

Before she knew it, five years had gone by. That’s when she decided to hold a council with the Lords of Ossir, informing them that the time to leave for home was fast approaching. She commanded half of the remaining Green-elves to begin their journey home so that they could ready her Halls in Lindon, which would be her first stop once she returned to Beleriand.

The same day that the elves departed Lindórinand, the Slayer was stunned to receive a letter from Balan proclaiming his love for the Vala Queen along with an urgent plea to see her. The more she re-read the message, the warmer her heart became. Balan proved himself to be a descendant of Eshnunna, as he was able to rouse such deep emotions within her by mere words alone. To her dismay, Buffy found herself falling in love with the lord of the First House. She did write back, however, declaring that she too, felt the same way. But she stressed the importance of not succumbing to their desires, as it was morally wrong. Both she and Balan were married to other people and the pain they would cause their significant others would not be worth it. Despite her trepidation, she and the moral continued to correspond in secret.

By the time Yr 299 had arrived, Buffy had quite a stack of love letters from the mortal. Every time she re-read one of his poems or letters, she melted. It was during the latter part of that year that the Slayer decided that she could no longer deny her heart’s longing. For the first time in decades, she would join the mortals in welcoming not only the New Year but also the New Century.

With the arrival of fall, Buffy announced that it was time for the remainder of her Household to leave for Ossir. That sent many of the elves into a tizzy, as these were her closest and most trusted confidants. They did not want to depart Lindórinand without her, especially Orchal. They had assumed that they would remain by the Slayer’s side throughout the duration of the trip, including the last leg. An argument erupted between her and her dearest friends. It had gotten so bad that Buffy relented, allowing them to remain until the New Year.

In the meantime, she began to distance herself somewhat from the Green-elves, and spent more time in the company of the Valkyries. She went to such extremes that she even permanently banished Orchal from her bedchamber, which only increased the elf’s uneasiness.

“You’re up to something, Dagnir. I know it,” he said, eyeing her with suspicion.

“No, I’m not!” she protested, her face a mask of innocence. “We need to start getting used to… not sleeping together any more. What happens when we get back to Beleriand and you end up crawling in my bed out of habit? What would Maglor have to say about that?” Buffy gave the elf a reassuring smile. “I have to start thinking about the future, Orchal. I don’t need anything else to jeopardize my relationship with Káno. I love you and I always will, but just do this for me. Please.”

“Alright, Bella,” he answered with a nod, keenly searching her eyes. “Although my heart tells me that you and your maidens are up to some kind of mischief. I can only hope that you do not do something stupid that will come back and bite you on the ass.”

“Me? Do something stupid?” she queried with an impish grin. “Never!”

“I’ll be keeping my eye on you, my dear,” answered the elf, narrowing his gaze on the Slayer. “My heart does not betray me that often.”

A couple of days before New Year’s Day, Buffy and her entourage, which included many of the noble Moriquendi from Lindórinand, left for the mortal’s encampment. Once they had reached their destination, they set up their tents in their designated areas. While the Wood-elves chose to stay amongst the kindred of Man, the Green-elves continued to segregate themselves by residing with the Maiar, Buffy included.

Only a few minutes after arriving, a Maia messenger came from the mortals’ camp bidding her and her people welcome. The lords of the Three Houses wished to greet the Vala Queen personally and kindly asked permission to do so. Despite Orchal’s grumblings of protest, Buffy readily agreed.

“Bella is not to be left alone with any mortal man under any circumstance,” she overheard the silver-haired elf proclaim to the other members of her Household outside the pavilion. “If she objects, notify me at once.”

The Slayer sighed, now wishing that she had never said anything to Orchal in the first place.

The lords of the Three Houses arrived shortly afterwards under heavy elvish escort. Buffy was taken aback when she saw how much the mortals had aged since the last time she had seen them, especially Rimush. It was obvious to her that the gray-haired lord of the Third House was nearing the end of his days. Even though she was saddened by the frailty of the old man’s condition, seeing Balan in his prime gave her butterflies. He was more handsome than she had remembered. His black hair was now streaked with gray, giving him a more kingly appearance. She spoke long with the men, even inviting them to dine with her, much to Orchal’s annoyance.

Rimush entreated Buffy to allow them to integrate some of the old rituals into the festivities. Of all the mortal lords, he was the only one that recalled how New Year’s Day was celebrated by the Sumerians in bygone days. He was crestfallen when the Vala Queen had recanted nearly all the religious teachings that the old man had learned in his youth. His desperate pleas did not change the Slayer’s mind.

“I have decreed that we’re not to speak of those things that had happened in the East, and that includes the rites that we once practiced. We can celebrate the bounty that Eru has given us over the year, but nothing more.” A pained expression came to Buffy’s face before she faintly added, “I’m a fallen Vala, Rimush. I don’t deserve any type of tribute, not after everything that I’ve done.”

“That is not true, my Lady!” countered the old mortal, aghast at her words. “You are our savior and… ”

The Slayer held up her hand, stopping the old man mid-sentence. “I must ask you to speak no more of this, Rimush. I know that your heart’s in the right place, but I forbid any ceremonies that revolve around me.”

Early morning on the last day of the year, the masses assembled on the misty plains in silence, waiting for the sun to rise in the east. Gradually, the fog dissipated as the orange orb ascended into the crisp clear sky. The Maiar then led the people in the singing of the Psalm of Ilúvatar, which all knew by heart. When the song ended, the first of three feasts began.

The celebration became much livelier after the waning of the sun and the final feast. Of course, the introduction of large quantities of ale, wine and spirits played a major role in the revelry. People became rowdy, singing songs at the top of their lungs and dancing wildly around the many bonfires. While Buffy did not witness any debauchery first hand, it did become clear that some were still practicing the old traditions of Sumer within the confines of their private quarters. The cries of ecstasy that one heard when passing by some of those tents indicated that the devotees of the religious practices of Inanna Ishtar had not completely given them up. As long as they didn’t behave that way in the open, the Slayer didn’t care. Besides, she was too tipsy and preoccupied with other things to give a damn.

As the night wore on, Buffy managed to coax Orchal into providing his own brand of entertainment - singing with the elvish band. When the elf Lord started to sing his rendition of The End by The Doors, the Slayer disappeared into the crowd of revelers, making her way to the cluster of trees that bordered the mortal lord’s dwelling place. There she met a waiting Balan, who then took her by the hand and led her deeper into the wood.

“How did you ever manage to escape the ever watchful eyes of Orchal?”

“Do you hear that?” she asked.

“Hear what?” queried Balan, coming to a stop and facing the Slayer.

“Listen.”

Even over the din, one could hear Orchal’s beautiful voice.

“That’s Orchal?” questioned the mortal in disbelief. He couldn‘t believe that the elf that always scowled at him sang so beautifully.

“Yep. That’s my silver-haired, pointy-eared friend,” answered the Slayer with a chuckle.

“Well, then,” he continued, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “Since the elf is distracted we can pursue greater pleasures than singing or dancing.”

“Hmm, what do you have in mind?” asked Buffy seductively, pressing her body against the mortal’s.

Balan’s response came in the form of a passionate kiss, a kiss that caused her to melt in his arms. That was her first intimate contact with a man in nearly half a century and the Slayer had no regrets whatsoever. As her senses came alive at his touch, she knew that they were meant to be. It was destiny. Buffy had accepted that her yearning for Balan was much the same as it was with Sargon - it was Eru’s will. He sent the mortal to her. But for what reason, she did not yet know.

Unfortunately, their make-out session was short-lived. Once Orchal had finished his song, he went in search of the conspicuously absent Slayer. If not for the vigilance of Laurië and the other Valkyries, the elf would have discovered the secret lovers. It was the golden-haired maiden that warned them that he was on his way. Buffy cursed in frustration. She could kick herself in the butt for having asked Orchal to help her with her ‘campaign to remain celibate.’ She had already accepted that some things were beyond her control, and Balan was one of those things. How she wished that Orchal could see that too.

The lovers took off in opposite directions. The elf Lord caught up with Buffy as soon as she had cleared the woods.

“I’ve been looking for you, Bella. What were you doing amidst the trees?” His suspicious gray eyes darted back and forth between the Slayer and Laurië.

“We had to pee,” answered both ladies in unison.

He studied the women for a few moments. His lips slowly curled into a smile. “Alright then. Come on ladies, we have much to celebrate.” He linked his arms with both Ainur and they soon joined the others from their Household in the merry-making. Buffy didn’t see Balan for the rest of the night.

Come morning, the Slayer called a council with the Lords and Ladies of her Household. She informed them that she would not be returning to Lindórinand and would remain at the encampment until it was time for her to leave. She then announced that it was time for her elvish Household to return to Lindon. Of course, that set the elves off, once again.

Since Orchal was the most vocal in protesting her decision, Buffy decided it was best to try to reason with him in private. They went for a walk despite the cold and drizzly weather. She tried to explain herself the best she could without revealing too much information, but there was no fooling the elf. He understood her true motivations and that’s what riled him. He was trying to protect her from the heartache that would inevitably come with her ‘relationship’ with the mortal.

After a long discussion, Buffy reached an agreement of sorts with Orchal. The Green-elves would leave for Beleriand, and the silver-haired elf would have complete control over the affairs within that land in her absence. The Slayer also reluctantly agreed that no mortals would be allowed to set foot in Ossir under penalty of death. She wasn’t too crazy about that, but it’s what he wanted, so she had to agree. Orchal still held a grudge against the mortals, blaming them for her downfall in the East.

A week later, the elves began their march, with Orchal at the forefront. The silver-haired elf looked lordly indeed driving Buffy’s lion-drawn chariot. He felt confident that the Slayer would soon be following since he not only possessed her beloved pets, but also her copper trunk, which contained some of her most precious treasures.

Buffy was overcome with emotion as she watched the train moving north. The Green-elves had remained by her side, through thick and thin since they had departed Ossir one hundred and forty years before. When they began singing Sweet Madam Blue, tears streamed down her face. Olofin, (who had adamantly refused to leave without his mother), wrapped his arms around the sorrowful Slayer, doing his best to comfort her.

Even with her Household gone, Buffy remained segregated from mankind. She was doing everything in her power not to draw any unwanted attention her way. When the elves became minute in the distance, she then sent two hundred Valkyries to Greenwood. It was their duty to prepare a retreat for the Slayer by the northeastern eaves of that forest. When things were readied, the Slayer would whisk Balan away to that locale where they would consummate their relationship once and for all.

When spring arrived, Buffy sent a very detailed letter to the lord of the First House. She instructed him to tell his family that he had received a vision, commanding him, and him alone, to make a pilgrimage to the site where his kinfolk had perished at the crossing of the river during the Fell Winter of 257. She had enclosed a map, which showed the route he needed to take to reach his destination. Balan followed her orders to a T.

While the mortal began his trek, the Slayer informed her son that she was going to visit the dwarves of Khazâd-Dum. Since Olofin was unaware of what his mother was up to, he bid her farewell and decided to return to Lindórinand with Amroth. Buffy started her journey north, accompanied by scores of Valkyries, before turning due east. Her maidens knew exactly what was going on and were her accomplices in that scheme of hers.

As soon as they had entered the wood, several women took off in search of the mortal lord. Unlike Buffy and her Valkyries, Balan was traveling on foot, not horseback. The maidens were instructed to find the man and bring him to their Mistress’ camp which they had readied for her.

The Slayer was pleased when she arrived at the site. Dozens upon dozens of pavilions in blue and white dotted the glade that the women had carefully cleared months earlier. Utilizing their special abilities, they covered the earth with a thick blanket of lush grass that felt like carpeting beneath one’s bare feet. Strategically planted throughout the area were thousands of blooming flowers and plants, some towering over the pavilions, emitting a variety of scents that soothed the soul and tantalized the senses. The maidens led Buffy to her three-chambered dwelling beside the crystal-clear spring. One could not mistake Buffy’s abode as the Valkyries had attached a large sapphire cross to the roof of the structure. It gleamed and bedazzled the eyes beneath the rays of the sun. The inside of her rooms were decorated with furnishing that the women had brought back from Folkvang, including the lapis lazuli bed that Balan’s forefather had made for his lover long ago. To the Slayer’s surprise, Antamo was there, to serenade the lovers with his mellifluous voice.

A couple of days later, Balan arrived. He was quite anxious to see the Vala of Love, and was greatly disappointed when he was ushered to a separate pavilion. There, he was fed a delicious hot meal with only the Valkyries as his companions. Once he had finished eating, the mortal was taken to another room where he was bathed and garbed in a long white tunic. The women then escorted him to Buffy’s private quarters. They waited outside while Balan entered alone.

When the mighty lord stepped into her domicile he was completely dumbfounded. He expected the interior to resemble her pavilion by the Anduin, but this one far surpassed anything that he could’ve imagined. It was both opulent and elegant, from the white marble slabs that formed the floor to the magnificent, intricately carved furnishings. Balan remained frozen to the spot, as his eyes scanned the room, stopping on the mammoth candelabra that hung above his head. Instead of candles, it housed glowing orbs, the like he had never seen before.

Slowly, he made his way across the room, taking in all the wonderful things that surrounded him. He stopped and inspected the roses that seemed to grow from the stone floor, winding up the tall wooden support beams located every few feet within the chamber. The mortal was blown away to see that they were actually real. He pulled a red rose from its thorny stem and deeply inhaled its fragrant scent before making his way to the Slayer’s sleeping chamber.

He pulled aside the curtain, his jaw dropping, his eyes widening, to nearly twice their size as he beheld the vision of loveliness that was Buffy. She was lounging on her enormous bed, scantily clad in a silky blue gown that took his breath away. Balan tried to say her name, but no sound came out. The Slayer’s smile widened. That was the reaction she was hoping for. She motioned the mortal over. He crawled up on the bed, looking much like a predator stalking his prey, turning the Slayer on even more.

“For you, Luinil,” he finally said, presenting the flower to her. She took it from his hand and deeply inhaled the fragrant blossom. The scent immediately brought to mind the time that she and an aged Sargon had sat in the garden of Eanna just before his death. “I thought that this rose was perfect, both in beauty and scent when I had laid eyes upon it. But seeing it in your hand, I now see that its beauty pales when compared to yours. You are my meril, Luinil.”

Buffy felt her eyes welling with tears. So many emotions were running through her: fear, anxiety, worry, desire, love. She carefully placed the rose on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Do you love me, Balan?”

“With all my heart,” he replied, tenderly kissing her on the lips.

“Would you die for me?” she whispered, drinking in his scent.

“In a heartbeat.”

“Love me, Balan. Love me like you’ve never loved another.”

Buffy allowed her lover to be the dominant one, something that she had never done when having her first sexual encounter with a mortal man. Any reservations she may have had dissipated with her lover’s touch. After all those years of waiting, she expected their first fleshly experience to be wildly passionate, but it wasn’t so. Balan was one that preferred to take his time. He would prove to be a gentle lover, loving her as though he were taking her virtue for the very first time.

When, at last, the couple cried out in the throes of passion, something extraordinary happened that neither had expected. A brilliant white light flashed from Buffy’s fey, illuminating the entire chamber for several seconds. The intensity was so great that Balan, shielding his eyes with the crook of his arm, rolled off the Slayer.

“What is this? What’s happening to you, Luinil?” asked the baffled mortal breathlessly.

Buffy lay there, delighting in the blissful wave of pleasure that washed over her. It seemed like ages ago when her fey had last reacted in such a way. When the flash had subsided, her body began to glow with a soft red light. She gasped, bolting upright, surprised by the sudden change in color radiating from within her. She closely examined her luminous appendages, elated that she was exhibiting some form of magic, although, she wasn’t sure why her fey was emanating red. That had never happened before.

“Luinil? Luinil?” Balan sat up. He hesitantly placed his hand on the Slayer’s naked shoulder. “Is this a good thing?” He wasn’t sure if her radiant glow was normal for a Vala after sex or if something else was happening. His wife had never reacted in such a manner after their acts of bodily union.

Buffy faced her lover, a look of ecstasy on her face. “It’s good, very good.” She smiled broadly, placing her hand against his bearded cheek. The light of her fey was beginning to dim. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s wonderful! I feel wonderful! You’re wonderful. The world is wonderful!” She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “And I owe it all to you.”

“I do not know what I’ve done, but I hope that I do it again!” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her once again. The Slayer pressed her lips against his, pushing Balan back onto the bed. No matter how many more times they had sex, her fey did not illuminate as it did that first time. She was hoping that her powers would return, but she didn’t feel or experience any other changes to her body or fey.

The following day, Buffy decided to take her lover on a trek to where his kinfolk had perished at the crossing of the river. Since she had never really properly paid her respects to those that had died, she now felt the overwhelming need to do so. The Slayer found it amusing that she had to teach the mortal how to ride a horse. Of course, elvish horses were very easy to handle and responded wholly to verbal commands. Balan turned out to be a quick learner and mastered his steed with ease. When they reached the river, they were stunned to see eight huge willow trees growing along the banks where the mighty had fallen. Buffy thought that perhaps the Valkyries had planted them in remembrance, but she would find out centuries later that it was Ulmo. The couple decided to picnic beneath one of the trees on the edge of the river.

Once they had finished eating, Buffy wanted to walk off their meal by taking a stroll along the shore.

“Help me up,” said Balan, offering her his outstretched arms.

The Slayer grabbed his hands and much to her surprise (and his, as well), as she heaved the mortal to his feet, he went soaring through the air, over her head, landing with a plop in the chilly waters. Buffy remained motionless for a few seconds, shocked by the sudden return of her slayer strength. It wasn’t until her lover cried out that she turned her attention to the river. The current was taking Balan downstream.

“I’m coming, Balan!” she exclaimed before diving into the water. Buffy quickly caught up with her lover and brought him back to shore. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe my strength has finally returned,” she said once they had reached dry ground. The drenched mortal sat there, astonished by her demonstration of strength. He had never seen one so small with such brawn. Buffy was overjoyed that one of her powers had returned and attributed it to her carnal act with Balan. She believed it was only a matter of time before her other gifts were restored.

For six weeks, they remained hidden away in Greenwood. While the Slayer didn’t gain any more powers, she did enjoy spending all that time with Balan. When they returned to the encampment, they went their separate ways. It was imperative that none discover their secret trysts, which became more frequent over time. The only time that they met in public was at the funeral of Rimush and the appointment of Marach as lord of the Third House in Yr 303.

Over the years, Buffy explained away her long absences to her son by saying that she was visiting with Durin’s folk in Khazâd-Dûm. Her son had no reason not to believe her, that is, until the summer of Yr 309. The half-elf happened to come across a group of dwarves on their way to visit the Lord of Lindórinand. When he introduced himself to the Khazâd, they were delighted to meet one of Buffy’s children. Of course, the conversation turned to the Slayer, and that’s when Olofin learned of his mother’s deception. She had not visited with the dwarves since the days when Durin was Lord, over one hundred years before. That half-elf’s heart sank when he learned that his mother had been lying to him all those years. He immediately took off for the encampment to question the Maiar on Buffy’s whereabouts.

Now, the Maiar of his mother’s Household were solely devoted to their Mistress, and their loyalty to her was unwavering. They refused to say a word to the half-elf, who then turned to Luthor for counsel. The old man was troubled when he had heard what Olofin had told him.

“Look for her, my son. I’ll see if I can find out anything from my brethren.”

“But Luthor,” said the worried half-elf, “they won’t say a word.”

“Leave that to me,” answered Luthor with a devilish grin. “I have my own special way of getting to the bottom of things.”

Olofin changed into falcon form and flew high above the encampment. When he spotted one of the Valkyries disappearing into Greenwood, he decided to start his search there, following the maiden. It wasn’t long before he came upon the hidden camp along the eastern eaves of the forest. The half-elf easily recognized the pavilion that belonged to his mother. He flew into a nearby tree and waited. To his dismay, Buffy came out of her pavilion on the arm of the lord of the First House. He watched in horror as they undressed and jumped into the spring located next to her dwelling. While that was bad enough, Olofin was further traumatized when the lovers began copulating out in the open. He had never seen his mother behave in such a manner, not even with his father. Sickened by their lack of decorum, he flew off the limb he had been perched upon, heading west. Once some distance separated him from the hidden camp, he landed, returned to his mortal form, and wept. Olofin was unsure of how to confront Buffy with her infidelity or even if it was his place to do so. His heart broke knowing that the rumors of his mother’s celibacy proved to be false. He now knew it was just another lie. The half-elf changed form and took off for the encampment. Surely, Luthor would know how to handle the situation.

When the Slayer returned to the encampment on Midsummer’s Day, she found both Luthor and Olofin waiting inside her pavilion. She smiled at the men before noticing that many of her belongings were gone.

“What’s… what’s going on? Where’s all my stuff?” she asked as she glanced around the near empty chamber.

“Sit,” answered Luthor, gesturing towards the vacant seat.

“O--kay,” she drawled, plopping down heavily on the chair. Olofin sat with his head bowed, playing with a ring on his index finger while the old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze on her. “Is something wrong? Are you alright, Olofin?” Her son shook his head, but spoke not one word. Buffy was beginning to sense the tension in the room when Luthor spoke.

“Where have you been?”

“I’ve been with the dwarves.” Buffy turned to her youngest child. “I told you that I was going to Khazâd-Dûm.” She shifted her gaze back to the old Maia. “What’s the big deal?”

“We have reason to believe that you were not visiting with the Naugrim,” continued Luthor, tapping his fingers on the arm of his seat, his narrowed gaze boring into her.

Before she could respond, Olofin lifted his head, a look of disappointment on his face. He fixed his teary green eyes on his mother and whispered, “I saw you, nana. I saw you in a… in a compromising situation with Balan.” Buffy’s face turned a deep shade of red. She didn’t know what to say.

“What were you thinking?” chastised Luthor, leaning forward in his seat. “Or were you not thinking at all?” The Slayer shifted her eyes to her lap, uncomfortable with her current predicament. She remained silent and deeply embarrassed. “Come daybreak, we set out for home. The mortals may not come along.” Buffy’s head shot up, her mouth agape. She felt blindsided by Luthor’s announcement. “Are you understanding me, Bella?” Buffy felt like a child. She found herself speechless, simply nodding in reply. She glanced at her son, who sat there with his face buried in his hands.

“I thought you were beyond this,” Luthor lectured. “I cannot tell you how utterly disappointed I am in you… ” Buffy couldn’t take it any more. With her eyes welling with tears, in the middle of the old man’s speech, she fled the chamber for Feawë’s dwelling. She knew in her heart that she would not be able to delay their departure for any reason, not even death.

“I want to see Balan one more time,” she cried to her Valkyrie chieftain. “Help me, Feawë! Help me do this!”

“Of course, I will,” answered the woman, patting her Mistress reassuringly on the back. “Stay here. Let me get Vórëa.” She then hurriedly left the room in search of her sister.

Buffy nervously paced back and forth while drying her eyes on the back of her hand. As she avoided the piles of stacked boxes, she wondered how long Feawë had known that they would be leaving for Beleriand. It seemed obvious to the Slayer that her servant knew Luthor’s mind, her packed belongings were evidence of that.

“Ow! God damn it!” she yelped, accidentally walking into a stack of boxes. She continued to utter curses under her breath, rubbing her shin feverishly when the topmost box teetered off the stack, spilling the contents to the floor. “Oh, great! Just my luck,” she moaned, stooping down to pick up the items, which consisted mostly of writing implements. As Buffy shoved rolls of parchment in various sizes and colors back into the box, an idea suddenly came to her. She sat on the floor, grabbed some parchment, a quill and a near empty bottle of ink. She then found herself scribbling out detailed instructions in the runes of Daeron.

“Can you believe the old coot has stationed himself outside?” said an irritated Vórëa upon entering the chamber.

“Who? Luthor?” queried Buffy, blowing on the wet ink on the document.

“Who else?” Vórëa replied with a roll of her eyes, sitting beside her Mistress on the floor.

“We’ll have to wait until nightfall,” said Feawë, taking a seat opposite the other two. “Would you Ladies like some wine to help pass the time?”

The women remained seated on the floor, discussing their strategy for the evening. Every thirty minutes, Luthor peeked inside the draped doorway, making sure that Buffy was still inside. It was during one of those inspections when Laurië swapped the old man’s water skin with one that contained a strong dose of sleeping tonic. Once they got him out of the way, that only left Olofin. The Slayer didn’t want her son drugged by any means, just distracted for an hour or so. She knew better than to offer him one of her maidens, having learned that lesson long ago. As it stood, Buffy had positioned sentinels strategically around the half-elf’s quarters. It didn’t appear as though he was keeping watch on her, only Luthor. She was to be notified at once if her son left his pavilion.

As soon as Luthor was asleep, Buffy and a dozen of her maidens left Feawë’s abode for the mortal side of the camp. One of her Valkyries had already alerted Balan of the urgent meeting. With so little notice, the mortal lord needed the help of some of his most trusted confidants in arranging the secret rendezvous. By the time the group of women entered mankind’s section of the encampment, Balan was waiting in a nearby structure.

“Luinil!” exclaimed the distraught mortal when she entered the tent. He hurried across the room and pulled his lover into a tight embrace. “What is this I hear? You’re leaving? Without us? Without me?” His glistening gray eyes revealed his anguish.

Buffy had begun to speak when Rainë’s head suddenly appeared through the flap of the tent. “My Lady, Olofin has just left his quarters and is coming this way!” She then disappeared.

“Shit!” Buffy was furious. She had just gotten there. Grabbing her lover’s hands, she said, “Listen Balan, turns out, I’ve only got a couple of minutes before I’ve gotta go, so we’ve got to make this quick, unfortunately... ”

“I don’t understand,” he interrupted, a look of confusion on his face. “What has happened to cause those of the mighty House of Luinil to flee these lands so unexpectedly? Why is Olofin… ”

“He saw us, Balan!” she interjected. “And when I say he saw us, I mean, he saw us!” The Slayer knew her time was dwindling and didn’t want to waste it on needless explanations. “Listen, there’s no way out of this. We leave tomorrow, I can’t change that.” She reached in the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a small scroll, placing it in her lover’s hand. “Take this,” she began again. “Guard it with your life. Show it to none.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see later.” She placed a hand on his face, tenderly caressing his cheek. “I’m so grateful that I found you, Balan, son of Mansur. You’ve truly renewed my faith in mankind and for that, I bestow what blessings I have upon you and your seed. I’ve made some bad choices in my past, but you and me; we weren’t one of them. Sometimes, I think Eru gives us second chances, and I think that you’re my second chance, son of Sargon. When you find yourself growing weary with age, follow those instructions and I’ll come for you. I don’t know how or when, but I’ll find my way back to Folkvang again. I’m gonna bring you there, Balan. I’m gonna take you to my Blessed Realm to live out all of eternity. There will be no dark halls of Mandos for you, my beloved. I will make that happen. I swear.”

“My Lady, Olofin approaches,” said Rainë, sticking her head in the tent once again.

“It’s not enough time,” cried out the mortal. “You cannot leave just yet.”

“I have no other choice. I have to go. You cannot follow me, Balan. This is the end, for a while anyway.”

“No, I refuse… ” Buffy shut him up by kissing him. She could hear her maidens arguing with her son outside the tent.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I love you, Luinil.”

“I love you too.” A teary-eyed Buffy then left the tent. Her lover fell to his knees and cried out in despair. Any hope of secrecy was lost, as the Valkyries were wrestling with Olofin on the ground, drawing the attention of many mortals. “For Eru’s sake, get off him!” shouted the Slayer. She reached down and helped her son to his feet.

The half-elf brushed the dirt from his clothing, shaking his head in disgust. “I cannot believe that you would resort to having your women attack me! That’s a new low, mother, even for you.” Buffy tried to argue, but Olofin would hear none of it. He snatched her hand and led her through the crowd of people with the Valkyries following behind.

By the time they reached the other side of camp, Istahiro had roused Luthor from his slumber. While the Slayer thought that Olofin was furious, that was nothing compared to Luthor. His eyes were ablaze with rage, his face stern.

“We will not wait for morning. We’re leaving right now!” barked the old man. Buffy felt so horrible that she wasn’t about to contest the angry Maia’s will. She had made her bed, and now she was going to have to lie in it.

So it was on that Midsummer’s evening, that most of the Vala of Love’s Household left the encampment. Those that remained behind were to pack up their things and join the others on their journey. It would be a miserable trip for the most part as Luthor refused to allow the Valkyries any contact with their Mistress for several days.

When the group had reached the waters of Kheled-zâram in the valley of Azanulbizar, they stopped and rested for a while. Olofin and Luthor had decided that they, along with Buffy, would visit the dwarves under the Misty Mountains since she had never done so in all the years that they dwelled by the banks of the Anduin. They felt that that was necessary in order to maintain good relations with the Naugrim, especially since Durin had died fighting in the Slayer’s war. Hearing from the Vala Queen herself about the mighty deeds of their forefather would aid the long overdo healing process for those people.

Before Buffy left with Olofin and Luthor for the Halls of Durin, she had her first opportunity to speak with the Valkyries in private. She instructed them to leave their hröas in Folkvang and to travel with mankind in spirit-form. It was her maidens’ responsibility to guide the kindred of Man into Beleriand.

The Khazâd loved Freya, as they still called her, and insisted that she and her two companions stay for a time within their Halls. Durin’s grandson, who was now lord of those goodly people, eagerly wanted to show her the Seventy-Seventh Hall that his forefather had made in her honor. Buffy declined, wanting to wait until Durin was reborn so that the dwarf lord could personally show her the results of his labor.

Several weeks later, they left Khazâd-Dûm and continued their trek north. In the distance, they could see the caravan of mortals trailing behind, which delighted the Slayer to no end. It seemed like the mountain chain would never end as they rode west of the mighty peaks for months, or so it seemed. The tension between Buffy, Luthor and Olofin had abated after a time, and they spent many nights talking into the wee hours of the morning beneath the starlit sky.

A few weeks after the arrival of the New Year, the company reached the hilly regions of northwestern Eriador. At that point, Luthor and Buffy’s demonic offspring (who had remained cloaked throughout the journey so as to not frighten the mortals) were to part from the rest of the Household. They would continue on to the Deeper Well, which was northeast from where they now stood, while the Slayer and her kinfolk would head due west towards Ered Luin. Before the old man left, he took both mother and son aside, speaking to each in private.

“You have impressed me so much over the years, Olofin,” he said to the sorrowful half-elf as they walked amongst the hills in that area. “You are a decent, honorable man and I deem Maglor will be proud to hear of your valiant deeds in the East.” The old man reached in his cloak pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a blue cloth. “This is for you,” began Luthor again, revealing a vial of blood hidden in the material.

Olofin wore a puzzled expression on his face. “What is it?”

“This is a vial of blood I took from your mother back in the days of Angband. Its properties are untainted and pure, and I daresay possess magical qualities as well. Take it,” he continued, placing the wrapped vial into the elf’s hand. “Do not tell your mother that I gave this to you, as she would be most angry with me.”

“Luthor, what am I supposed to do with this? I’m not a master of potions,” said the perplexed half-elf.

The old man chuckled as he placed his hand affectionately on Olofin’s shoulder. “You will know what to do with it when the time arrives, my son. You are a great man, Olofinwë Tirnon, and you have abilities far greater than you know. In time, you will come to see this.”

“Come with us to Beleriand, Luthor,” pleaded the young man. “I hate to think that I won’t see you again for a long while.”

“My dear boy, you know where I live. Come visit me at the Deeper Well when your heart so desires, for that is where I shall be.” Luthor turned his gaze to Buffy, who was feeding her horse handfuls of grain. A worried look came to his face. “Look after your mother.” He shifted his tear-filled blue eyes back to Olofin. “She may drive me mad with her behavior at times, but she’s a good woman, one of the best that’s out there. But I fear for her, my son. My Eru, how I worry about her! Dark times await her, and I fear… ” He paused, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. “I fear what may happen in days to come. Be her rock, Olofin. Be the voice of reason when she needs to hear it. Alas, I foresee much heartache in Bella’s future,” admitted the Maia, choking back his tears. “I love you, my dear Olofin. If I had a son, I could only wish for him to turn out as well as you. Be strong. Don’t let the pride of your kin lead you astray. Follow your heart, for it is pure, and will not lead you to folly. Take care, my boy, take care.”

Olofin was heartbroken. He wandered off to deal with his grief alone while Luthor pulled Buffy aside and spoke with her for a long while. Whatever he had said to the Slayer, she would not speak of it for many, many years. The Maiar watched as their Mistress collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The old man held her in his arms, trying to reassure her that things would be alright.

At nightfall, Luthor and his companions continued on their way while the others remained where they were, hunkering down for the night.

It was a fine spring morning when the group finally entered Beleriand. Buffy let out a joyous shriek when they encountered Kit and Kat on the Dwarf-Road that lead through the pass in the Blue Mountains. Her lions pounced on their Mistress, licking her face in greeting. Olofin lifted his voice in song when he saw the tall trees of Ossiriand to their south. He and his mother stood side-by-side looking at the fair lands before them. After all those years, they finally made it home…


Chapter 68 - HUSH

“We finally made it, nana,” declared Olofin, drinking in the beautiful scenery. “Beleriand.”

Buffy looked upon the valley below them, absently rubbing the lions on either side of her. “What a long, strange trip it’s been,” she sang under her breath. Chuckling, she turned towards the Maiar. “Let’s take a break, guys.”

“What?” exclaimed the half-elf, facing his mother with a look of disbelief on his face. “We’re less than a league from the ford. We can be at Lindon Hall by noon.”

“Oh, come on, Olofin. Look at the view,” said Buffy enthusiastically, stretching her arms widely. “We’ve been gone for nearly a century and a half, let’s take a few minutes to enjoy this momentous occasion.” That’s all the Maiar needed to hear. Those on horses, dismounted, eager to walk the stiffness from their limbs.

The Slayer left the Dwarf-Road with her kitties and took a seat on a nearby shelf on the mount’s shoulder. It was a surreal moment for her, and demanded much reflection. Buffy’s stomach felt twisted in knots with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She had longed to come home for so long, but now that she was there, it terrified her. Doubt, once again, found its way into her heart. The Slayer didn’t think she was ready to face Maglor. She feared his finding out about what she had done not only in Sumer but back at the encampment too. It didn’t help matters any, knowing that the people of Balan had managed to pass those of Marach in their fervor to follow. That made her second guess whether the Hildor would remain silent about the things that had transpired in the East. The elves, the Noldor in particular, were a pretty perceptive folk and had a talent for reading people’s hearts. The possibility that they’d be able to discern the truth by merely searching some vulnerable mortal’s eyes was quite real.

The pressure was too much for Buffy to bear. She cried, not knowing what she should do. The lions attempted to console her by rubbing their heads against her, but that only knocked her from side to side.

“Kit! Kat!” called out Olofin, slapping his thighs repeatedly. “Come here, kitties.” The beasts leapt off the ridge, allowing the half-elf room to sit beside his mother. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled Buffy close. She buried her face in Olofin’s tunic, as the tears continued to stream down her face. “It’s alright, nana. Everything will be alright.” He spoke in his most soothing voice, affectionately stroking her long hair.

“Do you see that?” she sniveled. “I mean, do you really see that?”

“What is it that troubles you so?” Olofin queried, resting his chin on her head. “Is there anything I can do to ease your sorrow?”

“No one can help me,” replied Buffy dismally, “but me. And I’m afraid… afraid of what the future has in store for me.” She shifted upright, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.

“You must confront your fears head on, mother.”

“You think?” She turned her weepy eyes to her son.

“Absolutely.”

The Slayer took a deep breath, stifling her tears. Fixing her gaze to the west, she said, “If you think so, then we need to continue west, crossing Sarn Athrad… ”

“But that is not the way home,” interjected the half-elf, slightly taken aback. “Where is it that you wish to go?”

“If we continue west, crossing the Gelion, we’ll eventually meet up with your father on the outskirts of Amon Ereb.”

“Father?” exclaimed Olofin, his brows raised. “Father is in southern Beleriand? How do you know this?”

She faced her son. “I know more than I let on… sometimes. Káno, Russandol and Finrod are traveling east as we speak. If we leave now, we’ll catch up to them in a couple of hours, if you want to.”

Olofin excitedly leapt to his feet. “Of course, I do. Let’s go!” He helped his mother up before they made their way back to the Dwarf-Road where the others waited.

“It looks like this is the end of the road for us,” Buffy said to the waiting Maiar. “You guys can go back to Folkvang now. Olofin and I are going to continue the journey on our own. But I need someone to do me a favor.” Istahiro immediately volunteered. “Go to Orchal. Tell him that I need the Carnimír and my belt from my copper trunk. Bring them to me.” She handed the healer the key. He nodded his head before disappearing in the blink of an eye. “No, no, no,” she then said, turning to her son, who was about to mount his steed. “We won’t be traveling on our horses. Get our bags. Kit and Kat will be our transportation. We’ll get there faster that way.” The half-elf nodded, before carrying out his mother’s orders.

Ten minutes later, Istahiro returned carrying a blue sack with the requested items, a note from Orchal, and the key. Buffy took them, placing them in her satchel. She gave her people some last minute instructions while Olofin eased onto Kit’s back. She then bid farewell to the remaining members of her Household, as she climbed on Kat’s back. The lions took off down the Dwarf-Road, gradually ascending into the air, higher and higher.

As they soared above the River Ascar, they could hear the sweet voices of the elves singing from the depths of the wood, breaking Buffy’s heart. She desperately wanted to tell the lions to turn south, to return to her magnificent Halls on Tol Galen, but she knew that it would be unwise for her to do so. During the Slayer’s illness, she had experienced many visions. Some were the direct result of the malady and would not come to fruition, but others were, in fact, prophetic in origin. The Veil had temporarily unraveled; there was no doubting that. The difficult part was the discerning of actual future events from the delusions brought about by the disease. One thing Buffy knew for sure: she needed to avoid Ossir for several decades, if she could. If she did that, it would not only strengthen her relationship with Orchal and the other Green-elves, but it would also strengthen the forces of the Noldor, something that Buffy knew was imperative to future events. The animosity that the elves of Ossir had for the mortals was integral to Ilúvatar’s designs; she saw that now. Mankind had to encounter one from the House of Finwë, but the Slayer would do everything in her power to make sure that it wasn’t a son of Fëanor. After her recent affair with Balan, she had had to distance the brothers from the Hildor so that they could not discover her secret. At least a couple of generations needed to pass on before the brothers could forge a friendship with the Second-born, when Buffy would become nothing more than a mythological figure from the past, a rumor from bygone days.

“Look!” shouted Olofin, only an hour later. “There they are!” The Slayer looked in the direction that her son was pointing, but saw nothing but the plains dotted with trees. With the loss of the greater part of her powers, she no longer had the ability to descry things from afar, as she once did. Even when she squinted her eyes, she couldn’t make out the small shapes in the distance. “Faster, Kit, faster,” he said, encouraging the lion to increase his speed. Surprisingly, Kit did just that, leaving both Buffy and Kat in the dust.

“C’mon, girl. We can’t let the men folk beat us in this race.” Kat let out a low growl as she suddenly increased her pace, nearly sending Buffy flying off the cat’s back. The Slayer shrieked, grabbing hold of the lioness’ flesh in order to remain seated. She quickly adjusted her position, hunching down so that the force of the wind wouldn’t knock her off the beast. She wasn’t in the mood to die again. Kat’s swiftness allowed them to catch up with both the half-elf and Kit.

“Can you see them now?” asked her son, his excitement growing with every passing minute.

Buffy looked hard, but still saw nothing. “Nope,” she replied. “I’ve got the eyesight of a freakin’ mortal, damn it! I can’t see anything.”

“We’re getter closer, mother.”

Olofin then began singing a lighthearted song that his father had sung to him as an elfling. Buffy laughed, recalling those joyful times from their past. It seemed so long ago. All of a sudden, she heard a faint voice carrying on the wind, gradually becoming louder and louder. Her heart nearly stopped before it began pounding so hard, she felt it in her throat. It was Maglor, singing along with his son. The Slayer’s eyes scanned the landscape, but she saw neither her husband nor his two companions.

“Oh my God!” cried out Buffy, her eyes stinging with tears. “I hear him, I hear Maglor!” Any reservations she had about seeing her beloved Noldo vanished the moment she heard his melodious voice. “C’mon, Kat, faster.” Olofin was already waving to his kinfolk on the ground even though his mother still hadn’t caught sight of them. Her tears turned into outright sobbing when she finally saw three tiny dots moving slowly from the west some twenty minutes later. “I see ‘em, I see ‘em,” she yelled to her son.

The lions then slowly began to make their descent. The trio was still some distance away, but Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the middle figure, recognizing her husband even if he was minute from her viewpoint. A quick movement from the corner of her eye distracted the Slayer for a moment. Turning her teary eyes to her son, her jaw dropped when she saw that he had changed into a falcon and was plummeting to the earth below.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” she shouted after his speeding form. She then grumbled, “Why does that boy of mine have to show off his powers? I hate being the weakling.”

With Olofin gone, Kit swerved closer to his mate, flying beside her. Buffy started waving and shouting when she saw the now distinctive figures on the ground greeting each other with hugs and kisses. In her eagerness to see her loved ones, she leapt from Kat when they were about fifty feet from the ground. Unfortunately, her legs were like jell-o. When she landed, they gave out, causing her to take a terrible tumble.

Looking up, she saw a smiling Maglor standing over her, his hand reaching out for her. “So much for dramatic entrances, huh?” she quipped, taking his hand.

“Bella,” he said with a laugh, pulling her to her feet. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet in a bear hug.

“I missed you too,” cried Buffy, burying her face in his long dark hair. She felt herself drowning in his manly scent.

It was a joyous and unexpected reunion for the Slayer and the sons of Finwë. The three Noldorin Lords had left their realms in the north to enjoy a bit of hunting in Taur-en-Faroth (“Forest of the Hunters”) when they decided to visit the fair lands of Ossir, which was a place of extreme beauty, especially in springtime. Their meeting only confirmed to Buffy that it wasn’t mere chance; it was fate. At that moment, she knew that Finrod was the one, the one who would discover the Hildor. A destiny that would, in times to come, prove to be a double-edged sword for the golden-haired son of Finarfin.

After exchanging more hugs and kisses, the group sat around in a circle, drinking wine and nibbling on lembas bread, as the Noldo Lords bombarded both mother and son with questions. They were anxious to hear about the younger children of Ilúvatar and their adventures in the East. Olofin fielded most of the questions, while Buffy and her husband sat snuggled up together, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

Only a few minutes later, Maglor pushed aside her golden locks, eager to plant kisses on the delicate skin of her neck. “Where are your scars? The vampire bite marks, they’re gone,” gasped the baffled Noldo overly loud, drawing the attention of their companions. Buffy felt her blood run cold. Her gaze quickly shifted to Káno’s hand that she clutched in her own. Her death was something that had been off limits to discussion since the days of Sumer. And having it brought up after all those years brought to the surface the pain and agony that she thought she had buried long ago. “Oh my Eru!” he exclaimed, his voice full of shock. “Luinil, you died, didn’t you?” He turned his stunned gray eyes on his son. “You never mentioned that your mother had died in any of your letters… ” The Slayer’s heart dropped to her stomach. She was unaware that her son had been corresponding with his father, and was unsure of how much her beloved actually knew about her deeds in Sumer.

“Letters?” interjected Buffy nervously. “What letters?” She too fixed her gaze on her son. “You never mentioned writing any letters!” The speed at which she spoke revealed her anxiety.

“You died!” cried out Maedhros and Finrod in unison, floored by Maglor’s deduction. The Slayer hung her head, her body started to tremble, knowing that she was about to relive that whole terrible ordeal again. She could feel the penetrating gaze of her companions, increasing her discomfort. Káno rubbed her back reassuringly, as he looked to Olofin for details.

“Úrion killed her,” revealed their son, his eyes welling with tears at the memory.

“Úrion!” exclaimed the Noldo Lords in chorus.

“He was the mole,” answered the grim-faced half-elf.

“I… I can’t do this,” sobbed the Slayer, quickly getting to her feet. “I don’t want to… I can’t… ” She attempted to wander off from the group, but Maglor leapt to his feet and stopped her.

“Don’t flee! You’re amongst loved ones, my darling,” he said comfortingly, his face fraught with worry. “I haven’t seen you in so long… I just want to know what happened.”

“Then hear it from Olofin, ‘cause I can’t… ” She shook her head as tears continued to roll down her cheeks, “I can’t relive it again. I… just… can’t.” Buffy pulled free from her husband’s grasp and hurriedly walked away. Kit and Kat rushed to her side.

“Maranwë!” called out Maglor, flummoxed by her reaction.

He went to follow, but was prevented from doing so by a strong hand gripping his shoulder. Turning, he saw his only son standing there, his green eyes glistening with tears. “Let her be, adar,” said Olofin, giving Maglor’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Nana has not yet dealt with her grief and forbids any to speak of her crucifixion.” The half-elf glanced at his mother, who plunked down in the tall grass several yards away, burying her face in Kit’s mane. “She wants me to be the one to tell you. Come,” instructed Olofin, guiding his father back to the two Noldor that remained seated, talking in hushed voices. “It’s a woeful tale and I’d rather only tell it once.”

While the half-elf recounted the tribulation of his mother, Buffy continued to bawl. She never thought it possible to cry so much. In the span of thirty minutes, she had gone from crying tears of joy to tears of despair. She never thought that her death would become a topic of conversation so soon after returning. The Slayer had assumed that when her Household returned to the Gap, then and only then would she have to deal with Úrion’s absence and the story of his betrayal. Truth be told, she’d rather discuss her numerous affairs than her horrific demise. She had never gotten over it, and didn’t know if she ever would.

“Stop it! You’ve been acting like a blubbering fool for too long,” she chastised herself. Buffy sat upright, wiping her face dry on her cloak. The lions cocked their heads, their yellow eyes looking at her with confusion. Upon noticing their expressions, she gave them a small smile. “I’m not talking about you guys, I’m talking about me.”

Buffy was desperate to find relief from her latest bout of melancholy. Unfortunately, the hul-gil she had brought with her was in her bag where the others sat. There was no way that she wanted to get within earshot of the men’s conversation. Even from where she sat, she could hear gasps and cries of “What!” coming from the Noldo Lords. The Slayer lounged on Kit’s outstretched form, hoping the warmth of the sun’s rays would rid her of the chill that had overwhelmed her. She began breathing slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm her rattled nerves.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she felt a presence, Maglor’s presence, standing over her. Her eyes darted open, only to see the Noldo falling to his knees, tears streaming down his handsome face. His deep, gray eyes revealed much sorrow. Without saying a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, and wept. Now that he had heard all the details of his wife’s death, he couldn’t blame her for not wishing to speak or hear of any mention of it. To know that she had died in such a brutal manner by someone’s hand that she had dearly loved, left the elf horror-struck. He couldn’t believe that Úrion had deceived her, deceived them all. It clearly showed what lengths Morgoth was willing to go to in order to achieve his greatest desire - Buffy. That frightened the son of Fëanor. How does one thwart the greatest and most evil Vala to ever set foot on Arda in his attempts to woo your beloved, a woman that happens to have a history with him, as well as a child?

“It’s okay, Káno,” whispered the Slayer, pulling out of the embrace. She tenderly wiped his tears away with her fingers. “Maybe now you can see why I don’t want to talk about what happened in the East. I just want to put it behind me.”

“You must deal with it at some point, Luinil. When you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I know. And that means a lot to me. But right now, I just want to resume my life, our life.” She kissed him softly on the lips, her fingers caressing his cheeks. “I’ve waited a hundred and fifty long years for this moment… ”

“One hundred fifty-one years, my love,” corrected the Noldo with a small smile. “It’s been one hundred fifty-one years, five months and ten days since you left.”

“You sound like Thranduil,” Buffy chuckled.

“Perhaps,” answered Maglor, looking lovingly at his wife. He pushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips tracing the skin on her neck where her scars once were. A wistful look came to his face before he added, “I remember it so, as it was the day I lost both my wife and son.” The Noldo sighed heavily. “How can one forget the day when his heart was broken?”

“Then we need to work on mending our broken hearts, don’t you think?”

“I deem we’ve already started that,” he replied, kissing her sweetly on the lips. The chill that had enveloped the Slayer’s heart dissipated, although her craving for a good dose of hul-gil had not.

“They’re not gonna keep talking about my… death, are they?” she asked, casting a glance over her shoulder at the other Noldor.

“No. Olofin has told us what we need to know. We shan’t speak of it again until you’re ready.”

“Good,” she answered, rising to her feet. She pulled her husband to his as well. Kit and Kat followed suit, waiting patiently for their Mistress’ next move. “I need to take my medicine.” Buffy linked her arm with Maglor’s, and started back towards the others.

“Medicine?” queried the son of Fëanor, his brows furrowed with concern. “Are you ill?”

“Kinda.” She felt her cheeks flush. “I’ve been diagnosed with melancholy and take an herbal remedy to… you know, help.”

“I see.”

The couple rejoined the others. Despite the looks of pity Buffy got from her husband’s kin, she smoked two bowls of opium before she felt more at ease. She was still concerned about the content of Olofin’s letters, but after the Noldo Lords learned of her death, the conversation quickly turned to the goings-on in Beleriand. The big news was that Turgon’s sister, Aredhel, had set out from Gondolin (Turgon’s hidden kingdom), to visit Celegorm and Curufin more than a decade earlier and had never returned. Many believed that she had died while trying to pass through Nan Dungortheb, a place that Buffy recalled all too clearly. That was where she had first arrived in Middle-earth, the land of the humongous spiders, and the hideous offspring of Ungoliant, Melkor’s co-conspirator in the destruction of the Two Trees. Even though the Slayer had only met the elleth once, long ago, she was saddened to hear the news.

Finrod lightened the mood by telling Buffy about the completion of his own hidden fortress, Nargothrond, which mirrored Menegroth in both beauty and impenetrability. He was eager for her and Olofin to visit his Halls, as he now made that his permanent home, having given control of Minas Tirith to his brother, Orodreth.

“After we visit your fair lands, Bella, I’d like for you to return with me to my Halls beside the River Narog,” proclaimed the golden-haired Noldo.

“I have no intention to go to Ossir, Finrod… ”

Olofin choked on his wine when he heard that. “What?” he coughed. “We’re not going to Ossir!”

“Nope,” answered Buffy. “I, like Aredhel, wish to visit Himlad.”

“You wish to visit my brothers. Why?” asked Maedhros, a curious expression on his face.

“Actually, I need to see Curufin. I want to see if he can help me with something.”

“But mother,” started her confounded son. “You had said that your heart’s greatest desire was to return to your fair Halls on Tol Galen. Long we’ve dwelled in the plains of the East with promises from you that we’d all return first to the fair woods of Ossir once we entered Beleriand. Why so anxious to journey to the northern plains without as much as an overnight stay in the land of my birth? Great welcome will we get from those that stayed behind. It is your kingdom, after all.” Olofin was quite anxious to sail upon the waters of Gelion and Adurant, to walk amongst the towering trees, and to hear the sweet voices of the Green-elves singing from the treetops in the realm of his mother.

“My greatest desire was to be reunited with your father, Olofin,” she answered, placing her hand atop her son’s. “And that has come to be.” Buffy gave her husband a quick smile before continuing. “We’ve been gone from the East for a long time now, and we did spend a lot of time with Amdír in the fair woods of Lindórinand. If living amongst the mortals taught us anything, it’s that time is a gift that shouldn’t be overlooked. I’m willing to forgo visiting Ossiriand for a while longer in my urgency to speak with Curufin.” The half-elf looked longingly at the woods to their south, a look of disappointment on his face.

“I’ve selfishly taken you away from you father for more years than he’s known you, my son,” she continued, her heart aching for her youngest. He faced his mother. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ossir can wait. Do this for me, please.” Buffy looked pleadingly at her son. His eyes widened as he suddenly realized that his mother was keen to depart southern Beleriand before the mortals passed through the Blue Mountains that bordered her realm.

He nodded his head. “If that is your wish, nana, then I will do as you ask. Who am I to break up our family reunion so soon after returning?”

“Thanks, honey,” she answered with a sigh of relief.

“So you will not be going on to Ossir then,” remarked Finrod.

“Not right now.”

“If I have your leave, Bella, I’d like to continue on to your kingdom and visit a while. I have no desire to return to Nargothrond at this time.”

Buffy smiled. “Of course you can. I’ve told you before, Finrod, that you’re always welcome in my lands. But know that Orchal now calls the shots in my absence. Whatever he says, goes.”

The son of Finarfin gave her a peculiar look. The twinkle in her eyes suggested that there was something more behind her comments than she let on. Yet, whatever it was, she would not say.

“Let’s be on our way then,” said the Slayer, getting to her feet.

“So soon?” queried Finrod, surprised by her eagerness to leave.

“I’m afraid so.” The others rose from the ground. Olofin dutifully began gathering their belongings as Buffy pulled Finrod aside. “We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure,” she started. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to your Halls.”

“What do you know?” he asked, arching his brow, his voice full of suspicion. The Noldo knew that the Slayer was holding something back from him and was determined to find out what.

Buffy laughed, an uplifting laugh, no less. “You will soon see, my dear friend.” She placed her hands on either side of his face. He bent down so that she could place a kiss on his forehead. “Your destiny awaits… Nóm,” she added with a wide grin.

Finrod took her hands in his. “What does that mean - Nóm?”

“You’ve inherited the wisdom of your father,” she answered, her smile widening. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.” She gave him one last hug.

“You are speaking in riddles, my Lady,” remarked the Lord of Nargothrond.

“Hmm, I guess spending all these years in the company of elves has finally rubbed off on me,” she laughed. “Farewell, my friend. We’ll see each other soon.”

“Take care, Bellaseth Dagnir. My heart rejoices in knowing that you’re back. May the Valar protect you and your loved ones on your journey, although I daresay you don’t need their protection.”

The smile faded from Buffy’s face. She nodded curtly to the golden-haired Noldo before turning away. Not only did she still have bitter feelings towards her brethren in the West, but it also seemed rather obvious that Olofin had not told his father and kinfolk about her lack of powers. Since she wasn’t ready to reveal her inadequacies as a wielder of magic just yet, she told her husband that she wished to travel to Himlad by normal means - on horseback.

As she and the sons of Fëanor took off for the northern regions of East Beleriand, Finrod headed northeast towards the Dwarf-Road. Buffy wasn’t too keen to ride on the back of Maglor’s horse, but since she could no longer open portals or teleport, she had no other choice. She looked at Olofin with envy. He flew above them in falcon form. Oh, how the Slayer missed the freedom that comes with flight! While she could have ridden atop one of the lions, she wanted them to run freely beside the galloping steeds.

Their small group rode non-stop, well into the night, not stopping until they reached the Dwarf-Road, some sixty miles east of the River Celon. There, they would rest for the duration of the night.

While the group pulled their blankets from their bags, down in the valley north of Ossir sat Finrod amongst the First House of the Edain. After watching the younger children of Ilúvatar from a distance all afternoon, he waited until they fell asleep before entering their camp. He looked upon the Second-born with much wonderment. Picking up the crudely made harp that Balan had wrought in the days of his youth, the Noldo began plucking the strings, singing a song of Valinor. The enchanting melody roused the mortals from their slumber. They looked upon the Noldo with great love, for in his face they saw the Light that Buffy had spoken of in the past. Before the rising of the sun, Balan would name the Elf Lord Nóm, which meant “wisdom” in the Mannish tongue. Thus, the will of Ilúvatar was coming to fulfillment.

Now, it has already been mentioned that Buffy and Maglor had been separated for more than one hundred and fifty-one years, and in all that time, not once did the Noldo violate his marital vows. Therefore, when the opportunity presented itself, Kanafinwë was most eager to enjoy some ‘quality time’ with his wife while his brother and son lay sleeping beneath the stars of Varda Elbereth.

The couple quietly left the camp, leaving the lions behind to keep watch. Their shadowy forms disappeared into a grove of oak trees several hundred feet away from their sleeping kindred. Buffy had nearly forgotten how great a lover Maglor was. After all those years of being with mortal men, the elf’s fiery passion was rivaled by none… save Morgoth. While the Dark Foe proved to be a proficient lover, the Slayer didn’t love him, and love made all the difference when it came to the act of bodily union. Loving your partner wholly and completely increased the bliss one experienced threefold, as it’s not just about pleasing the needs of the body, but the heart and soul too.

As they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Buffy couldn’t help but think of how different elvish men were from mortal men. The main difference was body hair. Elves were nearly hairless (except for their nether regions), their skin smooth and silky to the touch while mortals tended to have vast amounts of body and facial hair, at least her past lovers did. It was nice being with Maglor, and not having bristly hair scratching not only her face, but also other sensitive parts of her body. It was a most welcomed change.

About mid-morning the following day, the group packed up their stuff and continued on their journey. After crossing the River Celon, they veered off the Dwarf-Road and headed due north across the plains to Himlad. Both Curufin and Celegorm warmly greeted them when they arrived later that afternoon.

Before getting down to business, Buffy wanted to bathe, and asked the brothers if any in their Household had any garments that she could wear. She had only two outfits in her possession, and after several days without washing, her clothing had become soiled and stank to high heaven. The brothers were quick to accommodate their sister-in-law and many maidens from their Household offered dozens of their finest dresses.

The Slayer slipped into the steamy tub of water before her husband joined her. She had always loved bathing with Maglor in the past, and enjoyed doing so once again. It was the first time that the Noldo had seen her completely naked, and immediately he noticed a change to her body.

“The Mark!” he exclaimed, sliding across the tub, spilling water onto the stone floor. “It’s gone!” he continued, examining her breast.

“Um… yeah,” answered Buffy hesitantly, her mind trying to come up with some plausible response. “I guess when I remade my body, I somehow managed to… you know… remove it.”

Stupid answer, she thought to herself. He’ll never buy it!

“That is wonderful indeed!” Maglor said joyfully. His eyes looked over her exposed skin, noticing that all her former scars were gone. “Your flesh is unmarred. You must have decided, deep down, that you no longer wanted those reminders from your past.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” she answered with a forced smile. She wasn’t about to touch that topic.

With the Noldo now noticing her unblemished skin, the Slayer feared that it was only a matter of time before he asked why he hadn’t broken her hymen as he had before. That was something that she had no answer for, so she quickly did her best to divert their conversation to something other than her physical attributes, or lack thereof.

Buffy experienced a sense of relief once they had finished bathing and had finally dressed. Her desire to speak with Olofin about the content of his letters was driving her mad. She had to know how much Maglor knew. She assumed that since her husband didn’t know of her death, than perhaps her son didn’t tell him about the other things she had done in the East. But she needed confirmation of that. Fast. She would find no peace until she had spoken with her youngest. Unfortunately, she’d have to wait a while longer before that opportunity presented itself.

While Maglor stood before the mirror brushing the tangles out of his long dark hair, Buffy spilled the contents of the blue sack onto the bed. She glanced over the note from Orchal, which didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. Apparently, her dear friend was mortified to discover that her treasuries had been cleaned out while they were in the East. His message was yet another reminder of the unscrupulous nature of Úrion. She quickly shoved the parchment back in the sack along with her key. She was most concerned with the jewel of Fëanor, as that was why she had come to Himlad to see Curufin.

A few minutes later, she and Maglor joined Olofin, Maedhros, Celegorm and Curufin in the library. Buffy, clutching the red jewel in her hand, took a seat next to her beloved on one of the couches. By the looks of pity on two of the C-brother’s faces, she could tell that either Russandol or her son had informed them of her grisly demise at the hands of Úrion.

“Ah, the Carnimír!” said Curufin with delight, trying to keep their conversation as lighthearted as possible. “How did it do in battle?”

“Not too good, I’m afraid,” replied the frowning Slayer, running the gold chain attached to the gem through her fingers. “Unfortunately, there was no sunlight to activate it. Illyria had cast all the East under a cloud of blackness for years. It wasn’t until… ” Her words trailed off, a sad expression came to her face. Buffy eyes quickly shifted to the precious stone in her hands, avoiding the stares of the brothers. Maglor placed his hand comfortingly on her knee as Olofin picked up where she had left off.

“By the time the clouds had broken free, the tides had turned,” said the half-elf, intently watching his mother as he spoke. A pale faced Buffy nodded. She was unhappy that her death seemed to come up in nearly every conversation, something that had not happened for a long, long time.

“Oh, I hate to hear that,” replied Curufin, shaking his head disappointedly.

“Thank Eru, father doesn’t know that,” commented Celegorm. “He would be greatly disappointed that Muinthel wasn’t able to utilize that special gemstone to her advantage.” His brothers agreed.

“Any way,” started Buffy again, looking at Curufin, the blood flowing to her cheeks once again. “I was hoping that maybe we could do something different with the Carnimír.” Her eyes briefly scanned her companions’ faces; all wore curious expressions, eager to hear what she had in mind. “Please don’t think that I don’t love this marvelous heirloom, I truly do… but I was wondering if it would be possible to use the ruby as part of a scepter.”

“A scepter?” queried Maedhros before the others could speak.

“You want to use the Carnimír as your scepter in Folkvang. I bet that’s it, right?” said her husband excitedly.

Buffy gave a quick look to Olofin, who sat there with his mouth slightly agape. She turned her gaze to her husband. “You know me so well, Káno,” she said with a smile, taking his hand in hers.

“May I see it?” asked Curufin, reaching for the jewel of Fëanor.

“Sure.” She placed the gemstone in his hand. “I was hoping that we could maybe enhance its magical properties, if we can… I mean, I just don’t want it to be a scepter. I want it to be a weapon too… ” The men gave her a peculiar look. “Well, it’d be nice if it could do stuff if, I don’t know, an unpleasant situation suddenly arose or something.”

“Hmm,” sounded Curufin, twirling the heirloom of their House in his hand. “So you want to imbue it with your magics then.”

“Oh, um, well, er,” she stuttered, shifting uneasily in her seat. “I can’t,” she answered with a sigh.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Celegorm, leaning forward in his seat with his brows drawn together.

Buffy’s eyes darted from face to face as she answered, “I lost my powers.”

All the men gasped, except for Olofin, before bombarding her with various one-word questions like “How?” “When?” “What?”

“It was a plague… a disease I caught that… ”

“The Valar are immune to disease,” interjected Maedhros adamantly. “They cannot have their powers taken by illness.”

“I beg to differ,” answered Buffy with a wave of her hand. “Believe me, I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I only recently got my slayer strength back.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked Maglor with concern. “How could something like this happen?”

The Slayer shifted her gaze to her son, who sat there with his jaw clenched tightly closed. She went to speak, but before any sound came out, Olofin said, “There is a renegade Vala on the loose… No, not Morgoth,” he said responding to the looks of his uncles. “Amarutu Marduk he is called in the Mannish tongue. He’s a Vala from Aulë’s House and possesses great abilities. He used his skill to create a disease for the sole purpose of destroying mother. The bastard nearly succeeded. He even managed to suppress my magics for a time, and the lions still cannot teleport because of his dark spells.”

The half-elf’s words shocked the sons of Fëanor. Buffy was relieved. She could tell by the look in her son’s eyes that he wasn’t about to reveal her secret. That meant that he hadn’t revealed anything to Maglor in his letters that should cause her to worry. Her son was covering for her. The discussion then turned to Marduk. They were still talking about the renegade Vala when the dinner bells rang. As the men started out of the room, the Slayer pulled her son aside.

“I appreciate your discretion regarding… things,” she said gratefully. “Thanks.”

Olofin fixed his green eyes on his mother, his face stern. “You know that I’ve never approved of your… lifestyle whilst we were gone. I found your behavior both deplorable and shameful.” Buffy felt her heart drop; her mouth went dry. “But who am I to interfere with your relationship with father? It is not my place, and I only hope that both the Moriquendi and the Hildor prove to be faithful and speak not of the situations that you found yourself in while away from home.” His expression softened.

“Yet I do believe that an evil lurks throughout the lands in the East and that you’re not entirely responsible for your actions. I deem that lingering darkness seized you in its grasp and led you to folly. My heart tells me that you wish to redeem yourself, and who am I to deny you that? The scepter. That is for Luthor, is it not?”

“Yeah, but I don’t…”

“Want my uncles to find out,” he said, finishing her sentence. “I understand that. It’s an heirloom of our House, and very precious indeed. Your giving the Carnimír to Luthor after destroying his scepter is highly commendable, and a fine way to redeem yourself in the eyes of your father figure. I do not doubt that he will appreciate the gesture. I will see if Curufin will allow me to assist him in devising that most glorious gift, as Luthor is most deserving of it.”

“So you don’t hate me for doing that,” she said meekly, her eyes looking questioningly at her son.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I think it is a mighty gift and shows how much you truly love him.” A smile came to Olofin’s face. “And I think that he’ll be pleased to see what powers it possesses.”

“What do you mean? I can’t imbue it with my magics, remember?”

“No?” he chuckled. “Let’s just see about that. Come now. I’m famished and eager for a hot meal.”

They then left the library. Buffy had no idea that the new scepter would be much greater than Luthor’s old one. Olofin would indeed work with his uncle to make that mystical rod, imbuing it with the untainted blood of his mother. It would come to represent hope and love but also death and destruction, the characteristics that defined Bellaseth Dagnir.


Chapter 69 - REUNION

Buffy and her family remained in Himlad while Olofin toiled with Curufin on the reshaping of the Carnimír. She had given very specific and detailed instructions on the design of the soon-to-be scepter. She envisioned the red jewel in the shape of a single flame, nestled within bronze prongs of a rod wrought from the heart of an ash tree. Etched in silver on the shaft would be a lion and a dove, for that represented both power and peace, which to the Slayer, was very symbolic of who she was, as well as Luthor. Since the jewel came from Fëanor, and his descendants were creating the device, she insisted that his emblem be located on it too.

When it came time for the half-elf to imbue the mammoth jewel with the mystical blood of his mother, he banished all from Curufin’s forges so that he could do that alone. His uncle was proud of his nephew’s devotion to the project, as it demonstrated that he was indeed a son of Fëanor. Many of the Noldor looked on in wonder as blue and white lights emanated from the windows of the workshop, bedazzling the eyes. Despite the endless questions from his kinfolk, the half-elf refused to divulge how he had enhanced the gemstone with its mystical properties.

After one year, Olofin had finished his part in the forging of the scepter. Before leaving Himlad with his parents and Maedhros, he asked his uncle to add a cross to the instrument, as that icon truly represented his mother (and Ilúvatar), and he felt it important that it should have a place on the rod. So intricate were the details, that it would take Curufin and Celebrimbor another thirty-four years before they would complete the scepter for Luthor.

From Himlad, the small party then traveled to Himring, the home of the eldest son of Fëanor, where they remained for yet another year. It was with great joy when Buffy finally arrived home at the Gap in the summer of Yr 312. Apparently, word of her arrival was spreading swiftly throughout both West and East Beleriand (courtesy of Finrod), as messengers from Fingolfin were waiting at their Halls upon her return. The Lord of the Noldor sent words of greeting, and wished for the Slayer and her kin to come to Hithlum to celebrate her homecoming. Buffy was touched by the gesture, but wasn’t in the mood to go back out on the road so soon. She sent word back to Fingolfin that she would come on New Year’s Day, as that had become an important holiday to her over the years.

In the meantime, the Slayer was happy to fall back into her old routine. She and Maglor were inseparable and, literally, did everything together. One didn’t even go to the bathroom without the other, which was strange to say the least. They were desperate to make up for lost time and enjoyed rediscovering each other’s little foibles and whatnot. Quite often, they were seen in the company of their son. Buffy was actually very pleased that Olofin would share many stories that portrayed her in a favorable light with his father. The half-elf even sang some of the hymns written in her honor. Those Maglor especially liked.

Before the end of summer, some from Buffy’s Household returned to the Gap at the bidding of Olofin. He wanted many of the treasures that he had brought back from Sumer. Since he thought that they’d be going to Ossir first, all of his belongings were stored in Lindon Hall, gathering dust over the past two years. The half-elf was quite eager to show his father the many things he had acquired during his stay in the East, but he was most eager to show off the map of Middle-earth that he had spent fifty years devising.

A week before New Year’s Day, Maglor, Buffy, Olofin, the lions, and a few members of their respective Households departed their lands for Eithel Sirion, home of Fingolfin. They headed north, passing through the gate in the wall that Buffy had ordered erected within the ‘gap’ of the March of Maedhros (which is what the northern area of East Beleriand became known as to the Noldor, including the chain of hills). They turned west, crossing the brown grasses of Lothlann, meeting up with Maedhros and his people just north of Himring where the hills faded altogether. The winds blew ferociously from the northwest, and even though all were clad in furs, it was still bitterly cold. Once they had reached the northern fences of Dorthonion, the great pine forest, Buffy and her companions were offered lodging for the night by the people of Aegnor and Angrod, despite the fact that the latter had little love for any son of Fëanor. Each night, they found someone gracious enough to take in the Vala of Love and her ‘escort,’ as her fellow travelers were referred to by the people.

Every morning the group started on their journey before sunrise, riding fast and long, not stopping until all the land lay covered in darkness. They reached the Noldo King’s citadel, Barad Eithel, in six days’ time.

Before meeting with the many Noldo Lords, Buffy wanted to bathe. She was still shaking from the cold, and felt that soaking in a tub of hot, steamy water was the only way to rid the chill from her bones. Once again, her beloved joined her. A little nookie along with a good soak proved to be the cure for her ailment.

After Buffy had donned an exquisite long red velvety gown, Maglor escorted his bride to the central hall in Fingolfin’s castle. Finrod was the first to approach, as he was quite anxious to speak with the Slayer.

“Nóm indeed!” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve clearly proven you have the gift of foresight, my dear Bellaseth. Do you know that it was only later that day, after I had left you, that I encountered the Hildor?”

“You don’t say,” she replied with a sly grin. “Imagine that.”

“You knew. You knew all along.”

Buffy laughed. “So, what did you think of the Second-born?”

“They thought that I was one of the Valar, can you believe that? Me - a Vala!” He chuckled. “I must say that I love them, I love them very much. I even brought one mortal back with me to Nargothrond. Bëor, I named him. And let me tell you, my dear friend, you will come with me to my Halls after this whole thing is over,” he continued with a wave of his hand. “If you do not come now, I deem you never will.”

“I’ll take you up on your offer, Finrod. I could use a change of scenery. I hate the cold winds of the north.”

Catching sight of Fingolfin, the Slayer excused herself and made her way over to the Noldo King. She offered him her condolences at losing his only daughter. He did the same in a roundabout way regarding her own death. It was while they were seated in an alcove, talking with others of the elf’s kindred that Fingolfin’s sister, Lalwen suddenly appeared before them. The woman studied Buffy for a few moments with tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip trembling. She then fell to her knees, burying her face in the Slayer’s lap, sobbing.

Fingolfin appeared embarrassed by his sister’s behavior. “Oh, Lalwen,” he started with a roll of his eyes, “let Luinil be… ” He went to pull the distraught woman away, but Buffy stopped him before he could. The Slayer wrapped her arms around the maiden, lovingly stroking her long dark hair.

“It’s okay, Lalwen. Everything’s okay,” said Buffy reassuringly.

The elf-maiden lifted her head, tears continuing to stream from her pale gray eyes. “I saw it, Bella. I saw your death in my dreams,” she cried. The clamor in the room died down to hushed murmurings, as everyone watched the heart-wrenching scene. “Oh, my Lady, the horror of it all! I saw you nailed to an enormous cross. I felt your pain as the iron spikes were driven through your flesh and bone.” The sound of many people gasping resonated throughout the chamber. Not all had heard the intimate details of Buffy’s death until that point. Lalwen kissed each of the Slayer’s wrists exactly where Úrion had driven the metal nails through her flesh. Many of the Noldor stared with their mouths agape, watching the changes overcoming the Vala of Love’s demeanor. A painful expression came to Buffy’s face as she vividly recalled her crucifixion. She could feel a tightening in her chest. Her breathing came in gasps. The Slayer closed her eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. She was reliving that horrifying moment, the pain, the agony.

“That’s enough,” interjected Fingolfin, kindly but firmly, before his sister could continue. Lalwen shifted her sorrowful gaze to the Noldo Lord. “Do you not see the pain that you are causing Maranwë Luinil?” he asked, glancing at the Slayer. “This is supposed to be a joyful occasion, a time of great celebration, not the time to dredge up lamentable memories better left buried. Speak no more of this, my sister.” He then raised his voice, addressing all those in the chamber. “Let it be known that from this day forward, none of the Noldor are to speak of Luinil’s death openly, again.”

Another woman came from the crowd, and pulled Lalwen to her feet and away from the Slayer.

“Stop!” exclaimed Buffy, who leapt from her seat after the daughter of Finwë. She took the woman’s hands and said, “We’re bound together, you and I. You feel it. I feel it. None can thwart destiny. What happens is meant to happen even if we don’t clearly understand why. Come with me, Lalwen. Talk with me in private.” Without giving any a second look, the Slayer and the elleth left the chamber for Buffy’s room, relieved to be free from the doleful looks of the others. Once there, she introduced her friend to the wonders of opium as they talked about the woe to come. The women got so high that they fell asleep on the Slayer’s bed curled up with Kit and Kat, forcing Maglor to bunk with his son for the night.

After that first day, none brought up Buffy’s death again. She remained in rather high spirits for the remainder of their short visit, which lasted the rest of the month. Fingolfin loathed seeing her leave so soon, but the Slayer wanted to keep her promise to Finrod by visiting his realm.

Maedhros, Buffy and Maglor’s Households returned home, while she, Káno, Olofin and her kitties departed Barad Sirion with Finrod.

The small company set out early one morning following the course of the Sirion along the eastern feet of Ered Wethrin. They found relief from the cold after passing through the marshes of the Fen of Serech, which was by far, the worst part of their journey. They stopped for a time and visited with Orodreth at his fortress on Tol Sirion before resuming their trek. About twenty miles south of that isle, they reached the road that Finrod had had made that was nearly a hundred miles long. It veered west of Sirion cutting through the far western eaves of the Forest of Brethil (where Buffy had encountered the vampire lord Daehir long ago). That road crossed two streams, the Teiglin being the greater of the two, before it stopped suddenly at the edge of the woods of Taleth Dirnen, which was the “Guarded Plain” of Finrod’s realm. By the time they had reached those parts, the weather had turned mild with spring in the air, as they continued southwest until they came to the hilly regions along the River Narog. From there, they set off on foot, walking beside the great gorge that formed the far western wall of Andram, to the three humongous doors of Nargothrond.

“Oh, wow, Finrod!” said Buffy in awe after entering the massive First Hall. “I can now see why the Naugrim call you Felagund.” Nargothrond did indeed mirror the beauty of Menegroth, even down to the pillars hewn in the likeness of enormous beech trees. She turned to Maglor and added, “Why don’t Luthor and the dwarves do something like this to the Deeper Well? I’d be more likely to visit more often if they had.”

Her husband laughed. The jovial sound bounced off the walls, bringing a smile to the Slayer’s face.

“Bella, the Deeper Well is a prison, not some palatial inn!”

“You can see the dwarvish influence,” remarked Olofin, studying the architectural aspects of interior chambers. “It balances nicely with the work of the Noldor.” He turned his eyes to a beaming Finrod. “Well done, Felagund, well done indeed!”

“Thank you, my friends. I’m very happy with the fruits of our labor.” He looked at Buffy. “I’m sure that you want to freshen up before reacquainting yourself with the chieftains of my House.”

“You know me so well,” replied the Slayer with a smile, still taking in the beauty of Nargothrond.

Finrod summoned one of his servants, who then led the trio to their sleeping quarters. They made their way through the mammoth winding hallways, gradually descending deeper and deeper into the heart of the fortress. Maglor and Buffy’s private chamber was huge, and decorated in green and white, which were actually the colors of Ossir. It seemed that their room was heavily influenced by what Finrod had seen in Lindon, down to the leaf-looking canopy of the bed. It was marvelous and reminded her of home, despite the lack of windows. Great tapestries, depicting beautiful landscapes, hung on the walls, thus bringing the outside in.

Once she and Maglor had washed up and changed, they began the trek back up the winding passageways to Finrod’s enormous Great Hall.

“Size does matter,” whispered a chortling Buffy to her husband as she craned her neck to look up at the domed ceiling. It must have been a two hundred feet from floor to ceiling. With the flickering flames of the numerous torches, the dome looked very much like a glittering starburst. It was absolutely beautiful.

“Well met, Bellaseth,” greeted one of Finrod’s chieftains. He handed each of them a glass of wine. “Maglor,” he said bowing his head to the son of Fëanor.

“It’s Gildor, right?” asked Buffy with a questioning look on her face. She hoped she had gotten his name right.

“Gildor Inglorion, yes,” he replied with a nod.

“God, how long has it been?” she asked, furrowing her brow in thought. “I haven’t seen you since… ”

“Mereth Aderthad,” said the elf, finishing her sentence.

“That’s been ages ago.”

“Seems like yesterday to me,” remarked Maglor, giving his wife’s hand a quick kiss. His smile broadened at the thought of the Feast of Reuniting, as that was when he and Buffy had met for the first time outside the ‘dreamscape.’

They were reminiscing about those days so long ago, when Olofin suddenly approached. “Nana, I need to talk to you.”

“… and he missed the target by a mile. I swear, I think he was embarrassed that he was beaten by a woman,” laughed the Slayer, speaking of one of the sporting events that she had won back then.

“Nana.”

Buffy was so engrossed in her conversation with the two Noldor that she hadn’t heard her son, or the urgency in his voice.

“Do you remember when Fingon… ” Gildor cut off his words upon the sudden arrival of Finrod, who was approaching Buffy and Maglor from behind. “Ah, Felagund, I see that you brought the newest member of our Household with you. I deem introductions are called for.”

“Indeed,” answered the Lord of Nargothrond. “Luinil, Maglor,” he continued, as the Slayer finally noticed the anxious look on Olofin’s face. Maglor was already facing Finrod and his companion while Buffy searched her son’s eyes, trying to decipher his thoughts. “This is the adan I’d told you about, Bëor, former lord of the First House and my vassal.” When the Slayer heard mention of ‘lord of the First House,’ she felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. “This is Maglor, second son of Fëanor and Lord of the northern realm, the Gap. And next to him is his lovely wife, Maranwë Luinil, although most of the Sindar call her Bellaseth Dagnir.”

“Hail, Bëor,” Maglor said in greeting, carefully looking over the first mortal he had ever set eyes upon outside of Folkvang.

Buffy slowly turned. When she fixed her eyes on the mortal standing next to Finrod, she thought that she’d faint. Bëor looked at her with those deep, smoldering gray eyes, the same way he had many, many times before. She couldn’t believe that the one man that Finrod happened to bring back with him to Nargothrond happened to be Balan, her former lover.

“Do you know each other?” asked Finrod, noticing the Slayer’s eyes widening to twice their normal size.

As Maglor shifted his gaze to her, she quickly said, “No. Can’t say that we’ve ever met.”

Keep it together, Bella. Jesus Christ! Keep it together, she thought to herself. Remain calm. Take a deep breath.

“What an honor it is to meet you at long last, er, shall I call you Maranwë Luinil or Bellaseth Dagnir?” queried Bëor with a smile. He had spoken the same words, verbatim, when they had met for the first time at his father’s funeral and his own coronation, years earlier.

“It’s Bella,” she answered, “just Bella.” She drained the contents of her glass. “Excuse me, I need more wine,” said the flustered Slayer, shaking her empty cup as proof. “Olofin, be a dear and come with me.” Buffy linked arms with her son and headed towards the refreshment table. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she repeated in near hysterics. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel the blood rushing through her veins. She began to perspire despite the coolness of the chamber.

“Calm down, nana, or you’ll hyperventilate.”

“I can’t breathe, Olofin.”

“Take a deep breath.” She inhaled deeply. “Now, slowly blow out.” She exhaled, feeling slightly lightheaded.

“What am I gonna do? I can’t believe this is happening to me.” She looked up at her son with worried eyes. “I didn’t ask for this, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know, mother,” answered her son, glancing over his shoulder at the mortal, who was watching them both intently. When they had reached the table, Buffy grabbed a bottle of wine and attempted to pour the deep red liquid into her glass, but her hands were shaking so badly, she was spilling the beverage all over the table. “Let me,” continued Olofin, taking the bottle from her. He filled her glass. She drained it in one gulp. He re-filled it. She emptied it. “Mother! Careful now or you’ll find yourself drunk! And I deem you need your wits about you right now.”

“Your father can’t know. He can’t know.” She glanced back at Bëor and the others, who were now having an animated discussion.

“I can’t help but wonder,” started Olofin. The Slayer shifted her gaze to her son as he refilled her glass for the third time.

“What?” She could feel the alcohol starting to take effect.

“I can’t help but wonder if there is some truth to your claims that Ilúvatar has been behind some of your… past relationships.” Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her son had always doubted her proclamations that it was part of Eru’s designs that she take the lovers that she had in the past. He had always assumed it was her weakness for the flesh, a flaw in her character. But now he was beginning to think otherwise. “How is it that out of nearly two hundred thousand mortals, Finrod chooses Balan as the one mortal to bring back with him to Nargothrond?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“I guess whatever happens, happens.” He shook his head. “I do not understand Ilúvatar’s will at all, and I doubt I ever will. Do not worry, nana, I will say nothing to anyone. Your secret is safe with me, although I hope that Balan doesn’t say anything that might cause you embarrassment.”

Buffy looked back at the mortal and the elves. “I don’t think he will. I told him not to say a word about our relationship years ago. He would’ve said something to Finrod by now, if he proved to be untrustworthy.”

“Perhaps,” answered Olofin. “Are you ready to rejoin the others?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. “Thank Eru for wine. It helped.”



Over the course of the next few weeks, Buffy did everything in her power to avoid being alone with Bëor. She had done a very good job of that until one fateful day, when Finrod told Buffy that she could go to his wine cellar to search for a bottle from 73. The Noldor had done a lot of bartering with the Green-elves, even during the Slayer’s absence from Beleriand, and none in Middle-earth surpassed Ossir when it came to wine production.

It was while searching the thousands of bottles and skins that Finrod had in his stores that Bëor ‘happened’ to find her alone in that dim subterranean vault.

“Bella?” The unexpected voice startled the Slayer, nearly causing her to drop the bottle in her grasp. “What a surprise to find you down here?”

Buffy turned, facing the mortal. “Oh, hey, just getting a bottle of my favorite wine,” she answered, trying to play it cool. “What brings you to the cellar? Somehow I don’t see you as someone that frequents this chamber.”

“I do enjoy a good glass of wine as you should know,” he answered, taking the bottle from her hand. “Hmm, made by your people, huh?”

“No one makes wine like the Green-elves. It’s their specialty.” She felt her face flushing in the dim light.

“Why are you avoiding me?” asked Bëor, edging closer to the Slayer. “Are you not happy to see me after all these years?”

“Of course, I am. It’s… it’s just awkward with Maglor around and all,” she answered, backing into the wine rack. The noise of rattling bottles caused her to take a step forward, entering Bëor’s personal space. He took advantage of their closeness by wrapping his arms around her, his hand still clutching the bottle. “Don’t. Not here,” whispered the Slayer, her heart racing.

“Do you not love me?” He searched her eyes, looking for validation of her true feelings.

“I do love you,” she answered, her discomfort increasing. She feared someone walking in on them.

Bëor smiled. “That is good.” He softly kissed her on the lips.

“We can’t,” she protested softly.

“Why not?”

“I told you, my husband… he’s only a couple of floors above us. He doesn’t know… he can’t know about us.”

The mortal turned, looking around the chamber. “I do not see him here. We are alone, Bella. There’s no one here but the two of us.”

“I’ve gotta go.” She snatched the bottle from his hand, ducked under his arm and hurriedly started across the room.

“If you leave, Bella, then that only confirms that you never loved me, that I was merely a toy for you to play with until you grew tired of me.” She stopped dead in her tracks. Bëor’s words cut deep. “I sacrificed everything for you. I left my wife and sons in hope that if I went with Finrod that I would see you once again. I didn’t want to wait until I’m riddled with age to see you again, to have you look at me with pity instead of desire. Was it all a lie? Did our relationship mean nothing to you?” She turned, watching as Bëor slowly closed the gap between them. “Why should Maglor’s presence make a difference now? It doesn’t matter if he’s a hundred leagues away or a hundred feet, that shouldn’t change what we have, what we mean to one another. That shouldn’t prevent us from being together… that is, if you truly love me.” He came to a halt only a foot away from her. “Do you remember the first time you asked me if I loved you?” She didn’t answer, but stared at him with a look of confusion on her face. Her mind was racing. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. “What did I say?” he asked, taking a step closer. Buffy could feel his warm breath on her face. After a moment, he repeated his question in a mere whisper, “What did I say?”

“You… you said, ‘with all my heart,’” she replied. She closed her eyes as he placed his hand on her cheek, tenderly caressing her skin with his thumb. She felt herself melt beneath his touch, which nearly took her breath away.

“Prove to me that your words were not hollow. I am not asking you to leave your husband for me. I’m only asking that you love me too.”

Buffy opened her eyes. She looked lovingly at Bëor. His grey eyes looked at her with such longing that she felt herself becoming weak in the knees. She loved him, but she also loved Maglor as well. It was abnormal to love two men at the same time, she knew that, but the Slayer couldn’t help the way she felt. She had tried to suppress her feelings for Bëor, but she found herself unable to do so. It didn’t matter about the possible consequences. It was about the here and the now. It was about following her heart.

“I’m so gonna burn in hell,” she said before pressing her lips against his. Still clutching the bottle in her hand, she wrapped her arms around his neck. As their kissed deepened, the bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering onto the stone floor, spraying them both with the amber liquid.

“Let us go to my private chamber,” Bëor said, scooping her up into his arms.

“You can’t carry me there, Balan. People will see!”

“It’s Bëor now,” he replied with a smile. He carried her to the door before setting her on her feet. “Follow me.” He kissed her sweetly before leaving the cellar.

And so began the affair of Buffy and Bëor once again. They kept their relationship so secret that none in Nargothrond suspected anything between the two other than a budding friendship. Life seemed good to the Slayer, as she was having her proverbial cake and eating it too. Her renewed romance with the mortal kept her in Finrod’s realm much longer than she had originally anticipated. More than two years had gone by since she had first arrived, yet the thought of leaving her aging lover behind filled her with great sorrow. Buffy knew that once she left, she wouldn’t see Bëor again until the end, his end. That is, if the spell that she had given to him several years before actually worked. With her lover recently turning fifty-three, her concern that she’d never get her powers back began to trouble her. If she couldn’t access the gateway to Folkvang, Bëor would be lost to her forever, just like Sargon. She wasn’t about to lose another lover to Námo regardless of Manwë’s decree that she could only claim those souls slain on the battlefield. After all that she had been through, Buffy felt entitled to claim a soul or two of her own choosing.

The Slayer had high hopes that being with Bëor would trigger the return of more of her powers. Towards the end of her stay at Nargothrond, she did in fact regain another one of her abilities. Her senses became heightened. While it wasn’t a gift that she placed an enormous amount of value on, she could see, hear and smell things from afar. The Slayer didn’t jump up and down for joy with the return of that ability, but she hoped and prayed that it was a sign of things to come. Within the last twenty years, she had regained two powers. Surely, Marduk couldn’t keep suppressing her magics from the East for too much longer.

One thing she did notice with her heightened senses was that Beleriand seemed to be alive with magic. She could feel it in the air, in the water and in the earth. It was her uncanny sense of hearing that would play a pivotal role in her departure from Finrod’s realm.

The Slayer lay snuggling with her lover in his bed when she heard a very distinctive horn blast that sent shivers up and down her spine.

“What’s that?” she queried, bolting upright.

“What are talking about? I hear nothing,” said an unconcerned Bëor, as he caressed the naked back of his lover.

“You didn’t hear that horn?” Her lover shook his head. Buffy gave Bëor a questionable look as she listened hard. Once again, she heard a horn blast. The sound seemed to come from the earth itself, reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber. That time, she instinctively jumped from the bed. “You didn’t hear that?” Her adrenalin started pumping as she slipped her dress over her head.

“Where are you going, Bella?” asked the mortal, stunned by her sudden urge to leave. He hadn’t heard anything.

“I’ve… I’ve got a bad feeling,” she mumbled, heading towards the door.

“Bella, what’s going on?” called out her lover, climbing out of bed. “Where are you going?”

The distracted Slayer did not hear Bëor. She hastily left the room, unconcerned whether any saw her leaving the mortal’s chamber or her disheveled appearance. She quickened her pace, running down the passageway and up the flight of stairs. She ignored those that greeted her, as she was too preoccupied with the fact that her spider senses were tingling, something that had not happened for many long years. She stopped once she had reached the terrace outside the main doors of Nargothrond, listening for the sound again.

“Is something wrong, my Lady?” asked the Noldo Gwindor.

“A horn blast?” she queried breathlessly. “Did you hear it?”

“Indeed. That was the call of Valaróma. None can mistake it,” answered the elf.

The blood drained from her face when she heard the elf’s response. A feeling of dread engulfed every fiber of her being. “Oromë,” said a panic-stricken Buffy. There was no doubt in her mind that the Vala was coming for her, coming to take her to Valinor to answer for her past deeds before the Ring of Doom. The Valar were making their move against her at long last.

She ran back into Nargothrond, running at full slayer speed down the passageways, screaming for Maglor and Olofin. The lions heard her first, and came running to their distraught mistress’ side. They led her to the chamber where her husband and son were. Father and son were singing one of Buffy’s favorite love songs when she burst into the chamber, frantic.

“We gotta go!” she cried, drawing everyone’s attention. Her husband stopped playing his harp, her son his lyre. All eyes turned to her.

“What is it?”

“I’m in trouble. We have to leave Nargothrond. NOW!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Just get your shit together and let’s go!” She fled the chamber, scared out of her wits. She just knew that she’d end up a prisoner in Mandos just as Melkor had. Images of all the wrongdoings that she had ever done flashed through her mind as she made a beeline for her room to gather her stuff. Knowing that she didn’t possess the strength to fight another Vala, she knew that she’d have to go into hiding.

A few minutes later, Maglor, Olofin, Finrod, Galdor and Bëor filed into her chamber asking endless questions. Buffy refused to answer any of them. Time was of the essence. She and her family had to depart Nargothrond as quickly as possible. Her distress was so great that both her husband and son did as she instructed. Finrod offered to provide them with provisions for the road and hastily left for the pantries with both Galdor and Bëor.

When all was readied, Buffy and her family left through the secret door that bordered the River Ringwil. They then took off at great speed, the Slayer and Maglor on Kit, Olofin on Kat. They headed south, not to Ossir, but to Taur-im-Duinath, the great forest between the Rivers Sirion and Gelion. Even though evil lurked in those woods, Buffy felt more at ease knowing she could destroy what crept in those places as opposed to the might and magics of Oromë. From there they would make their way east of the Blue Mountains, and to the safety of the dwarvish realm, Belegost. There, the trio would hole up for five years, none realizing that Buffy’s love for opium combined with the feelings of guilt she was harboring had increased her paranoia to insurmountable levels, and that her fears were completely unfounded.



Oromë and one thousand of his greatest Hunters rode along the northern plains of Beleriand, the hooves of the horses of Valinor sounding very much like thunder. The Noldor in those parts retreated before the mighty Lords of the West, hiding within their homes or nearby woods. The Riders made their way to the Gap, knowing that Maranwë Luinil had taken Maglor as her spouse years ago. When they had reached her Halls, they were told that she had left for Fingolfin’s realm a couple years before and had not yet returned. The elves, frightened by Oromë and his kin, then informed the Vala that Buffy was probably in Ossir, her lands in the south.

The company of Ainur then took off south, riding along the River Gelion for the most part. When they had neared the Land of Seven Rivers, Ulmo suddenly appeared in all his glory out of the depths of that stream, and called for the men to halt.

“Do not involve Luinil in this matter, son of Yavanna,” declared the Lord of Waters. “She is no threat to you or your task.”

The golden-haired Ainu looked at Ulmo for a moment before replying, “You wish to protect her, isn’t that what you mean to say? How can you still love her when she is drawn to Melkor?”

Ulmo studied Oromë for a moment before answering. “My love for Luinil is not your concern. I will do what I can to protect those whom I love. Go now! Turn east and do as you must.” The Lord of Waters then disappeared back into the depths of Gelion. The Riders turned east and crossed through the pass in the Ered Luin, riding north northeast until they reached their destination.

As they dismounted from their steeds, dozens of demonic-looking creatures came from out of nowhere. The Ainur began slaying the beasts, their blades slicing the creatures in two. Less than a minute later, dozens of dwarves appeared wielding their axes followed by an irate Luthor. The Riders stopped their carnage.

“What is this bloodshed?” demanded the old man, surveying the dead that lay on the ground in pools of blood. “Who dares to kill my guard?” Luthor then noticed Oromë.

“These… these creatures belong to you?” queried the panting Ainu, his gloved hands and blade covered in blood.

Luthor narrowed his eyes. “Those creatures, as you call them, are the beloved offspring of Luinil, you dumb-ass!” barked Luthor, his eyes ablaze with fury. “What is your business here or is this war, son of Yavanna?” The old man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight the Vala Lord if need be.

Oromë put down his weapon, his men following suit. “You know why I’m here, Luthor.” He fixed his eyes on the old man, speaking with him telepathically so that the dwarves could not hear what was being said.

The blood drained from Luthor’s face, he started nervously chewing on his bottom lip. “I cannot do that,” he finally answered aloud, a look of dismay on his face. The dwarves looked at the Lord of the Deeper Well with peculiar expressions on their faces. They had no idea what the old Maia was talking about.

“You must, Luthor,” said Oromë imploringly. “This is your chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of those in the West.”

“I care not what they think,” he answered, eyeing the slain on the ground. “I only care what Bella thinks. Do you know what this will do to her? Do you have any idea… ”

“Maranwë failed to complete her task!” interjected Oromë. The expression on the Great Rider’s face softened before he continued. “We understand now that it was too much to ask… that is why I am here with my men. We will finish what Luinil could not. We will spare her the grief… ”

“Grief? What do you know about grief? You and your brethren sulk over the Two Trees instead of grieving over those slain in these parts. You allow the horrors in this world to escalate, and do nothing!”

“That is why we are here: to rid the world of an abomination, an evil that will seek vengeance against her mother. Do you want that, Luthor? Do you want to see Luinil fall? This is your chance to save the one whom you’ve grown to love. Do this for her or all will be lost, including your darling Bellaseth Dagnir.”

Luthor began pacing, stroking his long gray beard with one hand, while the other remained firmly on his hilt. Long ago, he recognized that Buffy’s decision was folly, and deep down, he knew that he’d be the one responsible for fixing it. He was the only one in Arda that could perform the spell other than Melkor, and Melkor would not aid any of the Valar under any condition. It was not an easy decision for the Maia to make. He struggled with his thoughts, knowing that he had to do what was in the best interest of Buffy and the peoples of Middle-earth. Unlike the Slayer, he didn’t have the strength to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. That was too much of a burden for him to bear.

“Alright, Oromë, I will do as you ask,” the old man finally said dejectedly.

The Vala Lord placed his blood-covered gloved hand on the Maia’s shoulder. “You have made the right decision, Luthor. In the end, Luinil will come to see that.”

The old Maia lifted his gaze to Oromë; his eyes filled with tears. “That remains to be seen. I will have no other part in this other than opening the gateway.”

“Come fight with us! We can use your strength,” he glanced at the dwarves, “and that of the children of my step father. You need not worry about her! That is my task and my task alone.”

With a heavy heart, Luthor instructed all his warrior-dwarves to leave the Well. Tears streamed down his face as he opened the portal. He watched as the men passed through the mystical doorway, entering the stone city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. The old man wiped his tears away and pulled his sword from its sheath. Looking to the heavens of Middle-earth, he prayed to Ilúvatar that his beloved Bellaseth would forgive him for the sin he was about to commit. He then took a deep breath and entered the doorway. The crackling energy field vanished the moment he entered.


Chapter 70 - DOPPELGANGLAND

While in Belegost, Maglor demanded to know why Buffy fled from Oromë. The elf was born and raised in Valinor and knew the lore regarding the Vala Lord’s horn. According to the tales of old, the sounding of Valaróma strikes fear into the heart of the enemy. After witnessing his wife’s reaction, he couldn’t help but think that she had committed some great evil during her absence from Beleriand. She was definitely hiding something, that much the Noldo knew, but he couldn’t perceive what it was by searching her eyes alone. Even in a weakened stake, the Slayer had the ability to close herself off from others, revealing only what she wanted one to see, which in this case, was nothing.

Buffy knew that she owed Maglor some type of explanation, especially after the many weeks they spent traveling stealthily across the southern regions of Beleriand. While she wasn’t about to tell her husband everything that she had done, she decided for the sake of their relationship, she had to tell him some things. She began her story with the destruction of Numeira and the removal of Illyria and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ from Middle-earth. She conveniently omitted the part about Melkor’s forces’ participation in the war as well as the appearance of the Dark Foe himself. That would never have sat well with the Noldo.

She glossed over the details of her own death, refusing to discuss any aspect of it, other than stating that it was the turning point in all her actions afterward. With the loss of trust, she became paranoid and fearful that someone else would challenge her for the seat that she had fought so hard for: Supreme God of the East. Buffy played on her husband’s emotions by comparing herself to Fëanor, his beloved and misunderstood father, and that all her actions thereafter were a direct result of her grief and anger at having those that she loved betray her. In her need to exercise her newfound position of power, she had to inflict fear in the masses so that none would ever consider being disloyal to her or her regime.

Olofin remained silent as the Slayer recounted how she had had the traitorous elves tortured and executed by the most heinous means that she and Failo could devise. Maglor was shocked to hear of the various methods employed by his wife in tormenting the elves. He couldn’t help but think of Morgoth when she told him that part of her tale, and that perhaps she and the Dark Lord had some things in common after all.

Buffy stressed her pivotal role in re-populating the dwindling race of mankind by having men take multiple wives and permitting those thirteen and older to wed. That, too, shocked the Noldo. Thirteen was considered extremely young to the elves, and he couldn’t fathom any at that age taking a spouse, much less bringing forth children, mortal or not. Of course, the Slayer never mentioned any of her lovers, mortal or otherwise, deeming that that would be too much for the elf to handle at that time. By the look of horror on her husband’s face, she felt that she had said enough to warrant her running away from Oromë.

When five years had passed, Buffy’s doves returned and informed her that they could not find the Vala Lord or his men. She assumed that the Hunters had gone further east, perhaps even to Mesopotamia, to oust the renegade Vala from his seat. Believing that, she decided that it was safe for her and her family to return to Ossir.

She, Maglor and Olofin arrived at Lindon on the cusp of winter in Yr 319, much to the jubilation of the Green-elves. There was much celebration in the Land of Seven Rivers upon their return, and the merry-making lasted several days. Nothing made the Slayer happier than being home again. No matter how many places she had visited over the years, or how many cities she had formed from the ground up, nowhere else did she consider home, except for Ossiriand. As she re-acclimated herself to living in the treetops of Lindon, Olofin took off down the Gelion in one of his boats. Unbeknownst to his loved ones, the half-elf was about to embark on an adventure that would change the course of history.



Olofin delighted in traveling alone, very much like Finrod, his kinsman. Like most of the Noldor, he possessed an innate need to explore unfamiliar regions and the restlessness of his fey often took him in search of new and wonderful places. On this particular occasion, he went further down the Gelion than he had ever before, passing the swift stream, Adurant, which flowed from the shoulder of Ered Luin in the east. The river gradually arched to the east, where the half-elf encountered a couple of rapids, which only made the trip more challenging and exciting, before bending back to the west. Two hundred and fifty miles past the place where Adurant emptied his waters into Gelion, he felt compelled to bring his boat ashore on the western banks of the river. Finding the nearest shoal, Olofin pulled his vessel from the chilly waters and onto the rocky sandbar. There, he would rest for the night.

As the half-elf slept under the star-speckled sky, he was plagued by strange dreams sent to him by none other than Ulmo himself. Waking before sunrise, disquiet fell upon the young man as he sat eating his lembas beside the mighty Gelion. Forgoing another day on the river, Olofin felt himself being drawn towards the vast forest to his west. Hiding his boat in the brush, he grabbed his pack, girded his sword around his waist, and set off on foot through the mammoth trees.

When he had gone ten miles, he came upon what looked like a cleared pathway, nearly a mile wide. The half-elf kept to the woods, concealing himself amidst the cedar trees, his eyes scanning the site. Even from a half mile away, he noticed the ruts made by wagon wheels in the earth. That seemed odd to Olofin. He wasn’t aware that any dwelled in those parts save for the malevolent beasts of Morgoth. Moving in for a closer look, he climbed over old timbers, hewed in two, that lined the edge of the wood on either side of the barren strip. Every hundred feet lay a rectangular slab of limestone about eight feet long and four feet wide, its surface rough and cold to the touch. Several holes had been bored into the face of the rock, puzzling the young man. Sensing a foulness about it, he quickly withdrew his hand from the accursed object. As he continued to inspect the block with his eyes, he saw three sets of holes that went from one side of the stone to the other.

Perceiving an unwholesomeness about the area, he returned to the cover of the wood, walking some fifty miles further before the clearing ended at a rock wall. Stopping for the night, the half-elf lit no fire, as there was a heaviness on the air, a foulness of sorts. His trepidation grew when he heard wargs howling in the night, their shrill cries foreboding no good. That’s when Olofin heard the drums. At first, the rhythmic beating was slow, gradually increasing in tempo, almost to frenzied levels.

Curiosity getting the best of the half-elf, he grabbed his bag and hung it on a limb of a birch tree before changing into falcon form. He took off into the night, eager to see the commotion, not far from his campsite. He went no more than a mile or two before he settled himself on a bough of an oak tree, amazed to see that some from the kindred of Man dwelled in those parts. Olofin had never encountered mortals of the like before. Their skin was black, most had short curly dark hair while some wore theirs long and bushy, giving them a wild appearance. Those dancing around the fire had covered their faces in mud, which had dried, making their faces appear grey and vampire-like in the firelight. Most were garbed in strips of cloth or tattered garments, while a few, the elders, the half-elf supposed, wore long tunics in bright colors with many strings of beads around their necks.

Olofin flew to yet another tree closer to the action, just beyond a line of burning torches. He landed on a twisted limb of a cypress tree that grew awkwardly out of the cliff beside a swift stream that flowed some fifty feet below. Cocking his head, his left eye surveyed the village and the many rudely constructed huts scattered throughout the area. To the west of the dancing mortals, he saw a series of blocks, arranged in a circle, six in total, similar to the ones he had encountered earlier in the day. On one side, many people sat on the half logs, which were set up in several rows. Some wept, while others sat perfectly still, showing no emotion on their faces as they stared blankly at the slabs of limestone. On the other side of the block were many empty chairs, some more elaborately carved than others. The strange scenario mystified the half-elf.

The drumming suddenly changed tempo again, the sound of tom-tom-tom played slowly and repetitively. Olofin turned his eye to the west and noticed a procession of people walking down a pathway through the wood. Despite the numerous flickering torches, both planted in the earth and carried by many of the marchers, the faces of those entering the village were in shadow. As the people walked past the half-elf, he recognized that those at the forefront more closely resembled the Edain and Elves, their skin ashen in comparison to the race of Man that dwelled in the village.

Olofin nearly lost hold of his perch when he saw the tallest man, an elf, lean down whispering to a small, thin woman with long golden-hair. His mother! He flapped his wings, regaining his balance, his talons digging deep into the bark of the branch. He fixed his eye on the woman, his beak slightly open, his breathing quickening. He was shocked and dismayed to see his mother in such company. The half-elf was about to reveal himself when he noticed that the woman was missing her right hand. He gasped, knowing that he had just seen the Witch that had impersonated his mother long before he was born, the evil Maia, Angwen. He was amazed at how much the woman resembled his own mother, not only in appearance, but in mannerisms as well.

The sound of lashing whips diverted his attention from the Witch to a group of black mortals, a family by the looks of it, tethered together with ropes. Many guards taunted the group as the leather straps tore away at the prisoners’ flesh. Their wailing cries rang out in the night over the continuous drumming, tom-tom-tom. Olofin was aghast to witness such cruelty, especially to the children. There were four, aside from the parents, who ranged in ages from about six to sixteen. One of the youngsters stumbled to the ground, causing the others to fall, except for the eldest child who managed to maintain her footing. Olofin fixed his eye on that girl. She spoke words of comfort in a dialect of the Mannish tongue to those that she helped back to their feet. Despite the horror of the situation, the eldest girl seemed more poised than the others. She faced her imminent death with a courage that the half-elf had not witnessed before, save for in his mother.

Olofin’s eyes scanned the marchers, whose numbers surpassed one hundred. There were no obvious symbols or crests to indicate who they might be, only the stench of death, which emitted from their bodily forms, and exposed them for who they really were. Vampires.

He watched as the victims approached his perch. His initial thought told him to save them, to save them all, but the half-elf was greatly outnumbered, and unarmed. He would not get very far pecking out the eyes of the enemy, something that would have only roused their ire, surely bringing about the young man’s early demise. No, he’d have to wait and watch. He would have to formulate a plan and more importantly, he needed back up. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, yet so slowly. Olofin remained where he was.

The prisoners were tossed around a bit for the amusement of the vampires. The youngest child could no longer stand on his own. Two of his older siblings had to hold him up. One of the guards yanked hard on the rope, sending the entire family flying through the air, their limbs becoming entangled in the bindings. The father landed against one of the torches, causing it to fall backwards, nearly touching the ground. One of the vampire captors backhanded the man hard before thrusting the burning stake back in its upright position. As the prisoners struggled to untangle themselves from the twisted ropes, the mother’s foot hit the same torch, shifting it forwards at a forty-five-degree angle. The guards were ordered to unravel the ropes so that the mortals could get back on their feet. The poor people were violently smacked across the head if they moved too slowly in following the directions of the brutish guards. Once untangled, the family was lined up a few feet from the half-elf’s tree, as one vampire began cutting the bindings on the youngest child with his blade.

Olofin stared, beak agape, as the eldest daughter carefully shifted her position, allowing the flames of the tilted torch to lick away at the rope that bound her hands behind her back. She remained just as poised as ever, despite the fact that fire was searing her flesh as well as the rope. He was amazed by her boldness, and immediately felt drawn to her. The girl possessed something that the others did not. Whether it was her will to live, or just plain strength of character, the half-elf couldn’t decide. All he knew was that the fire of Ilúvatar burned brighter in her than any other in that village.

The drumming stopped as the elf-looking vampire began his speech. Apparently, Olofin was about to witness the ritualistic Bloodletting Ceremony, as the Vampire Lord called it. The half-elf kept his eye on the young woman as the rope burned in two. She caught the ends of the cord before they could fall to the ground, extinguishing the burning ends with her hands. Olofin shook his head. He couldn’t believe that she showed no reaction to the flames. From where he was, he could already see the blisters on her hands, yet she remained stoic, unmoved. Her dark eyes darted from guard to guard as she reached for the burning stake behind her.

In a split second, the girl grabbed the torch, pulling it from the ground in one swift, graceful motion. She twirled it in her hands as the charred ends of the rope fell to the ground. She then shoved the pointed end of the torch through the back of the guard that was working on cutting the ropes from her little brother, piercing his heart. The vampire let out an earsplitting shriek before turning to dust. Immediately, the vampires stormed the girl. She set fire to another before stepping away from her family. Her father placed his naked foot on the knife that fell to the ground after the first vampire turned to dust, sliding it closer to him as his eldest daughter kept the others distracted.

The girl used her torch to block the blades of her attackers, who were rapidly closing in on her, forcing her backwards. As she pondered her next move, an arrow came whizzing by, striking the girl in the shoulder. She took another step backwards. The ground gave way beneath her feet and she disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Olofin quickly ran across the bough, looking down upon the river. He watched as the girl, still clinging to the flaming torch, plummeted towards the water below. He heard a faint plopping noise, and then nothing more.

“FIND HER!” barked the elf-vampire.

Olofin wasted no time. He flew into the darkness in search of the girl. When he had caught sight of her bobbing in the water, he nose-dived into the stream beside her. Immediately, he changed back into elf-form, and pulled the girl securely into his arms. He swam to the opposite shore and carried the unconscious woman up the embankment and into the woods. Knowing that the enemy would be searching for the girl downstream, he quickly took her back to his camp upstream where he would be able to tend to her wounds.

When the half-elf arrived back at his campsite with the girl, she was moaning softly. While he was able to remove the arrow from her body, the girl was still bleeding. The sound of howling wargs increased his eagerness to find some type of shelter where he could care for the girl properly. Olofin searched the rock wall for an opening. Pushing aside thick vines, he found a narrow fissure leading to an enormous cave. He carefully eased through the opening with the girl in his arms. Wrapping her in his cloak, he gently placed her on the stone floor before he went to retrieve his pack.

When Olofin returned to the cave, he made a small fire with some of the sticks he found within the chamber. The young man then began dressing the young girl’s wounds. To his dismay, she was burning with fever. He wondered if the arrow that she had been stricken with had been poisoned or if her exposure to the cold waters had triggered the increase in her body temperature. He did what he could for the girl with the medicines that he had in his pack. After covering her with his blankets, he could do nothing more but wait.

While the girl slept, the young man dug around in his bag for a package of lembas. When his hand brushed against the vial of his mother’s blood, he pulled it out, staring it at as if seeing it for the first time. The words of Luthor came rushing to his mind:

“This is a vial of blood I took from your mother back in the days of Angband. Its properties are untainted and pure, and I daresay possess magical qualities as well. Take it… You will know what to do with it when the time arrives, my son. You are a great man, Olofinwë Tirnon, and you have abilities far greater than you know. In time, you will come to see this.”

Olofin studied the vial, turning it in his hand, so that the blood flowed back and forth in the glass tube. He was wondering how Luthor had managed to preserve the life force of his mother, without it spoiling, when the girl began to go into convulsions. He crawled beside her jerking body, the vial still clutched in his hand. He felt her forehead. Her skin was much hotter than before. The girl’s eyes rolled back, as she made a series of strange guttural sounds. The half-elf could tell that she was dying.

“No!” he said aloud, his voice full of despair. She didn’t deserve death, not after all she had been through. “Stay with me, child.” Without realizing what he was doing, Olofin pulled the stopper from the vial and poured a bit of the crimson fluid in the spasming girl’s mouth. As soon as the blood ran down her throat, she ceased her jerking movements. The half-elf placed the stopper back in the vial, and continued to watch the girl. He pushed her coarse black hair from her face as he uttered an elvish prayer over her still form.

He remained seated beside the girl while she slept. Every now and then, he placed his hand on her cheek or forehead, checking her fever. His heart rejoiced, when a short while later, her skin felt cool to the touch.

It was many hours later, in the middle of the night, when the girl finally awoke. When she opened her eyes and saw a smiling Olofin leaning over her, she assumed that he was a vampire, and acted accordingly. She head-butted him with all her might, leaving the poor half-elf momentarily dazed. She rolled out of his reach, and with a vigor she never knew she possessed, she managed to get from her back to her feet in one swift movement.

“I’m not the enemy,” groaned Olofin in the Mannish tongue, rubbing his forehead. He looked up at the girl. She stood in a fighting stance, her narrowed gaze locked on the half-elf. “Do you understand me?” She remained motionless, her dark eyes fixed on him. “I’m not the enemy,” he repeated, slowly getting to his feet. “Your hands,” he pointed to her bandaged hands, “I did that. I’m here to help. That’s all.”

When he said that, the girl’s eyes shifted to her hands. While she examined them, Olofin continued, “What is your name?” She didn’t answer. “Do you remember what happened?” He took a step towards her; she took a step backwards. “I mean no harm. I swear. Do you remember falling into the river? I was the one that pulled you out.” He spoke in his most soothing voice, not wanting the girl to feel threatened.

“You… you saved me?” she finally said, eyeing him incredulously with her dark, piercing eyes.

“Yes,” he answered with a nod of his head. “The vampires had you and… ”

“Vampires?”

“Yes, vampires. Apparently, there’s quite a few of them in these parts.” Olofin shook his head. “I was not aware of that until this evening, when I saw… ”

“Mother? Father?” she cried out, the memories flooding her mind all at once. “My family! Where are they?”

Olofin bowed his head. He didn’t want to answer that question, knowing that they were most likely dead.

“The vampires… they killed them, didn’t they?” she asked in a broken voice.

“I cannot rightly say, but I deem that they did. I am truly sorry.” Olofin turned away from her and went back to his pack beside the dwindling fire. He wanted to give the girl some privacy to grieve in the manner that was custom to her people. Sitting with his back towards the girl, he tossed the remaining twigs onto the fire. He then reached into his bag and pulled out two packages of lembas. He placed one of them to the side, along with a water skin, while he began nibbling on his food.

After several minutes, the girl said, “Sineya,” her voice echoing within the chamber.

“I’m sorry,” replied Olofin, his eyes remaining fixed on the flickering flames.

“My name,” she was now standing beside him, “my name is Sineya.”

“Are you hungry, Sineya?” he asked, offering her the leaf-wrapped package. “I’ve got food. And water,” he added, motioning to the water skin.

She eyed him for a moment before taking the package from his hand. She sat down in the shadows several feet away from Olofin and tore into the elvish way bread.

When she had finished eating, she joined the half-elf. She helped herself to the water, nearly emptying the container. She then sat down beside him, staring into the small flames of the fire.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “for everything.”

“I wish I could’ve done more.” He turned his green eyes on the girl. “Can I check your wounds?”

She nodded.

As Olofin unwrapped her bandages, he asked her how she and her people came to be in Beleriand. The half-elf had seen a lot of the world and had never encountered black-skinned people in the East or anywhere else for that matter.

Sineya then told him the story that had been passed down from generation to generation. Evidently, her people had originated in the East, but further south than the others of their kindred (they were one of the twelve tribes of Man). After being discovered by the God, Marduk, they were forced into bondage, to toil in the mines for precious metals in place of the rebellious Anunnaki. Under the command of the Anunnaki, their race had multiplied. That’s when their ‘masters’ took to hunting the men for sport and molesting the women for pleasure. In time, many from their race were sold to the vampires as if they were livestock. Daehir, their Vampire Lord, had purchased them and had them shipped from the Underworld to the woods where they now dwell. The vampires had continued the practices that the Anunnaki had started in the East, breeding the mortals for food, and having them carry out the backbreaking labor that the demonic beings were unwilling to do for themselves.

Sineya’s harrowing tale disturbed the half-elf greatly. He only wished that he had an army of elves at his disposal to eradicate the vampires in Taur-im-Duinath. But he didn’t have the option of elvish warriors to aid him in combat, only the young girl that sat beside him.

“What of the rest of your kin?” he asked when she had finished her story. “Would they be willing to fight to break free from the vampires’ yoke?”

She shook her head. “They fear them too much,” she replied, examining her newly healed hands. “How is this possible? How is it that my hands bear no scars from the fire? And… and my shoulder, the wound is closed.”

“You have been healed,” answered Olofin with a warm smile.

“How?”

“I deem it was the blood of my mother that healed you.” Sineya looked at the half-elf strangely. “You went into convulsions earlier,” he continued. “I think that the arrow that hit you was poisoned. You lay here dying. I gave you a bit of her blood and… ”

“You had me drink blood!” exclaimed the girl, her eyes widening in fear. “You have turned me into a… a creature of the night.”

“No, no, no,” said the half-elf reassuringly. “My mother is a Vala, a God. Her blood has healing properties as you can see.” Sineya still looked unconvinced. “I promise you, child, you are no vampire or demon of any sort.” Olofin wasn’t exactly sure what the effects of giving his mother’s blood to a mortal would have on Sineya. He knew that Buffy had the elves of her Household drink it to ensure their immortality, and it did the same for the dwarves. He could only assume that the same gift would pass on to one from the mortal race. “How do you feel?”

Sineya balled her fists and opened them several times before replying, “I feel strong, stronger than before.” She turned her gaze to the half-elf. “How can this be?”

“I told you, it’s the blood of my mother. She is not only the Goddess of Love, but also the Goddess of War. She is the Champion of Ilúvatar.”

“Ilúvatar? I know not that name.”

Olofin let out a heavy sigh. “Well, that’s a long story, and one that I’m afraid will have to wait. I wish to learn more about Daehir and the town where he dwells. Tell me what you know.”

He listened intently as Sineya revealed all that she knew about the Vampire Lord, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much, and his town. The half-elf decided that it was best for him to do a little reconnaissance on his own. He instructed the girl to remain in the cave while he went in search of the town where the vampire and his clan dwelt. He left his sword with Sineya in case any should discover their hideout.

“Vampires can only be killed by beheading, a wooden stake in the heart, or by fire. Remember that, Sineya. Do not leave the cave while I’m gone. I shall return before sunrise.”

He climbed through the fissure, turned into a falcon and ascended into the darkened sky. Sineya was amazed to see the elf change forms. Whilst he was gone, she practiced handling the sword. It was the first time in her life that one had ever been placed in her keeping. For the first time ever, she felt powerful, so powerful that she was anxious to avenge the death of her kinfolk.

Olofin scouted the lands below as he headed west, flying above the treetops. As he soared over the village from which Sineya had escaped, he saw that the feeding frenzy of the vampires was still taking place. He continued west, as the girl had instructed, following the roadway through the trees. Nearly five miles away, the pathway went through an arched opening in a rock wall that formed the entrance to a natural walled ravine that Olofin estimated to be around twenty acres in size. The Vampire Lord had chosen to erect his town in the center. It was surrounded on all four sides by sheer walls that varied in height from two hundred to three hundred feet. Olofin circled above the small town, which consisted of four dozen or so buildings. He was stunned to see that Daehir had not learned his lesson from long ago. After Buffy had burnt down his home in Brethil, the vampire still elected to build his halls and the entire town out of wood. While that seemed foolish in itself, the trees and brush that had been removed to allow room for the buildings were piled high on the edge of the town. Olofin landed on the heap of debris, amazed at the stupidity of the inhabitants of that place. He would’ve laughed hysterically had he been in elven form. The tinder was so dry that a single torch tossed on the stack would ignite it instantly, easily spreading to the dwellings in the town within a matter of minutes. After witnessing the dimwittedness of Daehir and his people, Olofin had formulated his plan. He flew back to the cave eager to put his designs in motion.

When the half-elf pushed the vines aside, a blade pressed against his throat. “I see that you’ve been familiarizing yourself with my sword,” he remarked with a grin. He carefully eased the weapon away from his body before entering.

“I like this blade,” said Sineya as she made a series of jabbing and slashing motions. “I’ve been practicing since you left.”

“Good. We shall see how proficient you’ve become.” Olofin wished that he had come more prepared, that he had more weapons with him. Aside from his sword, all he had was a dagger. He was slightly amused that he intended to engage the enemy with an army of two. Yet the half-elf had proved in the past that he didn’t necessarily need anything more than his voice and the power of song to unleash his wrath on his foe.

As he demonstrated various tactics, both offensive and defensive, to Sineya, the sun began to rise in the east. Knowing that vampires loathed sunlight, he intended to make his move later that morning while the demonic creatures lay sleeping in their halls. He understood that the probability of killing them all was slim to none. His goal was to decrease their numbers as much as possible without the enemy harming him or his young companion.

Once the young girl had demonstrated her competence with the sword, they both set out for the vampire town, stealthily creeping through the woods, avoiding those of Sineya’s kindred. Aside from their weapons, the only other item that Olofin brought with him was some rope, something that no elf traveled without.

When they reached the south side of the rock wall, he said, “Your position will be atop the wall… ”

“How am I to get there? I cannot climb that,” said a dumbfounded Sineya, glancing up at the height of the wall. “It is too steep.”

“Leave that to me.” The half-elf handed her the rope.

“What is this for?” she asked, eyeing the coil apprehensively.

“There is one that dwells with the vampires that I wish to capture. It is a woman, short, long golden hair… she’s missing her right hand. No harm is to come to her… ”

“But she is one of the most wicked of them all!” whispered the girl anxiously with raised brows.

“She is not to be slain. At least, not by your hands. She is to be my prisoner to take back with me to face the judgment of my mother.”

“Why?” she queried, narrowing her eyes at the half-elf.

Olofin paused for a moment. “That Witch hijacked my mother’s body long ago.”

Sineya’s jaw dropped. “How is that possible?”

“There’s far greater magicks in this world than you’re aware of, child. Under the guise of my mother, that… that woman has done great evil, only to have my mother suffer the consequences of the Witch’s actions.” He shook his head, a flicker of hatred flashed in his green eyes. “No greater gift could I give my mother than bringing the doppelganger to her. The Witch will make a mighty birthday gift for my nana. Yes, mighty indeed!” Olofin looked up at the top of the stone wall before turning his gaze back to Sineya. “This is what we’ll do… ”

After a few minutes, the half-elf changed into a great eagle, large enough for the girl to climb on his back. She was completely astounded by Olofin’s ability to change his form at will. While she had been greatly impressed when he had changed into a falcon, to see him change into a bird of that size floored her. It almost seemed dream-like. She had never encountered one with such an ability before. If she hadn’t seen the half-elf change form with her own two eyes, she would never have believed it. Never!

Once she had climbed onto Olofin’s back, he flew to the top of the shortest part of the wall. As soon as Sineya dismounted, he changed his bodily form again, turning into a much smaller falcon, before taking off towards the piles of tinder. Landing behind one of the stacks, he turned back into his elvish form. He used his flint to set the debris aflame. He blew on the smoldering tinder until he saw flickering flames. It then made a whooshing sound as it continued to grow and spread. Pleased by that, he grabbed a burning limb and took it to the adjoining pile, setting that on fire as well. Grayish-black smoke began to rise thickly under the morning light. He then turned back into a falcon and flew to the top of the archway.

By the time he had landed on the wall and changed back into his mortal form, several inhabitants of the town were already running towards the fire, eager to extinguish the flames. Olofin raised his hands towards the heavens and began singing his song of enchantment.

An awe-stricken Sineya watched the half-elf perform his spell. To her, he was the most magnificent being that she had ever encountered. He was beautiful, powerful, and holy, but more importantly, he was good. Kindness and love emitted from his spirit, the like she had never felt before. She reveled in the fact that out of all her kindred, he chose to save her, a simple girl with no gifts other than the will to live. And he had imbued her with strength, power that she could never have imagined possible. As she watched his long dark hair billowing behind him while he stood on the wall, a shaft of light from the sun fell upon the man, causing her heart to skip a beat. She became enamored by the half-elf; she felt her heart turning towards him. From that moment on, she loved him and would do anything for him, including die for him. He was her savior, her hero. If only he could be more.

The wall began to shake, causing the young woman to fall on all fours. When she lifted her gaze back to the archway, she saw that Olofin was gone. In that split moment when she had looked away he had moved to another spot along the wall. The archway crumbled before her eyes, the walls on either side filling the only exit from the town. She scanned the wall until she saw Olofin in another position; a bright white light radiated from his bodily form, revealing him in all his glory.

The wind suddenly picked up from the west, spreading the flames from the burning piles to the nearby structures. The thick plume of smoke moved with the winds, engulfing the town in a cloud of darkness. Burning ash rained down upon the buildings furthest from the fires, igniting the shake shingle roofs. Screaming and yelling came from those running from their dwellings, cursing their misfortune. They were trapped in the tomb of their own making. Some tried to climb up the sheer walls, but to no avail.

Wargs, their bodies consumed by flames, ran yelping towards the pool of water situated beside the largest building, and home of Daehir.

The Vampire Lord was furious when roused from his slumber by the chaos of his people. “This is all your fault!” he barked at Angwen, looking out the window of his chamber. “The prophecy is coming to fulfillment. All that I’ve worked hard for is gone because of you.” He turned his angry gaze to his lover, who was attempting to flee by slipping on the falcon coat that had once belonged to Buffy. She had it halfway on when the vampire seized her roughly by the arm. “And what is it that you intend on doing, my darling? Leave me behind while you flee to safety?”

The woman stopped; her eyes wide with fear under the glaring look of Daehir. “I must go, my Lord.”

“I don’t think so,” he answered with a sneer, stripping the garment from her. “Fate has caught up with you at last, Angwen, but I’ll be damned if it catches me in its grasp as well.” He slid the coat on as the woman fell to the floor, groveling at his feet.

“Please, Daehir,” she cried. “Do not leave me. I love you. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”

“I’m no fool, Angwen. I deem that you had said the same to Úrion. As far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance!”

“But Lord, you cannot leave your people to deal with the wrath of Dagnir… ”

“Watch me!” When he had buttoned the topmost button, he turned into a falcon, and flew out of the window into the thick haze. He would eventually return to the lands of his brother, Gurthor, who dwelled in the East.

Olofin’s song continued to wreak devastation. Huge chunks of rock broke off from the wall, crushing those running below. When Sineya caught sight of the short, golden-haired woman that Olofin had mentioned earlier, she followed the crazed woman running across the barren land with her eyes.

When the woman neared Sineya’s position, the girl peered over the edge of the rock and shouted, “Mistress! Up here!” She lowered the rope, as Angwen looked up in wonder at the black girl kneeling on the wall. Sineya motioned for the woman to grab the rope and climb.

As soon as Olofin saw the rope drop, he changed into falcon form and flew on the outskirts of the wall to Sineya. He changed back into his elvish form and crouched behind the young girl, much to her delight.

“Do not let her know that I’m here,” he whispered in the girl’s ear. She nodded in reply.

Sineya grunted as the weight on the rope began to strain her. “It’s heavier. I think there is more than one climbing up, Olofin.”

The half-elf grabbed the end of the rope. “Peek over the edge and tell me what you see,” he instructed, wrapping the rope around his hands.

The girl looked down and through the smoke saw a ruckus on the ground. Two men were climbing up while a couple more were fighting with the woman over who would be next to climb the rope. Sineya informed her companion of what was going on.

“Alright,” answered the half-elf, dropping to his knees. “As they come up, cut their heads off, but not the woman. She’s mine!”

Sineya’s excitement grew when she heard his orders. She beckoned the men to climb faster. “Come, Master, come.” She remained on her knees, both hands clutching the hilt tightly, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She waited impatiently, eager to strike down the first foe. She first saw a hand reaching for the next portion of rope before the head of the silver-haired vampire popped into sight. Her lips parted, her muscles tensed, as she swung the blade, decapitating the first foe. Blood sprayed on the young girl before both the head and body turned to dust.

She turned to Olofin, looking for approval.

“Excellent. Keep up the good work, child. You’ll get another chance to exercise your swordsmanship in a minute, I deem.”

She quickly wiped the blood from her face, and got back into position. Sineya licked her lips, tasting the blood of the enemy, which only increased her desire to kill more of them. A few moments later, a dark-haired male vampire’s head came into view. Once again, she cleaved his head from his body, both instantly turned to dust. The girl couldn’t believe how asinine the enemy was.

“Stay alert,” whispered Olofin, as they waited for the next one. He could feel the weight on the rope, but after a few minutes, no head came into sight. Sineya noticed too. She peered over the edge. A hand suddenly appeared, grabbing her by the hair, and pulled the girl over the side of the wall. She let out a shriek as she fell towards the earth, the sword still in her grasp.

The half-elf felt his heart drop. He immediately let go of the rope and changed into falcon form. His little legs ran swiftly to the edge of the wall before he nose-dived to the bottom. Three demons, including Angwen, were also plummeting to the ground below.

Sineya landed hard, leaving her dazed and reeling in pain. The sword had gone flying out of her hand upon impact, landing some ten feet away. A vampire quickly snatched the weapon and approached the helpless girl with the blade raised over his head.

“Kill our kind, will you?” he growled, as he brought the weapon down.

Olofin pulled out of his dive, changing form mid-flight and blindsided the vampire before he could deliver the fatal blow. Both tumbled to the ground, the blade flying from the vampire’s grasp. The two rolled through the bracken and thorns that covered the ground, exchanging blows. The vampire managed to gain the advantage, or so he thought, by being on top of the half-elf. He delivered a punch to Olofin’s right eye, causing the poor Noldo to see stars.

“This is one prophecy that I will thwart, you des-” The vampire’s words were cut off. Olofin had grabbed a fistful of the demon’s hair, yanking his head back as he ran the blade of dagger across the creature’s neck. Blood cascaded down upon the half-elf as he sawed his way through muscle, ligaments and bone, severing the head from the vampire’s body. Dust rained down on the Noldo as he rolled onto his stomach, looking for Sineya.

Wiping the vampire’s remains from his eyes, he watched as another vampire sank her teeth into the delicate flesh of the young girl’s neck. “No!” He shifted to his knees and threw his dagger at the evildoers head. The dark-haired woman never saw it coming, the blade embedded in the top of her head. She screamed; letting Sineya’s body fall to the ground as Olofin scrambled to his feet. Through the smoke, he saw Angwen wielding his sword in her only hand. As the other vampire woman pulled the dagger from her head, the half-elf leapt through the air, nearly fifteen feet, before dropkicking the wicked creature in the face, shattering her nose. He crawled on all fours, quickly grabbing the fallen vampire, using her body as a shield as Angwen made a slashing motion at the half-elf. The vampire woman let out an ear-piercing shriek as the blade split her gut open, spilling her intestines from the open wound.

“You’re not about to get me, wretched half-elf!” cackled Angwen, her face contorted in rage.

“Hey, dearest Angwen, take a look behind you,” said Olofin mockingly as he tossed the vampire in his arms to the ground.

“Oh, I’m not about to fall for that, elf!” she snapped, surveying her foe with the same green eyes that looked upon her. “What do you think - I’m thick?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” snickered Olofin.

WHACK! A loud cracking sound pierced the gloom. Angwen stood there for a moment, teetering from foot to foot. Her eyes crossed before she fell face-first to the ground, unconscious. Standing behind her was none other than Sineya, brandishing a timber that she had pulled from the wreckage of one of the buildings.

“I did not kill her, as you ordered,” said the young girl, a look of satisfaction on her face.

“Well done, Sineya, well done. How’s your neck? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Olofin grabbed his sword and approached the wailing vampire on the ground. The woman was actually trying to put her innards back into her stomach. When she saw the long legs in front of her, the vampire slowly lifted her gaze. “Don’t bother. It won’t help any.” He then swung his blade, taking her head off in the process. Both parts of her body turned to dust.

The surviving vampires and demonic creatures fled from Olofin and Sineya, terrified that they would lose their heads too. “So what do you think, Sineya, our work done here?” he asked, his eyes scanning the ruins.

“Should we not go after the remaining demons?” she queried, her eyes following those running away.

“The enemy cannot escape. My heart tells me that they will kill each other off,” the half-elf replied with a shake of his head. He turned his gaze to the unconscious form of Angwen. “Besides, I need to get that one back to my lands. The winter rains will soon be upon us and I must start my journey home.”

Olofin’s words dismayed the young girl. Even though they had only just met, she felt like she had always known him, that he was always a part of her life, and her heart. She dreaded their parting. Sineya watched as the half-elf grabbed the rope that lay on the ground, cutting off appropriate size pieces to bind the Witch’s feet and hands. He then cut the cord a third time, making a noose, and slipped it around Angwen’s neck like a leash. Gathering up the rest of their things, Olofin handed them to the young girl, along with the rope attached to the evil Maia. He then changed into an eagle so that he, his companion, and prisoner could leave the burning ravine. Sineya flung the unconscious Angwen onto the back of the half-elf before she climbed on. They then set off, soaring high in the air, leaving the realm of Daehir behind, never to return again.

By the time they had reached the cave, Angwen was awake and alert. Olofin gagged her, already tiring of her rambling pleas for mercy. Before setting off on foot with his prisoner, he turned to Sineya, tears already welling in her dark eyes.

“My heart is glad that we met, Sineya,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I hope that you use the powers that I’ve bestowed on you well. Evil lurks in many a place. Be vigilant. Expect the unexpected, as my beloved mother always says.” He smiled at the girl, as a tear escaped her eye. “Perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”

“Please, Olofin,” pleaded the girl, grabbing his hands in hers, “don’t leave just yet. Can you not stay a bit longer? We could search the wood for more of the enemy?”

“Oh, my dear Sineya,” he answered, his eyes full of sympathy. He cupped her dirt-covered cheek with his hand. “It is time for me to return home. But before I go, I would like to give you something.” He undid the belt that held his sheathed sword, and handed it to the girl. “This was wrought for me when I was but a boy. It is dear to me, as it was made by the Maia, Marto, father of my half siblings. I want you to have it. I have slain many beasts with it over the years, and I deem that you will do the same in days to come. Be safe, child.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Take care and farewell.”

Olofin then grabbed the end of the rope attached to Angwen before cutting the binding on her legs. Sineya wept as the half-elf and his prisoner started through the dense trees.

“I love you, Olofin,” she whispered between sobs, clutching the sword to her bosom. She remained standing on that spot until she no longer saw the half-elf and his captive.

Sineya then returned to her village, only to find that she was no longer welcomed. The inhabitants believed that she had returned as a vampire since the elders sensed her newfound power, and banished her from the only place that she had called home. Her love for Olofin led her to wander alone in the wild, searching out the creatures of darkness, slaying all that she encountered.

It would be nearly two years later when Sineya realized how precious a gift that the half-elf had bestowed upon her. Near the shores of Belegaer (“the Great Sea”) far south of the forest, she encountered none other than Ungoliant, who had fled the northern regions of Beleriand for the lands in the south after her tussle with Buffy long ago. While bathing in the waters under a moonlit sky, the enormous spider attacked the girl, paralyzing her when the beast’s stinger pierced her flesh, unleashing its venom. With her body paralyzed, the spider wove her web around Sineya, sealing her in a cocoon of doom. Confronted with death, numerous images flashed in the girl’s mind. She now understood that she had been chosen by Olofin for a greater purpose, even though the half-elf didn’t know it at the time.

Sineya was the first, the first in a lineage of mystically enhanced girls that possessed the strength and skill to hunt vampires and stop the spread of evil in the world. She was the Slayer, the Chosen One, the only mortal girl in the world possessing the powers of the Vala Queen, Bellaseth Dagnir. Upon her death, those powers would pass mystically to the next girl, who would suddenly have the insatiable desire to fight the creatures of darkness, to slay the enemy. She would die knowing that she was the first of that line.

Sineya’s last thought was that of Olofin, and the pain and sorrow that her unrequited love had caused her. As Ungoliant took her sealed body away, the sword of Marto remained by the shore. It would be neary two centuries later when Eärendil, the greatest of mariners, came across that blade and claimed it for his own.


Chapter 71 - THE PRICE

The rain lashing against the windowpanes roused Buffy from her sleep. She lay in the warmth of her bed, as a bright flash of lightning lit up the room. She waited for the inevitable sounding of thunder, which followed only seconds later. Maglor stirred at the sound, rolling onto his side, facing opposite his wife. The Slayer stared at the ceiling, an uneasy feeling coming over her. Wide-awake, she slid out of bed, trying her best not to disturb her husband’s peaceful slumber. Unable to shake that feeling, she walked over to one of the large windows. Despite the poor visibility, her eyes pierced the gloomy darkness, the feeling that something was amiss growing with every passing minute.

She hoped that Olofin was alright. He had been gone for over two weeks, and for some reason, she felt that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill as the rain continued to pound against the glass. Knowing that there was no chance of falling back to sleep, Buffy decided to head to the kitchen and make herself a cup of coffee. She pulled on her robe and slid her feet into her slippers before quietly leaving the room.

Exiting her private chambers, her elvish guards wished her good morning. She nodded, mumbling, “morning,” as she made her way down the corridor. The moonstones in the lamps and sconces bathed the interior of Lindon Hall in a soft silver light. All was silent except for the sound of rain beating against the roof, and the occasional clap of thunder.

More guards greeted her as she descended the stairway, Buffy merely nodded in acknowledgement. Since Oromë’s arrival in Middle-earth, she had definitely tightened security, not only in her own home, but also to the north and west of her realm. If the Vala Lord dare enter her lands, then she would most certainly defend her own with what might she had. Already, war machines had been strategically placed in the most vulnerable areas of Ossir, not to mention the legions of elves hidden on talans throughout the woods.

After making her coffee, she sat on one of the terraces watching the rain fall through the canopy of leaves. She rocked slowly back and forth in her chair, unable to rid the uneasiness from her heart. Not thirty minutes later, she heard the faint sound of Valaróma in the distance. The cup fell from her grasp, shattering when it hit the wooden floor. Immediately, she fled back into her Halls, alerting her Household that the Vala Lord would soon be entering Beleriand, and instructing them to prepare to depart.

If Buffy had had all her powers, she would’ve eagerly confronted Oromë on the Dwarf-Road, but this time, she chose to leave Lindon Hall and travel deeper into her realm, to Tol Galen. By the time her people were boarding the boats on the Gelion, she could already feel the heavy footfalls of the Hunter’s horses shaking the earth beneath her feet.

The boats were carried swiftly downstream with the aid of Ulmo. He feared a confrontation between Luinil and Oromë. Knowing that the son of Yavanna had successfully carried out his mission, he wanted to put as much distance between the two as possible. The Lord of Waters felt that it was his responsibility to make sure that the Slayer didn’t go off the deep end.

The rains dissipated for a time as they reached the River Brilthor. They were nearly half-way to their destination and it was only just past six in the morning. As Maglor lay dozing in the cabin, Buffy found herself alone, leaning against the railing at the bow of the vessel. Her demeanor was so morose that none of her Household disturbed her. They could sense an ominous vibe coming from their Mistress, something they had felt many times before. It was in everyone’s best interest to leave her be, to let her wallow in her thoughts, no matter how gloomy they may be.

Buffy wept, not knowing why. Deeming that she was suffering from another bout of melancholy, she retreated to the cabin once the rains had started again. After smoking several bowls of opium, she found herself in an altered state of consciousness. Her thoughts turned to Folkvang and her longing to return there. She sat with her eyes closed, picturing the beauty of her mystical realm in her mind. She saw herself in falcon form, flying from the tower of Sussrúmnir over the clear waters that surrounded her isle to the vast lands that encircled the lake. She soared over the lands towards the mountain range. The experience seemed so real. She could feel the wind ruffling her feathers, the smell of the clean air, and the warmth of the sun’s rays.

Unbeknownst to the Slayer, Ilúvatar was the one guiding her through her dream-like trance. She landed on a rowan tree at the foot of the mountains. Images of the Trident flashed in her mind. She saw the Trident hitting the shoulder of the mountain, which then split, creating a tunnel. She then found herself flying through the darkness of the passageway, knowing every twist and turn before she had reached it. To her surprise, it ended at the Deeper Well.

Buffy’s eyes darted open and she quickly jumped to her feet. The boat suddenly lurched east, now heading against the current of the River Adurant. She maintained her balance as Maglor asked her if she was alright.

“I’m not just alright, I’m fabulous,” she answered cheerily. Her husband was slightly taken aback by the swift change in her behavior.

“Well, that is good,” he replied with a smile. “What’s brought about this change of heart? Has another of your powers returned?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, her heart pounding with excitement. “I think I’ve had a vision.”

“A vision!” exclaimed the Noldo, his brows raised in surprise. “I take it that it was a good one.”

Buffy’s smiled widened. “You bet your sweet ass it was!” She grabbed her husband’s hands. “I had a vision that the Trident could make a doorway between the Deeper Well and Folkvang. I think that the mystical realms are somehow connected. I’ve just got to open the door.” She gave Maglor a kiss. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. See - I told you that hul-gil is good for mulling things over. It… it enlightens one to things they would not normally see.”

“Are you sure that you didn’t experience some delusion?” he queried skeptically, cocking his brow.

The Slayer was appalled at the suggestion. “I’m not an imbecile! I’ve had visions before, Káno, I know one when I see it,” she said, frowning.

“Then I suppose you’re right,” he answered with a nod of his head. He didn’t want to put a damper on her high spirits. “I must say, I cannot wait to see the mighty Trident of Ulmo.”

“Believe me when I say, it’s awesome.”

Buffy was so anxious to get to Lindecoa that she even aided those rowing against the current. When they neared the wharf, she didn’t wait for her people to moor the vessel - she jumped onto the platform while the ship was still gliding across the water. She waited impatiently for Maglor to join her. Unfortunately, the Noldo didn’t possess the ability to leap as far as she. Once he had set foot on the quay, the Slayer took his hand and headed towards the steps that led to her fortress.

When they reached the top of the stone stairs, the Slayer stopped for a moment, smiling, taking in the beauty of Lindecoa. It had been too many years since she had last set eyes on her magnificent Halls. She was excited to be home, and quite eager to show off her newly acquired weapon to her husband. As soon as the couple had crossed the threshold, the elves began playing their instruments, singing Sweet Madam Blue in their fair voices. Making their way down to the vaults, many of the Sindar that hadn’t ventured into the East, warmly greeted their Mistress.

The Slayer was still on cloud nine over her vision, knowing that she had found a way to circumvent the magicks of Marduk. It had been over a half century since she had last been to Folkvang, and the thought that she’d soon be returning left her feeling ecstatic. She couldn’t fathom how many feys were waiting in Sussrúmnir for her to pronounce her judgment.

When they had entered Buffy’s near empty vaults, she was slightly taken aback to see that all her treasures were gone, save for the few things that she had sent back with the Green-elves. While she had known that Úrion had stolen her things, it was altogether different to see them gone. She did her best to conceal her anguish at losing so many rare artifacts wrought by the elves, especially the Noldor. She attempted to raise her spirits by telling Maglor the story of the splitting of Orocarni with the Trident, something she hadn’t told the Noldo before. Her excitement grew when she unlocked her trunk and threw open the lid. There, on the top of her treasures, wrapped in red, velvety material, rested the Trident. As she unwrapped the weapon and handed it to her husband, something caught her eye within the box. She had reached down to grab the unfamiliar object when she suddenly stopped. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

“NO!” she cried out, retrieving the withered crown of luinil flowers from the trunk. “NO! NO! NO!”

She recalled the words that her eldest daughter had said to her, long ago:

“As long as Illyria lives, these flowers will never wither and die.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Maglor, placing his hand comfortingly on his wife’s shoulder. Tears were streaming down her face as she held the circlet of dead flowers in her trembling hand. He looked at the withered wreath with a bewildered expression. “Bella? What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer. Buffy felt like her heart had just been ripped out of her chest. After setting eyes on the wilted flowers, beads of sweat had formed on her face, as if her blood was beginning to boil. It suddenly dawned on her that Oromë had not been sent to Middle-earth to capture her, he had been sent to kill Illyria. Not only had the Valar betrayed her, but Luthor had as well. Aside from her and Melkor, Luthor was the only one that knew the spell to open the mystical doorway. With that knowledge, her sorrow quickly turned to anger. Something inside her snapped.

Maglor gasped, taking a step back, the Trident clutched tightly in his hands. His wife’s green eyes turned black. The clothing that she had been wearing vanished, as a red skin-like covering suddenly crept over her body, changing her appearance dramatically.

“Luinil! Luinil! What’s happening?” asked the panicking Noldo. He stared wide-eyed at her, mouth agape. He had never seen her look that way before. It frightened him. “Talk to me!” he pleaded. “What is going on?”

Buffy turned her black eyes to her husband. “They’ve all fucking betrayed me,” she said between gritted teeth. Her body continued to tremble with rage, as she crushed the crown of dead flowers in her hand. “Illyria is dead.” She tossed the withered circlet back into the box, snatched the Trident from Maglor, and started for the door. “Eye for an eye,” she hissed under her breath, “tooth for a tooth.”

“Bella, where are you going?” asked the terrified Noldo.

The Slayer stopped and glanced over her shoulder. The look in her dark eyes sent shivers up the elf’s spine.

“Luthor will pay for his act of betrayal. He killed my daughter, so now I will kill him.” She started out of the vault again, mumbling, “And then Oromë shall get his… all the Valar will get what’s coming to them.”

The Noldo stood there for a moment, shocked beyond belief. His wife’s metamorphosis stunned him, but her threatening words regarding Luthor and the other Valar scared him more so. Surely, the Powers had to have had a damn good reason for eliminating Illyria. They do not kill their own needlessly. Morgoth was a perfect example of that. He couldn’t help but think that Buffy’s daughter had to have been more evil than her father to justify her death. He glanced in the trunk at the mangled flowers on top of the Slayer’s other treasures.

“Wait, Bella!” he called out. He ran after his wife, leaving the chamber. Maglor noticed that the elves that had returned from the East must have seen Buffy in her current state before. None appeared surprised by her transformation. They fell onto bended knee with their heads bowed as she passed them by. All the while, she uttered curses under her breath. “Bella!” He finally caught up with her, grabbing her by the arm. “Will you wait a minute?” She stopped, and faced the Noldo. “Do not go off and do something rash! Luthor is a good man. He’s… ”

“He’s a fucking two-faced son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t know his place!” she barked. Her angry words drifted down the corridors of Lindecoa. All within her castle heard her declaration. “He has sealed his fate, and when I get through with him, he’ll wish he was dead!”

“What’s wrong with you? Calm down! Let’s discuss this in a rational… ”

“Who the fuck are you to say one goddamned word to me?” she queried angrily, pulling her arm from his grasp. Her eyes bore into the elf’s. “You - who has a curse lingering over your head because of the Oath! You - who unjustly killed the Teleri for their ships! You - who burned those ships, leaving your own flesh and blood stranded in the frigid cold!” She shook her head, a look of utter disgust on her face. “Don’t preach your righteousness to me, son of Fëanor! At least my actions are justified, you can’t say the same thing. I’ve never spilt innocent blood.”

The bitterness of Buffy’s words nearly brought Maglor to tears. “My kin and I were overcome with grief, grief that led us to madness… I do not want to see the same thing happen to you,” he replied softly, his voice full of remorse.

His words had no effect on the Slayer. “If Olofin had been killed, you’d feel the same way,” she shot back defensively. “You’d want to see the perpetrator pay, and so do I. It’s time for Luthor to pay the piper - ME!”

With that, she turned and continued on her way.

Those in her Household that heard her comments were conflicted. On the one hand, they felt that Luthor deserved some type of punishment for his actions, but on the other hand, it was Luthor! The Green-elves knew him to be a good man, and that he had a stabilizing effect on Buffy’s emotions. While none were fond of Illyria, she was still Buffy’s daughter, her firstborn child. If any were to rid the world of the blue demoness, it should be one of her parents, nobody else.

“Well, then,” said the Noldo with a sigh, “I’m coming too.” He chased after his enraged wife, who was climbing the stairway.

Maglor knew there was no way to dissuade his wife from confronting Luthor. However, he begged Buffy to allow him to come with her. He hoped beyond anything, that he would be able to reason with her on the journey. Thankfully, his pleas did not fall on deaf ears. He managed to convince her to allow him to come along. They took off, the Noldo riding on Kit while the Slayer rode on Kat.

Buffy remained sullen on the trip. She spoke very few words. When night had fallen and weariness had begun to overcome the Noldo, he asked Buffy if they could stop awhile and rest. She refused. Instead, she handed him a couple of coca leaves.

“Chew on these. They’ll keep you awake,” she said, as she popped a couple in her mouth.

Maglor was reluctant to take one of her herbal remedies, but he was so tired, and fearing falling off Kit, he chewed on the bitter-tasting leaves. Immediately, he felt himself becoming more alert, more energized. Once again, the Noldo attempted to talk Buffy out of acting so recklessly. She needed to hear Luthor’s side of the story before doing something that she would later regret. He used his own past actions as a testament to his statements.

She remained silent, refusing to discuss any aspect of the Maia’s betrayal. Her mind was made up, and no one could change it, not even Maglor.

When they had arrived at the Deeper Well, the Slayer’s offspring sprang from the mystical doorway. As soon as they laid eyes on their wrathful Mistress, they fell to their knees with their heads bowed. They knew that there would be hell to pay, and dearly hoped that they wouldn’t be on the receiving end.

Buffy passed her demonic offspring without giving them a second glance and entered the doorway. Maglor and the lions followed dismally behind. The Noldo continued to plead with his wife to show the old Maia mercy, but the Slayer remained steadfast, as their footfalls echoed in the dim, dank passageway. When they had reached the bridge that crossed the Well itself, the Slayer stopped and inhaled deeply. She could smell Illyria’s essence lingering in the air, increasing her ire towards Luthor even more.

She continued moving along the metal planking towards the closed gate that lead to the dwellings of the dwarves and their Lord. The door opened on its own accord, allowing Buffy and her companions to pass through before it silently closed again. She turned right, her anger growing with each step. She clutched the Trident in one hand, the other balled so tightly that her nails pierced the flesh of her palm. The Slayer had decided that she’d use the mystical weapon as the means to destroy both Luthor’s body and soul.

She then descended the stairway, the Noldo still closely behind. The flickering flames of the torches set in the brackets along the walls danced eerily as she marched by. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned left. Half-way down the passageway, she encountered Dvalin and Brokk. Their jaws dropped when they set eyes on her.

They could feel the vengeance vibe emitting from the Lady, terrifying them.

“Freya!” started Dvalin, fearing for his Master’s life. “You do not understand. We had no other choice,” he attempted to explain.

Buffy spoke not one word. When she reached the two dwarves, who blocked her way, she pushed one, then the other, sending them soaring down the passageway a good twenty feet before they hit the stone floor, moaning and groaning from the impact.

“Don’t do this!” said an out of breath Maglor, trying to keep up with his wife’s surprisingly fast pace. “I beg of you, Luinil. Don’t do something that you’ll regret later. Please!”

When the Slayer reached the outside of Luthor’s chamber door, she turned towards her husband, her eyes ablaze with fury. “I’ve heard enough of your ramblings. I don’t want to hear any more. You can’t save him. No one can.”

Maglor grabbed her arm. “You don’t want to do this. It’s Luthor, for Eru’s sake! He’s been like a father to you.”

“He’s betrayed me!”

“He loves you, as do I. Please, Bella, don’t do this.” Tears welled in the Noldo’s eyes. He was desperate. He didn’t want the darkness to consume her any more than it already had. He took a deep breath and said, “I won’t let you.”

Buffy laughed a frightening kind of laugh that chilled the elf to the core. She backhanded her husband, sending him flying down the hallway landing near the others. “Putz,” she snickered before opening the door. She locked it behind her, as the two dwarves and elf got to their feet, running back to the now bolted door.

The Slayer’s black eyes fell upon the still sleeping form of Luthor. He lay curled up in his bed, oblivious to her presence. A single lamp on a sideboard burned low in the otherwise dark room. She placed her booted foot on the mattress, kicking it, startling the Maia out of his slumber.

“Wakey! Wakey! Momma’s home,” she said, her lips twisted into a wicked grin.

Luthor leapt to his feet, his heart racing with the unexpected arrival of Buffy. His eyes widened with alarm when he saw her appearance. Seeing her looking that way most certainly didn’t forebode any good to the Maia.

“Dear Lord,” he mumbled, trembling in fear.

“Words of flattery won’t save you, old man.” She jumped on top of the bed, standing menacingly over the Maia.

He slowly backed up, his eyes fixed on the Trident that she held firmly in her hands. When he bumped into the wall, he knocked the portrait of his beloved Bella to the floor. His breathing quickened. His eyes scanned the room for any potential weapons to defend himself, as he deemed there would be no reasoning with the Slayer in her current state. He had seen it before, long ago, with Sargon, but this time, things looked much bleaker for the old man.

Time seemed to come to a standstill. The sudden pounding on the Maia’s bedchamber door alerted him to the fact that others were aware of what was transpiring within his room. He could hear the frantic pleas of Brokk, Dvalin and Maglor, begging Buffy to show mercy.

“They’re a distracting lot, aren’t they?” she asked, her tone a mixture of amusement and contempt. She leapt off the bed when she heard an axe hit the door. “Watch this!” Buffy lifted the Trident and rammed it into the door. The wood exploded to smithereens upon impact. The blast sent the trio flying into the stone wall of the corridor, knocking them out cold. “Nighty-night, boys,” she added in a cold voice, before turning her attention back to Luthor.

“When will you people learn - you can’t fuck with me. There’s definitely a price to pay when you do.” She slowly crossed the room, savoring the effect she had on the old Maia. “I smell your fear, old man.” She stopped, inhaling deeply. “Ah, how sweet it is.” She locked her malevolent gaze onto Luthor, who remained cowering against the wall. “You betrayed me when you swore to protect me, to serve me, to love me. I’ve done everything for you and how do you repay me?” She slowly continued to move across the chamber. “You fucking killed my daughter, you shit! How dare you? You crossed the line, and now it’s time to pay, to reap what you sow. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Listen, Bella,” began the old man between sobs, pushing the stands of silver hair from his face. “I… I had to. Illyria was going… ”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, pointing the Trident threateningly at him, “Don’t you dare say my daughter’s name. Murderer! Don’t you dare use the words of the enemy on me! You know that the Valar have been out to get me. They’re jealous! They’re envious of the power I wield. I can destroy the world in an instant and they know it.” She laughed that same cold laugh. “Fuck ‘em! Fuck ‘em all!”

She stood, towering over the Maia. He folded his arms over his head defensively (as if that would help), closed his eyes tightly, and waited for the inevitable. Images of his life passed before his eyes, knowing that death was coming to him at last. Only two people in the world did he fear, and one of them happened to be standing over him, brandishing the most powerful weapon in all Arda.

“Kiss your ass good-bye, old man,” she said venomously, raising her weapon, “‘cause you aren’t leaving the Well, ever again.”

Luthor whimpered as he drew himself closer to the wall, not wanting to meet the Slayer’s terrifying gaze.

With her jaw clenched, her chest heaving, the Slayer started to bring her weapon down when she suddenly heard a voice in her head:

“Don’t do it mommy!”

The voice of the ‘good’, child-like Illyria caused Buffy to stop mid-action, only an inch from Luthor’s trembling form. The old man let out a shriek, even though he hadn’t been stricken.

“It’s dark, mommy, so dark. I’m scared. Come to me.”

Hearing her eldest daughter’s voice had an immediate effect on her. Tears filled the Slayer’s eyes, as she lowered her weapon. Unbeknownst to her, her black eyes turned back to green, although she remained cloaked in her magical raiment.

When the Trident hit the floor with a clunk, Luthor peeked through the crook of his arm, only to see the back of Buffy, running from the room. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful to still be alive. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow as he got back to his feet. Before tending to his friends that lay motionless in the corridor, he hid the mystical weapon beneath his mattress.

The Slayer ran at full speed back to the Well. She saw many in the passageways who had heard the blast from their chambers, searching for the source. When they saw their Mistress rushing through the corridors, all got out of her way.

After passing through the gate and reaching the bridge, Buffy leapt over the metal railing into the pit, which was a few thousand feet deep at that point in time. She utilized her keen sense of smell to sniff out her daughter’s sarcophagus as she plummeted down into the depths of the Well, passing numerous mystical coffins that protruded from the interior walls of the hole. When she had reached Illyria’s crypt, she grabbed hold of the stone casket, hanging on for dear life. She then swung her legs and did a back flip, landing astraddle the coffin.

The tears flowed from her eyes once again, splattering onto the top of the casket. She traced the sealed opening with her fingers, feeling her daughter’s essence trapped within. Arranged around the iris were five crystals, which housed Illyria’s supernatural powers. Beneath that, was etched the Sumerian ankh (a heart that rested on a cross), a symbol that the Maiar had made back in the East to denote the eternal bliss that Maranwë Luinil offered to those that passed on.

Buffy was overwhelmed with sorrow. She wished to free her daughter whom she felt had been imprisoned unjustly. She tried punching a hole through the opening, but with no success. All she got for her efforts was bloody knuckles. Her cries of anguish bounced off the stone walls, the sound traveling up from the pit. On the bridge, stood Maglor, Luthor and many dwarves, who looked down into the hole, listening to the mournful wailing of the heartbroken Slayer emanating from below.

“I need to be with her,” said Maglor, his heart filled with pity over his beloved’s loss. “Help me get down there.”

While he climbed onto the platform that the Naugrim would lower into the bowels of the Well, Buffy laid her tear-streaked face on the iris of the coffin, speaking to her daughter. She vowed to make it up to Illyria, promising to avenge her untimely death.

In her grief, she called forth what powers she possessed and implored Ilúvatar to grant her one wish. Since she was unable to free her daughter, she wished to see her released from her prison before Eä fell into complete ruination, to see her rise again in all her might and glory. She squeezed the blood from her knuckles, allowing the drops to fall on each crystal. After her life force had splattered on the last one, all glowed in their various colors, lavender, blue and white. She knew at that moment that Eru would grant her prayer, although it would come at a price. At that moment, the Slayer didn’t care. She was willing to pay it.


Chapter 72 - JUST REWARDS

Buffy sat, staring into the pewter mug of ale, clutched in her hands, as Dvalin recounted everything that had transpired in the war between Oromë and Illyria. She remained aloof, doing her best to restrain her emotions, even though she felt as if she was about to explode.

Seeing Maglor’s face when he had reached the depths of the Well kindled her feelings of guilt over her earlier actions. She regretted hitting her husband. The Noldo was willing to overlook her act of violence toward him, as long as she heard Luthor out before passing judgment. She had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that she hear the tale from anyone except the Maia. If she had to look at the old man’s face overly long, chances were, she’d rip his head off with her bare hands. As a compromise, she would speak with Dvalin regarding the battle and betrayal of her father figure.

She took a sip of her brew, her body still trembling with rage. The Slayer didn’t buy Oromë’s story, not one iota of it. There was no way that Illyria was about to break through the mystical barrier and wage war against her. It was all lies. The Valar didn’t know her daughter. They didn’t see the goodness in her that Buffy had seen. Besides, her daughter had not committed any crime to warrant her death. How could the Valar pass such a judgment on the claims of Námo alone? Buffy was still alive and kicking. No, those in the West had decided to strike out against her by killing her firstborn, an act that she deemed unforgivable.

“My Lady, Námo had foreseen your death at the hands of Illyria,” reiterated the dwarf. “They could not sit idly by and let that come to pass. They had to act. None in the West wish to see you perish.”

Buffy remained silent for a long while, staring at the contents of her cup.

“I can’t trust him,” she finally whispered, stifling back the tears that filled her eyes once again. “I should’ve seen this coming, damn it.” She lifted her gaze, looking at the dwarf across the board. “I no longer trust Luthor.” Buffy shook her head disappointedly. “I hold him responsible for everything, and I’ll never forgive him for his betrayal.”

“He’s done nothing of the sort!” cried out Dvalin, his voice echoing within the mammoth dining hall. “Luthor foresaw Illyria’s rise as well. He had seen long ago that she’d seek retribution for the dishonor that you had caused her during the war. He was only looking out for you. If he is guilty of anything, it is his loving of you, loving you as a daughter. Show him mercy, my Lady, I beg of you.”

The chamber fell quiet again. Buffy drained the rest of her ale, and then rose to her feet. “I’m ready to issue my judgment.”

As she made her way to the Great Hall, she instructed Dvalin to bring Luthor and the other Lords to her. All the Slayer’s surviving offspring and nearly every dwarf gathered in the enormous room along with Maglor, who now had the Trident. Luthor, still in his nightclothes, stood between Dvalin and Brokk. His blue eyes looked at her with both shame and fear.

“Humble yourself before me,” she said from the Maia’s throne. He dropped to one knee with his head bowed low. “After much thought, I’ve decided your punishment, Luthor.” The Maia lifted his head, meeting her gaze. “Do not look at me! Don’t you ever look at me again!” she shouted, her eyes narrowing in anger. The old man swiftly bent his head, avoiding her icy stare.

“You can thank both Káno and the Naugrim for their pleas of mercy, for I’ve decided to show you some at their bequest.” She shifted her eyes to her husband. He wore a look of relief on his face. “The lordship of the Deeper Well will no longer be yours.” The Maia nearly lifted his head at her declaration, but caught himself, bowing his head even lower than before. “Dvalin, son of Durin, will now rule those that dwell here.” Buffy nodded her head in the dwarf’s direction. He nodded back in reply.

“Since I’ve been gracious enough to spare you a death sentence in the killing of Illyria, you shall be commanded to Sussrúmnir, as my prisoner, for a term of one thousand years.” There were gasps from the crowd, as murmurings erupted throughout the chamber. “At the end of that time,” she continued, “I will consider your crime absolved, for I am Maranwë Luinil, Vala of Love and War, and I have spoken.”

Buffy then rose from her seat and approached her husband. “Happy?” she asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, taking the Trident from his hand.

“A thousand years is a mighty long time,” answered Maglor.

“It is better than death, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, grim-faced. “I suppose that it is.”

“I thought that I was extremely lenient, considering what Luthor had done.” She sighed. “Perhaps I should change my ruling… ”

“No, no don’t do that,” said the Noldo quickly. “You were just in your decision. Thank you.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Good. Now, I need to find that doorway. Watch him.” She motioned towards the Maia with her head. “I’ll be back.”

The Slayer left the Great Hall, wandering the labyrinth of passageways in search of the place that she had seen in her vision. When she believed she had found the spot, Buffy placed her palm on the face of the wall. She quickly pulled her hand back, cursing. The stone felt extremely hot to the touch. Deciding that that was indeed the correct location, she thrust the prongs of the Trident into the wall. It immediately made a loud cracking sound. She withdrew her weapon and watched as the stone crumbled to dust, gradually forming a tunnel into that part of the mystical cave. The deeper the tunnel went, the more muffled sounded the rumblings. A cloud of dust enveloped Buffy. Not only did it obscure her vision, but the tiny fragments also got in her mouth. No matter how much she tried to spit the gritty particles out, she could feel them crunching between her teeth.

She retreated down the passageway with the Trident propped over her shoulder, happy that at least the tunnel proved to be more than a mere ‘delusion.’ When she went to round up those few that would be journeying to Folkvang, Buffy then noticed that both Kit and Kat were missing. She hadn’t seen them leave, nor did anyone else. Regardless, she decided that she and a chosen few would return to her Blessed Realm even though the lions were missing. She had assumed that they were probably hunting for fresh meat since they had gone four days without food.

Only six people entered the tunnel: Buffy, Maglor, Luthor, Dvalin, Brokk, and Alfrik. As they made their way through knee-deep dust, the Slayer attempted to contact the Valkyries with her mind. She knew that once they had exited the mountains of Folkvang that they’d have a long way to go before they would reach the lake. Not only that, but a ship would be needed to carry her small party to the island.

When thirty minutes had passed, and the group had turned the last corner, a welcoming beam of sunlight shone at the end of the passageway. Buffy’s excitement grew when she saw a single form standing within the light.

“Greetings, Maranwë,” said Feawë. “We’ve heard your call and will see you on your journey.” The Valkyrie’s voice reverberated in the tunnel.

Once they had stepped out onto the plains of Folkvang, Buffy’s horse, Rocco, trotted up to her, rubbing his head against his Mistress.

“How you doing, boy?” she said, patting the side of his neck. He neighed in reply.

While the Naugrim were in awe of Folkvang, they weren’t delighted by the thought of having to travel on horseback to reach the heart of Buffy’s mystical realm. Since the Valkyrie chieftains were present, they decided to return to the Deeper Well, knowing that if they proceeded deeper into that enchanted land, they’d never want to leave. Before disappearing into the darkness of the passageway, the dwarves tearfully said their good-byes to Luthor. They had come to love the Maia greatly over the years and hoped that his imprisonment would pass swiftly, for all their sakes.

It was in the wee hours of the morning when the group finally reached their destination. Most of the inhabitants lay sleeping in their homes, as Buffy and her fellow travelers ascended the steps of Sussrúmnir. She instructed her maidens to lock Luthor away in a set of rooms in the tower on the third floor. While he would spend the next thousand years living in the lap of luxury, he was forbidden to leave those rooms, ever.

An exhausted Maglor headed to Buffy’s private quarters on the thirteen floor, while her maidens garbed their Mistress in her queenly raiment. When she had entered her Hall of Judgment, she saw that the Valkyries had placed Sargon’s lapis lazuli casket against one of the walls. She pulled off her crown, and laid it along with her scepter on the bottom step of the dais. She walked over to the large coffin. Instead of summoning the feys into her chamber, she climbed on top of the box and fell fast asleep.

For the first time since she had last encountered Salmar, Buffy found herself in the dreamscape…

She sat amidst the gardens behind Eanna, her temple in Sumer, a place that she hadn’t thought of in quite a while. The fragrance of the blossoms was divine, the air seemed to crackle with magic, even though everything was still. There was no breeze, no songbirds singing in the treetops as they had normally done in the past. There were no minstrel voices in the temple itself, no talking, no noise whatsoever. It was very strange. As her eyes scanned the garden, she saw that she was alone.

The sound of rustling leaves behind her broke the silence. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder, as she saw something disturbing the mammoth azalea bushes. Only a second later, she saw her lover stepping out from the white flowered bushes.

“Sargon!” she shouted with joy, leaping to her feet with fluidity and grace. She ran to him, jumping into his outstretched arms. Her words came fast, fearing that the dream would not last long. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you at the end,” Buffy cried. “It was selfish of me, I know. I’ve regretted it every single day since. Don’t hate me, Sargon. I’m so sorry.” She buried her face in his shoulder, as his large hand gently stroked her long golden hair.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he said, his tone gentle for a man his size. “I hold no ill feelings towards you.” She could feel his warm breath on her neck while he spoke. “I could never hate my beloved Inanna Ishtar. Never!” He kissed the top of her head. “Come, now. No more tears, my love. I do not have much time.”

She pulled out of the embrace, slowly sliding down his tall frame until her feet hit the earth.

“Have you been sent to me?” she asked, looking up at his towering form.

Ignoring her question, Sargon smiled. His eyes took in the beauty of their surroundings. “I’ve always loved the gardens of Eanna,” he said, reflecting on the days of old. “Nothing made me happier than being at your side, tending to these spectacular flowers.” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, how I’ve missed that scent.” He fixed his dark eyes on her. “No blossom in Middle-earth smells quite the way that these do.” He lowered his voice, speaking softly. “I could live here forever.”

“I’ve been banished from Mesopotamia, you know,” said the Slayer sadly, clinging to her lover’s hand. “I’ve fallen from grace.”

“Hmm, it seems so,” he answered, sitting on the thick, green grass. He pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapped loosely around her. “To answer your question, yes, I have been sent here. I am but a lowly messenger of Eru, as you know.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No,” sighed Sargon. “Well, not yet. Eru weeps for you. He is deeply troubled by the sinister plan that you’ve concocted in that beautiful head of yours.” Buffy lowered her gaze, stunned that any knew her thoughts. “It is folly to wage war against those in the West. You will fail, and you will be punished accordingly.” Her lover lifted her chin. His dark eyes filled with concern. “No one wants you to spend the rest of Time locked in Mandos, Eru not the least.

“Illyria was indeed planning to attack you, my love. That was no lie,” he continued, shaking his head. “You had deeply humiliated your firstborn and no peace would she have until she saw you dead.” Buffy started to protest, but Sargon placed his finger to her lips, preventing her from doing so. “Eru knows there is goodness buried deep within Illyria, my darling,” began her lover again, softly tracing her bottom lip with his finger, “and He will answer your prayer. When the time comes, Illyria will rise again, and she will be mightier than ever before, if you so will it.”

“What do you mean by ‘if I so will it?’” she asked, her face wrinkled in curiosity.

“You will know… in time, my love, in time.”

“I’m so sick of hearing those two little words, ‘in time,’” she said, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

Sargon chuckled. “I know, my beloved, I know.” He gently stroked her hair, his dark eyes looking lovingly at Buffy. “There is another matter that I must address. Sin, er, Luthor.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, falling back onto the grass. “Not you too.”

“He loves you, Inanna, so much so that he was willing to incur your wrath in order to protect you. Illyria is a Vala - she possesses the strength to kill you,” said Sargon, leaning over her, blocking the sun’s rays from her eyes with his broad chest. “Do not be so harsh with him. He was only looking out for you.”

“But he betrayed me!” the Slayer whined. “How can I forgive something like that? I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him.”

“Eru understands your anger, He really does.” Her lover caressed her cheek, a solemn look on his face. “He deems that you should direct your wrath at someone who deserves it… and that’s not Luthor.”

“Then who?” she queried, cocking her brow. “Oromë?”

“No, not Oromë. You will know soon enough. Olofin will bring the prisoner to you.”

“But he can’t teleport into Folkvang!”

“There are no longer any obstacles separating this realm from Middle-earth, are there?” her lover said with a glint in his dark eyes. “Kit and Kat will escort him to Sussrúmnir.”

“So, that’s where my kitties had disappeared to.”

“Your lions are quite intelligent beasts, and know your heart’s desire, as do I.” Sargon then kissed her, a long passionate kiss that made her tingle all over. He suddenly pulled away, turning his head as though listening to something in the distance. “I must be on my way.”

Buffy pulled him closer. “No! It’s too soon. I want you to stay with me.”

“I must go.” He gave her one last kiss. “I love you, my dear Inanna. Do not ever doubt that.” He rose to his feet and walked a few paces before stopping. He faced the Slayer. “By the way, I do appreciate your moving my sarcophagus to your mystical realm, but I would much prefer that my remains spend the rest of eternity overlooking the magnificent gardens of Sussrúmnir, at least whilst Eä endures.”

“Consider it done,” she chuckled. He started into the bushes from where he had emerged earlier when Buffy called out, “Wait, Sargon!” She jumped to her feet as he looked over his shoulder. “I meant to ask you something. Have you been reincarnated into Bëor?”

He appeared amused by her question. So much so, that he actually walked back to her. “And why would you think that, my love?” His eyes gleamed with that same knowingness that he had shown before.

“You guys are so similar. I can’t help but think of you when I’m with him.”

“But is it not said that only the elves are reincarnated into their children?”

“I believe that mortals can be reincarnated as well. Is it true?” she queried excitedly.

“I am but a lowly messenger of Eru. What do I know?” he replied with a mischievous grin and a shrug of his shoulders.

“You know more than you let on. I can tell.”

Sargon laughed, taking her hand in his. “That remains to be seen then. Perhaps Eru grants second chances if one is deemed deserving.” He kissed the top of her hand. “Now I must go before… well, I must go. Farewell, my beloved.” He started walking backwards, wearing a smile on his handsome face. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again… soon.”

Buffy mouthed the words ‘I love you,’ and blew him a kiss as he disappeared into the shrubbery…



The Slayer rolled off the sarcophagus, waking when she hit the white marble floor with a thud. She turned her gaze to the lapis lazuli casket at her side, a huge smile on her face. Nothing made her happier than encountering her lover in the dreamscape. She only wished that it had lasted longer. After so many years apart, she was amazed that Sargon still managed to awaken her amorousness so quickly. Buffy fled her Hall of Judgment in search of Maglor, knowing that he was the only one that could sate her desires.

Along the way, she ran into Vórëa and told her to remove Sargon’s casket to one of the glass rooms that overlooked the gardens. Her maidens hastily carried out their Mistress’ orders.

Once her bodily needs had been met, the Slayer returned to her chamber to dole out her judgment on the mortals that had perished in battle since her last visit. She had instructed the Valkyries to notify her immediately should Olofin arrive. That stunned her maidens, as Buffy had previously commanded that none disrupt her while on her throne save one from the race of the Valar or Eru Ilúvatar Himself.

Despite Sargon’s prophetic words, she left Luthor locked in the tower. She had decided that he needed some time to think things over, to realize that he had really screwed her over by his actions, no matter how good his intentions had been.

One thing that Buffy had discovered since arriving in Folkvang was that her powers had returned. Apparently, Marduk’s magicks weren’t strong enough to reach her Blessed Realm. She could re-embody Man, teleport, alter time, all the things that she had done before. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.



Less than two weeks later, there was a knock on Buffy’s chamber door. As a newly embodied mortal left the Hall of Judgment, Feawë entered, informing her Mistress that not only had Olofin returned, but he had also brought someone of great interest with him.

The Slayer asked that they be brought before her. Never in a million years was she expecting to see her son accompanied by Angwen, still wearing Buffy’s form.

“Well, well, well,” started the Slayer, her smile widening. “Long time, no see, Angwen.” The Witch trembled with fear, knowing that she was in deep shit. Buffy had long anticipated that moment, and had made preparations for it long in advance. “Take her to the dungeons. Let Failo have a bit of fun with her until I’m ready.”

The Maia screamed, pleading with Buffy to show her some mercy. Buffy smiled as the Valkyries dragged the woman from her chamber. She had waited centuries to inflict her torments on the doppelganger.

Before hearing her son’s tale, she took off her queenly raiment and they retreated to a more comfortable room that she referred to as the Jungle Chamber. Maglor had joined them. Olofin started his tale with his departure from Lindon weeks before. When she heard about his imbuing Sineya with her blood, she was confounded. Based on what she remembered, the Slayer was imbued with the essence of a demon, not the blood of a God, and most certainly not her blood.

“How do you know that she’s the first Slayer?” asked her son, not realizing what he had actually done.

“She tried to kill me, Olofin!” exclaimed his mother. “One doesn’t forget something like that.”

Buffy remained antsy while her son continued with his story. After hearing Sargon’s words, she was quite anxious to take her anger out on one so deserving of it. To her, Angwen was the root of all her problems, and she had waited a long time for the opportunity to exact her revenge.

When Olofin had finished his tale, the Slayer quickly went to the dungeons. She could hear the cries of the doppelganger coming from one of the cells. Upon entering that dimly lit chamber, she saw Angwen dangling from the ceiling, two metal hooks protruding from each shoulder. It was a beautiful sight. Failo was carefully skinning the woman alive. Half of her flesh had been peeled off like that of an apple, exposing muscles, ligaments and bone. Nearly all of the floor was covered with blood.

“The device I wrought long ago, Failo… ” she started.

“It is in dungeon number thirty-three, my Lady, as you had requested.”

“Very good,” she answered with a nod. “Bring the Witch there.” She started for the door, but then stopped. “Leave the hooks in her. We’ll hang her from the eyelets in the other dungeon.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

Buffy then left the chamber.

Meeting Laurië in the passageway, deep below Sussrúmnir, the Slayer asked the Valkyrie to bring her a bottle of wine, her opium and her pipe. Buffy wanted to relax and take her time tormenting the doppelganger and what better way than smoking a bit of hul-gil.

She was already smoking the stuff when Failo dragged Angwen in by the chains connected to the hooks. She watched as he slowly hung the woman in the center of the chamber. He then left the room, locking the door behind him.

The woman swayed from the ceiling, blood still dripping from her skinless form. Buffy sat on a long box covered with a black cloth, still smoking her pipe. She looked at Angwen, who half-cried, half-moaned. When the Slayer had finished smoking her bowl of herb, she jumped off the elongated box onto the floor. She approached the doppelganger, looking at her with such loathing that the woman began to wail again.

A simple hand gesture on the Vala of Love’s part caused the woman to fall to the floor, the hooks tearing through her flesh. The injury looked gruesome, but Buffy had only just begun. Pulling the woman to her feet, she looked her in the eyes, her lips curled into a twisted sort of grin.

“Oh, dear Angwen, how I’ve dreamt of this moment. You have no idea.” She waved her hand again, so that the woman remained upright. The Slayer slowly walked around the Maia, like an animal stalking its prey. “I really want to see the real you.”

Before Buffy’s eyes, the woman’s shape changed, pale white skin covered her messy form. As it turned out, Angwen was a red-head, and not a very attractive one, either.

“Now, I understand why you took on my form,” said the Slayer, her arms folded across her chest, nodding. “Taking my form sure made it easier to seduce men, didn’t it?” she chuckled. “But I’m afraid that won’t ever happen again. In fact,” she started circling the woman again, “when I found out who you were, courtesy of Úrion by the way, I thought, ‘Huh? A Maia by the name of Angwen. How interesting!’”

Buffy walked over to the covered box. The woman spun around, facing her now.

“And I said to myself, ‘Angwen translates to ‘Iron Maiden.’ And that got me to thinking.” She leaned against the box, her cold eyes bore into the Maia. “Long before the heavy metal band came along, there was this torture device from long ago called by that name.” Buffy chuckled. “Ironically, who would’ve thought that I was the one that actually created it.” She turned, stroking the box. “The Vala of Love and War brought forth one of the most heinous torture devices in history.” She turned again, facing the woman. “And I owe it all to you, my dear Angwen. You shall be the first to experience the horrors of the device that I have named after you.” Buffy grabbed the woman by the chin, squeezing hard, forcefully nodding her head. “Oh yes, wanna take a look, and see what I have in store for you.”

The Slayer excitedly returned to the box and pulled the covering off. “Voila!” she exclaimed, revealing the coffin-like metal box. Buffy moved to the foot of the contraption. “This is my favorite part, Angwen,” she continued in the same excited voice as she slowly lifted the lid, revealing the iron teeth fixed to both the top and bottom of the box. Seeing the utter look of terror on the Maia’s face was well worth the long wait. She basked in the fear, emitting from the woman’s fey.

Buffy used her magics to place the woman in the casket-like box. She then poured herself a glass of wine, pulled up a stool and watched as the lid slowly closed. Angwen’s tormented cries echoed throughout the depths of Sussrúmnir as the metal spikes pierced her body. Blood gushed to the floor along with other bodily fluids and brain matter. When the box had completely closed, it slowly began to open again. The sight was ghastly, to say the least.

Thus started the torments of Angwen, former Maia of Melkor, betrayer of all with whom she had ever associated. When, after many weeks, Buffy had grown tired of that device, she used other means to torture the woman. Not once did the Slayer leave that chamber, not for food, not even to take care of her bodily needs.

As the weeks turned into months, her loved ones became very concerned for Buffy’s mental health. Locking yourself away like that surely couldn’t be good, and they were most certainly correct in their assessment. Yet, Failo intervened on his Mistress’ behalf, saying that none should disturb her, for it was Ilúvatar’s will that what was to happen, happened.

For you see, it is not a good thing to be tucked away in the bowels of a place of horror overly long, for it tends to change one over time, as it did in Buffy’s case. Gradually, the darkness of her thoughts and actions began to consume her, changing her, so that when she had been locked away for years without respite, even Failo began to worry.

None had an inkling that the love that Buffy once was renowned for, had diminished. In its place, she had become the embodiment of hate and malice, just like Melkor. Like a cancer, her wickedness metastasized, manifesting itself onto her hröa, literally changing her physical appearance from a creature of beauty into something twisted and grotesque. That was exactly what had happened to the Dark Foe in the past, and now, it had happened to Buffy.

When, four years later, Failo finally opened the door to dungeon number thirty-three, standing amidst ankle-deep blood, was no longer Maranwë Luinil, the Vala of Love and War, but a hideous monster, whose sole purpose in life was to inflict horror and misery on those that had betrayed her.


Chapter 73 - SENSE & SENSITIVITY

Any other man would’ve recoiled at seeing the Vala of Love in that monstrous form, but Failo had been born into the world for the sole purpose of inflicting pain and misery on those so deserving. He had seen much in his long years of life, so Buffy’s metamorphosis didn’t surprise him, not in the slightest. He understood what had happened to her and why.

Believing that it was imperative to remove his Mistress from the rank, dark, blood-covered dungeon, the Chief Torturer of Folkvang pulled out an Orb of Thezula from the pocket of his cloak, and uttered the incantation that pulled the doppelganger’s fey from her hröa into the mystical sphere.

When the woman’s hoarse cries had ceased, her dangling body no longer flailing within the shackles from which she had been constrained, the Slayer turned her wrathful gaze to Failo and growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” as the Orb glowed with a deep-purplish light.

“You’ll thank me for this later,” replied the Maia, slipping the Orb back into his pocket. “Enough is enough, Maranwë. It is time for you to leave this chamber of horrors and savor the light that you covet so much.”

“I’m not finished,” she sneered, her demonic eyes fixed on the round bulge concealed within his garment.

“I’m afraid that you are,” he answered, placing his hand protectively over the sphere. “You’ve been locked away in here for four years, my Lady. That is quite long enough! Need I remind you how swiftly time passes in Folkvang? Your husband and son have impatiently been waiting for you. Do you not want to see… ” His words faltered, as his enraged Mistress suddenly began slashing at the lifeless body of Angwen. The Maia had hoped that his mention of her loved ones would’ve had a positive effect on her. He was startled when it didn’t. He began to wonder if he had allowed her to stay too long within the confines of the dungeon, that perhaps the Darkness had begun to devour her soul as it had her body.

The Maia sensed that his Mistress was unaware of her transformation, and he knew that that sudden realization would be a hard pill for her to swallow. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t want any to see her in her current state, especially Maglor and Olofin. Failo had to somehow convince the Slayer to leave the dungeon with him. However, by her reaction to his taking the fey of Angwen, he could rule out the possibility of her coming willingly. He had decided that it would be best to remove her to his own chambers on the seventh floor. The only problem he foresaw was getting her there. With so many of the Valkyries milling around in the depths of Sussrúmnir anxious to see the Lady, he’d have to sneak her from the dungeon to the secret passageway down the hall without any noticing.

Failo’s eyes searched the room for something that he could use to restrain Buffy. He was tempted to use the chains that hung from the ceiling, but the sound of clinking metal would draw the attention of her maidens like a moth to flame. He needed something quieter, something that wouldn’t produce any type of sound.

The sound of Angwen’s severed body parts hitting the blood-covered floor with a splash alerted him to the fact that he needed to act quickly. There was not much left of the Witch, and it would only be a matter of minutes before his Mistress turned to him to sate her fiendish desires. He eyed the various implements of torture on the table.

While Buffy’s attention was focused on the dismemberment of the body of her prisoner, Failo raised his hand. His lips moved, yet no sound came out. A heavy, blood-splattered iron rod then zoomed through the air straight into the Maia’s outstretched hand. Grasping the bar tightly, he approached the Slayer from behind, and gave her a good whack to the back of her demonic head. Before her unconscious body could sink to the floor, he caught her in his arms. He loathed having to strike his Mistress, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

As he crossed the room, he used the heal of his boot to unclog the drain on the floor. Bone fragments and entrails had stopped it up, thus causing the blood to pool on the floor.

Failo wrapped his cloak around the Slayer, concealing her the best he could. He then cracked the chamber door open and peeked outside, just as Rainë disappeared around the corner. He stealthily crept from the dungeon, sticking to the shadows until he reached the hidden door, which thankfully, only a handful knew about. He pulled the bracket on the wall. The doorway slid open, allowing him entry, before it quietly closed behind him. As he carried Buffy up the winding staircase to his quarters, he used his telepathic powers to inform some of his men to clean the mess in dungeon number thirty-three, as well as the bloody footprints in the hall and stairway. Ideally, he didn’t want any to learn of Buffy’s latest misfortune, at least, not yet.

When they had reached his bedchamber, he laid the still knocked out Slayer on his bed. He studied her for a few moments, saddened that she was now the embodiment of her hate. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had been partly to blame for Buffy’s transformation, since he had allowed her to remain locked away with the wicked doppelganger much longer than originally intended. As much as Failo hated to admit it, he had his own agenda when it came to Angwen. She had deserved that which she had gotten, and it pained him that he was the one that had put an end to her torments.

The Maia pulled the Orb from his pocket. It still faintly emitted the light of Angwen’s fey. He placed it in a drawer for the time being. Soon, he’d have her sent to the Deeper Well, where she would be imprisoned until the Breaking of the World.

Failo then closed all the curtains in the chamber, blocking out the sun’s rays, knowing that the bright light would pain his Mistress’ eyes. He activated only two lamps, filling the room with a soft silver light.

Only a few minutes later, Buffy began to moan. She reached for the back of her throbbing head. “Why the hell did you hit me?” she asked groggily, aware, although confused by the torturer’s actions.

“I apologize for that, my Lady, but I had no other choice.” Failo stood at the foot of the bed. “You must promise me that you will not scream… nor will you strike out against me. Should you attempt to, I will be forced to use my magics on you, and I’d rather not do that.”

The look in his eyes and the severity of his voice quelled the Slayer from taking action against the Maia. Yet his words perplexed her, awakening the disquiet in her heart.

“What are you talking about?” She shifted to a sitting position, still oblivious to her transformation. Buffy fixed her squinting eyes on the Maia. Even the soft, silver light that filled the room caused her sensitive eyes to ache.

“Promise me.”

“Fine,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I promise.”

“Good,” answered the Maia, giving the Slayer a quick smile. “Come here.” Buffy groaned again, as she crawled out of bed and approached her chief torturer. He placed his hands on her shoulders and let out a heavy sigh. “Do not scream as it will draw the Household’s attention. The effects are only temporary, I assure you, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” he said encouragingly, flashing yet another quick smile.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Go look in the mirror,” he instructed, the calmness in his tone only added to Buffy’s bewilderment.

The Slayer stood there for a moment. She couldn’t understand why Failo had looked at her with such pity. She shook her head. She’d amuse the Maia, even though his words made no sense to her. Buffy glanced around the room, and noticed a huge oval mirror set within a wooden frame, carved in the likeness of an eagle with outstretched wings. She walked sluggishly towards it, curious as to why the Maia wanted her to look at her reflection.

When she stepped in front of the looking glass, her jaw dropped. “Oh… my… God,” she said, her tone revealing her shock. She stared in horror at her monstrous reflection.

“Remember, no screaming or destroying my personal property,” reminded the Maia, as he began placing his more fragile possessions in various drawers and cabinets.

Buffy couldn’t believe her appearance. She was a monster, a hideous monster no less. She hesitantly reached for her face with claw-type fingers. She placed those beastly looking hands against her black face, which felt like leather. Her forehead protruded over her deeply set crimson eyes. Where her lovely cheekbones once were, she now had ridges of cartilage that ran from her pointed ears and curved under her eyes only to form the bridge of her flattened nose.

That was all the Slayer needed to see. She turned away from the mirror, whimpering.

“Why did this happen to me?” she asked, her voice full of dismay. If she could’ve cried, she would have, but apparently, the beastly side of her wasn’t able to shed any tears.

“Come. Sit,” answered Failo, pointing to the vacant chair catty-cornered to his.

The dazed Slayer sat down, absolutely shocked by what she had become. She fixed her cold, blood red eyes on the Maia, waiting for an explanation.

“As I had said before, the effects are only temporary,” he started, in an attempt to ease his Mistress’ distress.

“But why did this happen to me, Failo?” she repeated, her tone desperate.

“Hate and vengeance are not something to be taken lightly, my Lady. They are strong emotions that, when one dwells on them overly long, affect the hröa. The Darkness on the inside manifests itself on the outside… ”

“But Angwen fucked with me!” exclaimed the Slayer defensively. “She started it. She conspired against me! I only gave her what she deserved!”

“True, but you’ve spent four years locked away in the depths of Sussrúmnir without respite. That, my dear Maranwë, is not a good thing. You must balance the hate and rage with love and kindness.” Failo let out a heavy sigh.

“This is not as easy to explain as I had anticipated,” he continued, leaning back in his seat with his brows furrowed. “For all intents and purposes, I shall use myself as an example. I was brought into this world for the sole purpose of tormenting those so deserving. It is a task that I take great pleasure in, for that is what Ilúvatar conceived me to be.

“Whilst I try to maintain that balance by tending to the flower gardens of Sussrúmnir and raising both birds and beasts from birth, it was my wife that had truly kept me grounded.” He turned away, a pained expression on his face. “And now she is lost to me,” he added softly, holding back his tears.

“What do you mean?” asked the Slayer, slightly taken aback by the softer side of the Chief Torturer of Folkvang. “What happened to her?”

“She was killed, killed by that bitch, Angwen,” he revealed, a mixture of pain and anger on his face. “My wife is Anairë, one of your Valkyrie chieftains. Or, I reckon I should say, former chieftain.”

“Anairë is your wife!” Buffy couldn’t believe that one of her own maidens was married to her chief torturer. But what shocked her even more was that she had never known. She had never taken the time to talk with her ladies about their personal lives, only her own. As she digested that information, she remembered having learned of the Valkyrie’s death during her absence from her Blessed Realm. Angwen had arrived, guised as the Slayer, introducing evil to her kingdom so many years ago.

“Things make a bit more sense now, do they not?” asked the torturer, as he saw the look of understanding on his Mistress’ face. “That is why I consider myself partly to blame for your transformation. I knew that you’d inflict the cruelest torments on that bitch, and rightly so. I hate none in this world, except for Angwen. If I had tormented her myself, I would have lost myself to the Darkness, for I sought revenge against her more than you.”

“But… but Anairë isn’t truly dead, is she?” asked the stunned Slayer. “I mean, Angwen didn’t destroy her fey.”

“Thank Eru, no,” answered Failo. “She fled to Valinor,” he sighed. “And I do not foresee her return to Folkvang any time soon.”

“I’m so sorry,” said a sympathetic Buffy, placing her clawed hand on the Maia’s.

Failo forced a smile, and placed his hand atop his Mistress’. “I appreciate your words, Maranwë. But you asked why this had happened to you,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. Buffy withdrew her hand before the Maia continued.

“You have no one to balance you… ”

“That’s ridiculous!” she interjected. “I’ve got Káno.” She was surprised that Failo had overlooked her beloved husband.

“The cursed elf?” he queried, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “My Lady, a dark cloud lingers over the entire House of Fëanor,” Failo continued with a shake of his head. “They have committed great evil against their own kindred, and the Oath will get them all ere the end. Can you not see that? Your choosing to espouse one from that bloodline has caused the doom that follows them, to follow you. You, my dear Maranwë, have been ensnared into the nets of the Curse. While the Oath the sons had sworn slumbers, it will not be long before it’s stirred awake. The sons’ fervor to reclaim what was once theirs will reach new heights, much to the sorrow of all.”

Buffy refused to believe Failo’s words of wisdom. “No,” she said adamantly. “Káno and his brothers have changed their ways… they’ve seen the errors of their ways.”

“You’ve convinced yourself of that?”

The Slayer leapt from her seat and started pacing. “They’re on the road to redemption,” she said, more to herself than to her companion, nervously wringing her claw-like hands. “If they do enough good deeds, the Curse will be lifted. It has to. Káno isn’t evil, he’s good, he’s righteous… ”

“The Curse cannot be lifted no matter how goodly the deeds the brothers do. All those exiled from Valinor will reap the repercussions of their actions, no matter how small or large a part they have played in the kinslaying. The Doom of the Valar will come to fulfillment, and the House of Fëanor shall be hit hardest, for they swore a terrible Oath that they cannot escape.

“But hope is not lost on you, Luinil,” continued the Maia, eager to return the topic of conversation to Buffy’s plight, not the sons of Fëanor. “You are integral to Ilúvatar’s designs although I deem that you do not fully comprehend that as of yet. Unlike the rest of us, the Allfather Himself has sent you here. You must maintain the balance between good and evil,” his tone softened, “but, more importantly, you must maintain the balance within yourself.”

She stopped, turning her gaze to Failo. While her expression didn’t show her worry, she felt it in her heart, the one thing that the Darkness had not consumed.

The torturer rose from his chair and approached his Mistress. He placed his hands comfortingly on her broad shoulders.

“Perhaps you now understand why Eru had sent Sargon to you. The mortal is your anchor. He will help you maintain the balance in your internal struggles. He is a good man who loves you dearly. He would do anything to ease your pain, and will provide you with much comfort in the trials before you. No greater gift could Eru grant you than the love of that mortal, the King of Men.

“When you failed to be there at the time of Sargon’s death and he was commanded to Mandos, Eru intervened. He counseled Manwë that the mortal must come back into this world, that he must be born into one of his children… ”

“Sargon is Bëor, isn’t he?” she asked excitedly, anxious for someone, anyone, to confirm her long time suspicion.

“Indeed. Although in his current incarnation, he has no memories of his past life, at least, not yet. All he knows is that when he first had set eyes upon you, he loved you. He was drawn to you by forces that he had no comprehension of, although you did. You felt it. And you tried your best to flee from it, but couldn’t. You need him, Maranwë.”

Buffy’s head was spinning from everything that the Maia had told her. She sat back down, trying to process it all.

Failo also returned to his seat, watching his Mistress as she sat there deep in thought, waiting for the additional questions that he knew were coming.

“So, how long am I gonna be this way? How long before… before my beauty returns?” she asked in a small voice.

“I cannot rightly say,” admitted the Maia. “It could be once you’ve balanced your hate with love.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Failo? It’s not like I’m about to go traipsing through Sussrúmnir looking like this.” She motioned towards her body, her frustration evident.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you return to your normal form,” suggested Failo, not knowing what else he could do to appease his Mistress. “I’ll see to it that none disturb you.”

“Well, this just sucks!” she moaned as she leaned her head over the back of her chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Just when I think my life couldn’t get any crappier.”

“I’m truly sorry, Maranwë.” The Maia felt bad for the Slayer. “Can I get you anything?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“That I can remedy,” he said, getting to his feet. “What would you like?”

Buffy thought for a moment. “Something… raw.”

“Raw?” he queried, trying to conceal the look of disgust on his face, but failing miserably.

She nodded in reply. The Maia shuddered as he left his rooms in search of something ‘raw’ to sate his Mistress’ blood-thirsty hunger.



For eleven days, Buffy remained in her demonic form. On the twelfth day, she awoke, only to find that she had returned to her normal self. She squealed with glee, jumping up and down on the torturer’s bed, ecstatic to be beautiful once again.

“I told you it was only temporary,” said a delighted Failo, smiling, as he stood in the doorway of the chamber.

The Slayer leapt off the bed and across the room, landing before the Maia. She planted a big wet kiss on his lips before leaving his chamber, whistling a happy tune. From that day forward, she vowed never again to allow herself to become consumed by hatred or revenge, something with which she would struggle many times over in years to come.

She excitedly sang as she ran through the hallways, cheerfully greeting everyone she passed. She found her husband and son sitting down to breakfast and joined them. Surprisingly, she shared her misadventure with them, but made no comments regarding the fate of the House of Fëanor. Despite everything that Failo had told her, she refused to believe his prophetic words.

Since Buffy hadn’t had a proper birthday celebration for the past four years, the people of Folkvang decided to go all out and threw her a spectacular bash. Her beloved Maglor had given her a silver music box that he had made that played Sweet Madam Blue when opened. The gesture touched her deeply, but what really blew her away was the gift from the mortals.

While she had been locked away in the dungeons, the mortals had built a replica of her lapis lazuli temple in Sumer, Eanna, complete with lush gardens, courtyards and fountains. In fact, it was more beautiful than the one in Eridu as it was located in Folkvang. No matter what light reflected on the temple, sun, moon or star, the mammoth structure sparkled like a star, thus she named it, Tingilindë, which translated to ‘Twinkling Star,’ in the High-elven tongue.

Maglor, seeing that his wife was in high-spirits, took advantage of her mood by asking her to free Luthor from his cell.

“It seems clear to me that Luthor was looking out for you, my darling, and being locked away for four years is long enough, wouldn’t you say?”

The Slayer leaned over the railing of the gallery overlooking the atrium of her newly erected temple. Her eyes scanned the crowd of people below, singing and dancing in celebration. Her finger traced the rim of her goblet as she pondered her husband’s words.

“What happened to forgiveness and redemption?” he continued when she didn’t answer. “Those are two things that you used to speak of quite often. Did your transformation not show you that? Perhaps that’s what Ilúvatar wanted to remind you of, to not dwell on the ill doings of others, but to seek forgiveness in your heart. I can think of no other way of demonstrating your love for him than by setting him free.”

Buffy turned her gaze to Maglor. “You’re really fond of him, aren’t you?”

“Luthor is good for you. It pleases me that there is someone looking out for you when I’m not able to be there. He truly loves you, Bella.” He smiled. “Even you cannot deny that.”

“Fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I will pardon Luthor, but he’s not to return to the Deeper Well. I won’t change my mind regarding that.”

“What do you have planned for him?” asked her husband, his grey eyes filled with concern.

“Why, he’ll come back with us to Beleriand, of course,” she answered with a chuckle, noticing the look of apprehension fading from Maglor’s handsome face. “You can deliver the good news, honey. I’ll have Vórëa go with you in case my maidens think you’re trying to defy my will.”

“That is indeed wonderful news, my love,” said the beaming Noldo before giving her a kiss. “I cannot help but think that your transformation has had a positive effect on you. You are truly a merciful Vala.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so,” she laughed.

Maglor took off for Sussrúmnir with Vórëa. The elf was glad that he was able to reason with his wife, but he was even more thrilled by the fact that Luthor would be returning to Beleriand with them. There was much wisdom in the old man, and the Noldo was eager to learn as much as he could from the Maia, especially regarding past events in the East. Maglor sensed that his wife, son, and the Green-elves were hiding things from him, and he was quite determined to see what kind of information he could obtain from Luthor that the others would not divulge.

The old man was stunned by his early release and was anxious to make peace with Buffy. While she had authorized his freedom, she avoided the Maia, not quite ready to have that one-on-one conversation that would inevitably bring them to tears. Both knew that their relationship was repairable. They considered each other family and none could break those bonds. Yet it was by that reasoning that she didn’t want to deal with him just yet. Illyria was family too. It didn’t matter that she was evil and vindictive. The Slayer’s blood had coursed through her veins, and now she was dead. She needed more time to heal her broken heart.

Several days later, the Maia cornered the Slayer on the steps of Tingilindë while she puffed on her pipe of hul-gil. While she was not ready to have a heart-to-heart with Luthor, she did call a truce.

“Know this Luthor,” Buffy said to him. “If it hadn’t been for Illyria, I would’ve killed you. She’s the one that stopped me. Funny how things work out that way, eh?” With that, she left the old man, with his mouth agape, sitting on the topmost steps of her temple. The Maia was dumfounded by that revelation.

It would be some years later, when they had returned to Maglor’s Gap, that they would mend their strained relationship.

After all the things that the Slayer had recently experienced, she took her role as the Fëantári more seriously than ever before. She no longer put off her judgments. She now spent half of the day on her throne, and the other half with her family. She felt that she had devised a perfect system that maintained her ‘inner balance,’ and because of that, her spirits remained high.

Yet fate would intervene in the Slayer’s life once again, as it had so many times before.

Whilst sitting upon her throne, dressed in her queenly raiment, passing judgment on those slain on the battlefield, Buffy heard a faraway voice, chanting. As the newly embodied mortal left her Hall of Judgment, she listened intently for the source of the voice.

All of a sudden, she felt herself being pulled by invisible bonds. Frightened, she cried out, “What the… ” before vanishing in a blink of an eye.

Núrë, her cupbearer, the only one left in the room, let out a blood-curdling scream. Both her Mistress’ scepter and crown rolled down the steps of the dais, the wearer no longer in the room…


Chapter 74 - I WAS MADE TO LOVE YOU

When Buffy reappeared only a moment later in a dimly lit chamber, she was already in fighting stance. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest as her eyes quickly acclimated to the darkness. Turning slowly, scoping out the room, she smelled the sweet scent of burning incense in the air, myrrh to be exact. When her eyes came across an old man with smoldering grey eyes sitting cross-legged in the center of charcoal-drawn circle on the stone floor, she relaxed, lowering her arms to her side.

“Bëor?” she questioned, her brows narrowing with uncertainty.

“Bella,” answered the old man with a nod, his lips slowly turning into a lopsided grin.

Buffy made a conscious effort to keep her mouth closed, despite the shock of seeing her lover withered with old age. It reminded her of how quickly time passed for mankind, something she seldom considered of late, since she always surrounded herself with other immortal folk.

“I can’t believe how much time has passed,” she finally said, after studying Bëor’s appearance for a few moments. “What year is it?”

“355.”

The Slayer’s eyes widened. “355!” She tried to calculate the age of the Adan in her head. “So, you’re what ninety-two.”

“Ninety-three.”

“Ninety-three,” she repeated. “Time sure does fly by when I’m in my Blessed Realm.”

Based on the reckoning of time in Folkvang, the Slayer had only been gone for four and a half years, but in Middle-earth time, over thirty-six years had passed since she had last set foot in Beleriand.

Bëor struggled in his attempt to get to his feet.

“Let me help you,” she said, rushing to his side. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and slowly helped him up. “Steady, now.” As he straightened his legs, his joints made a popping noise, causing the Slayer to cringe at the sound. “You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” answered Bëor. “Let me take a look at you.” Even old, her lover still towered over her. His frame hadn’t shrunk as most mortals do when they neared the end of their lifespan. “You’re as beautiful as I remember,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, surveying her appearance. “You haven’t aged a bit.”

“That’s one of the bonuses to being a Vala,” she chuckled. “Eternal youthfulness… if I so desire. Do you want to sit on the bed?”

He nodded. “My body isn’t what it used to be.”

“I’ll remedy that soon enough.” She helped him over to the bed. His joints made that popping noise again as he slowly lowered himself with a groan onto the mattress. Buffy sat beside him, and reached for his hands. “Your hand,” she said, noticing the blood soaked strip of cloth wrapped around his left hand, “you’re hurt.”

“My blood was needed for the spell, or have you already forgotten that?” he queried with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

The Slayer carefully removed the bandage. “It’s still bleeding,” she remarked, holding his hand in both of hers. She bent over the wound, licking the incision on his palm, healing it instantly. “There, that’s better.” She kissed the spot before meeting her lover’s gaze. “And no, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Bella! Your powers have been restored!” exclaimed Bëor, marveling over his newly healed hand. He felt no pain and there was no scar. “When did that happen?”

“When I found my way back to Folkvang,” she answered thoughtfully. “I think that Marduk’s dark magicks lifted when I finally entered my Blessed Realm.”

“Have you been in Folkvang all this time?” Before she could answer, the old man continued. “Finrod and I had traveled to Maglor’s Gap for a visit years back, but none knew of your whereabouts. Did Oromë ever find you? We were told by the Noldor in the north that he was searching for you.”

Buffy felt the hair rising on the back of her neck at the mere mention of the Vala Lord’s name. Her blood pressure was rising, fast. Getting to her feet, her eyes scanned the room for something to calm her nerves.

“No, I didn’t see Oromë,” she answered sullenly, doing her best to conceal her distaste for the Vala. She walked over to a table littered with several bottles of wine and spirits. Many glasses and goblets containing varying amounts of alcohol covered the wooden surface. The Slayer grabbed a bottle of white wine from Yr 173 and popped the cork, taking a swig directly from the container. How she wished for a pipeful of hul-gil, the only thing that truly soothed the nerves.

“Hmm,” she heard Bëor sound, his joints popping as he rose to his feet. “I wonder what his errand was in Middle-earth, if not to see you.”

“I know of his errand,” answered a grim-faced Buffy. She turned, leaning against the table, clutching the bottle in her hand.

“Care to enlighten me,” said the Adan, stopping in front of her. He cocked his head to the side, studying her with his piercing grey eyes. “What is it? What troubles you so? You can tell me, you can tell me anything.” Bëor placed his hand comfortingly on her arm, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The Slayer took another long drink. The mortal’s eyes widened as he watched her drain the contents of the bottle in several gulps. Breathing heavily, she placed the empty vessel back on the table.

“My Eru!” exclaimed the Adan, astonished at how quickly Buffy had emptied the bottle. “What is it, Bella? Do not tell me that nothing is wrong. I can see it plainly enough. Tell me, what caused you to flee before the Great Rider? What was it that you feared?” he queried, knowing that his mention of Oromë had abruptly changed her mood.

Buffy pulled her blue cloak tighter around herself, warding off the sudden chill that encompassed her. “Oromë wasn’t after me,” she confessed in a barely audible voice. “He came to wage war against my daughter, Illyria.”

“Illyria?” repeated the baffled mortal. “I did not know that you had a daughter. I thought that Olofin was your only child.”

Bëor, like nearly every mortal of the Three Houses, no longer knew the ‘true’ histories of their past, pre-Beleriand. For over a century, the Slayer and her people had worked diligently at re-writing the events that had happened in Mesopotamia, to show Buffy in a more peaceable and positive light. The pain and misery that Man had experienced were mostly attributed to Morgoth, not Illyria or herself. She had removed Marduk from the histories altogether since he had brought about her shameful downfall. None of the Edain remembered her other children. None knew of her ties with the Dark Lord. None knew that Amarutu Marduk was still holding her twins hostage. None knew of the Slayer’s fall from grace. Time had proved to be her greatest ally in altering the mortals’ past, as well as her own, for none outside of her Household had lived to tell the tales.

Buffy stood there, torn. Bëor waited expectantly for an answer, and she was unsure whether he was ready to hear the truth. She feared that her lies were finally catching up with her. She knew that as soon as she took her aged lover to Folkvang, he would hear the true stories of what had really happened long ago from those that had actually fought valiantly in the battles, his forefathers and others from his kindred.

Bëor had no memories of Sargon. All he knew of his great-great grandfather was that he had ruled the mighty empires of Sumer and Akkad in peace, and brought to his people great prosperity that the later generations couldn’t fathom.

“Why would Oromë and the other Valar want to wage war against Illyria?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Bella, why have you never told me of this daughter of yours? Why all the secrecy?”

The Slayer took several deep breaths. She didn’t want to cry, nor did she want to lose her temper.

“There are things about my past that you don’t know, that the Noldor don’t even know. Illyria is one of them,” she said solemnly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Why all the secrecy?” asked the Adan, the creases in his forehead becoming more pronounced.

“Because Illyria is my child… with Morgoth,” she answered.

Not surprisingly, Bëor gasped in horror. His jaw dropped. His eyes widened to twice their normal size, as the blood drained from his face, making him look as pale as an elf. The mortal turned away from his lover, and returned to his bed. The shock of hearing that his beloved had had a child with the Dark Foe was mind-blowing. Never in a million years would he have thought it possible. He was literally left speechless.

Hurt by Bëor’s response, or lack thereof, Buffy searched the bottles for something stronger. Grabbing a flagon of spirits, she pulled off the top and took a large swallow, shuddering at the aftertaste.

The mortal sat there, deep in thought. In his mind, he was going over the elvish lore that he had learned since coming to Nargothrond. Illyria. The name suddenly meant something to him. He recalled Finrod telling him that the Slayer had left Beleriand for the East over two centuries before to fight the Blue Demoness, as those from the House of Fëanor had referred to her. Yet he did not know that that was her own child, her own flesh and blood. As legend had it, Buffy had overthrown her daughter. She had defeated her.

“Do the Eldar not know that Illyria is your daughter?” he finally said, turning his mournful gaze back to Buffy. “I seem to recall Felagund telling me that you had fought her, that that was the reason you had left Beleriand long ago, to defeat the wicked spawn of Morgoth. And now you tell me that she is, in all actuality, your own flesh and blood,” said the dumbfounded Adan, a look of confusion on his old and weary face. “How can this be? When did you bring forth this child?”

Buffy was beginning to freak out. She had no memory of telling Finrod anything about her going to the East to fight Illyria.

Of course, Finrod knows, her internal voice screamed in protest. He was there with Káno and Russandol when you returned from the East, you idiot! Olofin had told them of the battles, the war. You’ve clouded your memories and judgment with the herb, Bella, continued her conscience. You have told so many lies that you can’t keep them straight any more. Come clean! Tell Bëor the truth, and the truth will set you free!

The Slayer stifled the tears that attempted to flow from her tear-welled eyes.

“I had only told Káno about me and Morgoth and he took it upon himself to tell his brothers,” she started in a small voice. “I kept no secrets from him,” she said firmly, locking eyes with the mortal. “At least, not at that time,” she added sadly. Buffy took another drink from the flagon, her face contorting in disgust as the warm beverage ran down the back of her throat. She shuddered as she placed the container back on the table.

Bëor’s eyes followed her as she began to pace back and forth across the circle on the floor, her satiny cloak shimmering in the shadows of the candlelight.

“I had my first encounter with Morgoth back in the days when I still dwelt in Thingol’s land, Eglador it was called back then,” continued the Slayer softly. “I had no idea who I was, what I was.” She stopped, turning her gaze to the Adan. “I thought I was a mere mortal, like you. Nothing special really, except that I was a Slayer, a hunter of demons whose sole purpose was to wreak havoc on the world.” She shrugged. “That was my only destiny, or so I had thought.

“And then he came to me, in my dreams, at first… but my dreams weren’t really dreams, they were real. Morgoth had somehow managed to pull me from my home in the fair woods of Region to Angband.” She resumed pacing. Her mind going over those events in her past like it was yesterday. “I tried to thwart him, to fight him,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “But he was too strong, too powerful. He bewitched me. I became his thrall… and I loved him.”

The chamber was so quiet, that the sound of Buffy’s swallowing seemed amplified. “Next thing I know, I’m carrying his child,” she continued, a pained expression on her face. “And the more the child grew within me, the darker I became. Morgoth never told me who I really was, but he understood the powers I possessed. He taught me terrible things, dark magicks… I did things that will haunt me for the rest of my life,” she revealed, her voice now breaking, tears streaming down her face. “I helped bring hideous monsters into being, creatures more powerful and deadly than Morgoth’s Balrogs.”

She stopped at the table, in desperate need of another drink, searching the bottles for anything other than the horrid-tasting spirits that she had just consumed.

“It wasn’t until after I had given birth to Illyria that I regained my wits. The spell finally broke,” she sniffled. “Luthor helped me escape. We fled to the Deeper Well so that I could recuperate from my ordeal. It was the former minion of Morgoth who finally told me who I was and what I was - the Vala of Love.”

Buffy popped the cork from another bottle, and took a swig of red wine.

Bëor remained silent, staring at his beloved in shocked disbelief. Hearing of the Dark Lord’s twisted infatuation with the Slayer didn’t bode well with the mortal. That disturbed him more than learning of the evil creatures that she had helped create. His heart told him that the bond between his beloved and Morgoth went much deeper than Buffy had revealed.

The Slayer wiped her eyes dry on the sleeve of her cloak, determined to get a grip on her emotions.

“Have… have you had any contact with Morgoth since that time?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” she nodded. “The last time was at the end of the war in the East. I nearly had him captured too. I was this close,” she said holding her thumb and forefinger closely together, “but the Orb that I had trapped his fey in was cracked, and he managed to escape and flee back to Angband.” The Slayer wasn’t ready to elaborate any further than that.

“He holds no power over me now,” she said with conviction. “And so help me God, I will defeat him.”

Bëor remained seated, staring blankly at the floor. It was a lot of information to take in. He heard Buffy gulping down more alcohol. He now had a better understanding of why she drank so much, not to mention her overindulgence in opium. If he had experienced what she had, he’d probably be doing the same.

“What of Illyria?” he finally asked, nearly forgetting the original topic of conversation. “And Oromë?”

A now slightly inebriated Buffy attempted to set the empty wine bottle on the table. The glass container slipped from her grasp, hitting the open flagon, which in turn, fell, knocking over a few goblets, spilling various alcoholic beverages over the edge of the table.

“Oh, shit!” she groaned, jumping back from the mess, annoyed by her perception being off kilter and lack of coordination.

“Do not fret over that, Bella,” said Bëor, standing directly behind her, catching her by surprise.

“Damn, Sargon,” she replied, clutching her chest, “don’t creep up on me like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sargon?” said the bemused mortal. “I deem that you’ve had too much to drink, my dear Lady.”

“Perhaps,” she answered. “But I’m not wrong. You are Sargon. You just don’t know it yet.” There was a glint of foreknowledge in her glassy, bloodshot eyes.

“I’ll be the first to admit that I had made mistakes. We all do. Nobody is infallible, not even those in the West. The one thing that I regret most is not being there for you… when you died. It was selfish of me, I know. I made a promise and failed to keep it.” She locked her gaze on the mortal, her green eyes glimmering with hope. “But now I get a chance to redeem myself, to correct the mistakes I have made in the past. That’s why I’m now here with you. It’s Ilúvatar’s will!

“When we get back to Sussrúmnir, you’ll see that I’m speaking the truth, that it’s not the alcohol talking.” A smile came to her face. “What you don’t realize is that you, my beloved Sharru-kin, are an emissary of Eru Ilúvatar, sent to me, to help, to keep me… grounded.”

“An emissary of Ilúvatar?” he queried with raised brows. “How is it that I have no memory of that?”

“You’re not supposed to, yet. When I take you home, I will give you back the memories of Sargon.” The Adan continued to look at the Slayer with confusion. “It’s like, you’re two different people, two halves, if you will,” she tried to explain. “Bëor is the more sensitive aspect of your personality that I really didn’t let you develop in Sumer. I wanted a great warrior king, and that’s what I molded you into, a fearless warrior who never saw defeat in battle.” A wistful look came to Buffy’s face as she remembered some of the conflicts between the city-states. “Oh, how the enemy fled before you, horrified by the mighty Sumerian king, the greatest of mortal warriors.

“In this life,” she continued, taking his hand and leading him back to the bed, “you were given a chance to see the world through different eyes. You’ve never seen battle in all your days, and you won’t, at least, not until the End. When you have both sets of memories, you’ll be whole, complete, greater than you ever were. The two halves will be together again, just like us.

“That is, if you still wish to come with me. The choice is yours.”

The mortal eased back down onto the mattress, his joints popping yet again. He looked up at the Slayer, stunned by everything that she had told him. While it seemed strange to think of himself as being the reincarnation of his great-great grandfather, something in his lover’s eyes, the glint perhaps, made him believe her words. There was nowhere in Arda he’d rather be than with her, to love her, to take care of her.

“What must I do to enter your Blessed Realm, for I am weary and ready to leave Middle-earth for good?”

“Sleep, my love. Just go to sleep and surrender your life to me. That’s all it takes,” she smiled.

“That is easy enough,” Bëor chuckled, as he stretched out on his bed, folding his arms across his chest.

“And what of the Cross of Brolach?” asked the Slayer, leaning over her beloved, stroking his shoulder length grey hair. “Who now holds the symbol of your House?”

“I had summoned Baran, my eldest son, from Estolad. He now possesses the sacred symbol of our House.”

“Good,” said a beaming Buffy. “Close your eyes, my love. Sleep. Sleep,” she repeated in a low, soothing voice. “Sleep, my love.”

Bëor felt himself drifting away, his lover’s voice becoming fainter and fainter. He then felt her lips press against his, releasing his fey from its hröa.

The Adan found it strange to look upon his lifeless body, although his phantom form smiled, seeing the look of utter contentment on his now vacant hröa. He cast one last glance around the chamber and said, “Farewell Nargothrond, my home for the past forty-four years. May you endure for many years to come!”

“Into the circle, my darling,” said the Slayer, rising to her feet. She followed Bëor’s spirit into the charcoal-drawn ring, picking up the small roll of parchment that contained the spell. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around the ghostly form of her lover. The Adan joined Buffy in her mirth, the sound of their joyful laughter resonating within the room. A split second later, they were gone, leaving only a heavy scent of roses in their wake.

Silence filled Bëor’s bedchamber for a few minutes before a golden-haired elf peeked over the back of the couch in the sitting area. It was Finrod. He lifted his head, sniffing the fragrant air, a look of shock on his fair face. His mouth hung open as he fixed his teary eyes on the motionless body of Bëor, his vassal and friend.

Rising from his hiding spot, the Noldo felt horrible that he had overheard the lovers’ conversation. He had fallen asleep there hours before, awakening when he heard the private conversation between his two friends. Finrod had no idea that the Vailë and Adan had been having an affair, but he was more troubled learning about Buffy’s secrets. The Elf Lord did not know about Buffy’s relationship with Morgoth, nor did he know that she had born him the child, Illyria.

The Noldo sat beside the lifeless body of Bëor, saddened that he was gone. He wept, not only for the loss of his friend, but for the knowledge that he had discovered about the Slayer. He feared that she was still under the bewitchment of Morgoth, and that she was the one revealing the Noldorin defenses to the Dark Lord. Thus, he was torn by his friendship with the Valië and the loyalty of his kindred…



Only one moment had passed when Buffy and her ghostly lover arrived in her Hall of Judgment in her holy dwelling. Gathered in the chamber were numerous Valkyries, stunned by the unexpected arrival of their Mistress and the mortal soul that had accompanied her.

Before the women could bombard her with questions, the Slayer spoke privately with them as she ushered them to the main doors to the chamber. Once the room had emptied, the two mammoth doors shut on their own accord. A series of loud clicking sounds echoed in the enormous Hall, as Buffy activated the locks on all the doors. She crossed the room, her eyes fixed on Bëor’s phantom form. He was looking around the room with wonderment. She smiled, pleased by his reaction.

“This is my home away from home,” she said, kicking off her sandals before walking up the white marbled steps of the dais. “And now it shall be your home.” The Slayer picked up her crown and scepter that lay on the blue cushioned seat of her canopied throne, carefully placing them on one of the two tables on either side of her chair. She pulled off her cloak and draped it over one of the arms. She smoothed the creases in her long navy blue gown before sitting on her lapis lazuli seat.

“You’ll love it here,” she continued, reaching for her pipe and a small pouch on the other table. “You’ll never die and you can be any age you want… ” She looked down at the mortal, and excitedly added, “We also have ice cream, something all newcomers must try. It’s absolutely delicious. This wouldn’t be a true heavenly realm without that frozen treat,” she laughed, packing her bowl with hul-gil.

Buffy picked up a sliver of wood and walked down the steps, pipe in hand. She stuck the wood into the burning flames of one of the vats at the bottom of the dais, lighting her pipe.

“Why are you smoking that? You are not suffering from melancholy,” said the spirit of her lover with concern.

“It’s been a rather emotional day,” she answered, trying to keep the smoke in her lungs.

“You’re addicted to that stuff,” he said sadly.

“No I’m not,” she protested. “I can quit any time.” She inhaled deeply once again.

Bëor’s phantom form replied, “Then quit. Quit right now.”

The Slayer ignored his comments. She turned, and slowly climbed the steps leading to her throne, hitting the pipe feverishly. By the time she reached the top, she felt the effects of the drug. She felt mellow. Placing the pipe on a small silver tray, she licked the resin from her lips, before facing her lover.

“Normally, I have those that appear before me, see their life’s deeds before I re-embody them, but I don’t need to do that with you,” she said with a smile, slowing coming back down the steps. “These vats,” she gestured towards the silver containers sitting atop marble pedestals located on either side of the bottommost step, “contain the essence of Ilúvatar - the Imperishable Flame. It’s the secret ingredient I use in the art of creation,” she chuckled.

Bëor stared at the Light, his ghostly eyes wide with amazement. “The Imperishable Flame,” he uttered, his voice full of awe.

Buffy reached into the fire in the vat to her left, the flames licking at her flesh, filling her with such joy and love. She scooped out a ball of fire, holding it in the palm of her hand. “This will make your flesh anew,” revealed the Fëantári of Folkvang.

Bëor looked at the Slayer with a mixture of apprehensiveness and longing. He was eager to regain his youthful form, but still found it strange that he was the reincarnation of his great-great grandfather. He didn’t know what to expect, who he’d become, once he was re-embodied.

“The time has come for you to become the man that you’re destined to be. It’s time to put both halves together, to make you whole.”

As soon as the Slayer said those words, the flaming ball of Light flew out of her hand, striking the mortal, filling him with such bliss, the like he had never experienced. His fey shone with a brilliant white light, illuminating the entire chamber. The memories of Sargon combined with the memories of Bëor, merging as one.

Buffy’s heart was racing with excitement. She was anxious for her reunion with Sargon. She had never thought that she’d see him again, in the flesh.

When the Light had diminished, her newly embodied lover stood naked before her, wearing the form of Bëor. His grey eyes sparkled with the Light, as he examined his youthful and manly physique. He resembled himself at thirty-three, the age that the Slayer chose to embody him.

“You gave me my smaller form,” remarked her lover with a smile.

“Well, you know, Bëor’s body compliments mine better. Sargon was nearly a giant,” she smiled. “You never heard the jokes said about us back in Sumer as none dared provoke your wrath.”

“I thank you, o’ beloved Inanna,” said her lover, dropping to one knee, taking her hand in his. “My greatest dream has come true,” he turned his gaze to her, his eyes still sparkling with the Light. “I have you.”

“Rise, my beloved Sargon.” She pulled him to his feet and jumped in his arms as she had many times before.

“We’re together at long last,” Sargon cheerfully said, spinning her around, her legs tightening around his waist.

“Okay, dizzy now,” she said, tapping his broad shoulder.

Laughing, he stopped. Buffy slid down his body until she felt the cool marble floor beneath her feet. Sargon kept his arms wrapped around her, savoring the moment. “I have waited so long for this,” he whispered. “Bleak are the Halls of Mandos when compared to the splendor of Sussrúmnir.”

“What can I say? I like to surround myself with beauty unlike my dear old brother,” she laughed.

“And you are much more attractive than Námo!”

“I should hope so,” she chortled, giving her lover a quick peck. “Come.” Buffy grabbed his hand and led him up the steps of the dais. “I’ve never allowed anyone to sit on my throne before, but you, my darling Sharru-kin, are worthy of that honor. You shall be the Prince of Folkvang, and Consort of the Queen.”

“I will gladly accept any titles you wish to bestow upon me,” replied Sargon, looking up at the copper ceiling above them.

“Well, Brolach has the title of Lord of Men, since he was the first of my warriors to perish.” She playfully pushed the mortal down on her mystical canopied chair. Crawling onto his lap, she continued, “And I can’t take that away from him even though you were greater than he in battle.”

“I wouldn’t dare take that honor away from my forebear.” His arms hung loosely around the Slayer, as the glowing lamps within the chamber waned. The only light came from the blue and white flames in the vats below. “A little bit of magic, eh?”

Buffy whispered in the Adan’s ear. He let out a hearty laugh. “I see some things haven’t changed! You are as naughty as ever!”

“Isn’t that what you love about me?” she asked coyly, kissing his neck.

“One of the things,” he replied, grabbing hold of her gown and pulling it over her head. He tossed the garment to the side. “There is much more to you than fleshly pleasures,” Sargon said softly, drinking in her beauty, his hands exploring her smooth bronze skin.

The Slayer pressed her mouth against his, kissing her lover hungrily. Her eagerness to consummate their relationship once again took priority over everything else…

The instant they had reached their climax, horrifying images flashed in the Adan’s mind, terrifying him.

He witnessed the eruption of Thangorodrim, shooting fiery magma and ash miles into the darkened sky, before it fell back to the earth, rolling across the lands like a river of death, destroying everything in its path. Lava incinerated the green pastures of Ard-galen, bodies of both Elf and Man burnt instantly into oblivion. Yrch, hundreds of thousands of them, were marching in unison to beating drums, following behind legions of fiery Balrogs and a hideous dragon that spewed fire, its tail beating against a great gate. The demonic creatures tore cities asunder, taking captives and goods as the spoils of their efforts. The Adan saw much death and destruction.

Then he heard it, a sound of cackling laughter that literally sent shivers down his spine.

“Kill them all!” he heard a wicked voice say. “If I can’t have her, then no one will! Kill all those that she loves! It is time for Inanna to experience the pain and loneliness I feel. Leave none alive, especially those from the House of Fëanor!”

The visions stopped as suddenly as they had started. Sargon realized that he had beheld the horrors facing his lover. It frightened him. He was frightened for Buffy knowing that Morgoth would go to any lengths to see her suffer.

He opened his eyes, which were wide from fear. The Slayer wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready to face what was coming. A breathless Sargon watched as his lover slid the navy blue dress over her head. She then reached for her pipe. The Adan stopped her, grabbing hold of her wrist. “No,” he said gently, yet firmly.

“What?” she asked, slightly taken aback.

“No more. That herb is dulling your mind. You will need your wits about you in coming days, my love.” He gave her a small smile, his body finally relaxing. “When you feel the urge for some hul-gil, turn to me as an alternative. I can give you bliss as well,” he said pulling her back onto his lap.

“You gonna be my new drug,” she giggled.

“I’m the only intoxicating substance you need.” He took the pipe, and with one hand, he snapped it in two. “This is what will happen to you if you keep indulging in this stuff.” Sargon held the broken pieces on his palm. “Enough is enough.”

“But… but I need it,” whimpered the Slayer.

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then no more. That is all I ask of you.” He took the pieces along with the pouch of hul-gil and tossed them into one of the vats at the bottom of the dais. He wrapped his arms around Buffy and gave her a kiss. “I know that you turned to that after I had died, to ease the aching in your heart.” Sargon smiled. “But as you can see, I’m back, in the flesh, and you have no need to turn to that herb any more.” The Adan lifted her chin, so that their eyes met. “Promise me you’ll stay away from the hul-gil.”

“I promise,” she answered dismally.

“Do not be sad!” Sargon said to the frowning Slayer. “I am here to help you, and I intend to do just that. Smile for me. Come on, smile,” he prodded playfully.

Buffy smiled. “Fine. You win.” She kissed him. “Now, I want to give you the grand tour and introduce you to your forefathers,” she announced, rising to her feet.

“Like this?” he queried, motioning to his naked body.

“And have every woman in Folkvang drooling over you? NO WAY!” she laughed. The sound of the unlocking doors echoed within the chamber. “Núrë,” shouted Buffy. “Sargon needs some clothing.”

One of the main doors opened, as the cupbearer came in carrying an armload of folded clothes and a pair of sandals. The Valkyrie chieftains followed closely behind. Sargon quickly grabbed the Slayer’s cloak, hiding his privates.

As the Adan stepped behind the canopied throne and dressed, Buffy asked Feawë about Maglor’s whereabouts.

“He is sailing on Ailin with Olofin, my Lady,” answered the Valkyrie chieftain.

“Good. Let me know when they get back. Pronto.”

The woman nodded obediently.

“Send word to Brolach that Sargon the Great has arrived, and that we will be visiting his halls sometime today.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Minutes later, Sargon joined Buffy. She took him by the hand and left the chamber, her maidens remaining behind. “There’s so much I want to show you. First,” she began, leading him towards the stairway, “I want to show you the library. I’ve kept all the records from Sumer and Akkad, and I’ve recorded all the births and deaths of those from your bloodline, among others.” She glanced up at her lover as they climbed the steps. “I’ve gotta say, my collection is quite impressive. My people still dwelling in the East record everything.

“I’ve learned that there are still mortals that worship me in Mesopotamia, that they have not forsaken me even though they chose to remain in those parts. Marduk had tried time and time again to defame me, to oust me from my rightful place, but to no avail,” the Slayer chuckled. “That asshole hated what I represented, but now I hear he’s breeding with multiple women. He’s kept several of my laws in place to placate the populace and my temples still stand in honor of me.”

“You have won over the hearts of my people long ago, Inanna,” answered Sargon. “You delivered them from great evil. You will forever be revered by them.”

“Is it wrong for me to say that I’m happy about that?”

“No, although it is important that you do not lose yourself as you did before. The day will come when you will return to the East, and Amarutu Marduk will rue the day. You may have left the East in shame, but you will return with a vengeance. I deem that the Renegade Vala is preparing for that day.”

“How do you know that? I mean, about my leaving in shame,” asked the Slayer warily.

Sargon laughed. “I’m a new man, Inanna. I have greater insight and wisdom than ever before. I have seen many things that you yourself do not yet know about.”

“Color me surprised,” she mumbled, throwing open one of the doors to the main library. “Sussrúmnir houses the largest library in all of Arda,” Buffy proudly announced to her lover. “It’s even greater than any in Valinor, because here, we constantly add to our collection.”

“It is impressive,” said the awe-stricken Adan, his eyes scanning the colossal two-story chamber.

Along three walls, ebony shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, reaching twenty feet in height, all crammed with books in various colored bindings. Rows of smaller shelves, about ten feet tall, ran across the length of the chamber, containing even more tomes. On either side of the room was a spiral staircase that led to the second floor gallery, which housed even more books. Directly in front of them, was a wall of glass paned doors that bathed the room in natural light. The doors opened to a covered porch, on which many chairs and small tables sat.

“There must be hundreds of thousands, if not millions of volumes in here,” commented Sargon, as he ran his fingers across the bindings on one of the stacks.

“Not millions,” the Slayer chuckled. “At least, not yet. This room contains the complete histories of Man since they awoke in Hildórien. Every single mortal soul that has passed through my doors has contributed to my collection, no matter how great or insignificant they were in their previous life. Every soul matters, and has his or her role to play in the big scheme of things.”

“Are my writings housed in here as well?” asked a curious Sargon.

“Not here. Your works are kept with my people’s writings. Follow me,” she said, crossing the room to another door. “This is what I call the Genealogy Room,” revealed the Slayer upon entering a smaller chamber that could only be accessed via the library. Several Maia scribes sat at long tables, busily transferring data from the census’ taken in the East into the family trees of the noble bloodlines. “I haven’t stopped recording the births and deaths of the important bloodlines in Mesopotamia. The family trees are used for quick references. We have more detailed information on individuals, their accomplishments, allies, foes, lovers, what have you.”

She briskly walked across the chamber, to a tall bookshelf, giving no heed to those that labored over the rolls of parchment. Triggering the release with her foot, the stack slowly swung open, revealing a hidden door.

“Why are you so concerned with the bloodlines of Man?” asked a perplexed Sargon, glancing over his shoulder at the scribes.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug. “I just have this innate desire to record everything, and it’s not just the bloodlines of Man. If it walks and talks, I’ve got the information on it stored somewhere in these rooms. It doesn’t matter if they’re people or demons, good or evil, Dwarf or Elf. I want all the information available at my fingertips.”

She turned the dial of the combination lock set within the iron door until it made a loud clicking sound. She pulled down on the handle, swinging the door open. They entered yet another room that housed more books, scrolls, and clay tablets.

“I guess I know that history will be altered. Hell, I’ve done it myself,” she admitted with a snicker. “But I want to have the true stories recorded, the facts of what really happened in the past, not a bunch of crap falsified to stroke someone’s ego… like mine!” she added with a laugh.

“Are you telling me that you, the great Inanna Ishtar, have altered documents to show yourself in a better light?” queried Sargon, arching his brow.

“You bet your ass I have!” she said with a huge grin. “But, I do have the facts recorded, but not just anyone can see them.” She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning her ‘private’ library. “This contains the true histories, the no holds barred version of events, some of it quite explicit in content.”

Sargon looked around the room, which looked somewhat similar to the main library although much smaller in size. Only one stairway led to the second floor gallery, which mostly contained crates packed with clay tablets in straw. The books were arranged by color: green, blue, white, red, black, orange, yellow, purple, etc. The bookcases went from floor to ceiling, but not all the shelves were full. Some were still bare. Several books and rolls of parchment lay open on several tables in the center of the room.

“These are the diaries and journals of my people: the Maiar, elves, and my mortal priestess’. They contain everything that has happened in the East regarding any event or situation that ever took place.” She pointed to the blue and red books. “Those are my own journals. They contain every thought I ever had, just about. They chronicle my rise to my fall into madness, and I mean that in a literal sense.

“All my diaries are arranged in chronological order. The blue books reveal everything that has happened to me since I first arrived in Beleriand. They’re numbered, you see.” She pulled one off the shelf. “This is number twenty-six, which refers to the twenty-sixth year after I had stumbled into this world. The years don’t correspond with the Eldar calendars since I arrived before they did. In Doriath, time wasn’t really calculated. It wasn’t until the Noldor reached these shores that the current system came into play.”

“How long were you in Middle-earth before the Noldor arrived?”

“Well, Fingolfin was the one who really pushed for the calendars, not Fëanor, so… ” Buffy thought for a moment. “I think I came here ten years before him and his people. I’m nearly certain, but I’d have to verify that. And quite honestly, there’s so much you still have to see, that I don’t want to waste time verifying something I consider trivial.” Buffy slid the book back into its vacant spot on the shelf. “Aside from my Valkyrie chieftains, no one else has access to this room. If you want, I’ll grant you access. Nothing passes the time like reading someone’s most personal thoughts,” she chuckled. “Come on. We’ve got more to see.”

Sargon was delighted to see that his beloved had kept all the things that he had commissioned others to make for her long ago. Finally seeing the completed bejeweled portrait of Buffy brought tears to his eyes. He had died before it had been completed. He was pleased that she kept those items in her inner sanctum, for it showed how dear he was to her. And that meant a lot to the Adan.

They concluded their tour on the sun porch where his sarcophagus had been placed. It overlooked one of the many gardens of Sussrúmnir, and the chamber itself was brimming with various plants and flowers that seemed to grow out of the stone floor itself. Roses, in various colors (some the Adan had never seen) wrapped around the pedestal on which his casket rested. The scent was divine.

Sargon’s eyes welled with tears as he stood, with his lover, beside the lapis lazuli box. Even though he had been granted life again, knowing that his former self rested within the coffin brought to mind the pain he had felt at his passing. He read the words etched into the top:

“Herein lies Etana, Sharru-kin, Sargon the Great
Beloved of Inanna Ishtar
King of Sumer and Akkad”

Engraved below that, was one of Sargon’s most famous quotes that his followers had found most profound and cited frequently:

“Let us write our own history in the blood of our enemies!”

He solemnly traced the script with his finger.

“I feel your sorrow,” said Buffy softly. “That was a dark time for me, for your people.”

“It seems like only yesterday when we last sat in the gardens of Eanna. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” she answered, a pang of guilt filling her heart. “I’m really sorry, Sar-”

The Adan placed his finger to her lips, stopping her mid-sentence. “Speak no more of it. What happened in the past, shall remain in the past. Do not dwell on your guilt.” Sargon caressed her cheek. “As you had said, we’ve been granted another chance, a new life.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Nothing will ever separate us again.”

They kissed again, more passionately this time. The moment was soon lost with the unexpected arrival of Rainë, who came dashing into the chamber.

“Luinil,” said the woman. “Kanafinwë is back. He is on his way to the thirteenth floor.”

“Maglor is here!” exclaimed the Adan, surprised that the Noldo was in Buffy’s mystical realm. “Do you not go anywhere without the elf?”

“He’s my husband,” replied the Slayer. “Of course he came with me.” She turned her eyes to the Valkyrie. “Ready my carriage. It’s time for us to see Brolach.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” Rainë nodded before leaving the chamber.

Knowing that it would take a few minutes for her maidens to ready their transportation, the couple exited through one of the French doors, stepping into one the many flower gardens of Sussrúmnir. Sargon’s love for nature was still as strong as it had been in his past life. In days to come, he would join Failo in the tending of the many gardens around Buffy’s Halls and temple.

The lovers walked around the mammoth structure of Sussrúmnir to the front of the palace where the horse-drawn chariot awaited. They climbed on board, Vórëa handing them each a glass of wine. Sargon snuggled close to the Slayer, draping his arm over her shoulders.

As the vehicle took off down the street paved with gold, Maglor walked out onto the thirteenth floor balcony, a glass of cordial in his hand. The Noldo sang softly under his breath, watching the setting sun in a pinkish-purple sky. As he took in the scenic beauty of Folkvang, his eyes scanned the city below him. To the east, his elvish eyes fell upon the carriage carrying both his wife and the mortal he knew as Bëor.

The elf’s heart dropped to his stomach. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the two carefully, paying close attention to their body language. As Buffy pointed towards Tingilindë, the smiling Adan whispered something in her ear, causing her to burst out laughing. The Noldo’s heart rate quickened, as he watched the two behaving in a manner that he deemed most inappropriate. He felt numb. The glass fell from his hand, shattering on the balcony floor, as the carriage turned the corner, disappearing from sight…


Chapter 75 - SALVAGE

By the time that Buffy and Sargon had reached the halls of Brolach, all of Folkvang lay shrouded in darkness. As they entered the magnificent dwelling of the patriarch of Men, the aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked bread was wafting through the hallways, causing the Slayer’s stomach to rumble with hunger. All the mighty lords and ladies were present to greet their Queen and the newly appointed Prince of Folkvang.

“Let me take a look at you, my scion,” said the eldest lord of what eventually became the First House of the Edain, pulling out of the embrace with Sargon. Brolach looked over the newest arrival to Folkvang. “Your deeds are legendary, even in this Blessed Realm,” he continued, his dark eyes glistening with pride. “I hope that you find the time to share your tales with us, when you’re ready. We would love to hear of the prowess of Sargon the Great from the man himself. What an honor that would be!”

“My heart tells me that I will tell them several times over,” laughed Sargon.

“We never tire of hearing the tales of old,” answered Brolach with a chuckle, placing his hand on the Adan’s shoulder. “Come, now, my son, my Lady, honored guests,” he nodded to Sargon, Buffy and her companions (Vórëa and Rainë had accompanied the couple). “Let us get you fed. I’m sure you are all famished after your journey.”

“Too true, Brolach,” said the Slayer, rubbing her belly. “I think I can eat a whole cu by myself.”

“We have plenty, my Lady. Eat until your heart’s content.” He gestured the others toward the hallway that led to the dining hall.

Both Orrin and Orran escorted Buffy down the corridor first, as Sargon followed behind with Brolach, the two men continuing their conversation.

“I have readied a modest guest house as you had requested, my son,” she overheard Brolach saying to her lover. “However, shouldn’t Maranwë stay in accommodations more befitting a Valië? She is the Holy Queen, after all.”

Buffy glanced over her shoulder, stunned by the fact that Brolach had used the words, “as you had requested,” when the two mighty lords had only just met. Unfortunately, the men’s conversation was drowned out when Orrin began speaking to her loudly.

After partaking in the delightful feast, those in attendance went into another chamber where they were entertained by the minstrels. The evening was a mixture of song and storytelling, mostly revolving around the past deeds of the seed of Brolach. Normally, Buffy enjoyed hearing those feats, in whichever mode Man chose to deliver them, but not on this particular occasion. She found herself quite restless, unable to sit still. With every passing minute, her discomfort grew.

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, yet again, the Slayer fixed her green eyes on the Valkyrie sitting on the other side of the room. Using her telepathic powers, she instructed Vórëa to meet her outside in the eastside courtyard.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Sargon, rising from her seat.

“Where are you going?” he asked, narrowing his grey eyes.

“I gotta pee.”

“Don’t be long,” he said, as his lover quickly left the chamber.

Buffy wiped the beads of sweat from her face with a trembling hand. Her skin felt clammy. She didn’t feel so good. Only five hours had passed since she had sworn to Sargon that she’d give up opium, but she found herself unable to keep her vow. Her body was craving the stuff. Not even alcohol provided her with any relief. The Slayer’s heart seemed to be beating irregularly fast, as if all her synapses were going off at once. It was making her shake and sweat, two things she found most unpleasant.

Once in the deserted courtyard, Buffy began pacing across the flagstone floor. Despite the cool night breeze, sweat was running down the back of her neck. She twisted her hair, piling it on top of her head, allowing he gentle wind to cool her wet skin.

When Vórëa had exited the halls, she fretfully said, “About time.”

“I didn’t want to look suspicious,” answered the Valkyrie chieftain, reaching inside the pocket of her cloak.

Out of nowhere, Sargon suddenly appeared on the other side of the wall. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two women.

Buffy was stunned. She let her hair fall back down, trying her best to play it cool. “Just getting a bit of fresh air.”

“Is that so?” he asked, leaping over the half-wall. He stood before the women, eyeing them suspiciously. “Hand it over, Vórëa,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

“My lord?” queried the Valkyrie chieftain, doing her best to play dumb.

“I’m not an ignoramus!” He narrowed his eyes at the woman. “What kind of servant are you to aid your Mistress in the poisoning of her mind and body? Is that what you want, to turn her brain into mush?”

“Most certainly not!” countered the woman in an affronted tone. “I am commanded to do as Luinil instructs me. If she orders me to give her her medicine, then that’s what I shall do.” With a defiant look on her face, she pulled the pouch from her pocket.

Sargon snatched the bag from Vórëa’s hand. “Inanna has promised me that she will not indulge in hul-gil any longer. Isn’t that right, my love?” he asked, turning his gaze to the Slayer.

Buffy fidgeted with the rings on her fingers as she looked longingly at the bag in the Adan’s hand. She could smell the herb from where she stood.

“Um,” she started, nervously licking her lips. “Uh-huh.”

“Inform your co-conspirators that they are to hand over all the hul-gil hidden in this land to Istahiro,” demanded the Adan with such an air of authority that the Valkyrie chieftain didn’t question him. “Woe onto any that gives Inanna any of that herb without instruction from the healers. Enough is enough!”

Vórëa gave a quick glance at her Mistress, who reluctantly nodded in agreement. The Valkyrie bowed before the couple before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“I told you that I’d help you get through this,” Sargon sighed, his face a mask of disappointment.

“I’m weak, Sargon,” whimpered the Slayer. “You have no idea how I’m feeling. I can’t stand it. Can’t we wean me off the stuff instead of going all cold turkey? I feel like I’m dying.”

“As long as you remain dependent upon that herb, you will continue to be weak,” he replied, placing his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. “We will get through this… together.”

The Adan then took her by the elbow, leading her out of the arched entryway of the courtyard toward their lodgings, which were located on the outskirts of Brolach’s compound. They walked in relative silence, or so it seemed. Unbeknownst to Buffy, Sargon had been reborn with newfound powers, a gift from the Allfather above, and was using his telepathic abilities on Rainë. He instructed the Valkyrie maiden to inform Maglor that his wife would not be returning to Sussrúmnir for many weeks.

While the Maia was slightly taken aback to hear the Adan’s voice in her head, she obliged, deeming that it was the will of her Mistress. She teleported herself to the thirteenth floor of Sussrúmnir, just outside the main doors leading to the Slayer’s inner sanctum. Rainë knocked on the door, calling Maglor’s name repeatedly. After waiting several minutes, she entered the suite of rooms, still calling the elf’s name.

“Kanafinwë?” she shouted, making her way from room to room. It wasn’t until she had reached the bedchamber that she found the Noldo, slouching in one of the overstuffed chairs, besotted with spirits. On the short-legged table before him sat his uneaten supper as well as a near empty decanter of spirits. “I’ve been calling for you,” said Rainë, approaching the elf warily. “Did you not hear me, or were you being deliberately boorish by not answering?” The Valkyrie stood there with her hands on her hips, mirroring the posture of her Mistress. Her piercing dark eyes remained fixed on the Slayer’s husband.

A bleary-eyed Maglor continued to stare at the bejeweled portrait of his wife that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the woman, his eyes puffy and red. “What is it you want?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“I’ve come to inform you that… ”

“…Bella will not be returning this eve,” he interjected, finishing her sentence. “Or tomorrow or the day thereafter.” He sipped his drink. “I know she’s off cavorting with… Bëor,” Maglor continued bitterly. “I saw them together.”

Of all Buffy’s Valkyries, Rainë was, by far, the most loyal and devoted to her. Unlike the other chieftains, who were appointed to their positions by those in the West, the youngest of Luinil’s Valkyries had earned her place in the hierarchy of mystical warriors by sheer drive and determination. She’d do anything for her Mistress, as she had demonstrated in the past by procreating with a mortal at the request of the Slayer. She’d do anything to protect her, including lying to the Valië’s husband.

“And what exactly did you see?” asked the woman, taking a seat across from the elf.

“You know damn well what I saw!” he snapped, leaning forward in his seat. “You were there, in the carriage laughing along with them.”

“Oh, that,” replied Rainë with a snicker, shaking her head. “That was nothing!”

“Nothing?!” exclaimed the elf, his glassy eyes widening with shock. “How can you say that? My wife was in the arms of another man, kissing and cuddling him… ”

“I was there, Kanafinwë!” countered the Valkyrie firmly. “A few kisses on the lips - it doesn’t mean a thing. For Eru’s sake, your wife has kissed me on the lips - does that mean that she and I are lovers? NO!” She leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on the edge of the table. “What you saw were merely two old friends that had been reunited after many years of separation.”

“Bullshit!” Maglor narrowed his distrustful eyes on the woman. “Do not tell me that there is nothing going on between them. I know how lover’s look at one another. I watched them closely. Bella was behaving as she does around me. How can you condone their impropriety?”

“Impropriety?” she queried, leaning forward, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. “You saw nothing of the sort. Sargon is like family. Your wife… ”

“Sargon? What the hell are you talking about?” interrupted the baffled elf angrily. “That was Bëor, the vassal of Finrod, not this Sargon you speak of.”

“That’s your problem, Kanafinwë: you jump to conclusions when you do not know that whole story. Now I have a better understanding as to why your line has a curse hanging over their heads! You react rashly when you should stop and think.

“The mortal you call Bëor is actually Sargon the Great, reincarnated. Your wife reared him in the days of Sumer, made him the greatest mortal king to ever set foot on Arda. Yes, she loved him greatly, for she treats him as though he is one of her kin. He was pivotal in her obtaining complete control in the East. As a reward for his labors, she agreed to allow him to come to Folkvang, to live here in peace instead of the Halls of Mandos.

“While you sit here drowning yourself with spirits, Sargon is doing what you should have done long ago: getting Maranwë off the herb! He has enough insight to know that dark times await her, await us all, and that she’ll need her wits about her.

“Heed my words, son of Fëanáro: Do not make unfounded accusations regarding our most beloved Valië, for if you continue to do so, then you may just lose her.”

Maglor pondered the Valkyrie’s words. Was he reading too much into what he saw? Was his own insecurity getting the best of him? Was this all part of the Doom that lay upon him and his brothers? His hurt and anger turned to confusion. He didn’t want to lose Buffy. He loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he deemed that she felt the same way. Since she had returned from the East, they had been inseparable, although he felt that she was still hiding things from him. Perhaps Rainë was right; it was all in his head.

After a long while, the Noldo softly said, “Perhaps I am being paranoid.”

“Indeed, you are,” answered the woman, getting to her feet. “She loves you, Kanafinwë. Do not ever doubt that. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have returned to Beleriand.” She smiled warmly at the elf. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. Soon, Luinil will return to you, but first she must overcome her addiction. Be grateful that Sargon loves her enough to see her through her ordeal, which will not be pretty.”

“I want to help,” said Maglor, looking imploringly at Rainë. “I’m her husband. I should be by her side, helping her get through this.”

“Not this time,” answered the Valkyrie. “It is Sargon’s destiny to see her through this, not yours. Just be patient. Enjoy the beauty of Folkvang, for my heart tells me that soon, you and your family will be leaving this realm. Good-night, Kanafinwë,” she nodded before heading to the door.

“Rainë?” queried the elf, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes?” She faced the elf, yet continued to slowly walk backwards.

“Don’t tell Bella about my foolish behavior.”

“Never!” she answered with a small smile. “It’ll be our little secret,” the Valkyrie whispered, giving the Noldo a wink.

“Thank you,” replied Maglor, a look of relief on his weary face.

“Get some sleep,” she suggested. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rainë left the chamber, closing the door behind her. Her smile widened as she made her way out of the rooms, pleased that she had been able to convince the elf with so little effort. Buffy surely would be happy, knowing that the Valkyrie had circumvented a near catastrophe.



What Buffy thought was to be a romantic getaway with her newly re-embodied lover was turning out to be nothing of the sort. Sargon had taken her to a small, remote cottage nestled beneath the boughs of towering sycamore and oak trees outside of Brolach’s compound. There, he intended to ‘cleanse’ her body of the ‘poison’ she had been ingesting for over a century.

The dwelling reminded the Slayer of Beleg’s place on the northern fences of Doriath, although slightly bigger, and with plumbing. While the size of the dwelling, in itself, was shocking to the Slayer, (her bathing chamber in Sussrúmnir was nearly three times larger!), the fact that there were no servants to tend to their every need dampened her mood even more. Over the years, she had grown accustomed to having someone wait on her hand and foot, but now, Sargon felt it best that they look after each other. Meaning, they’d have to do their own cooking and cleaning.

“How can you expect me to cook and clean?” whined Buffy from her seat on the bed, her face screwed in disgust. “I’m a Queen, a Vala Queen, no less… I’m not supposed to do menial tasks, that’s what I have servants for.” She wasn’t pleased in the slightest to hear what Sargon had in store for her.

“Look at it this way,” started the Adan, rubbing her back reassuringly, “doing chores will be very therapeutic to your recovery. That is why I brought you here. It is time for you to learn to appreciate the little things in life, as I had done whilst living as Bëor… Besides, a little humility couldn’t hurt either,” he added with a chuckle.

“You think this is funny,” she sneered, writhing free from his hold. She leapt from the bed, standing before Sargon, her body trembling with rage.

“Inanna,” he began, slightly amused by her reaction. He reached out for her.

“Don’t touch me!” she retorted, stepping out of his reach. Balling her fists at her side, she continued, “It’s nice to know that my lover finds my affliction humorous. Well, let me tell you something: I don’t have to put up with this shit. This is my kingdom. This is my body to do with what I want. If I want to smoke some hul-gil, then that’s my choice. Fuck you and your cleansing. I’m out of here.”

The infuriated Slayer started across the small room, cursing under her breath.

“Luinil!” she heard in a voice that did not belong to Sargon. So commanding was it in tone that she stopped dead in her tracks. “Sharru-kin was sent to help you, not hinder you,” added the voice empathetically.

Slowly, Buffy turned, facing the Adan. She took a sharp intake of breath when she laid eyes upon her lover. A bright, white light emanated from his bodily form, filling the entire room with an energy that clearly showed that she was no longer looking upon the Prince of Folkvang. His grey eyes now burned like blue flames, the intensity of his gaze instantly stirred feelings of shame and fear within her.

The Slayer immediately understood that Sargon’s body had become a vessel for a higher being, a being more powerful than a mere Vala or Maia. There was no doubt in her mind as to who had taken control over her lover’s hröa. Ilúvatar. She knew it as soon as she had heard His calling of her name.

She dropped to her knees, bowing her head in supplication. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, realizing that she must have screwed up badly for the Allfather to make an appearance in her Blessed Realm.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she said breathlessly, humbling herself before the form of her lover.

“You are ill, my child,” continued the mellifluous voice from the mouth of Sargon. “Let Sharru-kin help you break free from the yoke that the hul-gil has upon you. It is time for you to regain your strength, for without it, you will not be able to maintain the balance in Eä. And without you, my beloved daughter, the world will fall into Darkness.”

“I’m… I’m weak, my Lord,” she stammered softly, her eyes welling with tears. “I… I have fallen from grace… I’ve lost my way.”

The illuminating form of Sargon approached her. “Do not weep, child. You have not lost your way nor have you fallen from grace, for everything that happens is My will.” He crouched down, lifting her chin, tears now streaming down the Slayer’s face. Love and compassion emitted from the Adan’s bodily form. Searching her eyes, Ilúvatar continued, “One cannot truly understand the Darkness in this world unless one experiences it firsthand. That is why I chose you, Luinil.” He gently wiped the tears from her face as He spoke. “You possess a resilience that none of your brethren has.

“New trials await you, and you must have strength of mind, body and soul to face what is coming.”

“Please, Lord,” said Buffy beseechingly, taking the hand of Sargon, stroking it lovingly. “I can’t do this any more. I’m not strong. I’m not resilient. There is so much evil in this world. And I am partially to blame for bringing it into being. Please, Lord, take me from this place. Take me back with You to the Timeless Halls where I can bask in Your glory and splendor. Please, Lord! I beg of You!” She placed her face on Sargon’s hand and cried, “Take me with You.”

“Oh, child, your fate rests within Eä, not outside of it,” Ilúvatar responded in a soothing voice. “Your place is here amongst my children, to guide them on their way.” He lifted her chin, meeting her tearful gaze once again. “Do not forsake them, Maranwë. Only through pain and sorrow can you gain strength and wisdom.”

“How much can one person take? Have I not suffered enough? I’ve died, Lord, a terrible death that pains me to this very day. I can’t go through that again. I can’t take it any more. I just want to be free from it all.”

“Do you think that I do not grieve over your pain, that I do not weep for your suffering? Nothing happens without purpose. In time, you will come to see that. I have bestowed many blessings upon you, my favored daughter,” He continued, cupping her cheek. “Who else has a mystical kingdom to call their own? Even the Valar must share the lordship of Aman. Yet for you, I have granted complete control of Folkvang to command as you wish. Does that not prove my love for you, Luinil?”

“I’m sorry, Lord,” replied Buffy, her face flushing with embarrassment. She had never considered that before, that she was given her own kingdom. She wiped her eyes, and said, “You have been most gracious and generous with your gifts. I… I guess that I’ve taken things for granted.”

“That happens from time to time,” Ilúvatar said with a smile. “Regain your strength, my dear child, for you will soon need it.” He rose to His feet, lifting Buffy to hers as well. “You will always find healing in Folkvang.”

“Ilúvatar?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, my child.”

“Why did you send Sargon to me? I mean, I know that I’m supposed to claim only the souls of those that have fallen in battle. Why did you let me claim his?”

“I do make allowances for you, Maranwë,” He answered with a small smile. “You have much to deal with in this age as well as the upcoming ones… I do not want you to be alone. Sargon will always be there for you…”

“Forgive me, Lord,” interrupted Buffy, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But I have Káno. Maglor.”

Ilúvatar sighed heavily, the smile leaving the face of Sargon. The change in His facial expression caused her stomach to twist into knots.

“All my children have the freedom to choose whichever path they wish to walk upon, whether that be the path of righteousness or the path of wickedness,” He said solemnly. “And sometimes, sometimes they may stray, and change paths altogether, some treading down the right one, others down the wrong one.

“I’m afraid that Kanafinwë Makalaurë has chosen his path, and for him and his brothers, there is no turning back.”

“No!” said the Slayer, shaking her head. “He’s a good man, a decent man.” She looked imploringly into Eru’s eyes. “How can he and his brothers’ fate be sealed when they were blinded by grief? They’re good men. They’ve seen the error of their ways. They’ve changed!” Buffy was beginning to panic, as her words seemed to have no effect on Eru Ilúvatar.

“It’s all Melkor’s fault,” she continued, shifting the blame to the true culprit behind the despicable deeds in Valinor. “He was the instigator. Everything that happened afterwards happened because of him. He killed Finwë. He stole the Silmarils. And… and he destroyed the Two Trees… Yet, yet the Valar do nothing! They let him escape and, and then he did all those things to the good people in Middle-earth, and… and he did horrible things to me… But they chose to lay the Curse upon the House of Fëanor instead of Melkor.” She shook her head, a look of desperation on her face. “Please, Lord, lift the Curse on the sons of Fëanor. They don’t deserve it.”

“My dear Luinil,” began Eru, his eyes full of sorrow. He placed a hand on her shoulder before adding, “It was Fëanáro who placed the Curse upon himself and his sons. His own words sealed their fate. He called the Everlasting Darkness upon them in his lust to regain the Silmarils. And I’m afraid, that they must see it through to the end, bitter though it be.”

“But Lord,” she cried out, her anguish mounting, “You said that You make allowances… ”

Ilúvatar raised his hand, stopping Buffy mid-sentence. “I cannot do that. Not even for you, my beloved daughter. Cherish what precious time you have with the sons of Finwë, for the Doom lies upon all three Houses of the Noldor.”

“No! Please, Lord! I’ll do anything if You spare them,” she cried, in near hysterics.

In an instant, the brilliance faded from Sargon’s bodily form, his eyes turned back to grey. The Adan blinked several times before apologizing to the Slayer over his earlier comment regarding her learning of some humility.

Ilúvatar had gone.

Buffy sat back down, burying her face in her hands. Her head was spinning, her stomach churning. Sargon, who appeared to have no idea that Ilúvatar had entered his body only moments before, tried his best to comfort her, rubbing her back, speaking words of encouragement. Trembling, the Slayer lifted her head, her eyes widening, her face glistening with sweat, her stomach cramping. She leaned over and vomited all over the rug beside the bed, thus starting the cleansing process, which would last several weeks.



For the first ten days, Sargon acted as her caregiver, tending to her every need. Buffy was a mess. She found it difficult to sleep more than an hour or so at a time, waking in a cold sweat. The Adan would hold her in his arms, singing softly to her, until sleep took her once again. Food, something she loved immensely, became difficult to keep down even when she did find her appetite.

“The toxins must be expelled from your body,” her lover had said each time she found herself retching over the toilet, or sitting upon it. It was an awful experience. One that she hoped never to experience again.

Not once, did Folkvang experience any changes in the weather due to the Slayer’s turbulent mood swings, something wholly attributed to the Adan, who did indeed possess powers far greater than any imagined.

When Buffy had hit the two-week mark, things began to get better. The physical symptoms of withdrawal had finally passed, yet the opium still had its grip on her mentally. That would prove to be the most difficult obstacle to overcome. She still craved the drug much like one yearning for food and drink.

Sargon then stepped into the role as counselor. He delved into her psyche determined to find the root of all her problems. It was three months later, while on a fishing excursion to a nearby stream that he was able to get her to open up and talk in great detail about the betrayal of Úrion and her subsequent death at his hands. For the first time ever, Buffy spoke about the Maia’s treachery. She revealed to her lover all the things that she had never told anyone, all the things that she had learned by drinking Úrion’s blood. The Slayer did not leave out one sordid detail nor did she lose herself to her emotions as she recalled that account. It clearly demonstrated how far she had come since Sargon began the ‘cleansing.’

When she had concluded her tale, she let out a sigh of relief and said, “God, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her shins, still clutching the fishing line in her right hand. Facing Sargon, she gave him a warm smile before adding, “It’s liberating, you know. I’ve kept all that locked up inside for nearly two hundred years. It feels kinda good to tell someone.”

“You’ve told no one of Úrion’s wickedness?” questioned the Adan, dismayed by all he had heard.

She shook her head. “It’s not something I wanted any to know. It makes me look like a fool for not seeing his treachery before he revealed it.” Buffy turned her gaze back to the water, just as she felt a tugging on her line. “Hey! I got one!” She rose to her feet, pulling in her line. “Besides,” Buffy continued, picking up their conversation where she had left off. “I find solace in knowing that Melkor is tormenting the hell out of that son-of-a-bitch. What comes around, goes around.”

“I deem that the Dark Lord does not take kindly to disloyalty,” remarked Sargon, as he grasped the slippery, thrashing fish.

“You have no idea,” answered the Slayer, watching her lover wiggle the hook free from the bass’ mouth.

“Let’s call it a day, shall we?” he suggested, tossing the fish, with a plop, into the bucket of water. “We’ve caught enough.”

“That’s fine by me, as long as you do the scaling and the cleaning.”

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Although cleaning fish can be very therapeutic.”

“Ew!” replied Buffy, her face wrinkled in disgust. “They’re too slimy… and nasty... Not to mention the smell. Nope. I catch ‘em, you clean ‘em.”

“Fine, but you get to cook them.”

“That, I can handle.”

They started down the path leading back to the cottage. The Adan watched the Slayer as she sang under her breath, her eyes fixed on the trail before them. He smiled, quite pleased by her pleasant attitude, especially after just speaking of her torments at the hand of Úrion. She appeared to be coping well with his treatment and her need for opium was all but gone. Sargon believed that she was ready to return home, back to Beleriand. He knew that was where she belonged, where she was needed. He could only hope that Buffy would remain clean outside of Folkvang, and would not fall into her old ways. The Adan feared she would return to the herb when confronted with great emotional distress, something she’d inevitably find by returning to Middle-earth.

With the Slayer appearing to be back to her old, rational self, Sargon spoke with her later that night about her relationship with Maglor. He informed her of Rainë’s conversation with the Noldo weeks earlier, and the lies the Valkyrie had told the elf.

“I know that she was trying to help, but my heart aches knowing that she has misled Maglor,” he said, his face grim.

“And what should she have said?” questioned the Slayer, looking up from her plate. Her voice was calm and collected. “Should she have told my husband that we’re lovers, that I seduced you at the tender age of thirteen? Would that have made things better for me, for him, for us?” she questioned before taking a sip of wine.

“I don’t know,” he answered somberly. “I feel that it is wrong to lie to him.”

“So now my lover’s giving me marital advice,” said Buffy with a chortle. “Oh, the irony of it all!”

“I like Maglor. He’s a good man.”

“That he is,” she replied in agreement. “But you’ve got to see things from my perspective.” She propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her entwined fingers. “I’m not a big proponent of lying, really I’m not, but how do you think my husband would react if he learned of my infidelity? I doubt he’d throw a feast to mark the occasion,” she added sarcastically.

“I hate to say it, but sometimes lies are necessary, especially when it comes to sparing the feelings of someone that we love. No matter what I have done in my past, no matter how many men found their way into my bed, I love Káno. I always have and always will. Nothing will ever change that. As far as I’m concerned, Rainë acted accordingly.” She grabbed her cup. “In fact, I applaud her for her quick thinking.” She toasted the Valkyrie before downing the rest of her drink.

“You must do what you think best,” answered Sargon, the doubt in his heart increasing.

Gradually, Sargon integrated Buffy back into society, monitoring how she’d deal with the stress of being around others. He knew that she was eager to depart Folkvang with her family, and dreaded the fact that that day was fast approaching. His heart grew heavy knowing that great challenges awaited her outside the Blessed Realm.

Exactly one month later, the Slayer teleported herself, Maglor, Olofin, Luthor and the lions from Folkvang to the Gap. They arrived at their home in Yr 357 (as per Middle-earth time), in the heart of winter. It was a joyous reunion and a call for a great celebration. Little did Buffy know that her bliss would soon turn to tragedy and the many lies she had told over the years would soon come back and bite her on the ass. Big time.


Chapter 76 - POWER PLAY

Maglor and Buffy had never really had the opportunity to talk, one-on-one, before they left Folkvang. It was during the festivities that the Noldo finally pulled her aside and asked the question she knew was coming.

“Why have you not told me about Bëor… or should I call him Sargon?” he asked, trying to voice the question with indifference but his eyes revealing otherwise. “I would have thought that you’d tell me about one so important to you.”

“There wasn’t much to tell,” answered Buffy with a shrug of her shoulders, downplaying the whole situation.

“Not much to tell,” he repeated, his brows raised in wonder. “He seems to be the topic of conversation throughout Folkvang. I know he is dear to you. I just do not understand why you haven’t spoken of your relationship with the mortal.” This time, Maglor did not conceal the hurt in his voice.

“In my defense, I didn’t really know that Bëor was Sargon, not until his time was up, any way.”

Both Thranduil and Olofin chose that moment to join Buffy and Maglor.

“What are you talking about?” asked the Green-elf, not having heard any of the couple’s conversation.

“Sargon,” answered the Slayer, quickly glancing from face to face for any obvious changes in expression that might cause Maglor alarm.

“Ah, Sargon,” said Thranduil, a sudden look of awe coming to his face. “He was impressive to behold in battle.” He turned his gaze to the Noldo. “He was as big as Maedhros, and as fierce as Bella, something not often seen in the mortal race,” he smiled. There was a moment of awkward silence after he had spoken. “So, why are we talking about Sargon?” he asked, oblivious to the whole reincarnation thing.

“Oh, my dear friend,” began Olofin, placing his arm around Thranduil’s shoulder. “We’ve only been back for a quarter of an hour, and I have failed to tell you the news. Turns out, Bëor was the reincarnation of Sargon, yet this time, mother was with him at his time of death and has brought him back to Folkvang.”

“So it looks like your suspicions were spot-on, Bella,” said the Green-elf. “You always said that he bore a striking resemblance to his forefather.”

“Naram-Sin did too,” remarked Buffy’s son, “but he turned out to be nothing like his grandsire.”

The hair stood up on the back of the Slayer’s neck at the mere mention of the one that had inflicted her with the malady. She was puzzled as to why Olofin would dare mention that name in her presence.

“Who is Naram-Sin?” asked Maglor.

“A mortal unworthy of the title of king, that’s who he was,” proclaimed Luthor, who now joined the group in their conversation. The old man had immediately noticed Buffy’s discomfort and chose that moment to come to her aid. “He allowed himself to be ruled by his greed and lust for power. But I daresay he got his in the end,” added the Maia with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?” queried Thranduil, who was not up to speed on the goings-on in Sumer since they had departed.

A wry grin came to Luthor’s face. “Before we left, I visited him in a dream and told him not to sleep with his wife for thirty days, or else. He did, thus activating the curse I had placed upon the adan. I sent a drought that ravaged his lands for twelve years, causing a great uprising amongst his people. Naram-Sin led his armies to Ur, to seize the food supplies of those good people, and he and his forces were decimated as a result.”

“I didn’t know that,” said the Green-elf, turning his gaze to Buffy. “Are you keeping me out of the loop now?”

“Of course not,” replied the Slayer, giving the elf a reassuring smile. “It’s just that so much was going on at the time. I didn’t find out about it until we met up with Luthor before crossing Orocarni.”

“So, tell me of this Sargon,” said Maglor, steering the conversation back to the original topic. “I want to hear all about him.”

Luthor, Olofin and Thranduil then told the Noldo all about the Adan and his many accomplishments. Of course, none mentioned the true nature of Buffy’s relationship with Sargon, which clearly showed their unwavering loyalty to the House of Maranwë Luinil.

While Maglor still harbored a bit of doubt regarding his wife’s affection for the mortal, Luthor’s words had alleviated his suspicions. The Noldo had a tremendous amount of respect and love for the Slayer’s father figure, especially since he had stood up to her, protecting her at risk to his own life and limb.

None that day truly lied to the Elf Lord. They merely left out pertinent details in order to maintain peace within the House of Fëanor. In times to come, Maglor himself would bring up that conversation creating a rift between the two Households, and causing animosity and doubt to creep into the hearts of the brothers and most of their followers.



Within twenty-four hours of her arrival back in Beleriand, Buffy was dealt her first blow. Much to her dismay, she discovered that her magics had once again been stifled. She now only possessed those abilities she had had before she had left for Folkvang, which were her slayer strength and heightened senses. She found it very disconcerting. After wielding her magics in Folkvang with ease, she assumed that all her powers had returned, and would stay with her in Middle-earth.

Instead of losing her cool, she sat down on her bedroom floor and meditated. She prayed to Ilúvatar, asking for guidance. That guidance came in the middle of the night, as she lay sleeping next to Maglor.

At precisely three o’ clock in the morning, Buffy vanished from the warmth of her bed, only to find herself standing in her nightgown in the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir. Stunned, she blinked her eyes several times, thinking that she was dreaming. When both her Valkyrie chieftains and Sargon warmly greeted her, she realized that it was no dream.

After her maidens had garbed her in her royal raiment, the Adan walked with her up the stairway leading to her Hall of Judgment.

“I understand that you’re confused by your lack of powers,” he said, startling her with his words.

“How did you know that?” asked a perplexed Buffy.

“I love you, Luinil,” he answered, taking her hand in his. “I know what troubles you. Do not despair. In time, your powers will return, but not just yet.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Don’t tell me that you’re an official member of the in time society too,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“In time society?” queried Sargon with a look of confusion on his face.

“Never mind,” she said dismissively. “So, tell me my darling Sharru-kin, are you the one responsible for bringing me here… waking me from my peaceful slumber?”

“Indeed,” the Adan replied with a grin. “You still have your sacred duties to perform here. War never stops in Middle-earth and there are souls awaiting your judgment. Eru feels that you’ve been shunning your responsibilities over the years and has decided that the best way for you to fulfill your obligations to mankind is for me to summon you here each and every night. I chose the time. I thought it best to have you return to Sussrúmnir whilst most are sleeping in Beleriand. That way, your time away from your loved ones will be lessened.”

“And do you speak with the Allfather on a regular basis?” asked Buffy, her heart thumping in anticipation of his response.

“I am His emissary, Bella. Even you know that,” answered Sargon with a sly smile.

“Will wonders never cease?” she chuckled. Stopping on the landing, she looked into her lover’s grey eyes, “Just who are you, Sargon? You’re, by no means, a typical mortal.”

The Adan wrapped his arms around her waist and answered, “I am your guide, your companion, and your lover.” He kissed her softly on the lips before adding, “I am whatever you want me to be.”

“There’s something about you that I just can’t quite put my finger on. You’re an enigma if ever there was one.”

Sargon let out a hearty laugh. “Come, now,” he continued, linking his arm with hers, leading her up the next flight of stairs. “You have much to do.”

When Buffy had finished passing her judgments, Sargon demonstrated yet another ability. One second the Slayer was standing amidst her maidens in the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir, the next second, she found herself lying back in bed beside Maglor. She quickly looked at the clock. Only two seconds in Middle-earth time had passed since she had left, even though she had spent several hours in Folkvang.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she mumbled, completely dumbstruck. It then occurred to Buffy that Sargon possessed the powers that she no longer had, wielding them spectacularly in a manner that she, herself, had never thought of.

Clearly, Ilúvatar was still watching over her, but she couldn’t understand why He wouldn’t allow her to have all the powers she had before. If she had new trials to face, wouldn’t it make sense that she be at her strongest? Perhaps she would have to rely more on her wits than anything else. She didn’t know. Buffy still had to face whatever was coming, and she hoped that she’d be able to defeat whichever Big Bad came her way.

As the weeks turned to months, and the months turned into years, the Slayer resumed working on her body - her greatest of all weapons, (at least, at that time). She trained with a variety of elves, but mostly enjoyed sparring with Maedhros and Celegorm when they came to visit. Those two brothers were by far the toughest of the sons of Fëanor. Sometimes, she even fought with all of them at the same time (save the twins, who seldom came north). Curufin liked to play dirty, (pulling hair and eye gouging were favorites maneuvers of the Noldo). His desperate ploys at besting her were always unsuccessful, and made it all the more gratifying when she took him down.

Buffy and Luthor had repaired their relationship, and their love for one another grew even stronger. Though Curufin and Celebrimbor had given her the completed scepter that contained the mystically enhanced Carnimír, she had not yet given it to the Maia, waiting for the perfect time to do so.

Now, the Slayer didn’t share her nightly disappearances with any, except Luthor. She was quite surprised that it had taken thirty years for her husband to discover her ‘secret’. Unfortunately, she seemed to disappear at the most inopportune time imaginable: right in the middle of sex. One moment Buffy was beneath her husband, the next moment she was gone, and then she reappeared again a second later, fully dressed. Of course, that proved to be an instant mood killer, and required an explanation.

Buffy then explained that Eru felt that she had been neglecting her sacred duties as the Fëantári and had decided that she was to return to Sussrúmnir at three o’ clock every morning. Not wanting her to lose any time with her loved ones, His emissary manipulated time, so that her absence from Middle-earth was not long, only the two seconds it took to leave and come back.

Maglor was amazed by his wife’s revelation. “How long has this been going on? And why have you not told me of this emissary before? Details, Bella, tell me the details,” he said excitedly. The thought that she had a link, other than through the twins, to Ilúvatar seemed rather appealing to the elf.

Buffy felt uneasy despite the Noldo’s excitement. She knew that he’d be upset when she told him how long that had been going on without his knowledge. She now wished she had told her husband sooner.

“Well, um, since the first night we all arrived back from Folkvang,” she stammered.

Maglor’s jaw dropped. He quickly snapped it shut, his eyes searching hers for several moments before he spoke. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been returning to Folkvang on a nightly basis for thirty years and not once did you think it important to tell me. Why would you do that?” he asked, a pained expression on his face.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I mean, it’s not like I’m on holiday or something. I make my pronouncements and come home. Hell, Káno, I’m only gone for two seconds! It’s really no big deal.” Buffy placed her hand on his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I hate that you found out the way you did,” she said with an uneasy smile, her eyes glancing over his nakedness. “But quite honestly, shouldn’t we be thankful that Eru has stepped in as He did. I mean, part of my responsibilities is to return there and judge those that fell in battle. It’s nice that I won’t have to be gone for weeks, months, or years, even.”

The Noldo looked down at her hand that was caressing his own.

“Do you forgive me?” she asked, sliding closer to her husband, nuzzling his face with hers.

“Of course,” answered Maglor, with a quick smile. “I only wish you would’ve told me when it had first happened. It hurts my feelings that you did not share this with me at the start.”

“I’m sorry.” She planted many kisses on his cheek, saying, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” in her most seductive voice. She eased him back down on the bed, now kissing his smooth, muscular chest.

“Perhaps,” he chuckled, grabbing hold of her dress and pulling it over her head. Once naked, Buffy lay atop her husband, her mouth finding his. After sharing a passionate kiss, curiosity got the better of Maglor. He then whispered, “Tell me, Bella, who is this emissary of Ilúvatar? Is it Irmo?”

“Oh,” replied a slightly startled Buffy. She thought that their conversation had ended. “No, it’s not Irmo,” she answered between kisses.

“Who is it then?”

“Sargon.”

“Sargon!” exclaimed the Noldo, bolting upright, knocking the Slayer aside with his abrupt movement. He hadn’t heard mention of that name in years, but hearing it out of the blue as he had, immediately filled him with jealousy and dread. “Sargon,” he repeated in a flabbergasted voice. Maglor turned his narrowed eyes to his wife. “What is it with that mortal? First, he’s reborn, as the elves are, and now, I hear he’s the emissary of Ilúvatar. Now, I have a better understanding as to why you never told me about your nocturnal excursions.”

“Are you jealous?” said Buffy teasingly, playfully pawing at her husband.

“No!” he replied a bit too quickly, revealing that yes, he was jealous. “Who is this Sargon? He can’t be an ordinary mortal,” he added with a shake of his head.

“You know, I think the same thing, sometimes. You know all the powers I used to have. He has them now,” she disclosed with a sigh, folding her arms above her head. “I think Eru somehow transferred my powers onto him or something. I don’t know why, but he seems to be able to do all the things I used to.”

“You see him when you go to Folkvang.”

“Sometimes.” Buffy felt a pang of guilt when she said that. She could feel her face flushing under the scrutinizing gaze of her husband. “I usually only see him for a minute or two,” she added in an attempt to save face.

“Hmm,” he sounded. Maglor leaned over and blew out the lone candle burning on the nightstand beside his bed. He lay back down. The Slayer resumed her kisses. “I’m not in the mood,” answered her husband, rolling over onto his side.

“Káno?” Buffy snuggled up to the Noldo. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she shook him gently. “C’mon, don’t do this.”

“I’m tired, Bella. And you must be, as well, after working so hard. Good-night.”

She sighed heavily before lying back down, staring at the ceiling for a long while before finally falling asleep.

The following morning, the Slayer awoke, only to discover that Maglor had left earlier for Himring, seeking Maedhros.

As she sat down to breakfast with Thranduil, the Green-elf asked, “Why the long face? Does this have something to do with Maglor’s departure, this morning?”

“What else?” said a moping Buffy, scooping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.

“What happened?” he asked, tearing into his bacon.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m immortal! I’ve got all the time in the world,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

The Slayer revealed everything that she had learned over the years, about Ilúvatar’s possession of Sargon, the doom on the sons of Finwë, her nightly trips to Folkvang, and Maglor’s apparent jealousy of the Adan.

“I’ve got to say this, Bella,” commented the elf, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Your life is never dull, is it? If it’s not Morgoth, it’s Marduk, or Daehir, or Angwen. You just don’t seem to catch a break, do you?”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of being the Vala of Love and War,” she sighed ,before taking a sip of coffee. “Do you think I should tell Maglor the truth, about me and Sargon, I mean?”

“Are you out of your mind?” he queried incredulously. “That’s a sure way to lose him, don’t you think?”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Let things run their course. Maglor and his kin may be doomed, but do as Ilúvatar had said, treasure what time you have left with the Noldo.” Thranduil paused. “Let’s face it, Bella, the sons of Fëanor are not known for acting… wisely. They are a bit proud and haughty at times… ”

“Not my Káno!” she protested, narrowing her eyes at her companion. “He’s not like the C-brothers. They’re the arrogant ones.”

The Green-elf’s brows nearly disappeared into his hairline, his eyes widening at her comment. “Oh, of course not,” he snickered. “One who boasts of being wed to a Vala is humble indeed!” He shook his head. “Listen, Maglor knows nothing about you and Sargon, and you know those of us that do know, will never say a word, not to him, or anyone else. Be glad that he is seeking Maedhros instead of the C-brothers. The eldest son of Fëanor does seem to give good counsel.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she answered sadly.

“Do you know what would help lift your spirits?” queried Thranduil, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Hul-gil?”

“No! I say we make a trip to Ossir. We haven’t been in ages, and I daresay a change in scenery will do you some good.” He glanced out the window at the open plains. “No woods in sight,” the elf uttered with a shudder. “If I didn’t love you so, I wouldn’t live here.”

“You’re probably right. I miss Ossir too. But I don’t want to go just yet. Let’s wait until Káno gets back. Surely, he won’t be gone long.”

Buffy remained morose during Maglor’s absence. She had no idea why he had left and that was driving her crazy. Luthor had suggested that she continue to train to help pass the time, but she had no interest in working out, she had no interest in much of anything. Often, she was seen standing on the balcony of the tower, looking towards the west, in hope of seeing her husband’s return.

When ten days had gone by, Buffy gave thought to riding to Himring herself, to find out what was going on with Maglor. Olofin discouraged her from doing so, saying that his father needed time to process everything that he had discovered. The Slayer had to exercise patience, something that she found extremely difficult.

Four days later, she received the latest census from the twins. She took the documents with her to the library, curled up on the couch, and read over the latest statistics of Mesopotamia. Normally, Buffy was eager to study those documents, but her sadness, combined with the lashing rain against the windows caused her to doze off as she attempted to look them over.

Maglor returned later that afternoon, having ridden in the rain for the last few hours. After changing into dry garments, he found his wife on the couch, fast asleep, rolls of parchment littering the table and floor beside her. He watched her for several minutes before deciding to wake her. Squatting beside the sofa, the Noldo placed his hand on her shoulder and softly called her name.

When Buffy’s eyes opened, he said, “We need to talk.”

“Káno?” she queried groggily, easing up against the arm of the couch, allowing Maglor room to sit beside her. “When did you get back?”

“A little while ago,” he answered, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

Now wide-awake, she desperately wanted to ask why he had left without saying one word to her, but felt that she had no right to do so, all things considered. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her husband, who was watching the dancing orange flames in the fireplace; a nervous tension seemed to be emanating from him.

“I know that I should have said something before I had left, but I was still rather… upset by your lack of trust in me… ”

“Káno, it’s not that I… ”

“Let me finish, please,” interjected the Noldo, locking his grey eyes on her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, especially about us.”

Buffy’s heart was racing. The anxious look on Maglor’s face unnerved her.

“I appreciate that you’ve wanted to spend so much time with me since you have returned from the East. I delight in every moment that we spend together, and wouldn’t trade it for all the treasures hidden within the depths of Arda,” he continued, giving her a quick smile. “I understand that you have a Calling, a higher calling than most, and that that will take you from me from time to time. I accept that. Its part of who you are, what you are.”

A thoughtful expression came to his face. “Sometimes I forget that you’re on this journey of self-discovery, trying to find your place in this world. And that you - like me and my kin, have stumbled along the way. You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. We’ve all made mistakes in one form or another. There is no such thing as a perfect world, not in Valinor, not in Folkvang, and surely not in Middle-earth.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hold no ill will regarding your nightly ventures to Folkvang. Russandol made me realize that your being the Champion of Ilúvatar comes with certain demands that I have to accept, including your bonding with other men in your quest to protect the children of Eru from the likes of the Morgoth’s in this world. It saddens me that our relationship will face many trials and long separations along the way.”

He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and resumed speaking.

“Long you were gone in the East, taking with you my only son. He left a boy and returned a man. I missed out on those crucial years of development that made him into the man he is today. I can only wonder how Olofin would have turned out if I had been there to influence him during those many years of separation… ”

Buffy felt terrible. “It was never my intent to take Olofin away from you as long as I have,” she replied. “But he’s my son too. He had to learn firsthand about warfare and about the evils in this world… ”

“I’m not saying that what you did was wrong. Olofin wanted to go. He’s always been enthusiastic about battle, ever since he was a child. That’s something I attribute to you. He’s proved to be not only a great warrior, but also a man with a gentle and kind heart. I am extremely proud of him.”

The Slayer was slightly perplexed. She was half-expecting Maglor to say that he was leaving her.

“I’m confused,” she admitted. “Where are you going with this?”

“Bella,” he started, sliding across the couch, taking both of her hands in his. Buffy looked at him with a baffled expression, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “Let’s have another child.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, totally floored by his request. That was the last thing she was expecting to hear.

“We have kept Morgoth at bay for many years now. Our lands have grown fair, our people have multiplied. Let us add another to our family,” he said excitedly, his eyes glinting with hope. “I know that your heart still aches at the loss of Illyria. Perhaps we can have a daughter this time… Our people have labored hard to maintain peace in Beleriand, let us take advantage of this time whilst it lasts, my darling. My heart tells me that now is the perfect time to add another to our family. What do you say, Bella? Will you do this, for me?”

“I’m shocked, Káno,” confessed the Slayer, nervously getting to her feet. “I gotta admit; you caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to make such a bold request.”

She walked over to the fireplace, her mind racing. As Maglor continued to persuade her that having a child would only strengthen their relationship, Buffy thought of the words the twins had told her long ago. That she was destined to have a son, many years from now with a descendant of Sargon. Not once, had Anno and Mirë mentioned that she and the Noldo would have another child. Not once! And she couldn’t help but think of the day when she gave birth to Olofin, how she knew deep down, that he was the only child she’d have with her beloved. That’s why she was so hurt that Maglor was not with her when she bore their son. She had only foreseen bringing forth one heir, not two.

However, as Maglor continued to plead his case, she thought of the words of Ilúvatar, not about the doom on her husband and his kin, but about the fact that He has made allowances for her. Did that mean that perhaps He would grant her yet another child from the seed of her beloved, to love long after the Noldo has gone?

The prospect of becoming a mother again, of carrying a life within her, was very appealing to the Slayer.

She stood at the hearth, glancing up at the family portrait of the House of Fëanor that hung over the mantle of the fireplace. Maedhros, looking dignified, sat on the throne. His six brothers stood around him along with Celebrimbor and Olofin. She smiled at the thought of adding yet another to that painting, another heir of the House of Finwë.

Maglor must have been reading her thoughts. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I too, long to see another in that portrait,” he whispered in her ear.

“You do understand that I don’t control whether or not I conceive,” she said, turning around, facing her husband. “If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.”

“Are you saying that we can try, that you long for another child as I do?”

“Yes,” she answered with a smile. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” cooed Maglor, tracing her jaw line with his finger. “There’s no better time to start than the present,” he whispered, kissing her on the neck.

“Here? In the library?”

“Uh-huh,” came his reply between kisses, as he took her on the rug in front of the fireplace…

By nightfall, nearly every elf that dwelt in the Gap had heard the rumor of Buffy’s and Maglor’s attempts to conceive, bringing joy to the people of the second son of Fëanor.

Later that night, upon the Slayer’s return to Folkvang, Sargon received a rude awakening. As always, he was there to greet her with open arms, yet on that day, instead of embracing her lover, Buffy backed away, spurning his affections altogether.

While her maidens garbed her in her royal attire, she informed the Adan that she and Maglor were trying to have a baby, and that she and Sargon could no longer have any relations, intimate or otherwise. Her awareness of his uncanny ability to seduce her by words alone was enough to convince her that she had to remove the temptation completely.

Sargon argued that he was unable to father any children since his re-birth in the Blessed Realm. He reminded her that none in Folkvang had the ability to procreate save for the Ainur. Unfortunately for the Adan, Buffy didn’t stop there. Not only did she refuse to seek comfort in his loving arms, but she also refused to interact with him in any way, not until the Curse had claimed the Noldo. The Slayer had decided that she would remain faithful to her husband for what time they had left together.

It was a painful decision to make, but she felt that it was the best, for everyone involved. As Buffy climbed the steps leading to her Hall of Judgment, Sargon pleaded with her to change her mind. He would’ve followed her, but her Valkyries blocked the stairway. When the Vala of Love had disappeared from view, her maidens escorted the Adan out of Sussrúmnir, locking the doors behind him.



When two years had passed, and the Slayer had still not conceived, Maedhros brought his chief healer to the Gap to help the couple. Hweston offered Buffy many herbal remedies and suggestions for different sexual positions that could possibly hasten the conception process. He also advised her to stop drinking alcohol and began to monitor her diet very closely.

After two more years, and still no success, Buffy began to lose hope. Yet Maglor remained steadfast and was determined to keep on trying. Often, the Slayer heard her husband praying to the Valar, begging them to give him this one gift. He even went as far as to repent of his sins, saying that he would forfeit his claim to the Silmarils if granted this one wish.

Hearing her husband’s desperate pleas broke Buffy’s heart. She, herself, made no such appeals, not to her brethren, nor Ilúvatar. She knew that Eru had granted her her one prayer already, allowing Illyria to rise again before the End, and she wasn’t willing to jeopardize her firstborn’s future freedom for a child with the elf. Instead, she turned to her Valkyries, asking them to lay their blessed hands on her when she visited her Blessed Realm, imbuing her with their holy powers. Yet still, she was unable to get pregnant.

In Yr 394, seven years after Buffy and Maglor had begun their attempts, she sent a letter to the twins in the East, seeking their counsel. If any knew whether the Slayer would conceive, surely it would be the Oracles. It had taken two years for her to receive a reply from the twins, and unfortunately, they stood by their earlier pronouncement; that she would not have a child until the Second Age, and that the father of that child would be a mortal descendant of Sargon.

As the century was coming to an end, Thranduil suggested that a change in scenery might be beneficial to the couple’s plight.

“Bella has dwelled too long in the northlands away from her home in Ossiriand,” he said, about the time the cold north winds blew even stronger, indicating that winter was on its way. “Let us return to the fair woods in the south, where the minstrels sing, and all is harmonious. There, the enchantments of Ulmo run deep, and perhaps, distancing Bella from the ever-watchful Dark Lord, will hope be renewed.”

“I deem there is much wisdom in Thranduil’s words,” laughed Luthor, who always had a special fondness for the Green-elf.

All were in agreement.

On the cusp of winter in Yr 399, Buffy, Maglor, and many from their respective Households left the Gap for Ossir. They rode hard and long in their eagerness to reach southern Beleriand as quickly as possible. They reached Lindon in less than a fortnight, where they remained overnight before continuing on their journey by boat to Tol Galen.

The Slayer’s face lit up as soon as she entered Lindecoa. It had been over forty years since she had last set foot in her magnificent Halls. Being in the company of ‘her’ people and hearing the minstrel’s sweet voices throughout the castle lifted her spirits even more.

After hearing his old friend’s dilemma, Nestor took Buffy to the infirmary.

“I cannot believe that you didn’t notify me about this earlier,” chided the healer as they made their way down the corridor. “What do the Noldor know about the art of healing, eh? Nothing, that’s what! They may be experts on delving into the earth, creating objects from stone and metal, but none in Middle-earth surpass me when it comes to the art of healing,” he ranted. “I have made it my life’s work to study plants and have discovered the medicinal properties for everything that grows in these parts.”

“Hweston was trained in Valinor in the art of healing,” said Buffy in defense of Maedhros’ chief healer. “And believe me, Nestor, I’ve taken every concoction out there. I don’t think you have anything in your stores that I haven’t tried.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Bella,” he said waving his finger in her direction. “Don’t you underestimate my talents as a healer.” He opened the door, ushering her inside. “Hweston was trained in Valinor,” he mumbled in disgust. “Hweston does not possess the cure to your ailment. I do!”

Buffy was amused by the golden-haired elf’s little tirade. It reminded her of how much she had missed him while away.

“Disrobe and hop up on the table,” he ordered, washing his hands in the basin.

“Disrobe? I thought you were just gonna give me a tonic or something,” said the Slayer, eyeing the elf warily.

“For goodness sakes, Bella,” he said with a shake of his head, the annoyance in his voice obvious. “I’ve seen you naked on a number of occasions. Have you already forgotten that I was the one that had delivered Olofin?” he said with a snicker, as he resumed washing his hands. “I merely want to make sure that your reproductive organs look normal, that none of Hweston’s herbal remedies have shrunken your uterus or Eru forbid, something worse.”

“What?” exclaimed the horror-struck Slayer. “Shrunken my uterus?”

“There are side effects to some remedies,” he continued, glancing over his shoulder. “Up on the table, Bella,” he ordered, narrowing his eyes at her. “I swear, you’ve been spending too much time up north. I’m your healer. You should have summoned me years ago. I deem your babe would already be turning ten if I had known about your problem sooner.”

After giving Buffy a complete physical, Nestor determined that she was physically able to conceive.

“Everything seems to be in working order,” he said, as he searched through his cabinet, looking at various bottles.

“Then why can’t I get pregnant?” she asked, as she dressed. “Damn, Nestor, we’ve been trying for twelve years! Twelve years! Do you think it might be Káno? You know, maybe his boys don’t swim any more.”

“It’s possible,” said the healer, still searching through the bottles, “but my heart tells me that you’re the one that’s having the problem, not he.”

“Well, don’t you think you should check him out to make sure? I don’t get how everyone thinks it’s me!”

“Did we not go through this with Sargon?”

Buffy sat back down, looking at the floor with downcast eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“The difference between then and now is this,” revealed Nestor, holding a clear, glass bottle aloft. “This holds the cure to your ailment, my dear.”

“What is it?” she asked, watching as he shook the bottle of powdery looking stuff.

The golden-haired elf smiled. “Do you remember when I asked for your afterbirth after you had born Olofin?”

“Eww!” said the repulsed Slayer, her face wrinkled in disgust. “You mean to say that that bottle contains… parts from me.”

“Yes,” laughed the healer. “Of course, I’ve added some of my own ingredients as well. Mix one tablespoon in eight ounces of water every morning,” instructed Nestor, handing the bottle to her.

“You expect me to drink my powered reproductive organs!” she exclaimed, staring at the contents inside the bottle.

“How badly do you want a child?” he queried with his hands on his hips, his brow arched.

Buffy sighed heavily. “Alright, alright. I’ll drink it.”

With only a few weeks before the New Year, many of those in the Slayer’s Household began making preparations for the huge celebration that they always had to mark the arrival of a new century. This year, Buffy was keeping it simple, only immediate family and her Household.

Amrod and Amras were the first of the brothers to arrive on Tol Galen. The youngest sons of Fëanor frequently visited Ossir, as they dwelt nearby on Ered Amon, and were on very friendly terms with the Green-elves. Not long afterwards, the rest of the sons of Fëanor arrived from the northlands, hoping beyond anything to hear the news that their sister-in-law was expecting. Unfortunately, she was not.

It wasn’t until New Year’s Day when good fortune found its way into both Houses at last.

Buffy awoke, feeling slightly tired from the night before (Maglor had decided to surprise her the moment she reappeared from Folkvang by pouncing on her like a sex-crazed animal, wearing her out with his unbridled passion). After taking care of her bodily needs, she went to take a dose of her medicine. She stopped suddenly, standing in the middle of the bathroom, looked up at the mirror that covered one of the walls and stared at her reflection. She was almost in a trance-like state when Maglor entered.

“Morning,” he said with a yawn, as he bypassed her for the toilet. When he had finished peeing, he walked passed her motionless form again to wash his hands. It took him a few minutes to process the fact that his wife was standing perfectly still in the center of the bathroom. “Bella, what is it?” he asked, drying his hands on a towel. She remained transfixed. “What is it, darling?” he asked, giving her a little shake.

“Huh?” She blinked her eyes several times, turning her gaze to the Noldo.

“Are you alright? You look a little peaked.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “I think, no, I know, that we’ve finally done it, Káno.”

“Done it?” he asked, his tone full of confusion. His eyes then widened. “Wait a minute, do you mean that… ”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, finishing his sentence.

Needless to say, there was more to celebrate in Ossir than just the New Year, and the turn of the century. That New Year ’s Day would long be remembered by the Green-elves as a time of great joy.

Since Buffy was now expecting, Maglor had decided that they wouldn’t return to the Gap until spring, when the weather warmed up so his wife wouldn’t have to endure traveling in the bitter cold. The Slayer, on the other hand, wanted to remain in Ossir, and birth their child at Lindecoa, but the Noldo downright refused. In order to maintain peace within the Household, Buffy relented, agreeing to birth their child at the Gap as long as Nestor was in charge of the delivery. To that, Maglor agreed.

When she was four months into her pregnancy, the caravan of Noldor and Green-elves set out on their journey north. They stopped for a several days at Caranthir’s palace beside Lake Helevorn, which was incredibly beautiful in springtime, before continuing northwards.

By the time they reached the Gap, a couple of mortal messengers of Fingolfin’s had already been waiting a few weeks for their return. The King of the Noldor had called an urgent council and had been waiting impatiently for the eldest sons of Fëanor and Buffy to return to their homelands, so they could attend. With Celegorm and Curufin present, they demanded that they too were going to accompany their older brothers, despite the fact that most from the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin had very little love for those two.

Buffy was excited at the prospect of seeing Fingolfin, Lalwen and the other Noldo Lords again. She had not visited with them in a long time. Unfortunately, Maglor didn’t want her to travel “in her condition.” The Slayer protested vehemently, but her husband wouldn’t budge on the matter. He expressed his concern for her well-being, and reminded her of how difficult it had been for her to conceive. He didn’t want her to have to endure the rigors of the road, and risk any harm to their unborn child.

“Why don’t you stay here with your maidens and prepare the nursery? There is still much to do before the baby arrives,” he suggested.

“Fine,” she said in a huff. “But Luthor’s going in my stead. He’ll be the representative of my House.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” her husband remarked. “We shan’t be gone long.”

While the men folk took off for Barad Eithel, Buffy and her maidens busied themselves by cleaning out the nursery, which had been used for storage over the years. Going through Olofin’s old baby stuff was like taking a trip down memory lane. She couldn’t believe that, in seven months time, she’d be hearing the pitter-patter of little feet running through the house. Her excitement grew with each passing day.

When Buffy arrived at Folkvang in the wee hours of the morning, the Valkyries informed her that Sargon was nearly beside himself to speak with her. Having the foreknowledge that she would not meet with him in person, the Adan had sent her a sealed envelope containing a many-paged letter. The Slayer took it from Vórëa and made her way up the stairway to her Hall of Judgment, debating whether or not she should read it. When she reached the bottom of the dais, she stopped. Knowing that Sargon possessed great skill with words, she tossed the unopened letter into one of the burning vats of flame, not realizing that she had just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life.



Three weeks later, Maglor, Olofin, and Luthor returned from Hithlum. Buffy didn’t allow them much time to relax after their trip, insisting that they tell her all about the council. Two dozen people gathered in one of the drawing rooms to hear the news from Western Beleriand. The Slayer curled up beside her husband on one of the many couches, as her son relayed what had been said at the meeting.

Apparently, Fingolfin had been plagued with dreams that the siege of Angband was nearing its end, and felt that the time was now ripe to assault Morgoth before the Dark Lord had the chance to attack them. Aegnor and Angrod felt the same, since they too dwelt in close proximity of Thangorodrim. Many of the Edain that had already removed themselves from Estolad to the northern realms of Beleriand were ready to fight along side the elves, but those that had remained behind at the Encampment were not so eager to join the fight.

Surprisingly, the rest of the Noldo Lords in attendance sided with the sons of Fëanor, who most strongly voiced their opposition to Fingolfin’s plan. Most vocal were Curufin and Celegorm, citing Buffy’s pregnancy as the main reason to delay waging war against Morgoth. All had felt that they deserved to enjoy the fruits of their labor in peace, amongst them Fingon and Finrod.

“Damn,” said Buffy, totally stunned that the King of the Noldor was ready to strike out against Morgoth after so many years. “Why the hell did Fingolfin wait until now? Why couldn’t he have said something… twenty years ago?”

“This has been weighing on Fingolfin’s mind for many years, mother. He is not one to make hasty decisions, and has given this much thought.” His expression turned grim before he softly added, “He even mentioned the slaughter of the people of Haladin.”

Buffy bit her lip when she heard that, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. That was not something she considered a shining moment in Ossir history. Years earlier, Morgoth had sent a yrch-raid out of Angband through the second doorway in the Iron Mountains. Bypassing northern Beleriand, the yrch had crossed the Blue Mountains unnoticed, and besieged the people of Haladin on the northern fences of Ossiriand where the Rivers Ascar and Gelion meet. Since the Slayer had made Orchal Regent, and he still had little love for any mortal, the Green-elves did not come to their aid. Buffy’s second-in-command deemed that the ‘event’ was taking place in Thargelion, Caranthir’s domain, and that it would be up to the son of Fëanor to defend those that dwelled in his land, not the Green-elves. If not for the might of Caranthir, all of Haldad’s people would have died, as he had. His only surviving child, a daughter named Haleth, then removed the remnants of their people north, now dwelling in Brethil, (part of Thingol’s land), according to Finrod Felagund.

Buffy considered it horrid that Orchal had done nothing, yet she had promised him complete control of the governing of Ossir in her absence, and she wasn’t about to break her word. However, it didn’t sit well with her that Fingolfin had mentioned that incident at the council. She couldn’t help but feel that, by his doing so, he had placed the guilt solely on her shoulders, even though she was elsewhere at the time.

“So, Fingolfin blames me for the deaths of the Haladin,” she said dismally.

“Of course not!” answered her husband. “The point he was trying to make was that our leaguer does not completely surround Morgoth’s lands. The yrch were able to leave Angband from the north, and enter Beleriand from the pass in Ered Luin. The enemy still has the ability to bypass our lands here in the north and strike from the south.” Maglor smiled reassuringly at his wife. “Fingolfin made no accusations against you, my love. In fact, since learning of your pregnancy, he deems that we need to wait several years until you’re fit for battle. He has the wisdom to know that we need the Vala of War on our side.”

“Do not fret over this war business, Bella,” interjected Luthor. “We will strengthen our vigilance and increase our patrols. You need only worry about that child you’re carrying.” The old man smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. “I must admit, I’m quite anxious for the little one to arrive.”

Buffy’s spirits were quickly lifted when Maglor told her that Fingolfin and Lalwen had sent some gifts for her and the baby. Over the course of the following months, she’d receive even more packages from the Noldor and the Edain as word of her pregnancy spread throughout Beleriand.



“Check,” said a smiling Buffy after sliding her white queen across the board in direct line of Maglor’s king.

“Damn it!” he mumbled, shifting his black king to another square.

“Check mate!” she laughed. “Wanna play again?”

“Yes! I’m determined to beat you at this game,” said her husband, as he began placing his pieces back in position on the board. “This is such an interesting game that you’ve devised,” he continued on that hot and sunny day in late summer. “Leave it to you to make the queen the most powerful piece. Pfft! The king is worthless and weak!”

“Come on now, honey,” she said cheerfully. “It’s the queen’s duty to protect her king. She’s gotta be powerful to do that. The key to chess is that you have to stay several moves ahead of your opponent. You have to know what the other player is thinking. This game is so much like real warfare it’s not even funny. I taught it to all my generals and captains in the East, to help them learn about strategy.”

“I cannot help but think that you devised this game around our own Household,” he said with a sly grin. “Making the queen all powerful… ”

Buffy laughed. She had never told anyone that chess was a game she had grown up with in her days as the ‘mortal Slayer’. She let people think that she had come up with it on her own.

As the couple began to play once again, the shrill sound of many horn blasts carried into the opened windows of the house.

“I wonder what’s going on,” said the Slayer, turning her gaze towards the nearest window. Even though she couldn’t see anything from where she sat, she could hear numerous voices shouting from the ground below.

Maglor was so determined to beat her that he gave little thought to the commotion outside. “Your turn, Bella.” He glanced towards the same opened window that his wife was looking out before adding, “The men are probably practicing drills or something. Come on, it’s your move.”

“Okay, okay,” said Buffy with a chuckle, turning her attention back to the game.

Only a few minutes later, there were several quick knocks on the door to the library, startling Buffy.

“Enter,” shouted Maglor, his eyes fixed on the board, pondering his next move.

The door flew open. An anxious looking Gornnir came dashing across the room to where the couple sat. “My Lord,” he started, his face pale and glistening with sweat. “Gorthaur the Cruel stands outside your Halls!” the elf panted.

“Gorthaur!” repeated Maglor, his eyes widening in disbelief. He quickly jumped to his feet, inadvertently knocking the board and all the chess pieces to the floor. “How the hell did he get past the guards?”

“He… he seemed to pop out of nowhere, Lord,” answered Gornnir. “He says that he wishes to speak with the Lady,” continued the elf, glancing at Buffy.

“Me?” queried the Slayer, the blood draining from her face.

“Why haven’t you seized him?” demanded the Lord of the Gap. “He is the enemy!”

“Lord, we can’t. He is using dark magicks that protect him and his cohorts, some type of invisible shield surrounds them. Our weapons cannot penetrate it. He demands to speak with the Lady, says that she knows why he has come,” said Gornnir, his eyes darting to Buffy once again.

“Bella?” Maglor turned his narrowed gaze to her. “What is this about?”

“I don’t know,” she said, rising to her feet. “But I’m about to find out.”

“You’re not going out there!” replied her husband, grabbing hold of her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“I have to,” she answered firmly. “Sauron won’t hurt me. But he won’t leave until he speaks with me.”

“How can you be so sure?” queried Maglor skeptically. “He’s a servant of Morgoth. All he knows is hatred and cruelty.”

“And what should we do, Káno, sit around playing chess, waiting for him to start offing our people until I go out there? Just let me take care of this.”

Buffy pulled free from her husband’s grasp and started out of the room, her legs feeling like lead. She was shocked by Sauron’s sudden appearance, and oblivious to his purpose. All she knew was that his presence in the Gap filled her with dread, the like she hadn’t experienced in a long while.

Maglor stayed at her side, bombarding her with questions. None she could answer. As they made their way down the hallway, even more people were fleeing the house, entering the courtyard where the Necromancer was waiting. Nausea swept over the Slayer. Beads of sweat formed on her face and palms. None of it attributed to the mugginess of the day. She placed her hands protectively over the small bulge of her belly. Eight months pregnant, Buffy was beginning to show.

By the time they reached the courtyard, hundreds of armed men had surrounded Sauron and the two cloaked figures that had accompanied him. A Bubble, much like the one that had been placed around the Slayer at the time of her crucifixion, had been placed around the three foes, protecting them from the armed elves that encircled them.

“Leave my lands at once or suffer the consequences!” snarled Maglor, glaring with his piercing, elvish eyes at the servant of Morgoth.

“My business is not with you, Elf,” replied the evil Maia contemptuously. “I have come seeking the wife of my Lord,” he continued, acknowledging Buffy with a nod.

“I am not Morgoth’s wife,” said the Slayer between gritted teeth, balling her fists at her side.

“Is that so?” the Necromancer queried with a snigger. “If I recall correctly, and I deem that I do, you and Melkor exchanged vows long before you and the son of Fëanor, thus making my Lord your true spouse, not the Elf.”

Not only did many of the Noldor wince at the mere mention of Morgoth’s true name, but most gasped in horror at hearing that Buffy had exchanged vows with the Dark Lord, something that none knew about except for Maglor, and those from the Slayer’s Household.

Sauron scoped out the crowd, delighted by their reaction to his comments. “I take it that you haven’t shared that bit of information with the Noldor, Inanna,” he continued, his eyes glinting with malice. “Surely, they should know about the Valië that they so willingly follow. Perhaps I should enlighten them,” he threatened in an overly sweet voice.

“Heed not the words of this servant of Morgoth!” shouted Luthor, after pushing his way to the front of the spectators. “He speaks nothing but lies!” He fixed his narrowed eyes on Sauron and hissed, “Return to the filth from whence you came.”

“How befitting that a traitor walks amidst those of the House of Fëanor,” responded the evil Maia, scowling at his rival. “Your days are numbered, old man. Mark my words - my Master has something special in store for you.” Sauron then turned away from Luthor, walking several paces forward, closer to Buffy, yet still within the confines of the Bubble.

“My Lord’s patience with you is wearing thin, Inanna,” began the Necromancer.

Even more people gathered into the cramped courtyard, some even standing on the walls, others hanging out of the windows of the Halls of Maglor, listening to the evil utterances of the servant of Morgoth.

“Melkor tires of your continuing fraternization with the lower beings, his enemies! He has shown his leniency in the past; overlooking the numerous lovers you have taken… ”

“YOU LIE!” shouted an enraged Maglor, grabbing a sword from the Noldo standing beside him. “How dare you speak such lies about my wife!” He struck at Sauron with his weapon, but the force field that surrounded the enemy merely jolted him backwards, sending him flying into a group of elves.

The Necromancer’s eyes lit up at the elf’s reaction. He excitedly rubbed his hands together, nearly salivating.

“Oh my, the Elf does not know of your misdeeds in the East,” said Sauron gleefully, a sinister smile coming to his face. “Well, let me enlighten you, son of Fëanor. Your beloved wife has bedded more men than those that now surround us,” he laughed, gesturing to the numerous people congregated in the courtyard. “She was not named the Vala of Fornication without reason. No, Inanna is by no means a maiden of virtue. She is a whore, whose lust cannot easily be sated by one man. Isn’t that right, most Holy One?” he asked, his tone full of mockery.

Buffy stood there, paralyzed. She couldn’t find her voice. Her breathing became labored. Tears filled her eyes, but she remained both motionless and speechless. She could feel the glaring looks from the bystanders.

“Her silence speaks volumes, wouldn’t you agree?” continued a sneering Sauron, turning his dark eyes back to the son of Fëanor. “Her affairs are legendary in the East, especially the tale of Etana, the mortal boy Inanna plucked from the fields and made king.” The evil Maia turned his malevolent gaze to Buffy. “He became her favorite lover, and she cared not that he was a mere child of thirteen.”

More gasps and grumblings reverberated throughout the crowd.

“Thirteen!” she heard one shout.

“That is but a babe!” exclaimed another.

Those from Buffy’s Household stood there in shock, horrified that their Mistress’ past was coming back to haunt her in such a heartbreaking manner. Yet the Slayer remained motionless, powerless, her bottom lip trembling.

Sauron turned his gaze back to Maglor, who stood there totally dumbstruck. “Yes, son of Fëanor, your wife likes them young,” continued the Necromancer, savoring the effect he was having on both the Slayer and the Noldo Lord. “Sharru-kin, she named him. Sargon, the elves called him.”

“Sargon,” repeated Maglor softly, the remaining color draining from his face. He clutched the blade even tighter in his hand , his knuckles turning white.

“It’s a beautiful love story, Maglor, truly it is,” proclaimed the evil Maia, his mock enthusiasm making his words worse in the telling. “I see that you recognize the name, but have no knowledge of the man himself. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a shame, that is,” continued Sauron with a shake of his head, his lips twisting into a sinister smile.

“Sargon always had a special place in her heart, fighting her battles, and killing other mighty lords that attempted to usurp his position with his beloved Vala Queen.” Sauron cackled, the shrill sound causing many to shudder. “Inanna always had a fondness for those descended from her favorite lover. Just how many of his sons did you bed, Inanna?” he queried, turning his dark eyes to Buffy. “I seem to remember that it was his grandson that infected you with the malady. Do you know of the disease that afflicted your wife?” asked the evil Maia, turning his gaze back to Maglor, who now remained motionless, like Buffy. “Did you know that she contracted it by having sexual intercourse with the mortal, that that lead to her downfall in the East?”

Maglor shook his head in disbelief. “Lies, it’s all lies,” he uttered under his breath.

“Is that right?” continued the Necromancer with a chuckle. “Why do you think the mortals followed her back to Beleriand, son of Fëanor?” He narrowed his eyes at the Noldo. “To find the Light as they proclaim?” He shook his head, taking a step closer towards Maglor. “Your beloved Bellaseth is the Light. They followed her in hope that one amongst them would fulfill the prophecy that had been foretold long ago, that one of the descendants of Sargon will father a child with the Vala Queen.”

Sauron’s eyes shifted to Buffy’s swollen stomach. “Hmm,” he continued, rubbing his chin. “Could that babe in your belly be the descendent that the Oracles had foreseen?” queried the Necromancer.

Buffy instinctively placed her hands protectively over her stomach even though it felt like her heart was being ripped out with each malicious word the evil Maia had spoken. She found it more difficult to catch her breath. She could see her world beginning to crumble around her.

“Tell me he speaks nothing but lies, Bella,” said Maglor, the desperation in his voice bringing her to tears. “Tell me that he is like his Master, and does not speak the truth.”

“She cannot do that, can you, my dear?” interjected Sauron, fixing his gaze on the trembling form of the Slayer. “My Lord has always honored his word with you, but he tires of your games, Inanna. He has been patiently waiting for you to return to Angband, to fulfill your promise, or have you already forgotten?”

The Necromancer reached into the pocket of his cloak, withdrawing a scroll. Buffy’s eyes widened to twice their size, her mouth went dry. She prayed for that moment to end, for her magics to return, so that she could just disappear, ending this new torment of Morgoth’s.

“I see that you recognize this document from long ago,” declared the Necromancer. He unrolled the parchment, revealing the Covenant that Buffy had signed with her own blood during Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin.

“Bella, what is that?” queried Maglor with distress.

She cried even more, knowing that her past had caught up with her at last.

“This is an oath signed by Maranwë Luinil proclaiming that she would produce another heir for Melkor in return for his aid in battle.” The evil Maia turned to the Noldo Lord, a look of triumph on his face. “You see, Elf, your beloved Dagnir came to my Lord when she found herself failing in her war. She used her womanly wiles to seduce Melkor in order to obtain his armies. But there’s something that she overlooked in her haste,” he continued, turning his malevolent eyes onto Buffy. “You failed to read the fine print!”

Sauron read from the parchment. “… In the event that Maranwë Luinil fails to honor the agreement set herein, in recompense, Melkor Bauglir shall kill all her children fathered by lesser beings… ” He smiled, as he rolled up the parchment, and slid it back into his pocket.

Those not stricken dumb from shock, cried out in anguish.

“What?!” exclaimed Maglor, grabbing Buffy by the shoulders. “How could you sign that?!”

“I didn’t know,” she cried, finding her voice at last. “I didn’t know.”

“You went to Morgoth, after everything he did to me, to my kin,” said Maglor, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s true. All of it… is true. You betrayed me. You’ve broken our sacred vows. You lied to me about Sargon.” His eyes shifted to her stomach. “Is that Sargon’s child you carry? It is, isn’t it? That’s why you kept your visits with him secret all those years. It’s all been a lie.”

“No, Káno, I swear. It’s your baby. It’s not Sargon’s! I haven’t been with him in years!” she cried, grabbing hold of the front of her husband’s tunic.

“Don’t touch me!” he said with disdain, pulling free from her grasp. “You’re no wife of mine. How could you willingly sacrifice our son for… for nothing.” He pulled off his wedding band and tossed it at her feet. “It’s over.” He turned, leaving the courtyard. Those from Maglor’s Household looked at the Slayer with utter disgust, sneering at her as they followed their Lord back into the house.

“Káno!” screamed Buffy at the top of her lungs, sobbing uncontrollably. She went to follow, only to be stopped by one of the Noldor, who shoved her, nearly causing her to tumble to the ground. “Káno!” she cried out yet again, as the crowd thinned out, leaving only those of her Household at her side.

“Looks like there is trouble in paradise, sweet, sweet Inanna,” started Sauron, gloating over his success thus far. “Has my Lord taught you nothing? Relationships built on a foundation of lies are bound to fall.”

His two cohorts lifted their arms towards the heavens and began chanting, their words barely audible. The Bubble then burst, the shock wave sending all but Buffy and the three minions of Morgoth flying backwards several yards. Sauron grabbed the distraught Slayer as his cronies activated the invisible force field once again, trapping Buffy inside.

“My Lord is ever gracious,” hissed the Necromancer, holding the Slayer firmly by the arm. “He told me to give you a choice. Come willingly with me back to Angband or remain here, where we will kill not only your half-breed children, but all whom you hold dear. The choice is yours.”

Buffy continued to weep in her despair, her vision blurred by her tears. She could hear several men calling Olofin’s name, searching for her son. The Green-elves attempted to break the Bubble with their weapons, and Luthor uttered various incantations in his attempt to help her.

“What say you?” barked Sauron, sinking his fingers deeper into her flesh.

The traumatized Slayer lifted her tear-streaked face, meeting the evil Maia’s eyes. “I’ll never go back,” she murmured between sobs.

“So be it!” The Necromancer pulled her closer. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. “But know this, Inanna,” he whispered in her ear. “You will bear no child unless it’s Melkor’s. It time for the Covenant to claim its first casualty.”

Sauron then grabbed the flesh of her swollen stomach with both hands. His touch felt like hell-fire. Buffy let out an ear-piercing shriek, her insides feeling as though they had been set ablaze. She teetered forward, in immense pain, knocking the evil Maia’s hands from her belly. The burning sensation ceased seconds later, only to be replaced by cramps that brought her to her knees, crying in agony.

Suddenly, a jet of red light flashed, hitting the Bubble, breaking the mystical barrier. Olofin stood outside the doors of the house, the scepter, Carnimír, in his hand. His eyes blazed with the fury of the Valar, frightening both Sauron and his comrades.

With the barrier broken, the Green-elves quickly charged the enemy with their weapons drawn. The Necromancer grabbed his companions by the back of their cloaks, shoving them towards the elves nearest to himself. He hastily teleported himself from the scene, leaving his two cohorts behind to fend for themselves. They never stood a chance. Before they could unsheathe their weapons, both were on the receiving end of the blades wrought by the Naugrim.

Buffy remained on the ground, hunched over, clutching her stomach. “Luthor!” she howled upon noticing her arms. The demon within her was beginning to manifest itself in her distress, her arms already taking on a monstrous appearance.

The old man ran to her side, gasping when he saw that the change had begun. He pulled her into his arms. The Slayer threw her arms around him, her claws digging into his back. The sound of her mournful wailing echoed across the plains.


Chapter 77 - THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

Morgoth was wroth when Sauron returned to Angband without the Slayer. “Where is Melisse?” he demanded, pounding his blackened fist on the arm of his stone throne. “I told you not to come back without her.”

“My Lord,” began the Necromancer, humbling himself before Melkor. “There was an incident, an unexpected one, at that. Inanna’s half-breed son, Olofin, showed up with some type of mystical weapon, killing two of my men! I nearly didn’t get away myself.”

“He was able to break through the Bubble?” he queried with an air of disbelief.

“Yes, my Lord,” replied his servant.

“Curse him!” barked Morgoth, slamming his fist yet again. He sat there in silence for several minutes, the creases on his forehead deepening as time slowly passed by. The Dark Lord then rose from his seat and slowly descended the steps of the dais. When he had reached Sauron, he weakly asked, “What of the rumors - that my Melisse is carrying the Elf’s seed? Is that true?”

“It was. But the spawn is dead. I killed it.” A wicked grin came to the face of the Necromancer, knowing that that would please his Master.

“At least you managed to do something right,” said Morgoth with a sneer, bypassing the evil Maia for the sideboard.

“I know that you’re disappointed that I failed to bring Inanna back, but things aren’t as bleak as you think,” continued Sauron, wanting to stress the successful aspects of his task.

“How so?” queried Melkor, pouring himself a drink.

“The Elf has left her, my Lord,” answered his servant, his voice echoing within the mammoth chamber. “It seems that the son of Fëanor was not aware of Inanna’s affairs in the East. He had no knowledge of her past… dalliances with the mortals.”

“And you think that alone is cause for their union to come to an end,” uttered Melkor in reply.

“He denounced their vows, even tossing his wedding band at her feet. The Elf was quite angry by her deception, especially when it came to you, and her signing of the Covenant. Ill-pleased was he to learn that she had put their son in jeopardy.”

“I thought that the Covenant would be enough to bring her back to me,” said Morgoth after taking a sip of wine. “Why is she not here?” He turned, facing his first lieutenant with sorrowful eyes. “She’s supposed to be sitting by my side.”

“Lord, for-forgive me,” started Sauron hesitantly. “But need I remind you that Inanna has betrayed you. Not only did she decimate your forces in the war, but she attempted to imprison you in one of her mystical Orbs.” He couldn’t believe that Morgoth was still fixated on the Slayer after all she had done to him.

The Dark Lord smiled. The words of Sauron seemed to have the opposite effect from that which the Necromancer had intended.

“That is more the reason why she belongs with me. We are much alike, Melisse and I. She has demonstrated that she is both cunning and conniving, two traits that I find admirable. How am I expected to resist that?”

Morgoth then left the Great Hall, retiring to his private rooms, leaving Sauron alone within the chamber.

The Necromancer let out a sigh of relief, grateful that his Master hadn’t discovered that he had defied his orders, that he had given the Slayer the choice to remain in Beleriand or come to Angband. The last thing he wanted was for her to come back and usurp his position, as she had done before.



“Káno,” Buffy moaned groggily, slowly blinking her heavy eyes open. Her vision was hazy, her body numb. Many stars twinkled above her in the otherwise pitch-black sky. She struggled to keep her eyes open. She tried to call out for her husband again, but she was so exhausted, that only a throaty groan escaped her lips.

Luthor’s face then entered her field of vision. He was surprised that she was coming out of the enchanted sleep which he had placed on her.

“Sleep,” the old man said softly, waving his hand over her face. “Sleep.”

Buffy slipped back into her slumber, not waking again until Luthor gave the say so, some days later.

“Let us stop for the night,” said Luthor to his companions nearly an hour later. “Take us down, Kat.” The Maia shifted the sleeping Slayer in his arms, as the lioness began her descent from the darkened sky. Despite the solemn mood of the travelers, a smile came to the old man’s face as he watched both Nestor and Thranduil clinging to Kit for dear life. Neither elf was accustomed to riding atop the lion, especially a few hundred feet above the ground. If not for their love and devotion to Buffy, both would be riding on horseback along with the rest of the Household.

Olofin, traveling in falcon form, circled high above his companions, acting as lookout, in case Morgoth attempted to waylay the group on their journey. Once his loved ones had safely landed, he joined them, nose-diving at great speed before pulling out of the freefall only a feet above the earth. He then changed back into his elvish form and began to help the others as they set up camp.

Thranduil took the first watch, which was uneventful until three o’ clock that morning. The Green-elf was sitting with his back against a laurel tree, softly singing a popular hymn of Inanna. He was looking up at the glimmering stars of Varda Elbereth when he caught a quick movement from out of the corner of his eye. He immediately turned his gaze toward Buffy, who had now vanished from her makeshift bed of blankets.

“She’s gone!” he shouted, waking the others. “Bella’s vanished!” Thranduil jumped to his feet in a state of panic.

“Calm down, my good elf,” said Luthor calmly, shifting to a sitting position. “It must be three. Bella has been summoned to Sussrúmnir. I’m sure that one of the Valkyries will make an appearance shortly.”

“Luthor’s right,” agreed Olofin, placing his hand on the spot from where his mother had disappeared. “I sense nothing amiss, although I deem that mother’s maidens will be confused as to why their Mistress has been placed in an enchanted sleep.”

“I hope they do not lift the spell,” said a deeply concerned Nestor, his eyes fraught with worry. The healer feared that Marduk might lift his dark magicks, allowing Buffy’s powers to return while under great distress. Having witnessed the catastrophic events that had taken place in Eridu, he was in total agreement with Luthor about placing a spell on the Slayer, keeping her in a mystical sleep until the proper time had arrived to wake her.

No sooner then he had said that, Vórëa, Rainë and Laurië appeared with looks of dismay on their faces.

“What has happened to Maranwë?” asked Vórëa, looking to Luthor for answers. “Istahiro says that she has lost the baby. How could such a thing happen?”

“Sauron is the culprit responsible for that despicable deed,” replied the old man, a flicker of anger flashing in his brilliant blue eyes.

“What?!” exclaimed the ladies in unison, looking at one another with shocked expressions.

Rainë broke down in tears, as did Laurië. Both women threw their arms around each other, each trying to comfort the other. Vórëa suppressed the urge to cry along with her sisters. She needed to keep it together so that she could gather the facts to take back to those waiting in Folkvang.

“And why is it that she’s been placed in an enchanted sleep? Istahiro does not know whether he should wake her or not.”

“Do not let him lift that spell!” cried out Nestor, his anxiety mounting at the thought.

The Valkyrie shifted her gaze to the elf. She considered his words for a moment, turning her attention back to Luthor who had resumed speaking.

“If you would have spoken with Failo, he could’ve given you the answer,” said the old man, gesturing for the women to take a seat on Buffy’s vacated blankets. Once the Valkyries had sat down, Luthor continued. “The beast inside Bella was beginning to manifest itself, and I had no other alternative but to put your Mistress in a deep sleep to prevent that from happening.”

“You are telling me the end of the tale,” said Vórëa, searching the old man’s eyes with her own. “I wish to hear the events from the beginning.”

Luthor glanced at his companions, who nodded their heads encouragingly, as the Maia began the story from the beginning. He told the women of Sauron’s sudden appearance at the Gap, how he had used the Bubble to prevent any from stopping the Necromancer.

“He revealed many things that we had kept secret all these years,” disclosed Luthor, his voice a mixture of sadness and anger. “Things better left unsaid. Sauron made a point to bring all this up in front of Maglor and numerous Noldor.” The women gasped upon hearing that. “We were then informed of a document that Bella had signed during Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin, stating that in return for Morgoth’s aid, she would produce him a child… The document was signed in her own blood.” The old man paused for a moment, choking back his own tears. “There was a clause in the document, that if Bella did not comply, than her children’s lives would be forfeit. She refused to return to Angband, and Sauron claimed the Covenant’s first victim.”

“No!” cried out Laurië, shifting her gaze to Olofin. “Surely, Luinil must have been bewitched to sign such a thing!”

Rainë shook her head, tears spilling down her face. “An oath signed in blood is irrevocable,” her voice breaking as she spoke.

“Indeed,” answered Luthor. “I do not believe that Bella knew of that clause when she signed it, and I would not put it pass Morgoth to have added it at a later time. But the bottom line is that the doom of the children of Maranwë Luinil in now in effect, and cannot be undone by magics that any here possess.”

“Things are graver than I had originally thought,” said Vórëa, nervously picking the fibers from the blanket. “What are we to do?”

“We’re taking Bella back to Ossir,” replied the old man. “You must advise Sargon that he must stop summoning her back to Sussrúmnir until we figure things out. Her body must heal from the trauma it has sustained, and we feel that Lindecoa is the best place for her to be right now.”

“Yes,” chimed in Thranduil. “The further away from Angband she is, the better off we’ll all be.”

“If that’s the case, then she should remain in Folkvang,” declared Vórëa. “There, the healing process with hasten.”

“That choice should be hers, not ours,” answered Luthor.

“It is foolishness to leave her here, susceptible to the guile of Morgoth,” continued the Valkyrie chieftain. “Not only that, but Olofin should come back with us as well… And we should immediately send some of our sisters to Eridu to collect the Oracles before the Covenant claims them.”

“Mother should remain here in Beleriand,” proclaimed Olofin, who had remained quiet since the Valkyries had arrived. “My father left her in a manner that breaks my heart. He does not wholly understand all that has happened, and, in time, will be convinced that he needs to hear her side of the story. If mother is not in Ossir when that time comes, her sorrow with be even greater.

“Bring her back at once, Vórëa,” he stated firmly. “This is not a matter for debate. If mother wishes to return to Folkvang after she is awakened, then so be it. But the choice must be hers, not yours, or ours.”

“But, my Lord,” said Rainë imploringly, taking Olofin’s hand. “Your life is in peril whilst you remain in Middle-earth. Come to Folkvang where the Dark Lord knows not the location. There we can harbor you from the doom that has fallen upon you and your siblings. Melkor cannot touch you there.”

“I do not wish to leave Beleriand even if my actions put my life at risk,” answered the half-elf, patting the distraught woman’s hand. “I shan’t cower from the Dark Lord, no matter how great he is. I, too, have the blood of the Valar in my veins, and possess the gifts born onto those of my mother’s race. I do not fear death. I only wish to protect my mother, to be there for her.

“Now, my dear women, please return to Folkvang, and bring back nana. Tell Sargon that we will inform him when mother is fit to return to Sussrúmnir to carry out her sacred duties. Until then, she will remain in Ossiriand.”

The Valkyries nodded obediently before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

A few minutes later, the trio returned with their sleeping Mistress. They laid her down on a makeshift bed before leaving. All the Valkyrie chieftains returned only a moment later, in spirit-form, having decided that they would accompany the travelers until they had reached Lindon safely.

At first light, the Maia took the Slayer in his arms, and climbed onto Kat, while both Thranduil and Nestor mounted Kit. Olofin changed into falcon form before all ascended into the misty morning sky. Holding his beloved Bella tightly in his arms, Luthor glanced over his shoulder, looking towards the north. Although the old man couldn’t see them, he knew that Buffy’s Household was not far behind.

Luthor shifted his gaze back down to the Slayer’s pale, emotionless face. His heart ached for her loss, for her pain. She looked so frail. Tears began to form in his eyes. He had not had the chance to grieve over her loss.

“How is she, Luthor?” asked Vórëa, who flew alongside Kat in spirit-form.

“She’s still in an enchanted sleep,” answered the old man brusquely, attempting to hide his tears from the woman.

“There’s no need to bite my head off!” replied the Valkyrie, putting some distance between her and Luthor.

The following day, they arrived at Lindon. The unexpected appearance of his friends shocked Orchal, although his shock quickly turned to sorrow when he learned what had befallen the Slayer.

The Valkyries departed Ossir, knowing that Ulmo would see to it that nothing happened to the Slayer while she was in the Land of the Seven Rivers. After spending one night in Lindon, the small group continued on their journey south, traveling by ship so that Orchal and many others from Lindon Hall could accompany their friends to Tol Galen.

After Luthor had put the Slayer to bed, her loved ones kept a bedside vigil. For two weeks, she remained in her enchanted slumber before all decided that it was time to wake her. Knowing that the Slayer would be an emotional wreck upon waking, Luthor had Nestor prepare a sedative to keep her in a calmed state.

“Before I lift the spell, I want to remind you all that Bella’s memories of the tragedy will be fresh in her mind,” started the Maia. “To her, it will feel as though she has just experienced,” he paused, “the loss. She must not be left alone, not even for one moment. We must shadow her every movement.” The old man glanced at Buffy’s peaceful, sleeping form, caressing the soft skin of her hand.

The men watched as Luthor softly called Buffy’s name repeatedly, rousing her from her mystical sleep.

“Káno,” she whispered drowsily, her eyelids fluttering open.

“It’s Luthor, Bella,” said the old man, lovingly stroking her forehead.

Before Buffy could say another word, Nestor put a cup to her lips, forcing her to drink the sedative he had prepared. Her eyes scanned the room and the many faces of those that sat around her bed. Realizing that she was in Lindecoa, the Slayer spluttered, spraying the tonic on those seated close by.

“My baby!” she cried out breathlessly, attempting to rise from the bed.

“Relax,” said Luthor in his most soothing voice, as he and Olofin restrained her. Nestor dabbed the dribble from her chin with a handkerchief, anxious for the sedative to kick in.

At first, Buffy thought that she had been dreaming, a horrific dream, but a dream nonetheless. Seeing herself in Ossir meant that it was real, that everything that had happened at the Gap was no mere figment of her imagination.

“My baby!” she exclaimed again, reaching for her stomach. The hardness that she had felt prior to her sleep was not there, only the flabbiness that one gains from pregnancy. Her eyes welled with tears, as the events that had transpired played out in her mind. “Olofin!”

“I’m here, nana,” answered her son, taking her other hand tightly in both of his. He kissed it before repeating, “I’m here.”

“The… the baby’s gone,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. The look of sorrow in her son’s eyes confirmed that her worst fears had come true. She tightly closed her eyes, as the tears streamed down her face.

“I’m sorry,” answered Olofin, desperately trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Everything will be alright, Bella,” said Luthor reassuringly. “Your loved ones are here. We’ll help you get through this.”

“Káno,” she sniffled. “Káno left me.”

“Adar is in Himring,” answered Olofin. “He needs time to think, nana. That’s all.”

“No,” she cried, opening her eyes once again. “He hates me. He’ll never forgive me.”

“Never is a mighty long time,” said Thranduil with a forced smile, leaning over Buffy’s outstretched legs. “You always say, never say never.”

“Thranduil’s right,” added Olofin. “We’ll get through this. Right now, you need to concentrate on getting better.”

“Things will never get better,” said Buffy between sobs. “I… I want to be alone.”

Everyone’s gaze turned to Luthor. “Alright, Bella,” answered the old man. “We’ll be just outside in the sitting room.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, before getting to his feet.

“Call if you need me,” said Olofin, kissing his mother on the forehead.

Once the men had left the room, they could hear Buffy bawling, bringing those nearest and dearest to her to tears.

For many hours, the Slayer sat alone within the confines of her chamber, weeping. When she found herself unable to shed any more tears, she sat beside the northern window, slowly rocking back and forth in her chair, contemplating what she should do next. Should she go to Himring and explain her side of the story to Maglor? Should she seek vengeance against Morgoth and Sauron by waging war against the Dark Lords? Should she flee to Folkvang, allowing time to pass swiftly by, coming back decades or maybe even centuries later?

None of those options seemed appealing to Buffy. She had to face the consequences of her many lies, no matter how painful that would be. She cursed herself for so eagerly signing the Covenant long ago. Why hadn’t she read the document in its entirety before signing in blood? She already knew the answer to that question. She feared that the race of man would be wiped off the earth. Their numbers had dwindled dangerously low during the war, and she had needed help to end the conflict in the East. Yet it seemed so cruel that her unborn child had to pay for something that she had done. It wasn’t right. It was wrong on so many levels. She couldn’t believe that Ilúvatar could allow such a thing to happen. Why? Why had he let that happen?

When Nestor entered carrying a tray of food and more medicine, Buffy took the sedative but refused to eat. The dopey calmness that the elixir provided was much needed. The last thing she wanted was for her emotions to run amok, turning her into a rampaging monster.

Once the healer had left the chamber, the Slayer poured herself a glass of wine, drinking it as she paced across the cool marble floor. After downing a few more glasses of the crimson beverage, she knew what she needed to do. Feeling slightly buzzy, she sat down at her desk, and penned a letter to the twins, explaining what had happened at the Gap and the doom that now lay upon her surviving children.

She didn’t stop with that one letter. She wrote three more: one to Marto, one to Lutz and even one to Marduk, pleading with the men to protect the twins at all costs. Buffy then summoned Vórëa, who appeared suddenly within the chamber. She handed the letters to the Valkyrie and instructed her to deliver them to the recipients as quickly as possible.

The Slayer then returned to her seat by the window, watching as the sunlight gradually faded, taking with it all hope of resolving her life’s dilemma. As the darkness settled about the land, it seemed to find its way into her heart, bringing with it even greater despair.

As Lindon Hall fell silent, she returned to her bed. Feeling her eyes well with tears, Buffy grabbed one of the pillows, clutching it tightly to her chest. Burying her face in the cushion, she wept. The anguish of losing her child was hard enough, but having to deal with that pain without her beloved Maglor by her side made it ten times worse. How would she ever get through this?

Buffy then found herself cradling the pillow in her arms, causing her to howl in anguish, until sleep finally took her.

The following morning, she entered a state of mourning. After she had bathed, her maidens dressed her entirely in black, including a lacey veil that covered her face. She wandered the passageways alone; unaware that many of her loved ones were lurking about, watching her closely, fearing that she might do something foolish.

None followed when the Slayer entered the chamber that contained her Mirror. She had not visited that room for many years, yet she seemed to have been drawn to it in her wanderings. Grabbing the ewer, she scooped out water from the cistern, filling the basin. Buffy managed to expel enough breath through the fabric of her veil to send ripples along the water’s surface. Wisps of vapor rose from the bowl before dissipating a few moments later. She then waited for whatever image was to appear in the Mirror.

She was taken aback when she saw the face of Melian looking back at her. The Maia’s lips were moving, but Buffy could hear no sound. It seemed like ages since she had last seen her old friend and mentor. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the image alone. Without even thinking, the Slayer reached into the water, eager to touch Melian. She felt the woman’s arm, before grasping it tightly. She then heaved on the appendage, pulling the Queen of Doriath out of the Mirror. The Slayer wrapped her arms around the legs of the Ainu, who stood within the basin, shocked beyond words. Buffy then carefully lifted the woman, placing her on the marble floor.

They stood there in silence for several long moments, each searching the other’s eyes. Neither spoke one word, yet each woman was able to perceive what had happened in the other’s life since they had last spoken long ago. Melian finally broke the silence. She fell to one knee out of her profound respect for the Slayer.

“My Lady,” she began. “Forgive me for not coming to you before now. I’ve spent much time in front of my Mirror, waiting for you. I most humbly apologize for my ignorance.”

“You don’t ever have to apologize to me,” answered Buffy, stunned by the Queen’s behavior. She grabbed the woman by the elbows, bringing her upright.

“I’ve should have seen it,” continued Melian, tears forming in her grey eyes, as she slowly shook her head. “When word reached me, when I had learned the truth… ”

“What are you talking about?” asked Buffy, her face wrinkled with confusion.

“You are the Vala, Maranwë Luinil,” replied the Queen, meeting the Slayer’s gaze. “I should have seen it, but I didn’t.” She turned her shameful gaze to the floor. “How could I not see that you were the Vala of Love, whom I had served millennia ago?”

Buffy gently lifted the Ainu’s chin, and gave her a reassuring smile. “The Valar had placed a Veil on me, Melyanna. That you know well. Don’t you ever apologize for anything that you’ve done. It’s not necessary.”

“But I did not stay with you,” cried Melian, her tears flowing freely. “I wanted to enter Eä with the others. I wanted to wander in the world that we had created, that we had brought into being… I’ve shown my disloyalty to you by doing so, and for that I should never be forgiven.”

“That is absolute nonsense!” countered the Slayer, cupping the Maia’s tear-streaked cheek with her hand. The words seemed to fly from Buffy’s mouth without thought to what she was saying. “I am the one who had rescinded my earlier design, and I’m solely to blame for that. You did nothing wrong, Melyanna. Your destiny was to enter Eä along with the others of our kindred. I couldn’t come. I did not want to come.” Buffy dropped her hand to her side, and walked over to one of the windows, staring at the fair gardens below. She then continued to speak, her tone softer than before. “I had instructed my Household to enter this world, promising that I’d follow.” She solemnly shook her head, her green eyes glistening with tears. “I couldn’t. I knew what was in store for me when I entered Arda: pain and sorrow, the like I’ve never experienced before.

“Eru answered my prayer, for a time, even allowing Tulkas to come in my stead, ages later.” She turned, facing the Maia. “How could I leave the bliss of the Timeless Halls for this world? How could I come knowing that my presence would make things worse? How could I be forced against my will to come?” Her words seemed to reverberate within the mammoth chamber.

“No,” countered Melian, rushing to Buffy’s side, lovingly taking her hands in her own. “You are the embodiment of love, and much needed in this world.”

“I’ve brought more evil into this world since my arrival. That, you do not know about.” The Slayer took a deep breath. “I’ve been with Melkor, Melyanna. Like before, when the world was not yet made,” she whispered. “I helped him. I helped him create monsters more dangerous than the yrch and Balrogs that will soon be unleashed in these parts. I am a contributor to the hate and malice that spreads like a plague throughout Middle-earth. I’ve lost my way more times than I care to say. I’ve failed. I can’t do it. I can’t maintain the balance. How can I, when such evil lurks within me? It’s a part of me.”

Melian tried to protest but the Slayer wouldn’t let her.

“You call me the embodiment of love, but you’re forgetting some of the darker aspects of love - like obsession and possessiveness. Those too are elements of love. I guess that’s Melkor’s marring of me, for now love is mingled with hate, and pleasure is mixed with pain. There are two sides to everything, one good, and one evil. That is what I’m the embodiment of - the best and the worst that love has to offer.”

“No, that is not true,” said Melian, vehement in her pronouncement. “I cannot believe that Melkor has marred you in the same manner as he has Arda. It’s about the choices we make, Maranwë, the path we choose to tread down… ”

“I don’t think so, Melyanna,” answered Buffy, a tear escaping her eye. “I don’t think we get a choice. Ilúvatar’s children may get to choose, but we, the Ainur, do not. We never get to choose. Eru’s designs are constant, and our fates are predestined. I have done things that I knew were wrong, yet I did them. I couldn’t help myself. How could that be freewill? How could I so easily stray from the path of righteousness? How could I fail at everything that I’ve attempted since coming here? Things that I have started well turn disastrous in the end: my glorious reign in the East, my marriage… My God, Melyanna, I couldn’t even carry my child to term! I even failed as a woman. Do you know how that makes me feel?” Buffy didn’t allow the Maia time to answer before replying to her own question, “Worthless. I feel hollow, empty.

“Oh, Melyanna,” cried out Buffy clutching her old friend. “I feel dead inside.” She buried her face in Melian’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s not true. It’s not true,” said Melian, crying along with Buffy, as both women collapsed to the floor. “This is the evil of Melkor at work. Nothing more. That’s all it is. We do have a choice.” She held the Slayer, rubbing her back. The Maia spent the next quarter of an hour doing her best to convince the Vala that the hopelessness that she was feeling would soon pass.

“Now that I know the truth, let me rejoin your House,” sniffed the Queen of Doriath, wiping away her tears. “Let me follow you as I had before.”

“No,” answered the Slayer, drying her eyes from beneath her veil. “Your place is in Doriath with your family, not with me.”

“But now that you are here… ”

“My dear, Melyanna,” sighed Buffy, taking the Maia’s trembling hands in her own. “You’re now in the service of Vána and Estë, as it was fated to be. You’ve done all you can for me, and for that, I will forever be indebted to you. You helped me when no one else would. You took me into your home, nurtured me, and taught me so many things that have helped me on my life’s journey. I’ve never thanked you properly for that.”

“Bars of gold and silver seemed a fine way to express your gratitude,” smiled Melian, remembering the gifts that the Slayer had presented to her Lord centuries earlier.

“Ah, but that was more for Thingol than for you,” laughed Buffy, trying to lighten the mood. “What can I do for you? What can I do to prove that my love for you is undying, to reward you for your faithfulness to me even when you were unaware of what you were doing?”

“There is naught to ask that you have not already done,” answered the Queen knowingly. “You have delivered mankind from great evil, setting in motion events that will be renowned in song for ages to come. My beloved Luinil, by bringing the Edain into Beleriand, you have ensured that the line of Lúthien will carry on through the younger children of Ilúvatar.” She smiled. “How can one top that?”

“By never letting your bloodline fail,” answered Buffy, tightening her grip on the woman’s hands. “I will see to it.”

“That is indeed something to rejoice about, although it will come with much sorrow.”

“Nothing in this world is for free,” answered Buffy dismally.

“Let us not speak of things to come, for that does not yet concern us,” said Melian with an air of finality to her tone. “Let us deal with your grief, for that is what brought me to you in the first place.”

The Maia sat cross-legged across from the Slayer, holding her hands loosely in her own. They locked eyes before Melian lifted her voice in song, singing one of her enchanting melodies that had to ability to ease one’s suffering.

Buffy’s loved ones, who stood on the other side of the door with their ears pressed against the wood, gasped when they heard the mellifluous voice of the Queen of Doriath. The sweet sound lifted their spirits, renewing their hope. Anxious to behold the one wielding such magics, Luthor opened the door wide enough for several heads to pop into view. They saw the two women seated at the base of the Mirror, silver particles of glowing light emitted from Melian, filling the room with a magic that instantly dulled the aching within their hearts.

“Melian,” whispered an awe-stricken Orchal, who had never witnessed that type of magic from the Maia Queen.

Olofin smiled at the sight, knowing that the only one that Buffy had ever identified as a mother figure had arrived to help her with the healing process. He motioned for the others to give the women their privacy, before the door quietly closed once again. Feeling a sense of relief, the men had decided that they no longer needed to follow the Slayer in secret. They knew that once she had left that room, they would not have to worry about her doing anything foolish, or stupid.

Melian remained in Lindecoa for a couple of days, since Thingol was still abroad with Mablung, hunting in the Forest of Region. The Maia met, for the first time, three of the most important men in Buffy’s life: Olofin, Luthor and Thranduil. The Queen of Doriath took an immediate liking to the Slayer’s youngest child. She referred to him as “the pride of the line of Finwë,” a compliment that meant a lot to Buffy, especially after hearing her dear friend’s words of warning regarding the sons of Fëanor.

The Queen of Doriath’s visit had eased Buffy’s sorrow, yet she continued to mourn the loss of both her unborn child and Maglor. Yet as the days passed by, she became more determined to win her way back into her husband’s good graces. She would pursue him to the ends of the earth, if need be. Little did she know that in doing so, she would open herself up to even greater heartache. In times to come, she would be confronted with many hard realities, hard realities that would shake her to the very core of her being. And that her choices would not only affect the course of history but would cause strife within the House of Fëanor.


Chapter 78 - STORYTELLER, PART 1

Once Nestor had given the Slayer a clean bill of health, she resumed her workouts with many from her Household. She had packed on nearly twenty-five pounds during her pregnancy, and found that the flab was a constant reminder of her failure as a woman. She was most eager to shed the extra weight as quickly as possible, and devoted several hours a day to strenuous workouts.

A few weeks after Melian had left; Buffy began receiving many letters from her friends in Beleriand and from loved ones in the East. She had received a rather harsh letter from Marto, which brought her to tears every time she read it. The Maia was enraged that she was responsible for the cursing of his children, and by the tone of his words, the Slayer did not think he would ever forgive her, as the twins had. While her loved ones in Ossir tried to comfort her, (Olofin even burned the letter!), Marto’s words affected her deeply, and would weigh heavily on her mind throughout the duration of the First Age.

One thing that amazed Buffy was how quickly word had spread throughout Beleriand regarding the debacle with Sauron. She had thought that those from the House of Fëanor would keep her past quiet, yet the exact opposite turned out to be true. She was unsure whether they were attempting to alienate her from the other Noldor or were just being vindictive. Regardless, not one letter expressed any negativity towards her, only words of condolence, support and understanding. Both Fingolfin’s and Finrod’s words touched Buffy the deepest. She was saddened though, having not received any communication from the House of Fëanor, and that her letter to Maglor had gone unanswered.

Instead of dwelling on her many misfortunes, the Slayer kept busy. She stepped back into her role as the ruler of Ossir, and began to give more thought to her country’s economic future. Since the Green-elves had returned from the war, they were slowly replenishing their coffers but not to the degree that she would’ve liked. Yes, Ossiriand was still suffering from the aftermath of Úrion’s betrayal. Moreover, with an enormous Household that had to be paid, Buffy needed to think of ways to bring more money into her kingdom.

At one time, Ossiriand had been the largest supplier of agricultural products in Beleriand, but having taught the Noldor the secrets of farming, the Green-elves no longer derived much revenue from foodstuffs. Wine and rare fruits (brought in from Folkvang) were their primary exports to the northern kingdoms. If not for having been the sole providers to the dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod, their country would have been bankrupt long ago.

Buffy needed to find a profitable niche in the market since the craze with the war machines had fallen flat years before. Besides, the Noldor had already purchased many of the contraptions, most of which were collecting dust or had fallen into disrepair over time. No, Ossir needed something different, something that the populace of Beleriand would be eager to buy, and without question, that something had to center around food which everyone needed.

As fall turned into winter, the Green-elves diet shifted mostly to meat and meat by-products, as the colder months were the peak time to hunt. The meat was then dried, salted or smoked and either shipped out or housed in the larders until summer, when hunting was a no-no in their realm. (Wild game tended to be ravaged by parasites during the heat of the summer, and the Green-elves had learned long ago, that it was best to avoid killing and eating any wild animal during that time unless absolutely necessary).

On the cusp of the New Year, an idea finally struck the Slayer. After eating the last of the vegetables in a pork stew, she concluded that Ossir needed to introduce canning to Middle-earth. That way, everyone could enjoy fresh tasting meats, fruits, vegetables, etc. at any time of the year. The process was a rather simple one, requiring only extreme heat, and surprisingly, no one in Beleriand knew of it.

Immediately, she set her people to work, making sealable jars in pint and quart sizes. That winter, they began the canning of meats and gravies. The Green-elves busied themselves by making thousands of jars in anticipation of the first crop that spring. Buffy made all those involved in the process promise to keep quiet about that new method of preserving food, as it would guarantee that Ossir would once again become a prosperous nation.

All were forbidden to sample the product until at least one year had passed. The tasting would be done in stages over ten year’s time. When it was determined that the canned goods retained their fresh flavor, as well as being bacteria free, then and only then, would they introduce their foodstuffs to the peoples of Middle-earth.

When spring had arrived, the Slayer had the Green-elves begin constructing even more glasshouses to prolong the growing season of their more exotic fruits and vegetables. By the end of summer, the residents of Ossir already had a great store of canned food in their larders.

Despite the pleasant façade Buffy wore, her thoughts constantly revolved around Maglor. After ten months time, she had not heard from any of the House of Fëanor, save the twins, Amrod and Amras. Shockingly, the youngest sons of Fëanor had not heard about what had happened at the Gap nearly a year before. The Slayer took it upon herself to tell them everything that had happened, leaving out not one sordid detail. While all they heard dismayed the twins, they did not turn against her, as their siblings apparently had.

When spring of Yr 406 had arrived, and she still hadn’t heard from Maglor, Buffy began to fall into the abyss of despair. Olofin had convinced her that it was unwise to journey to the northlands in any attempt to woo her husband back, and told her that she needed to exercise patience, a quality that Buffy was not known for possessing. Having the foresight to see that it would still be a few years before Maglor would send word to Ossir, the half-elf needed a way to distract his mother. After much debating, the mighty Lords of Ossir decided that now was a perfect time for the Slayer to take a holiday. Since the Green-elves were Teleri by birth, and loved navigating the waters, they wanted to take their Mistress on a trip to Belegaer, the great Sundering Sea.

On the morning they had planned to set sail, a falcon messenger arrived from Lindon, alerting Buffy that Finrod Felagund was on his way to Tol Galen. With their voyage delayed, she waited anxiously for the golden-haired Noldo’s arrival by ship. At dusk, the following afternoon, Finrod arrived. While the Slayer had thought that he had come on behalf of Maglor, it turned out that his visit was purely a social one.

Many of the Green-elves grumbled, knowing that their trip would be delayed for some time. Finrod usually visited their lands for a year or two at a time, and they were most eager to depart as soon as possible. When word reached Buffy of her Household’s discontent, she invited the Lord of Nargothrond to join them on their leisurely cruise to the sea. The Noldo enthusiastically accepted her offer.

The following morning, they took off down the Adurant, coasting on his waters until they reached the mighty Gelion. From there, they went south, following the watercourse for miles, stopping here and there along the way to explore the woods on either side of the river.

It was while on one of those expeditions into the thick forestlands that Finrod found himself walking alone with the Slayer, allowing him the opportunity to talk with her about what had happened in her past. For the first time, he brought up his overhearing of her conversation with Bëor on the day that the Adan had passed on. After apologizing for not having told her sooner, he asked about his former vassal.

“I’m sure he’s doing well,” she answered, ducking below a thick vine strung across her path.

“Forgive me,” answered Finrod, catching up to her, “but do you not return to Folkvang every night? I would assume that you would see Bëor on those occasions.”

“I haven’t seen Bëor in nearly twenty years. I thought it best that… we stay away from each other.”

“Why would you do that, if you’re destined to be together?” queried the puzzled Noldo.

“Wanna stop and rest for a while?” asked Buffy when they had reached a small clearing in the wood.

“Sure.”

Buffy sat on an old log, pulled the water skin from her belt, and took a long drink.

“Are you avoiding my question?” asked Finrod, taking a seat on a bed of dry leaves.

“Of course not,” she answered, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her shirt. “I thought that I’d try to save my marriage, by, you know, avoiding the temptation altogether.”

“But if Ilúvatar Himself said that you’re destined to be together… ”

“No, it’s not like that,” she interjected, slightly defensive in tone. “Eru said he doesn’t want me to be alone after… ” She stopped speaking mid-sentence, biting her bottom lip. Quickly she shifted her gaze to the dry leaves and broken tree limbs that littered the forest floor. She cursed herself for having nearly revealed the dismal future in store for the Noldo and his kinfolk.

The golden-haired elf was quite perceptive, and noticed her sudden uneasiness. “You are speaking of the Doom of the Noldor, are you not?” said Finrod with a sigh, watching her reaction carefully.

Buffy turned her sorrowful eyes to the elf. While she neither confirmed nor denied his question verbally, her facial expression said it all.

“I know that my doom is drawing near.”

The Slayer raised her brow at Finrod’s words, shocked by his statement.

“I do have the gift of foresight, Luinil,” he continued, giving her a quick smile. He broke eye contact, fiddling with a twig he had picked up off the ground. “I did not repent and return to Tirion as my father had done,” Finrod continued softly.

The Slayer didn’t know what to say. What was she supposed to say? She kept quiet, not knowing where Finrod was going with the conversation.

“What does it feel like?” he whispered, still playing with the small stick.

“What does what feel like?”

“Death,” answered the Noldo, meeting her gaze. His grey eyes welled with tears. “Does it hurt?”

Buffy looked away, becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the questioning.

“I do not mean to dredge up dark memories, but you are the only one that I know of that has experienced death firsthand, multiple times even, and yet lives to tell the tale… Is it painful?”

The Slayer could feel Finrod’s penetrating grey eyes boring into her. She picked up a dried leaf and nervously started tearing it into tiny pieces.

“Once your fey leaves its hröa, the pain stops,” she answered after thoughtful consideration. “Although,” she lifted her eyes, meeting the elf’s gaze once again, “quicker is better. No one wants a long, agonizing death. The pain… ” She paused, shuddering at the memory of dying at the hands of Úrion, “the pain is indescribable. The enemy will always make you suffer. It’s part of their evilness, I suppose.”

Images of Buffy’s own torment of the elves that had betrayed her flashed in her mind as she spoke those words, making her think that that statement applied to her as well. She averted her gaze, looking up at the white puffy clouds in the otherwise blue sky.

“When Úrion crucified me, the pain was horrific. I prayed for death to quickly take me, for my fey to leave its house, but that came all too slowly.” Her own eyes began to tear up as she recalled her past torments. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” She looked back at the elf, who sat there, watching her with sorrowful eyes. “For me, the greatest pain was having someone I love betray me. That hurt more than any torment Úrion could’ve devised, and believe me, he made me suffer.” A tear escaped her eye before she added, “Losing someone you love to the dark side… it stays with you, it makes you question so many things in your life, especially in regards to whom you can trust.”

“Alas! That sounds like the doom of Mandos at work, Bellaseth,” answered the grief-stricken Noldo. “I deem that you have been caught in the net of the Curse that has been placed upon my kin. My heart tells me that all who come in contact with the Noldor shall suffer terribly, whether by the Doom of the Valar or the guilefulness of Morgoth.”

“My guess is that they go hand in hand. Morgoth is a Vala, and I think he’s the one who’ll see to it that the will of the Valar is carried out. Your people cannot defeat him. You know that, Finrod, I know you do,” answered Buffy, wiping the tear from her face. “I don’t care about curses or, or whatever.

“My life has been enriched since the Noldor came to Middle-earth, and I know that the same holds true for the Edain. We’re all meant to be here, in this place, at this particular time, for whatever reason. It all boils down to everything being Eru’s will. We all serve some purpose in this world whether we see it or not.”

“So then the Doom shall fall upon all the races that inhabit Middle-earth,” proclaimed the disheartened Noldo Lord.

“That doesn’t mean we stop fighting, that we surrender to Morgoth. Good and evil will never wholly overcome the other. No matter how hard we try, evil will still exist. That is Eru’s will. Sometimes, sometimes we may have the upper hand and other times, he will… ”

“But we can only maintain peace for so long,” interjected Finrod. “At some point, Morgoth will unleash his armies on Beleriand… ”

“And when he does, we’ll be ready. We’ll do what we can to thwart him,” she added with a look of determination on her face.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The stillness was broken by the voices of the other members of their party as they approached.

“The Noldor will never reclaim the Silmarils, will we?” he asked, locking his grey eyes on Buffy.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shake of her head. “It’ll be no easy task, that’s for sure. Morgoth covets them more than anything else.”

“Even more than you?” he queried, his brows raised in question.

The Slayer chuckled before replying, “Yes, even more than me.”

They fell quiet, each deep in thought, as the sound of men’s voices drew nearer. The sound of crunching dead leaves and fallen limbs beneath the others’ feet seemed to carry on the cool breeze that moved through the small glade.

Buffy turned her head when she heard Thranduil’s cursing. The Green-elf found himself tangled in some brambles and was trying to pull free from its thorny clutches. She smiled, amused by the elf’s predicament.

“I better go help Thranduil,” she said with a laugh, thus bringing an end to their conversation.

Only a few days later, they reached Belegaer. The Slayer’s enthusiasm for seeing the surf quickly diminished once they had reached their destination. Seeing the ocean again, after so many years, she was reminded of her first meetings with Maglor in the dreamscape. How she wished that she still had the ability to enter other peoples dreams, especially those of her beloved.

Unfortunately, the trip to the sea did not distract the Slayer as Olofin had hoped. In fact, his mother fell into such a deep depression that she refused to speak with any, often wandering along the shore alone, singing songs of lamentation of her lost love.

Finrod was dismayed by Buffy’s continued bouts of melancholy. Her behavior convinced him that he needed to help her repair her relationship with Maglor. After speaking with her closest confidants, it was decided that they should end their trip early and return to Tol Galen for the Slayer’s sake.

The Lord of Nargothrond stayed with Buffy in Lindecoa for two years before leaving for the northlands. Instead of returning to his own Halls, he went to Himring, determined to talk some sense into Maglor. It proved to be no easy feat. The second son of Fëanor was still deeply hurt by his wife’s infidelity, especially with Morgoth, and the signing of the Covenant which had sealed the fate of their only child.

Maedhros sided with Finrod on the matter, and after many months time, he summoned Caranthir, Curufin and Celegorm to his fortress in an attempt to help persuade Maglor to give the Slayer a second chance. The C-brothers were of like mind with their oldest brother, although their motivations were altogether selfish. They were of the opinion that Buffy was the only one that had the ability to retrieve the Silmarils from the Dark Foe, and that if she were no longer a part of their House, the Silmarils would be lost to them forever.

In the spring of Yr 410, Gildor Inglorion arrived at Tol Galen, bringing with him a letter from Finrod Felagund. Gúrchim took him to the cooling porch where Buffy sat writing in her journal. The Noldo then presented her with the letter from his Lord. The Slayer eagerly broke the waxy serpent seal, reading the message from the Lord of Nargothrond:

To my dear friend, Bellaseth Dagnir, the Lady Luinil of the Land of Seven Rivers:

Greetings and well wishes! Long have I been with my kinfolk in Himring and send tidings that will surely interest you. After much effort, the sons of Fëanor have agreed to meet with you in hope of reconciling your relationship with Maglor. It has been decided (at my request) that this meeting shall take place on neutral ground - Nargothrond.

Bring with you no more than five members of your Household, so that your numbers correspond with that of the members of the House of Fëanor. I do not need conflict on my hands between the two Houses! Come as quickly as you may, for my heart tells me that together we will be able to mend the friction between the House of Fëanor and the House of Luinil.

May the One protect you and yours on your journey!

With deepest love and respect,

Finrod Felagund, son of Finarfin, Lord of Nargothrond



When the Slayer had finished reading Finrod’s letter, she leapt from her seat and hugged Gildor, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips.

“You’ve made my day, Gildor!” she exclaimed excitedly, on the verge of tears. “Thank you,” she smiled.

The Noldo blushed, bowing his head in reverence. “No need to thank me, my Lady. I’m merely the messenger.”

“Yeah, but you’re a messenger that has brought good tidings indeed,” she answered, clutching the letter tightly in her hand. “Rest a while. Whatever you need, my people will see to it that you have it. We’ll be heading out in an hour or so.”

Buffy then left the porch, seeking out the five people that would accompany her to Nargothrond. Without question, Olofin would be going. Surely, Maglor would want to see his son. It had been ten long years since they had last seen each other. The other four seemed rather obvious: Luthor, Orchal, Nestor and Thranduil.

Two hours later, they boarded the ship that would take them to Lindon. Once they had reached the chief city in the north, they continued their journey on horseback. From Lindon, they rode east through the forest until they had reached the ford that allowed them passage across the River Ascar. They continued north, up the sloping lands to the Dwarf-Road, turned west, and backtracked along the northern fences of Ossir. After crossing the Gelion, the company rode hard and fast along the open plains of Eastern Beleriand, stopping only at nightfall, and starting again at sunrise.

After resting for the night beside the majestic Falls of Sirion, they carefully lead their horses across the slippery rock wall, hoping and praying that none would lose their footing on the slick surface to plummet to a sure death into the Great River of Western Beleriand.

Everybody breathed easier once they had safely crossed The Long Wall. They had had a few close calls, but thankfully, they had reached the other side without incident. They rode on just north of Andram as it led to Finrod’s Halls, Nargothrond. It took them five days to reach the Hidden Kingdom, where they were welcomed by the Noldo Lord and his people.

Buffy was quite eager to see her husband, but unfortunately, he wasn’t ready to see her just yet. Maglor had demanded to see Olofin, and no one else. Hearing that broke the Slayer’s heart. She didn’t see how they could end their estrangement if the Noldo wouldn’t even speak to her.

“What the hell kind of bullshit is this?” she queried angrily, tired and sore from their journey. “You said that Káno would meet with me, and now he won’t!”

“Calm down, Bellaseth,” replied Finrod. “Maglor wants to spend some time with his son first.” He looked over the Slayer’s disheveled appearance before adding, “How about a nice, hot bath? Perhaps that will help relieve the stiffness in your weary limbs.” The Noldo couldn’t help but notice Buffy’s rubbing of her buttocks, which always hurt when she spent too much time riding bareback. “Once refreshed, I’m certain that you’ll feel much better, and will be ready to hear our counsel.”

Before she could protest, Finrod linked his arm with hers, and led her down one of the many passageways. In an attempt to prevent her from continuing her rant, he pointed out the many changes to his Halls since her last visit. Once they had reached her quarters, the Slayer felt as if her heart had dropped to her stomach. Apparently, she wouldn’t be sharing a room with her husband, a fact which upset her greatly.

While Finrod’s maidens tended to Buffy, both Maglor and Olofin left Nargothrond for Taur-en-Faroth, which was a short distance from the Halls of Felagund. Maglor wanted to question his son, in private, about what had happened in the East concerning the things that his wife had done, and what role the half-elf had played.

When Buffy had finished dressing, the women escorted her to a chamber where she found many from the line of Finwë sitting on stone chairs arranged in a semi-circle. Her companions from Ossir sat opposite the Noldor in tall wooden chairs. The Slayer was taken aback to see Fingon, Aegnor and Angrod in attendance, together with four of the sons of Fëanor (Maedhros and the C-brothers). She couldn’t help but notice that her House was outnumbered by the others.

“What the hell is this, the court-martial of Bellaseth Dagnir?” asked Buffy sarcastically, her suspicious eyes darting from face to face.

“Of course not!” said Finrod, handing her a glass of wine. He motioned towards the vacant seat between the Green-elves. “You’re amongst family here, Bella. Do not hastily jump to any conclusions.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she snickered with a roll of her eyes, making her way to her chair. “Funny how I thought this trip was an attempt for me to reconcile with Káno, yet he’s conspicuously absent.” She plopped down on her seat and murmured, “Imagine that.”

“Come now, Bella,” said Luthor, patting her knee comfortingly. “Surely, you can see how the whole ordeal with Sauron would raise questions with those from the House of Finwë.”

“So, I am on trial!”

“You’re not on trial,” assured Maedhros. “As Luthor has said, we have questions. We are willing to hear your side of the story. What you say to us will determine whether or not Maglor will meet with you.”

“You mean there’s no guarantee that I’ll even see him!” said an outraged Buffy, her face contorting with anger. “Then what the hell am I even doing here?” She made a move to get up.

“Stay, Bella,” said Luthor, calmly yet firmly, placing his hand on her arm. “If you wish to mend your marriage, you need to stay in that seat. Otherwise, leave.” The Maia’s declaration kept the Slayer firmly in place, although she grumbled her discontent under her breath.

“We will evaluate whether your relationship with my brother is repairable, Luinil,” began Maedhros, fixing his grey eyes on Buffy. “The things that Gorthaur said, trouble not only Maglor, but all of us as well. Since you are a member of our family, we all have the right to know the truth of the matter, as it affects the entire House of Finwë.”

“Fine,” she replied sulkily, crossing her legs. “What do you want to know?” asked Buffy, before taking a sip of her elvish wine.

“Is it true that you have seduced Morgoth since wedding Maglor?” queried Maedhros, unconsciously grabbing hold of the stub where his right hand used to be.

The Slayer choked on her drink. “Since when is my sex life your business?” she coughed bitterly.

“Then it is true,” remarked a shocked Caranthir, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “We thought that Sauron had said that as a means of stirring up trouble.”

The looks of appall on the faces of the Noldor made Buffy feel the need to justify her actions.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” she found herself saying defensively.

“How could you?” queried Maedhros in a pained voice. He shook his head slowly, his face a mask of sadness. “Morgoth killed our father. He stole the Silmarils and our other treasures.” He lifted up his right arm. “I lost my hand because of him.” He narrowed his grey eyes, the mere memory of his torments inciting his ire. “Need I remind you that I was chained to the crags of Thangorodrim for two years because of him,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Because of him, not me!” she shot back, still in defensive mode.

“He is the enemy!” shouted Celegorm, jumping to his feet. “Any that consorts with the enemy shall be construed as one… ”

“Who the fuck are you to talk?” demanded the belligerent Slayer. “At least, I never spilt innocent blood.”

That was it. Buffy’s mention of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, however vague, roused the animosity of both Aegnor and Angrod at the sons of Fëanor. A heated argument broke out amongst the elves. The Green-elves were defending Buffy’s actions, while the sons of Finarfin (whose mother was Teleri by birth) verbally attacked the sons of Fëanor. Poor, old Finrod buried his face in his hands, dismally shaking his golden head at the turn of events. While Fingon and Maedhros tried to restore order, Buffy leaned back in her chair watching the exchange with a smug look on her face, happy that the focus was no longer on her.

“Why did you have to exacerbate the situation?” chastised a frowning Luthor.

“What?” replied the Slayer, feigning innocence.

The old man shook his head. His blue eyes revealed his utter disappointment in Buffy, triggering a pang of guilt within her.

“You are making me begin to doubt that you want to fix things with Maglor,” he said reproachfully.

Buffy bowed her head in shame, regretting the fact that she instigated the row within the House of Finwë.

“You cannot keep running away every time thing do not go your way, Bella. Your past has caught up to you and you must face it. Be done with it already! And let the pieces fall where they may,” sighed Luthor heavily. He turned his gaze to the ruckus taking place before him. Both Fingon and Maedhros were now restraining family members, as they were nearly coming to blows.

“Sorry,” said a moping Buffy, drooping in her seat, staring down at the amber liquid in her glass.

“ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS!” bellowed Luthor, rising to his feet. Immediately, the arguing stopped. Finrod raised his head, grateful that the Maia had intervened, bringing an end to the quarreling. “Sit down! All of you!” continued the old man, his voice so commanding that all did exactly as he had said. “The lot of you are acting like a bunch of children.” When everybody had taken their seats, the Maia stood in the gap between the chairs of the Noldor and those of the Green-elves.

“You all have demonstrated that dissension still lingers within the Houses of Finwë, and let me tell you, my good fellows, that is not a good thing. Clearly, time does not heal all wounds.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Whatever grief divides you, I ask that you put it aside, for a while. We have not gathered here to argue the past deeds of the House of Fëanor or the House of Finarfin… ”

“It’s actually the House of Finrod,” corrected Buffy. “You know, Finarfin never set foot… ”

“Not… one… more… word… Bella,” said Luthor threateningly, waving his finger in her direction. “You instigated this whole thing in an attempt to draw the attention away from you! I may be old, but I’m no fool.”

The Slayer pouted, slumping in her chair more so, her head bowed even lower. She could feel the many eyes upon her, making her self-conscious. Her face turned beet red.

The Noldor were stunned to see the influence that Luthor wielded over the Slayer. They could never imagine a Maia speaking to a Vala in such a way. None knew the old man as well as Buffy and the Green-elves did, and it was the first time that the Noldor had actually witnessed the familial bond between the two. It was apparent that Luthor played the role of father to Buffy, and that she allowed him to say and do things that the Noldor would never dream of doing, like putting the Slayer in her place.

“I now have a better understanding as to why you have avoided speaking of the events that transpired in Sumer. I deem it to be akin to adding salt to the wound,” continued the old man, turning his gaze to Buffy. That time, his tone was filled with empathy. “Nevertheless, I’m afraid that if you do not reveal those things, the animosity between the Houses will grow, and I need not tell you, that’s exactly what Morgoth wants: to divide the Houses, to stir the pot of dissension amongst the Noldor. That plays right into his plans.”

The Maia shook his head before walking over to Buffy. He crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on her knees.

“You must tell them what happened, Bella.”

The Slayer shook her head, terrified of revealing the events that had happened in the East. After seeing how easily she had stirred things up amongst the sons of Finwë, the thought of talking about what she had done made her sick to her stomach.

“They must hear it from you, not anyone else.”

She shook her head again, desperately holding back the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Luthor then whispered something in her ear.

“No,” she answered softly. “It’s too personal. I can’t.”

The old man lifted her chin, meeting her gaze. “You must. One way or the other. You have no choice.”

“I can’t Luthor. Please, don’t make me,” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

“Deal with it now, and you won’t have to deal with it again. Be done with it, Bella.” He nodded encouragingly. “Do it for the old man,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

Buffy glanced at the faces staring at her, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her dress.

“Call her,” said the Maia, standing upright. “Call her and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” sniffed the Slayer. “Vórëa. Come forth, Vórëa,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke.

A second later, the Valkyrie chieftain appeared within the circle of chairs, startling the Noldor. She fixed her gaze on her Mistress, and seeing her distress, quickly went to her side.

“My Lady, what is wrong?” she asked with great concern.

“Talk to Luthor. He’ll tell you what I need.”

Vórëa’s eyes scanned the elves within the chamber before Luthor pulled her aside, whispering instructions to her.

“As you wish, Luthor,” said the Valkyrie in a voice that all could hear. “It will take me a while, but I shall return shortly.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Vórëa then disappeared in the blink of an eye. Those not from the House of Fëanor were shocked by the Valkyrie’s ability to teleport. They had never witnessed any performing that type of magic before, not even in Valinor. They continued to stare blankly at the spot from which the woman had disappeared.

“Luthor,” started Orchal, breaking the silence. “What is it that Vórëa is doing?”

“I have sent her to Folkvang to retrieve our diaries,” replied the old man. “If Bella cannot tell her story in voice, then the Noldor shall read of her deeds, written in her own words. That way, they will see her mindset at the time when those events unfolded, they will see the motivations behind the choices she made.”

The blood drained from the Green-elf’s face. “Then why is she bringing back all our diaries, if the Noldor are only concerned with Bella’s?” he asked nervously.

“Because I deem that seeing things from different perspectives will give them a better understanding of what happened and how it affected those around Bella.”

All three Green-elf’s appeared disturbed to hear that. They, too, solemnly bowed their heads, like Buffy, uncomfortable that their deepest darkest secrets would soon be exposed to the Noldo Lords.

Thranduil summed it up best with the one word he uttered, “Damn!”

The tension in the room grew with the silence. Luthor paced back and forth across the chamber, chewing on his bottom lip, while the others remained quiet, anxious for the Valkyrie to return. After witnessing not only Buffy’s discomfort, but her people’s as well, the Noldor were most eager to read the books that Vórëa was retrieving. They were anxious to discover the long kept secrets of those that had gone off to war in the East.

A half an hour later, Vórëa returned with the rest of the Valkyrie chieftains, each carrying three large crates, one stacked upon the other.

“My Eru, Luthor, did you have my Valkyries bring everything from the library?” asked the Slayer in a stunned voice.

“These only contain your diaries, Maranwë,” announced Feawë, carefully placing her boxes on the floor. “We have to go back and collect the rest.”

“My diaries,” repeated the Slayer, getting to her feet. She placed her empty glass on the table and walked over to the nearest crate. She opened the box and gasped. “Luthor!” she called, as she pulled out a red volume from the neatly stacked books inside.

“What is it, Bella?”

Buffy opened the journal, flipping through the pages. “These are from my personal library,” she whispered fretfully to the Maia. “These are not meant to be read by any save me and my maidens.”

“Are these not the texts that contain the true tales in their unaltered original form?” queried the old man in a hushed voice.

“Luthor, these contain… very intimate details that are not meant to be read by… ” Her words faltered, as she glanced over at the Noldor, who were scrutinizing her every move. “They’re too explicit in content to be read by… any one, much less… family.”

“Yet these books hold the truth, and that is what this council is all about - the Noldor learning the truth… ”

“The Noldor do not need to read about my… sexcapades in the East!” she declared loudly, her temper flaring.

“Perhaps if you had given thought to that before you committed those… sexcapades, it wouldn’t be an issue right now.” Luthor placed a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t listen to me then, and look what happened. Heed my words this time, Bella: let those from the House of Finwë read your journals. They’re not as bad as you think…”

“Not as bad as I think,” she repeated, her tone now desperate. “I’m trying to save my marriage here, Luthor. How in Eru’s name is everyone reading my innermost thoughts gonna fix anything? These contain things of a very personal and intimate nature, not meant to be seen by any. It’s a written account for me, for me, Luthor, not the Lords of Finwë.”

“It’s a living history, Bella,” he said taking the book from her hand. “You do not realize the significance of these diaries of yours just yet. This book, along with the others, shows your motivation behind every battle, behind every decision you ever made… ”

“But…” she said in an attempt to counter the Maia’s claims.

“These are a tool that the Noldor can learn from,” he replied, waving the journal in his hand. “You’ve shown some undesirable traits, make no mistake about that. However, you have also done many great things whilst in Mesopotamia. None can deny that.

“If, by sharing these journals with others, you could save just one soul, one from the line of Finwë perhaps, from plunging into the same pitfalls, would it not be worth it?” He never gave Buffy the chance to respond, but continued to do his best to convince her that he was right.

“Maglor has always been honest with you, even when it grieved him to do so. Do not underestimate the love he has for you. He has asked that his kinfolk help him get through this ordeal. By being honest and forthcoming, you demonstrate your love and respect, not only for your husband, but for his family as well. Just let them read the diaries, Bella. Get it out in the open, and be done with it. I promise, as a result, the burden of keeping all those secrets will finally lift from your shoulders.”

Buffy turned, her eyes scanning the fair elvish faces of those waiting with nervous anticipation to hear her response. Two of the Valkyries had just returned, each carrying a crate of journals belonging to the others in the room. Her jaw dropped. Only two crates contained the diaries from her Household, while thirty-nine contained her records. That surely didn’t seem fair. Instead of arguing, the Slayer went over to the table, picked up a half-empty bottle of wine and chugged it.

While Buffy was guzzling her wine, a troubled Orchal grabbed Luthor and pulled him out of earshot of the elves and Valkyries. He whispered in the old man’s ear. When he had finished speaking, Luthor stared at the Green-elf, stunned by what he had heard. He then nodded. Immediately, Orchal ran to the last two crates that were brought in, digging out his own personal diaries.

The Slayer belched after she had emptied the container. “What the hell is he doing?” she asked, displeased to see Orchal removing his green journals from the crates.

“Orchal’s diaries won’t be needed after all,” answered the old man.

The Green-elf lifted his head, holding several books in his arms. “I’ve sided with Bella on everything,” he announced to the others. “Any decision that she made, for good or for ill, I supported. That’s all any need to know.”

“That’s bullshit!” said Buffy, putting the empty bottle down, and grabbing another. “He was a main player in my regime. He should have to suffer the same embarrassment as me!” She started swigging from the other bottle.

“Just leave it alone, Bella,” said Luthor, his voice full of warning.

“Yeah, well,” she started, feeling the effects of the alcohol. She turned her gaze to the Noldor. “Orchal participated in the orgies too! Just remember that!”

As Orchal fled from the chamber carrying his books, Curufin turned to Maedhros and asked, “What are orgies?”

The eldest son of Fëanor shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“Well then,” said Buffy, smacking her lips. “Who wants to get drunk with me? Hmm.”

“Count me in,” said Thranduil.

“Me too,” answered Nestor.

The Green-elves leapt from their seat, each grabbing a couple of bottles of wine. Together with Buffy, they left the chamber.

Luthor dismissed the Valkyries before explaining to the Noldor the numerical system of the diaries. The Lords of Finwë were nearly salivating to read the books. The old man made the men promise that they could not share the information contained within them with any outside of their line. He vowed to rip their tongues out if word spread throughout Beleriand. After the Noldor agreed, they carefully used the time-chart that the Valkyries had brought as a guide to determine which volume they wished to read first. With over four thousand books packed into the crates, it would end up taking a few years for the elves to read them all.


Chapter 79 - STORYTELLER, PART 2

Maedhros wandered the halls of Nargothrond, checking the various rooms as he passed, in search of the Slayer. He knew that she was still reeling from the shock of Maglor’s reaction to his reading of her diaries. The eldest son of Fëanor felt that his brother had overreacted and had been overly harsh with his wife. The copper-headed Noldo tried his best to convince his younger brother that he and Buffy should start over with a clean slate, but Maglor, in a demonstration of his stubborn side, would hear none of it. While all lay sleeping in their beds, he fled the Halls of Finrod during the night for his own home at the Gap.

The Lord of Himring’s search proved futile. He decided that the Slayer did not want to be found, that she wanted to be alone. His heart ached for her, knowing that her loneliness could cause her to plummet into the pits of despair. Someone needed to save her before that happened, and Maedhros had decided that he was the one to do so.

A few days later, he finally found Buffy, sitting on the embankment overlooking the river, far from the doors of Nargothrond. She strummed the strings of a harp, producing music that was slow and melodic to his elvish ears. He remained transfixed to the spot as her hair shimmered in the silver light of the moon, captivating the Noldo. She then began to sing a song unfamiliar to him:

“Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
And wouldn’t you love to love her?
Takes to the sky like a bird in flight
And who will be her lover?

All your life you’ve never seen a woman
Taken by the wind.
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
Will you ever win?

She is like a cat in the dark
And then she is the darkness.
She rules her life like a fine skylark
And when the sky is starless… ” *

Buffy stopped, sensing that she was no longer alone. She turned, and seeing Maedhros standing there, put the harp aside.

“There’s no need to stop on my account,” said the Noldo, closing the gap between himself and the Slayer with only a couple of strides.

“It’s okay,” she replied, her voice distant.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the spot beside her.

She nodded in reply.

Maedhros sat down next to her. “Was that a psalm of Ishtar you were singing?”

“No,” she answered with a snicker. “Just a song.”

“It sounds like it was written about you.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. “Maglor, at times, can be rather stubborn. I deem that to be a quality he inherited from our father… ”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied dismally. “He’s gone. My marriage is over. I should’ve known.” She slowly shook her head. “I always knew this day would come.” Buffy turned her gaze to the elf. “I just thought it would be later.”

“You knew that Maglor would leave you?” questioned the stunned Noldo.

“We all have the gift of foresight,” she answered, turning her gaze back to the swift moving stream below. “We weren’t meant to be together, you see. At least, not permanently.”

“Would it be wrong of me to say that I think it’s for the best?” queried Maedhros softly, watching the Slayer from out of the corner of his eye. “I do not think he’s your type - based on what I read in your diaries. You seem to have a fondness for warriors, men skilled in battle… ”

“And you don’t think Káno’s a great warrior?” she asked, facing the copper-haired elf.

“He certainly does not possess the abilities that I have,” he answered, flashing a quick smile. The Noldo fixed his grey eyes on her. “Can I ask you something?”

“I guess.”

“Why him and not me? Why not love me?”

Buffy appeared neither surprised nor shocked by his words. In fact, she showed no emotion whatsoever, but stared deeply into Maedhros’ eyes.

“I know you’re not of elven-kind, and that your grief will never cause you to fade like the Eldar,” he continued. “But your loneliness, your pain, it cries out to me. I can mend your broken heart, Bella.” He placed his hand on her cheek, gently caressing her soft skin with his fingertip. The Slayer closed her eyes, drinking in his touch. “It was supposed to be me, not Maglor. You were supposed to love me.”

Buffy opened her eyes. “I know,” she whispered in reply. “I made a mistake.”

Maedhros drew himself closer to her. “Do you love me, Luinil? Do you love me as I love you?”

Her breathing came in rasps, as her eyes searched his. “Yes, yes I do.”

The Lord of Himring’s eyes fell to her lips. How he longed to kiss them. He had fought his feelings for her for so long, but now that things were over between Buffy and Maglor, he found himself unable to restrain his desire for her.

Maedhros softly kissed her lips. She kissed him back! Their kiss deepened, awakening the passion that they had hidden for all those years.

“Take me, Russandol,” Buffy moaned, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. “Take me here and now.”

The Noldo was only too happy to oblige, as he gently laid her on the ground, his hands eagerly exploring her body…

Maedhros shot up in bed, panting, his face glistening with sweat. The dim light of the candle beside his bed burned low in the otherwise darkened chamber. The diary that he had been reading fell to the floor with a dull thud. He ran his fingers through his long hair, greatly disturbed by the dream he had just had. Then he felt it. The aching in his loins that screamed for release.

What new devilry is this? he thought to himself. The Noldo tried to relax, to catch his breath. He leaned against the pillows, attempting to calm his bodily desire, to put the Slayer out of his mind. Those damned journals! Why do Luinil’s words entice me so? Closing his eyes, he saw her face, her naked body straddling his, her mouth on his, kissing him hungrily. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind; the throbbing in his loins was proof of that. No greater doom could find me than coveting my brother’s wife. Having access to the Slayer only in his dreams, he was left to his own devices to relieve his body’s longing…



As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Buffy began to seriously doubt the wisdom of Luthor, and her own judgment. She found herself regretting her decision to allow the sons of Finwë to read her innermost thoughts. The more time she spent thinking about the actual content of her diaries, the more she thought that she had made one of the biggest mistakes of her life. Who in their right mind would allow their husband and his kinfolk to read about their sexual exploits, in graphic detail no less, in an attempt to save their marriage? It was asinine! And unfortunately, it had taken nearly a year before the Slayer would realize that.

Adding to her misery was the fact that not once, in the three hundred and forty-six days since she had arrived at Nargothrond, had she seen Maglor. Not once! Not at meal times, nor in the labyrinth of passageways that ran throughout Finrod’s hidden fortress. Olofin had assured her that his father was indeed present, but had confined himself to his chamber, voraciously reading her diaries from the first volume on.

Yet time continued to roll by, sometimes rather slowly, other times quite swiftly. The more time that passed without her seeing her beloved, the more heartbroken Buffy became. When twenty-four months had passed, she began to distance herself from her closest friends, preferring to wallow in a solitude of self-pity. Often, she was seen wandering sadly down the passageways, rarely smiling to those that greeted her in passing. It seemed rather obvious to the Noldor that there were problems with the Slayer’s marriage, yet none knew the reason why.

It was during one of those strolls that she found herself stopping outside the door of Bëor’s old room. She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sound. Finding all silent, she turned the knob, only to discover that it had been locked. She glanced up and down the corridor, and finding it deserted, turned the knob until a cracking noise sounded, indicating that she had broken the lock. The Slayer then quietly slipped inside the pitch-black chamber, closing the door behind her.

After lighting several candles, Buffy looked around the room, surprised that Finrod had kept Bëor’s sleeping quarters exactly as it had been at the time of the Adan’s death. The charcoal circle that her lover had drawn on the floor was still faintly visible, the items for the summoning spell now neatly arranged on the tabletop in the corner.

The Slayer walked over to the wardrobe and threw open the doors. Her eyes scanned the contents before she pulled out a green tunic that Bëor had favored during the end of his mortal life. She placed the garment to her nose, inhaling deeply. Even after all those years, she could still smell the Adan’s heavenly scent. Oh, how she missed him. Clutching the article in her arms, she curled up on the couch, remembering brighter days in the company of her mortal lover. Buffy buried her face in the cloth, wishing that the Adan was there to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay.

Her internal struggles worsened when she found, tucked away in one of his dresser drawers, the numerous letters she had written Bëor during her stay in Lindórinand long ago. Re-reading them again stirred her longing to see her lover again. She recalled those days vividly, remembering how his words had mesmerized her, how he had swept her off her feet with his poetry and proclamations of love.

No matter how much she pushed him away, how many leagues or dimensions separated them, he remained a constant in her thoughts. She loved him; there was no questioning that, yet she also loved Maglor. Buffy felt that that was her doom, her curse: loving two men, so profoundly, at the same time. She gave thought to inviting the Adan to come back to Sussrúmnir, to his home in Folkvang, but she felt that would only make her situation worse with Maglor. No, she’d have to keep her avowal and wait until the Curse had claimed her husband, something that she had no power to prevent.

By the time that autumn of Yr 413 had arrived, the Slayer had spoken with nearly all those that had read her journals. She was taken aback by the reaction of the C-brothers. They seemed to have a newfound respect for her.

“I admire that you had the gumption to seize what your heart desired,” Caranthir had told her. “You built an empire worthy of praise and freed the Second-born from the thralldom of the Evil Ones. I commend you, dear Muinthel. In fact, my brothers and I look at you with an even greater esteem than before. We are proud that you are a part of the House of Finwë.”

Little did Buffy know at the time, that her actions in the East, no matter how deplorable, would heavily influence not only the C-brothers, but also Maglor and Maedhros in future days. And that the sons of Fëanor would justify their evil deeds, as the Slayer had done in Mesopotamia, causing her great sorrow.

As winter began to wane in Yr 414, Maglor had finally finished reading all the diaries brought from Folkvang and had sent word to his wife that he wanted to meet with her in private. After reading all the things that she had kept from him, the Noldo did not want to have their initial conversation in the presence of his kinfolk, preferring to speak with her one-on-one.

Olofin accompanied his mother to his father’s chamber. While walking down the many passageways and stairways, Buffy’s legs felt like lead, her heart pounded frantically in her chest with nervous anticipation. She didn’t know what to expect.

When they reached their destination, the half-elf knocked on the door, a door that the Slayer had passed on numerous occasions, unaware that her husband had been on the other side. A few moments later, Maglor opened the door. Olofin nodded curtly to his father and gave his mother a reassuring smile before taking off down the corridor.

Buffy watched as her son disappeared around the corner. She then turned her attention to Maglor as he opened the door wider, motioning her inside. She entered. Her eyes scanned the rather messy room as she heard the door close behind her. Her stomach twisted into knots when she saw many of her journals scattered about the room, some piled on various pieces of furniture, others strewn across the floor. Ribbons, in various colors, marked certain pages in the books, increasing the Slayer’s discomfort.

“Let me clean this up real quick,” Maglor said, grabbing scraps of parchment and books from one of the chairs, freeing up a place for her to sit. Apparently, her beloved had been taking notes, as evidenced by the stack of parchment written in the Noldo’s handwriting.

“Thanks.” Buffy took a seat, the contents of her stomach churning uncomfortably.

Maglor took his place on the couch between piles of notes and journals. He locked eyes with her, holding her gaze for several minutes before asking, “How are you doing?”

“Honestly?” she queried, nervously licking her lips.

The Noldo nodded.

“I feel like I’m waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall.”

“There’s no need to feel that way.”

“Really?” she asked doubtfully. Her eyes scanned the scores of diaries within the chamber. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“We’re here to talk, Bella. That’s all.” He picked up her blue journal, number 163. “I’ve read all the diaries brought from Folkvang,” he continued, tracing with his fingertip the gold cross embossed on the cover. “I noticed that there are still a number of them missing, that not all were brought here.” Maglor lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes once again.

“Luthor decided which diaries to bring back, not me,” she answered, eyeing the volume in his hand with trepidation. “If I had my way, none of them would’ve been brought here. I now know that that was a mistake on my part. These were not meant to be read by any, save me and my Valkyrie chieftains,” answered Buffy, gesturing to the journals that littered the place.

“I must say, that I was not expecting the content to be so… ” Maglor paused, searching for the right word.

“Graphic?” suggested the Slayer nervously.

“Yes, graphic,” he answered uneasily, before clearing his throat. “I cannot tell you how many times that I’ve wept reading these,” continued her husband, shifting his eyes back to the book in his hand. “I felt like… I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest, that you gave no consideration to me when you did… those things with all those mortal men… ”

“Káno,” she interrupted. “Let me explain. I… ”

“There’s no need, Luinil,” answered Maglor, holding up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “Your diaries explain everything. I’ve read them. I know what you were thinking when you did the things you did. You may feel the need to justify your actions, but your written words come through loud and clear. There is nothing that you can say… ”

“I love you, Káno!” Buffy interjected. “I never stopped loving you.” She could feel her throat burning, the tears welling in her eyes. She was desperate to keep it together, to not fall apart during their conversation. The room fell silent for a few moments, as the Slayer turned her watering eyes to the ceiling, which sparkled like numerous stars in the candlelight.

“I believe you,” he answered softly, before grabbing one of the pieces of parchment. “You love me, yet you violated our wedding vows with,” Maglor glanced at his notes, “eight hundred and thirty-eight different men!” His tone revealed both his shock and disgust.

Buffy’s face reddened when she heard aloud the actual number of lovers which she had bedded. Was it really that many? Yes. Unfortunately, she had kept track of them all… for posterity’s sake.

“You took husbands on their wedding night,” he continued, still looking at his sprawled writings. “You bedded them before their wives did.” He lifted his troubled eyes, looking at his wife, who continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Why would you do that?”

Buffy felt her nose beginning to run. Sniffing, she shifted her gaze to her husband and replied, “Because I could.”

Maglor snorted in response. “Yes, I suppose that the Supreme God of the East could do as she wanted,” he said with a derisive laugh. “It’s amusing, you know. I was so concerned that you and Marto would get together during your time away, that he would find his way into your bed once again. I even had you promise me that you wouldn’t rekindle your romance with the Maia before you had left… and he’s the only one you didn’t bed! Is that irony or what?”

The Slayer broke eye contact, turning her gaze to her lap. She ran her hands along the soft leather material of her breeches, feeling deeply ashamed.

“Surprisingly,” Maglor began again, “I do not wholly blame you for the events that transpired.”

A stunned Buffy looked up at her husband, her mouth agape. She couldn’t believe the words that just came out of the Noldo’s mouth.

“After reading the diaries of Luthor and Olofin, I deem that they are correct in their assessment that the lands in the East are cursed, that the evil that has lurked there for millennia somehow had the ability to corrupt those in power.”

“I believe that too,” agreed the Slayer.

“Yet, that evil did not affect Luthor or Olofin as it did you and your most loyal followers,” he added, causing the glimmer of hope in Buffy’s eyes to fade with his pronouncement. “You shunned our son, sending him far away when he disagreed with you. Same thing with Luthor… Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, that your distancing him from yourself prevented him from falling from grace. I don’t know. I find these journals disturbing… and sad.

“The desperation that you felt, your turning to Morgoth in your hour of need, is understandable, although that hurts me deeply,” he continued, his grey eyes glistening with tears. “How am I supposed to feel about that? He is a murderer, a thief, the greatest enemy of all that dwell in Arda, yet, there is no doubt in my mind that he loves you, that he will do anything in his power to get you back. I cannot help but think that you and he are somehow bonded together, and I deem that is not a good thing. I do not understand why the Valar chose to place the Veil of Concealment upon you, but my heart tells me that it has something to do with your past with Morgoth. You and he are unlike those in the West, you’re both capable of doing great evil, which you both have done, together and separately. Eru only knows what would happen if you were to reunite again, if you fell under his thrall… ”

“That won’t happen,” said Buffy with conviction, narrowing her eyes at her husband. “I won’t let it happen.”

Maglor leaned back, sighing heavily. He turned his gaze to the ceiling before asking, “What am I supposed to do, Luinil? What am I supposed to do?”

The Slayer wasn’t sure if she should answer that question. Instead, she stared at her husband, nervously twirling a lock of her golden hair.

“I have to wonder if this is all part of the Curse, the Doom of Mandos,” he continued in a mere whisper. “Perhaps the Valar deem it just that the one woman that I love will never be wholly mine.” He snickered. “Even Eru has sent you Sargon to ease your loneliness after I am… ” His words faltered. The room fell silent.

“I’m sorry, Káno,” started Buffy in an attempt to justify her actions. “I know that words aren’t good enough. But I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. I just… I just lost my mind while I was gone. Everything I had always wanted, I got. I’ve always been jealous of my brethren, of the love that you elves have for them. You all never showed me that kind of love and reverence when you came back to Middle-earth. You all prayed to them! Even after they cursed you all - you still revere them, hoping they’ll love you as they once did. What about me? Why didn’t anyone look to me? I’m here! I’m the one fighting evil, but no one seems to care… The mortals are the only ones that showed me that love, that respect… and yes, I rewarded them richly for doing so. I may be a Vala, but I’m not perfect. None of us are. But we learn from our mistakes, we pick up the pieces and move on… or at least, try to.

“I don’t want that kind of power again. I can’t handle it. I’m woman enough to admit that, that that power was too much for me. I just want us to be like we were before… When I came back, we picked up where we had left off. Our love blossomed once more. Don’t throw that away, Káno. I beg of you! Don’t throw it away.”

Maglor faced his wife. She looked imploringly at him with tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip trembling.

“My brothers’ feel that I should give you another chance, that I should overlook the sins you have committed in the East. In the end, you hurt yourself more than any other,” he revealed solemnly. “Who am I to pass judgment on anyone? I, Kanafinwë Makalaurë, son of Curufinwë Fëanáro, who had sworn the dreaded Oath in Tirion, who participated wholeheartedly in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, who deserted my uncle and his people at Helcaraxë by burning the ships at Losgar… I cannot help but think that I’ve committed greater sins than you, Bella. I am truly remorseful of the atrocities I have committed in my past. I cannot undo what has been done… and in spite of that, you loved me. You did not turn away from me when you learned of the misdeeds of me and my people. You embraced us, you loved us. It would be unfair of me to not do the same for you.”

“What are you saying?” queried Buffy, a look of confusion on her fair face.

“I’m saying that you deserve a second chance, that we deserve another chance,” he replied, giving his wife a quick smile. “We shall put the past behind us, and start anew, although there are still some things that we still need to work out.”

Buffy leapt from her seat, ran to her husband, and threw her arms around the Noldo’s neck, grateful that their estrangement had finally come to an end. They spent the greater part of the day talking about various things that had been recorded in her diaries. It was Maglor that pointed out that Morgoth seemed to be the culprit behind every disastrous situation in her life (save the antics of Daehir, Úrion, and Marduk). He reminded her that Sauron was the one responsible for prompting her to take action in the East, and that perhaps the evil Maia and his Master knew beforehand what would befall the Slayer if she made that journey. Realizing that for the first time angered Buffy even more. It made her more determined to bring Morgoth down, if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

With peace restored to her Household once again, Buffy summoned the Valkyrie chieftains, and had them take all of her diaries back. A few days later, she, Maglor, the Green-elves along with Luthor, and the sons of Fëanor left Nargothrond for Ossir. After all the emotional turmoil the Slayer had been through, she needed to return to the beautiful woods of her homeland to recuperate, before journeying to the north…

*lyrics by Stevie Nicks


Chapter 80 - SMASHED

Buffy delivered a roundhouse kick to Luthor, sending the old man flying a good twenty feet, before he came crashing down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

“For the love of Eru, Bella,” he moaned as he lay on the ground rubbing his backside. “Not so hard!”

“Sorry,” she winced, walking over to the Maia and offering him a hand.

“Let’s rest a while,” suggested an out of breath Luthor, slowly shifting upright with a groan. “I’m not some young, buff elf, you know.”

“Sorry,” she apologized again, now offering the Maia her water skin. She plopped down next to him, eager to resume her training. Crossing her outstretched legs, she leaned back on her propped up arms, sighing heavily as she looked across the crystal-clear waters of Lake Helevorn.

The old man took a long drink, studying the Slayer over the container. “I cannot help but notice that you’ve been devoting most of your time to working out. Why is that?” he asked after taking a swig.

The Slayer shrugged her shoulders in reply.

“Come, now, you can tell me,” prodded Luthor.

She fixed her eyes on him. “Let’s just say that I’ve got a lot of built-up sexual tension. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.” She moaned, collapsing backwards to the ground. “Káno doesn’t find me desirable any more, Luthor. We’ve only had sex twice in forty years! Twice! In forty years!” She placed her hands on her face, covering her eyes. “What’s wrong with me? Am I not sexy any more?”

The Maia shifted uncomfortably. “Do you not have any… women that you can discuss such things with?”

“No!” she answered, slightly annoyed by his question.

“What about Vórëa or Rainë?” he suggested hopefully. “Surely, they can commiserate with you.”

“Pfft!” sounded Buffy, dropping her hands to her side. “They’re getting some lovin’ in Folkvang! The whores!” she pouted, slightly jealous of her Valkyrie chieftains.

“Can you not speak to them about your, er, dilemma?”

She turned her head, facing the old man. “Do you know what they tell me?” He reluctantly shook his head. “They say that all I have to do is go to Tingilindë, and men will swarm me like bees to honey.” She moaned again. “I’m trying to be monogamous, Luthor, really I am, but there’s only so much a poor girl can take.” She shifted to a sitting position, scrutinizing her companion. “How do you do it, remain celibate, that is?”

“Must we have this conversation?” asked the old man, his gaze turning from Buffy to the group of men approaching. His face was beginning to flush beneath his enormous amounts of facial hair.

“I come to you for your advice and now you’re gonna shun me?” said the Slayer in mocked disgust. “What happened to the whole, ‘if you hearken my counsel, things would go differently’?” she said mimicking the old man’s voice. “I’m going through a crisis, Luthor. If I don’t figure this out, I’m afraid of what I might do!”

“Hail, Bella,” greeted Gúrvel. “Luthor.” The Elf Lord acknowledged the old man with a nod of his head. “We couldn’t help but notice that Luthor is struggling in his efforts to spar with you,” he continued amusedly. The dozen or so men that had accompanied the Captain of Thargelion chuckled along with their Lord. “We thought that we would be more fitting opponents for you to train with.”

“Besides,” added Handon, another great warrior in his own right, “we could use the practice.”

While the men stood before her, Buffy averted her eyes, mumbling a prayer under her breath. The only words the others heard were, “… and deliver me from temptation… ”

“My Lady?” said Gúrvel, confused by the only audible words that came from the Slayer’s mouth.

Buffy whimpered.

“I deem that Bella’s had enough for today, my good men. Perhaps another time,” said Luthor, realizing that his Bella was sincerely struggling with her efforts to remain faithful to her husband.

“Oh, alright then,” answered the Captain disappointedly. “Perhaps next time.”

The men started back towards the town beside the lake, the Slayer keenly watching them as they went.

“Dear lord, Bella,” said the old man, stunned by Buffy’s ogling of the elves. “Snap out of it!” He gave her a good slap across the face, hoping that that would knock some sense into her.

The stinging of her cheek brought tears to her eyes. “See, Luthor,” she said miserably. “Now, I’m checking out the elves’ asses! I never do that. They’re off limits.”

“Why is that?” asked the Maia, slightly bewildered. “I’ve always wondered why you never… shared your love with the First-born of Ilúvatar. You never wrote about that in your diaries.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, rubbing her reddening cheek. “They’re immortal. I made it a rule, back in the day, to never have sex with the immortal folk, if I could help it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they’re immortal!” she answered with a roll of her eyes. “Mortals make perfect lovers. If they turn out to be disappointing, then I can avoid them until they die. If they’re good, well then, I can screw ’em until I tire of them.” She moaned. “Listen to me! I sound like Inanna Ishtar,” she continued, rising to her feet. “I thought I had killed my alter ego long ago.”

“Where are you going?” asked the old man, deeply concerned.

“I’m gonna take an ice cold bath,” she sighed. “Stupid hormones,” she mumbled, walking back to the dwelling where she and her family were staying.

Over the years, Buffy had done everything she could think of to entice her husband, but to no avail. At first, she thought that he was still mourning the death of their unborn child, and that that deterred him from wanting to be with her, intimately. But Maglor had told her that he had come to terms with the loss, and had accepted the fact that he was destined to father only one child.

Then, she thought a change of scenery might do the trick, so their train left Tol Galen for the fair city of Lindon. It was there that she had her only success in the art of seduction, scoring twice. But then, the Noldo reverted to his lack of interest in her. Thinking once again, that a change in scenery would help, they left the city in the trees and stayed with Amrod and Amras at Ereb Amon for many years, despite the fact that that place gave the Slayer the willies. (She had never forgotten the slaughter of Denethor and the Green-elves that had taken place upon that hill, centuries before, and didn’t like the feel of the land).

When she failed to seduce her husband there, they continued their trek north, stopping at Estolad to visit with the mortals, which turned out to be not such a good idea. Most of the Hildor had never seen Buffy, although they were familiar with the lore concerning her. Having scores of men leering at her, trying to woo her in front of her husband, only made things worse. Upon departing Estolad, they ended up at Caranthir’s land, where they had remained for the past seven years. And still, the Slayer had no luck at winning the affections of her husband, her failure only heightening her ever-growing sexual frustration to insurmountable levels.

It would later be learned that Morgoth was behind the strife in Buffy’s marriage. He was desperate to get her back and had resorted to sending visions to Maglor of his wife copulating with her mortal lovers in the East. That was the reason behind the Noldo’s standoffish behavior toward the Slayer. Every time he tried to demonstrate his love for her, he saw her with other men, which disturbed him greatly, and caused his desire to immediately diminish. The Dark Lord had hoped that his sending of the visions would be enough for the son of Fëanor to end his marriage to the Valië. In spite of that, Morgoth kept an ever-watchful eye on Maglor’s Gap, waiting with trepidation, to see whether or not his Melisse would return to the lands of the Noldo.

In the end, the only thing that Buffy had accomplished during their journeys across southern Beleriand was the strengthening of her relationship with the C-brothers. Over the years, they had rallied around her, offering her much love and support during Maglor’s period of aloofness towards her. In the past, the brothers had been somewhat arrogant towards others outside their House, including Buffy. Yet they seemed to have had a change of heart since the reading of her diaries. They even went as far as to chastise Maglor on her behalf, telling him that he was acting like an ‘ass’ and that she didn’t deserve his maltreatment. Yes, the Slayer had come to love the C-brothers greatly, and enjoyed the time that they spent together immensely.



When the cold winds started whipping from the north a few weeks later, Maglor decided that it was time to end their ‘holiday’ and return to the Gap. The trip was awful! The caravan had to endure torrential downpours on their journey, which made everyone miserable and gloomy, just like the weather.

Once they were home, the tension between Buffy and Maglor escalated, nearing what she thought was the breaking point. Their constant bickering upset those in their respective Households, especially Olofin and Thranduil. She had suggested that if her husband no longer wanted her, then perhaps they should divorce, and go their separate ways. The Noldo was appalled that she’d suggest such a thing, declaring that he needed only a bit more time to work things out.

“Time is ever our enemy,” Buffy said angrily, tired of his same old song and dance. “We’ve already lost four decades. There’s not much time left!”

As she stomped across the chamber, Maglor yelled, “We’re immortal, Luinil, time is all we have!”

The Slayer stopped dead in her tracks, and faced her husband. “Did you not read the diaries? Did you not read what Ilúvatar had said? You don’t have that much time, Káno. We don’t have that much time. If you want to keep having that woe-is-me attitude, then you’re gonna find yourself alone, ‘cause no one else wants to join in your pity-party. I’ve done everything I could to show you that I’m sorry, but you just don’t seem to give a shit.”

She took a deep breath and calmly added, “Sometimes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe that’s what you need from me - time away to see if you really want to be with me. Because right now, you don’t. And you have no idea what that’s doing to me. Actions speak louder than words, lover, and I’m doing my part. It’s time that you do yours.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

Now, Buffy didn’t know whether the Allfather had heard her outburst or not, but something happened that night that set in motion things that she had not foreseen. That night, when she was summoned to Sussrúmnir, unbeknownst to the Slayer, she did not immediately return home after pronouncing her judgments as she had before. Whist all of Folkvang lay in perpetual daytime, giving her the illusion that time had stopped (for her benefit, as Sargon would later reveal), it was actually moving quite swiftly in Middle-earth. She did not realize that her mortal lover had conspired with her Valkyrie chieftains in her absence, to keep Buffy out of Beleriand for as long as possible.

When she had finished deciding which of the mortals slain in battle would remain in her Blessed Realm, her maidens begged her to stay at Sussrúmnir, knowing that being there would end the Slayer’s lousy mood. Thinking that time would be moving as it ever did, that she’d only be gone for two-seconds, Buffy agreed, and proceeded to get smashed with her favorite Valkyries.

When the alcohol had taken effect, the women sang along with Antamo, dancing throughout the halls of Sussrúmnir in their drunken state. The inhabitants of Folkvang were joyful, knowing that their Mistress had decided to prolong her stay in her kingdom, and many took to the streets paved of gold, celebrating her return. The doors of the castle were thrown open, and both mortals and Maiar were invited to join the revelry inside the sacred Halls.

Buffy had no idea that her maidens were trying to tempt her to take another mortal lover, to not only ease her troubled heart but also sate her bodily desires. They understood that their Mistress’ ego had been hit hard by Maglor’s lack of interest in her, and that she had felt that she was no longer desirable to the opposite sex. The Valkyries wanted to show the Slayer that that was not the case. The women garbed her in the softest of silks, red in color. The outfit, which consisted of a strip of red cloth that barely covered her breasts and a very short skirt, left not much to the imagination. The women then adorned Buffy’s body with gold and jewels, dressing her as scantily as they had done back in the days of Sumer.

The men swooned over the Slayer, reaffirming that she was still beautiful and alluring and restoring her self-confidence. She cavorted with the mortals, but invited none to her lapis lazuli bed on the thirteenth floor. She found their attempts at seduction amusing more than anything else.

The merry-making went on for weeks, nonstop. Yet to Buffy, it seemed as if they were still enjoying day one of her visit. Her being intoxicated didn’t help. It caused her to lose all sense of time. Besides, the sun was still up, which only added to the illusion, created by Sargon and the Valkyries, that the day had not yet ended.

Buffy was so wrapped up in the adulation of the men folk that it took her a while before she realized that Sargon was conspicuously absent from the festivities, making her suspicious, in spite of her inebriated state. While the others partook in food, drink and sex, the Slayer staggered to her throne in her Hall of Judgment and summoned for the Adan.

When her lover arrived, escorted by Fulla, she fixed her bloodshot eyes on his handsome form, instantly perceiving that something was amiss.

Following protocol, Sargon stopped at the bottom of the dais, and fell to one knee. “Hail, my Lady,” he said in greeting. “It is with great joy that I finally get to see you after all these years.”

“Rise, Prince of Folkvang,” she ordered, carefully scrutinizing her lover, who appeared quite tense. “Why is it that the doors of Sussrúmnir have been opened to all that dwell in my realm, yet you, of all people, chose not to attend my… party?”

“Forgive me, Luinil,” he answered, “but I’ve been under the impression that you did not wish to see me. You have made that clear in the past, have you not?”

Buffy smiled, chuckling under her breath. “I’m a woman. I can change my mind like that,” she replied with a snap of her fingers.

Sargon laughed. “Then it is folly that I did not come sooner.”

“What are you up to, Sharru-kin?” she queried, rising unsteadily to her feet.

Her lover quickly dashed up the steps, fearing that the Slayer was about to fall. He slid his hands around her waist, steadying her. The heavy smell of spirits on her breath overwhelmed him.

“You’re drunk.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” she said with a chortle. Buffy placed her hands on Sargon’s chest in order to keep a few inches of distance between them.

Just then, the Valkyrie chieftains came running into the chamber, a few of them, still dressing.

“It was his idea, Maranwë,” panted Feawë, coming to a halt at the bottom of the dais. “You had commanded us to follow Sargon’s orders in your absence… ”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Buffy asked the Valkyrie before turning her eyes back to the Adan. “What’s going on, Sharru-kin?”

Sargon broke eye contact, hanging his head low.

“What the hell did you do?” she asked, her heart beginning to race. She gently lifted his stubbly chin with her hand, anxious to hear her lover’s response. “Sargon?”

“We were ordered to detain you, Maranwë,” revealed Rainë, placing a foot on the bottom-most step of the dais. “We’ve brought time to a standstill in Folkvang, so that you could not tell that time is moving as it normally does in Middle-earth.”

“WHAT?” shouted the Slayer, her face reddening from her ire.

“I had to,” said a teary-eyed Sargon. “Bad things are about to happen, war is… ”

Buffy raised her hand, stopping the Adan. “Middle-earth is no longer your concern, Etana,” she said between clenched teeth, trembling with rage.

Sargon’s face paled at hearing his lover call him by his birth name. She hadn’t called him that in ages.

“You have defied Ilúvatar’s orders by keeping me here longer than two-seconds,” she continued in that same bitter tone. “Turn… back… time… NOW!”

The Adan cringed when she barked at him, partially from being on the receiving end of her temper, and partially from the sourness of her breath. He regained his composure a moment later, straightening to his full height. “I will not,” he said defiantly.

The Slayer’s face contorted in her anger. “Is that so?” she asked, her nostrils flaring like a wild bull. “Take him to the dungeons!” she yelled to her maidens. Two Valkyries quickly came up the steps, grabbing the Adan. “Perhaps Failo can make you see reason.” She motioned to her women. “Get him out of my sight.”

As Rainë and Laurië dragged the Adan away, Sargon loudly proclaimed his love for Buffy.

“You are hereby stripped of your princely title,” she shouted. “You have fallen from my favor, Etana. No place is there for you in my heart.” The Slayer angrily plopped down on her canopied throne, gripping the arms of her chair tightly. “Fulla! Bring me my wine.” Buffy locked her wrathful gaze on the remaining chieftains. “You have all fucked me over,” she continued, her chest heaving from her fury. “From this day foreword, you do only as I command! If you conspire against me again, I will personally take you to my dungeons and torture you myself! And if you think what I did to those in Sumer was bad - just wait and see what I’ll do to you. Do your fucking jobs… and get these people out of my House. NOW!”

Fulla bypassed the retreating Valkyries, coming up the steps carrying both her Mistress’ jeweled chalice and a bottle of red wine.

Buffy’s narrowed eyes remained on her maidens as they fled the chamber. With a wave of her hand, the gigantic doors slammed shut once the Valkyries had exited.

“Bitches,” she mumbled under her breath. “Defying my orders. Who the hell do they think they are?”

“They are your servants, my Lady,” answered Fulla, her hand shaking as she poured the crimson beverage into the cup.

“That’s right, Fulla,” said Buffy, taking the bottle from the woman’s grasp. “You drink that. I can see that you need it.”

“Thank you, my Lady. That is most gracious of you,” she replied, nervously sipping from the chalice of the Fëantári of Folkvang.

The Slayer took a swig from the bottle before standing it on her thigh. She stared at the flickering blue flames in one of the vats as her cupbearer descended the steps, returning to her post within the Hall of Judgment. Buffy tried to calm her frazzled nerves by taking several deep breaths. She couldn’t believe how shitty her life was at the moment. Having to deal with her problems with Maglor was hard enough, but now, discovering that her mortal lover was interfering with her affairs in Middle-earth pissed her off even more. It didn’t matter whether or not his intentions were noble. The Adan had violated a direct order from Ilúvatar, and for that, he needed to be punished.

“Men,” she uttered in a contemptuous tone after several minutes of silence. “They can be such pricks!”

Fulla, the only other occupant in the room, looked warily at her Mistress. “I suppose they can,” answered the cupbearer. She watched Buffy, as she took another drink from the bottle. “He… he loves you, you know,” continued the woman apprehensively. “He only wishes to protect you.”

“Protect me?” queried the Slayer with a derisive laugh, turning her gaze to the maiden. “Protect me from what? The perils in the world? Pfft,” she sounded, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t need anyone’s protect- ” She never finished her sentence.

Buffy was instantly teleported from the comfort of her throne in Sussrúmnir back to Beleriand. She was shocked and appalled to find herself standing atop the roof of her home at the Gap. That had never happened before! As the cold winds blew ferociously from the north, the Slayer curled her toes on the frost-covered roof, doing her best to maintain her balance. Holding her wine bottle in one hand, her eyes scanned the land, which lay shrouded in darkness. Very few Noldor were out and about. The Slayer turned her gaze towards the heavens, looking to the stars for an indication of time. Seeing the constellation above her, she began to curse rather loudly, realizing that her lover had defied her orders again and had not sent her back in time, but had sent her to present time Beleriand.

Sargon had foreseen the events that were about to take place, as well as the things that were to come thereafter. His goal all along was to keep the Slayer out of Middle-earth, Beleriand in particular, to avoid the heartbreak and sorrow that would befall, not only her, but also the good people that dwelled in those parts. Yet, she had forced his hand, making the Adan send her back earlier than he had anticipated. When he teleported her to the rooftop, it was in anticipation of events to come. He had no idea that he was fulfilling the will of Ilúvatar, for things are not always as they seem.

Now, Morgoth was ever vigilant, and he had bent his will toward Maglor’s Gap. And it was from the depths of Angband that he espied the Slayer’s appearance on the roof of her dwelling. Seeing her arrayed provocatively as she was enraged the Vala, inciting him to take action against, not only the Noldor, but also more specifically, the sons of Fëanor.

“Kill them all!” the Dark Lord commanded to his Captains. “If I can’t have her, then no one will! Kill all those that she loves! It is time for Inanna to experience the pain and loneliness I feel. Leave none alive, especially those from the House of Fëanor!”

Morgoth then readied his armies. He planned to assail both Western and Eastern Beleriand simultaneously. To Eastern Beleriand he would send his greatest forces and most vicious acolytes to ensure the annihilation of those nearest and dearest to his beloved Melisse.

“My Lady,” shouted Ovoron, one of the elvish guards. “What are you doing up there?”

Buffy shifted her gaze to the elf, below. Those that were awake began to congregate in the courtyard, surprised to see their scantily clad Mistress standing atop the roof.

Shivering from the cold, she yelled to the men below, “What day is it?”

“It is the tenth day past the New Year,” Ovoron answered.

The Slayer went berserk, ranting and raving so loudly that she woke many more from their peaceful slumber.

Luthor came running out of his house wrapped in his fur cloak. “What the hell are you doing on the roof?”

“Enjoying the scenery, what else?” Buffy laughed sarcastically. She felt as though her alcohol buzz had seemed to intensify upon her return to Beleriand.

“Get down from there before you get sick.”

“I’m already sick, sick and tired of the men in my life,” she complained, waving her hands wildly. “My husband doesn’t want me, Sargon has betrayed me… ”

“Sargon has betrayed you?” queried the old man, as even more elves came rushing out of their houses in search of the commotion that had wakened them at nearly four in the morning.

“Well, I sure haven’t been gone for two-seconds, now have I?” she slurred, trying to figure out a way to get to the edge of the roof without losing her footing. “And why the hell that son-of-a-bitch sent me here - on the roof of my own house - in the middle of winter is beyond me! The stupid jackass.”

She turned her gaze back to the group of elves below. She saw Maglor running out of the house, joining the others. His jaw dropped when he saw his wife up on the roof.

“For the love of the Valar, what are you doing up there half-naked?” he shouted. The Noldo pulled off the blanket that covered his shoulders, balled it up, and attempted to throw it up to his wife. The blanket unraveled and fell back into his outstretched hands.

“That appears to be the question of the day… or night, whichever it is.” She took a swig from the bottle. “I guess Sargon wanted me to do a little star-gazing.”

“Someone get a ladder.”

“Get the lions. They can get her down.”

“Be careful, Bella,” shouted Luthor. “We’ll get you down in a minute.”

“I’m freezing, Luthor,” she said between chattering teeth. “My feet are going numb.” The cold was starting to take its toll on the Slayer.

Olofin ended up getting his mother down by riding up to the roof on Kit’s back. Once safely on the ground, Maglor covered his wife with a blanket.

“Why have you been gone all this time?” whispered an agitated Maglor. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you?”

“Jesus Christ! Is that what you think?” she asked, perturbed by her husband’s accusation.

“What else am I supposed to think? Look how you’re dressed!”

“I’ve been celibate since we last had sex, Káno. May Eru strike me down if I’m lying!” she declared boldly.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, a rumbling sounded deep in the earth. Those that overheard Buffy’s words nervously looked around, stepping away from the Slayer, fearing that Ilúvatar was about to smite her for her cheek. Only a couple of seconds later, a series of explosions went off to the north-northwest. Everyone turned in the direction of the booming blasts, gasping when they saw Thangorodrim shooting molten rock, poisonous gases, and ash miles into the darkened sky.

Screams shattered the night shortly thereafter, as the people began to panic, terrified by the sudden eruption. Buffy stood there, mouth agape, recalling Sargon’s words of warning.

“War is upon us,” she said, grabbing hold of Maglor’s arm.

Lava spewed out of the three cones that made up Thangorodrim, running down the sides of the mountains, the fiery torrents quickly heading directly across the plains towards Dorthonion, the lands occupied by Aegnor and Amrod, and Lothlann, the green pastures of Eastern Beleriand.

Despite the horrors of seeing a volcanic eruption for the first time, the Lord of the Gap hastily shouted orders for the people to ready themselves for battle. Both his and Buffy’s Households were awakened and immediately prepared for the onslaught that they knew was coming.

The Slayer stood there, paralyzed by the realization that the siege of Angband had finally come to an end after four hundred plus years. Tears filled her eyes; her head started spinning, her stomach churning. The alcohol, combined with the lack of sleep for two months time had finally hit her. She collapsed onto the stone floor of the courtyard, out cold.



“Bella! Bella, wake up!” said an anxious Thranduil, frantically shaking Buffy’s sleeping form. “Please, Bella! Wake up!”

She stirred, moaning softly.

“Bella, we need you! Wake up!” the Green-elf pleaded, his voice full of desperation.

“Thranduil,” she said with a groan, smacking her lips together. Her mouth was dry, her head throbbing.

“The enemy is at the Gate, Bella. We need you.”

Buffy blinked open her heavy eyes, confused by what the elf had said. “What?”

“Morgoth has unleashed his armies!” he continued, pulling her upright. “The Great Worm is at our Gate! Balrogs, thousand of them, there are, and yrch too numerous to count.”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, jumping from the bed. She stood there for a moment trying to get her bearings. The sudden adrenaline rush caused her heart to pound wildly in her chest. Already, beads of sweat formed on her brow.

“I’ve laid your things out,” said a grim-faced Thranduil, dressed in full battle gear. “We have need for haste, Bella. The enemy’s forces are greater than our own. We need you, Dagnir!”

“My head!” answered Buffy, as she began to change her clothes. “Get me something for my head, Thranduil. It’s pounding like mad.”

The Green-elf returned seconds later with a bottle of tonic. “Are you alright?” he queried, rubbing her back.

“No. I feel like shit,” she said. She took the bottle from Thranduil, popped the cork, and took a swig.

“We must hurry, Bella!” Thranduil began to garb her in her armor, as she looked out the nearest window. The lands still lay cloaked in darkness. In the distance, she could see the fiery forms of the Balrogs beyond the Gate, their flaming whips lashing at anything that moved.

“Eru help us,” she uttered under her breath.

“Where’s your trunk?” asked the Green-elf, tightening the straps of her armor. “I’ve looked for it in the armories, but couldn’t find it.”

“Oh, fuck!” she drawled with a grimace. “I left it in Ossir, in the vaults of Lindecoa.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“I’ve been off my game lately, Thranduil,” she answered disappointedly. “We’ll have to make do with what weapons we have.”

The only thing that Buffy had kept from her copper trunk was her belt. She prized it above all her other weapons despite the fact that it was wrought by Morgoth. It was lightweight and held a variety of weapons that had always come in handy during times of warfare. Besides, she thought that it was pretty cool how the charms turned into full size weapons when removed from the chain. Nobody else had a weapon remotely like it.

Once outfitted for battle, they left the house for the frigid cold. As they mounted their horses, ash swirled on the wind. All the plains were covered with it. The sky was thick with dark plumes of smoke that would keep the sun from appearing in the northern regions of Beleriand for nearly two years afterwards.

As they rode to the Gate, Buffy could see Olofin riding in her lion-drawn chariot in the sky above the enemy, blasting the Dragon and Balrogs with the scepter made by himself, Curufin, and Celebrimbor. When she and Thranduil had neared the Gate, they dismounted from their steeds. The beast that Fingon had named Glaurung terrified the elves, with not only his size and strength, but also his ability to spew fire from his enormous fanged mouth. The Dragon was using its tail to beat against the wall that the Slayer had had built as a means of defense long ago. If not for that, the enemy would have already overwhelmed their lands.

When the Captains saw that she had arrived, they came running to her, desperate to hear the Vala of War’s strategy against the forces of Morgoth. Before Buffy would advise any, she summoned Kit and Kat to bring her son to her. When the half-elf landed, the small group converged on the plains before the Gates to the Gap.

“This is bad,” said the Slayer with a look of dismay on her face. She turned her gaze to Olofin, shaking her head. “You can shoot that thing at Glaurung all day long, but it will have no effect on him,” she disclosed, pointing to the scepter in his hand. “His hide is like armor! It’s as strong as mithril! A dragon’s weak spot is on its belly. You have to pierce that fleshy part of him in order to defeat him… ”

“But he slithers across the plains like a gigantic worm,” answered Olofin. “How can I pierce his belly if I cannot reach it?”

“Glaurung’s smarter than he was last time, and he’s now grown to his full might,” she answered, watching as the topmost part of the wall began to crumble from the Dragon’s blows and the Balrogs’ whips. The echoing sounds alone were enough to make the elves recoil in fear. It became evident that their doom was upon them, it was knocking down the wall as they helplessly watched.

Buffy fell quiet as the Captains bombarded her with questions and suggestions. She kept her eyes fixed on the Gate, and those elves, valiant but foolish, that attempted to thwart the enemy by shooting arrows from atop the wall and along the fortified hills to either side of the pass.

“Get them down from the wall!” she yelled to one of the Captains. “Glaurung and the Balrogs are too formidable of a foe for the elves to fight. You guys are no match for them! Get them down from there. NOW!”

A series of horn blasts rang out in the darkness. Those on top of the wall took it as a call of retreat, which it was.

“What are we going to do, Bella?” asked Luthor, his face becoming graver with each whack the enemy made at the wall.

“I don’t know, Luthor,” she answered, trying to keep her bravest face on for the others’ sake. “Me, you and Olofin can handle the Balrogs, but the Dragon… he’s the one I’m worried about. I don’t have anything powerful enough to take him out, no Trident, no Gloves. Nothing!” Her frown lines deepened. “We can’t afford to expend too much energy fighting Glaurung, but if he gets through - we’re finished. It’s over.”

“What about the engines?” asked Maglor, desperate to find a way to defend his turf. “Could we not use them?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, as long as we don’t hit the wall in the process. The catapults are probably gonna be our best bet. Get them set up.”

The Lord of the Gap quickly took off, shouting to his men to ready the catapults.

“Damn it! I wish we had time to get them on the hills. We could assail the enemy easier from that point, and maybe slow Glaurung down.”

“But, my Lady,” said one of the Captains. “We do have some on the hills!”

“Then why the hell aren’t they being used?” she snapped.

The Noldo chieftain shrugged. “The order has not yet been given.”

“For Eru’s sake, man, get on it!” she barked, shaking her head in disgust. “Olofin, you take back to the air in the chariot, but you’re bringing me and Luthor with you.” She turned her head towards the old man. “You up to killing some Balrogs?”

Luthor smiled. “I think I have it in me.”

Buffy gave instructions to the others, positioning them on either side of the hills. She suggested that the elves use spears on the Balrogs, to aim for the eyes, as the arrows would be ineffective. She wanted none on the wall, itself, especially now that they were going to attempt to use the engines in their defense.

As they took off in the chariot, the Slayer was disgusted with herself. The sudden attack showed how unprepared they were, how lax they had become in their watchfulness, and in their defenses. If they came through their current ordeal alive, she would see to it that it would never happen again.

Once Kit and Kat had them soaring over the enemy, Buffy looked at Luthor, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling a sword from her belt. It instantly turned to a full-size weapon.

The old man unsheathed his blade. “Ready.”

“Wait a minute,” said Olofin. “How do you intend on fighting the Balrogs from up here with those?” he asked, pointing to their weapons.

“We’re going in,” answered the Slayer, gesturing below.

“That’s madness! You won’t last in the midst of the enemy. You’ll be killed.”

Buffy smiled, and placed a gloved hand on her son’s cheek. “I can’t be killed. At least, not by anything down there.”

“Luthor,” the half-elf looked imploringly at the Maia. “How can you be in agreement with this? You are not a Vala! You can die!”

“Yes, yes I can,” nodded the old man. “But I’d rather die fighting beside your mother than by any other means, my son.”

“We’ll be alright,” said Buffy reassuringly, kissing her son on the forehead. “Okay, kitties, take us lower, but keep out of the Balrogs whipping range.” She glanced back at Luthor, slightly apprehensive with her plan. “So, you take the five thousand Balrogs to the left, and I’ll take the five thousand to the right.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the old man answered, making his way to the back of the chariot.

Only a second later, he and Buffy leapt off the back of the chariot, disappearing into the frenzied masses below…


Chapter 81 - WAR ZONE

As soon as Buffy had landed, she realized her folly of asking Luthor to accompany her into the hordes of evildoers. Once the old man had hit the ground, he was blindsided by one of the fiery whips of the Balrogs, sending him flying into the hands of another waiting creature of Morgoth. Before the burning beast could squeeze the life from her father figure, Olofin and the lions swooped down from the sky, her son sending blast after blast from the Carnimír at the Balrog that held Luthor in its clutches. Thankfully, the mystically enhanced scepter was powerful enough to extinguish the fires of the beast, allowing Luthor to escape, for the time being.

The Slayer’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive, as she attempted to cleave her way towards the old man. All that pent-up sexual frustration transferred to her muscles, making her stronger and tougher in battle than ever before. She twirled around, almost like some deranged ballerina, swinging her blade with full force at the Balrogs nearest to her. The beasts’ wailed in pain as her sword hewed off the legs of those that had surrounded her, causing them to crash to the ground, unable to stand any longer. She then leapt atop their still burning bodies, oblivious to the pain of the flames licking at her exposed flesh, driving her sword into the hearts of each of her fallen prey.

Many of the Balrogs drew back, fearing the wrath of the Vala Queen. That only cleared the way for her to reach Luthor, who was dueling with yet another fiery foe.

“Luthor! Watch out!” she yelled, running towards the Maia as fast as she could.

The Balrog he was fighting distracted Luthor by snapping his whip at the old man. As Luthor blocked the blow with his weapon, the creature rammed its sword into the old man’s stomach, piercing not only his armor, but his flesh as well.

“NO!” screamed the Slayer, tears filling her eyes. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The Balrogs shouted gleefully as the old man dropped his weapon, grabbing hold of the blade that protruded from his body. “NO!” cried out Buffy again, still running towards her wounded friend.

Luthor turned his gaze to the Slayer, his mouth agape, his face contorted in pain. “Bella,” he mouthed, unable to get the words out, as he teetered from foot to foot. The old man then fell backwards, landing with a thud on the withered grass.

The enemy roared with delight at the sight of the fallen Maia. They formed a circle around Luthor, but allowed a pathway for the Slayer to reach him. They knew that they had her trapped.

Buffy threw her weapon down when she reached her friend’s side. Tears now spilled from her eyes like the torrents of lava from Thangorodrim, as she dropped to her knees. She pulled off the Maia’s helm, gently cradling his head on her lap.

“Oh God, Luthor,” she sobbed, caressing his grey hair with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The old man locked his blue eyes on her, his labored breathing making her cry even harder. “This is it, Bella. This is the end,” he sputtered.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t let you die.” She reached for the blade protruding from his belly.

“No. Leave it,” he ordered in a faint and raspy voice, stopping her with his own hands.

The Balrogs started mocking the scene before them, taunting the Slayer and her grief.

“Death is upon you, Luthor,” mimicked one of the beasts maliciously.

“The traitorous scum finally got what he deserved,” bellowed another.

Buffy placed her tear-streaked cheek against the old man’s. “Don’t leave me, Luthor. I love you. I need you,” she wept.

The old man made a series of gurgling sounds, causing the Slayer to lift her head toward the heavens, screaming, “Help me, Eru! Please, Lord, help me!”

The Balrogs’ joyous laughter increased to frenzied heights upon hearing Buffy’s pleas. They were so preoccupied by their celebration that they did not immediately notice the sudden gust of wind that came from the north. While they rejoiced in the imminent death of the ‘traitorous’ Maia, the Eagles seemingly came out of nowhere, swooping down from the pitch-black sky, lashing at the Balrogs’ heads with their razor-sharp talons.

Manwë had answered the Slayer’s prayer.

As the Eagles distracted the Balrogs, Thorondor lunged down into the small clearing, grabbing the wounded Maia with one of his clawed feet before ascending back into the darkened sky.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled the Slayer, rising to her feet, no longer concerned about her own well-being, only that of her father figure.

The momentary diversion drew Glaurung from the Gate. Stretching his neck upwards, he sent out a jet of fire at one of the Eagles, engulfing one of the servants of Manwë in flames. The mournful cry from the Eagle shattered the night, as the Balrogs snapped their whips at the holy bird. The fiery cords wrapped around the Eagle, preventing it from escaping with its brethren. The Balrogs then pulled on their whips, bringing their prey down into the throng of foes. While the enemy subdued Buffy, the yrch viciously smote the Eagle, killing it.

Olofin was incensed by what he witnessed. Steering away from the flock of Eagles, he had the lions take him back towards the Balrogs that held his mother captive. As the kitties made their descent, he shot at the enemy with the Carnimír.

“NO!” the Slayer shouted, struggling in vein within the grasp of Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs. “FLEE, OLOFIN! FLEE!” Seeing the half-elf, acting as irrationally as she had, terrified her. She knew that Morgoth would be delighted if one of his minions managed to kill her beloved son. “GO WITH THE EAGLES! FOR THE LOVE OF ERU, GO!”

Even though Buffy was tearfully screaming at the top of her lungs, her voice was lost amidst the loud, repetitive beats of the yrch drumming on their instruments.

Doom, doom, doom sounded across the plains.

An enclave of fifty Balrogs cracked their whips at the approaching chariot, sending Kit in one direction, Kat in the other. The vehicle turned on its side, nearly spilling Olofin. The half-elf clung to an interior strap with one hand while wielding the Carnimír with the other.

The Slayer could barely breathe as she saw her son hanging from the chariot for dear life.

One of the fiery thongs of the whip had caught the straps between the vehicle and the cats. The Balrog that held the other end began to pull with all his might, bringing the chariot, the half-elf and lions even lower. The cart corrected its position as Olofin once again started blasting away at the ever nearer Balrogs.

Buffy thought she was going to be sick. She continued to struggle but could not break free.

The elves then sent a volley of boulders from over the wall and from the hills on either side of the Gate, aiming at the Balrogs that were attacking Olofin. One of the large chunks of stone hit the beast whose whip was entwined with the straps of the chariot, forcing the beast to let go of his weapon. No longer being forced downwards, the lions began to ascend into the star-speckled sky, taking with them the flaming whip.

Olofin knew that he had no other choice but to get out of there as quickly as possible. With a heavy heart, he instructed the lions to return to the Gap. As they began their retreat, the yrch sent a hail of arrows at the vehicle. Kit let out a tremendous roar having been stricken by an arrow in his backside. Kat swerved, colliding with her mate, sending Kit off course. As a second shower of arrows came their way, Kit protected Kat by using his own body as a shield. Many arrows pierced the lion’s flesh. He let out a woeful roar as the chariot descended rather quickly on the other side of the wall.

The Slayer went limp in Gothmog’s grasp. Silent tears streamed down her face, as things seemed to have gone from bad to worse in only a matter of seconds. If only she had remained in Folkvang, none of this would have happened. The guilt of Luthor and Kit now weighed heavily on her shoulders. She now understood that Morgoth would take away everyone she loved and cared about, one by one.

“On your feet, Inanna,” demanded Gothmog.

Buffy was non-responsive. She was overwhelmed with sorrow.

Gothmog nodded to one of his flaming comrades, who were now closing in on the Slayer. A Balrog cracked his whip, the fiery thongs lashing her across the face. The sudden, painful, burning sensation not only brought her to her senses, but also to her knees. She shrieked in agony, which only brought the enemy greater enjoyment.

The Lord of Balrogs pushed her to the ground. “Remove her armor and weapons,” he ordered.

Two yrch then came forward, carrying out their Captain’s directives. Once her protective gear was removed, she was forced to her feet before the looming form of Gothmog. Her right eye had already swollen shut from the lashing she had taken.

“You have defied my Lord. Repeatedly,” the Lord of Balrogs sneered. “And for that you shall be punished.” With a nod of his head, the same Balrog whipped the Slayer again. Three horrific flays she took on the back. Even though the pain was excruciating, she did not scream. She didn’t want to give the enemy the satisfaction.

The Slayer’s body trembled, from both the pain and the fatigue that was already setting in. The two yrch held either arm as she stood before Gothmog. From behind, she felt what could only be described as a blast of hot steam, which engulfed her in a cloud of foulness. Normally, such a gust would have blown Buffy’s hair wildly around her face, but the fires of the Balrogs had literally burned all her hair that was exposed below the lip of her helm.

The yrch spun her around. As the vapors dissipated, she now stood face to face with the menacing form of Glaurung. Buffy wasn’t altogether sure what kind of magicks that the Worm possessed, but one thing she knew for sure, everything seemed to come to a standstill when she locked her one opened eye with those of the monstrous creature. She no longer heard the Balrogs celebrating or the yrch beating on their drums.

The Dragon wove his spell of enchantment on the Slayer, forcing her to remain glued to the spot, unable to avert her gaze. By instinct, or perhaps it was the dragon-spell itself, she dropped to one knee, out of respect to the mighty Worm.

“I am spent, Lord,” she said dejectedly, her bottom lip quivering. “Do what you will. I no longer care.”

“I see there’s trouble in paradise,” said the Great Worm, revealing his long, sharp, yellowish fangs.

Her one eye widened when she heard the voice of Glaurung, for it sounded similar to that of Morgoth.

“I must say that your courage is commendable, albeit foolish. To leap into the heart of my forces thinking that, in your weakened state you could make a dent in my armies is laughable. You cannot defeat the Lord of Arda, Inanna.” The Dragon moved even closer, the stench of his breath was ghastly, smelling like a combination of decaying feces, vomit and death, rolled into one. He narrowed his huge, black, soulless eyes and asked, “Why is it that Manwë’s Eagles leave you behind? Could it be that those in the West know that your fate lies with Melkor, that you and he are meant to be together?”

“Maybe,” answered the Slayer, now rising to her feet. “The Valar have no love for me.”

“Yet they sent the Eagles to rescue Luthor. Why is that?”

Buffy did not answer, yet she continued to stare into the eyes of Glaurung, unable to shift her gaze from the spawn of Morgoth, no matter how hard she tried. For one of his greatest skills was the ability to perceive another’s thoughts. Grief-stricken, the Slayer desperately tried to control her thoughts, to prevent the Dragon from seeing them, but in her weakened state, she found herself unable to do so.

“Ah, I see that the Maia has betrayed not only you, but Melkor as well,” said Glaurung after searching the Slayer’s eye for several minutes. “He has won the favor of those in the West, whilst you’ve been left to fend for yourself. They continue to view you as an interloper in this world, a Valië whom they despise… And that is good,” he laughed.

The sound of his laughter caused the hair on the nape of her neck to stand on end.

The Dragon turned his eyes to the yrch, who trembled from his malevolent gaze. “Bind her!” He then shifted his eyes to Gothmog. “Gather your greatest warriors and escort Inanna back to Angband. It’s your head on the line if things go amiss.”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered Gothmog with a nod.

“We will meet again, I deem, Inanna.” Gothmog then laughed again. “But, firstly, I shall destroy all those whom you love in recompense for your betrayal of my Lord. You should have bid farewell to your half-wit son, for I shall devour him myself!” He chuckled, as he slithered back towards the wall.

The yrch placed fetters around Buffy’s ankles before roughly pulling her hands behind her back, binding them with manacles. Both restraints were wrought in the bowels of Angband by Morgoth himself, ensuring that no tool in Middle-earth could break his evilly enhanced bonds.

One hundred Balrogs, one hundred yrch, and a handful of Buffy’s offspring with Morgoth began the march north, as the enemy continued their assault on the wall that separated them from the peoples of the Gap. Although she was weary and emotionally drained, the Slayer remained eerily calm on the journey to Angband.

The further they traveled, the greater Buffy’s sorrow became. The once lush grasses of Lothlann had turned into a desolate wasteland in only one-day’s time. The livestock and horses that had grazed on the open range lay dead, their flesh eaten by the servants of the Dark Lord, leaving only the maggot covered skeletons littering the ash-covered grounds.

When the Slayer stumbled over the chain of her fetters some hours later, falling face-first onto the barren land, Coruon, one of her demonic offspring with Morgoth, called the marchers to a halt. He sat her up, wiping the ash from her face, carefully avoiding the welt that stretched from her forehead to her chin, which disfigured the right side of her face.

Gothmog wasn’t happy about stopping, but after Coruon pulled him aside, speaking with him in private, the Lord of Balrogs relented, allowing a ten-minute rest period.

Coruon offered Buffy some of that rejuvenating beverage that Morgoth always sent with his servants when they left Angband, especially at wartime. When the blue, scaly demon referred to her as Ishtar, she knew immediately that he was on her side, not the Dark Lord’s. He spoke quickly in a hushed voice as he smeared a thick, gooey ointment on the welt on her face.

“Melkor is wroth over the death of Illyria,” he whispered. “He holds you to blame for that and will see to it that your other children die as a result. I have sent word to our allies in the East to help protect the Oracles. Thankfully, Marduk thinks highly of them, but he’s untrustworthy. Melkor still holds sway over that Vala.

“You do, however, have an ally amongst one of his young sons. He is called Osiris in the Southlands where he dwells.” His lips curled into a smile, his red eyes widened, as he grunted, which was actually his way of chuckling. “He’s quite an admirer of yours, I must say. He’s been reading all the lore on you that he can find; traveling from city-state to city-state collecting what information he can. Osiris often consults with Anno and Mírë. Consider him a friend in times to come, Ishtar, as he will do your bidding in the East.”

“Marduk won’t be too pleased to hear that,” she whispered back with a snicker.

“Indeed.” Coruon glanced around, putting his ointment back into his satchel. “My heart tells me that you will not be setting foot in Angband any time soon. Just know this, dearest Ishtar: there are still some of us that dwell in the bowels of Hell that are most loyal to you. We hope that you remember us with kindness when dark times come our way.”

Buffy looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to question her offspring any further. Gothmog was approaching.

“Get her up. It’s time to move on,” he ordered, waving the Slayer’s belt in his fiery hand.

“The belt, Gothmog. Give Inanna back her belt,” said Coruon, as he helped Buffy to her feet.

“Give her a weapon?” queried the Balrog in amazement, eyeing the demon suspiciously. “And have her slay us on our journey? I think not!”

“And how is she going to use it with her hands bound behind her back?” shot back Coruon. “Or, are you saying that Inanna is powerful enough to break free from the bonds wrought by Melkor himself?”

Gothmog narrowed his eyes, studying his comrade for a moment.

“I deem our Lord will be most ill-pleased to see that his beloved is not wearing the gift that he made especially for her. I’ll see to it that he knows you’re the one who took it from her.” He grabbed Buffy by the arm. “Let’s go, Inanna,” he continued, taking a few steps before the Lord of Balrogs stopped him.

“Speak not to Melkor that I took it from her or I’ll splatter your insides all over the dungeons,” commanded Gothmog as he threw the belt to Coruon, the charms tinkling as it flew through the air.

“Not a word,” answered Buffy’s offspring, who quickly fastened the belt around her waist.

They then proceeded on with their trek. Walking in utter darkness made it difficult for the Slayer to discern night from day. Yet, after hearing what she considered prophetic words from Coruon, she knew that the tide would soon turn in her favor. Sure enough, not twenty minutes into their march, Buffy suddenly vanished from her captives, only to reappear in the dungeons of Sussrúmnir a moment later.

“Holy Eru!” shouted Sargon with dismay. He jumped off the table where he was sitting and rushed to Buffy’s side. “What have they done to you?”

“Oh, Maranwë,” said Failo in shock. He went to place his goblet on the table and missed. The cup and its contents, which appeared to be red wine, spilled to the stone floor.

As the men examined her restraints, she looked gratefully at her lover. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry… and thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

“Now maybe you have a better understanding as to why I didn’t want you to return to Beleriand, Luinil. Dark days lie ahead of you.”

“I’ve still gotta go back,” she replied, her tone full of urgency. “Help me get out of these.”

The men tried to break the bonds with what implements Failo had in his dungeons, but nothing was suitable or strong enough to break Morgoth’s mystical iron.

“Let me run to the forges and get one of the metal smiths,” suggested an anxious Failo. “Surely, they have the necessary tools to break through Melkor’s handy work.” He turned his gaze to the Adan. “Sargon, take Maranwë to Istahiro. He should be able to mend her wound.”

“Wounds,” corrected the Slayer. “My back is killing me.”

The chief torturer of Folkvang hurriedly left the chamber.

“It looks like you’ve been whipped,” remarked Sargon, looking carefully at her face in the dim light.

“Yeah, well, I’m doing a hell of a lot better than Luthor… and Kit. They’ve both been injured badly.”

A solemn look came to her lover’s face. “Let me get you up to the healers.” He went to pick her up, but Buffy winced when she felt his arms touch her back. The Adan then carefully threw her over his shoulder and ran all the way up to the seventh floor.

For the first time, her Valkyrie chieftains were all gone. They were on the battlefield, busily collecting the mortal souls that were falling in battle.

The healers were forced to cut off the Slayer’s garments since Failo had not yet returned with the metallurgist. While they waited, she told her woeful tale to the healers and Sargon.

As Istahiro tended to her wounds, Failo and the metal smith arrived, snapping the iron bonds of Melkor with the cutters they had brought with them. As soon as she was freed and healed, in need of clothing, she made her way with Sargon to her rooms on the thirteenth floor.

To her surprise, garments had already been laid out for her, complete with a mithril jumpsuit with a hood that could be pulled over her face, covering everything except her eyes and mouth.

“Better late then never,” said her lover when he noticed the astonished look on Buffy’s face. “I suggest that you wear this raiment under your clothing, since it’s still winter in Beleriand and the clothes I have laid out for you are rather bulky,” advised Sargon, as he helped Buffy dress. “The enemy will think that your skin has turned to iron as it had in the days of old. No weapon will be able to penetrate this.”

Buffy was so preoccupied with her thoughts, fearful of what she’d return to, that she never considered asking what punishment Failo had inflicted on the Adan. By the looks of it, he appeared well. Hell, he and her chief torturer were sitting around drinking wine when she had arrived, something one did not normally see in her dungeons. However, now was not that time. Her only concern was for the peoples in Beleriand and the war currently taking place.

When she had finished dressing, she clasped the belt around her waist. Sargon handed her the mithril gloves that went with her lightweight armor.

“Don’t bring me back to Folkvang for a few days,” she said, slipping on one of the gloves. “Well, unless you see me in grave danger or something. Otherwise, let me fight. I can’t afford to leave, even for two seconds.” She looked up at the Adan and snickered, “I guess, I really don’t need to tell you anything. You’ll do what you feel is best, regardless of what I say.”

“About that, Bella… ”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she said, cutting him off, pulling her second glove on. “I need to go back. Send me back to my Halls at the Gap. Inside my house this time, not on top of it.”

Sargon grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly within his own. He looked at her with a long face, his eyes fraught with worry.

“I know that it is pointless for me to ask you this, but I could not live with myself if I did not. Will you forgo the war and remain here, with me? I will beg you on bended knees if that will make any difference.”

The sincerity in his grey eyes stirred Buffy to emotion. Her own eyes welled with tears, as her heart ached for her lover. It took everything she had to restrain herself from jumping into his arms, knowing that the Adan could comfort her like no other. But her marriage was extremely important to her, and she had to prove, not only to Maglor, but also to herself that she could remain faithful.

Besides, there was the war. No matter what doom awaited her; she would meet it head-on. If there were bitter consequences to suffer, then she would suffer alongside her loved ones in Middle-earth. Buffy couldn’t see it any other way.

“No one ever said it would be easy, loving a Vala,” she replied, stifling back her tears. “I must go.”

Sargon sighed heavily, grasping both of her hands, tenderly caressing them. “Then I will wait, for time is all I have.” He stepped closer, wanting to embrace her one last time before he sent her back, but, to his dismay, Buffy took a step back. That gesture brought tears to the Adan’s eyes. He nodded in defeat. “Very well,” he answered. “Be safe, my beloved Bellaseth. You will most certainly remain in my thoughts and prayers.”

The Slayer wiped the tear that escaped her eye with the sleeve of her sweater, her hands still held by Sargon.

“I love you, Sargon, but our time… it has not yet arrived,” she said, dismally shaking her head.

“Draw your weapon, Bella,” he counseled, tears now streaming down his face. Knowing what the Slayer would face upon her return broke Sargon’s heart. He reluctantly let go of her hands.

She pulled an axe charm from her belt. As always, it turned into a full size weapon.

“May Eru Ilúvatar protect you in your quest for peace.”

Buffy bit her lip, fighting back her tears. She could only nod in reply.

A split-second later, Sargon sent her back to Beleriand.

She was already in a fighting stance when she reappeared within her Halls at the Gap, the axe clutched tightly within her hands. Chaos surrounded her. Confused, she ran to the nearest window. The enemy had breeched, not only the Gate but also the fortress itself. Maglor’s Gap was overridden with the enemy who were now burning and pillaging. Those that had not escaped the onslaught were either slain or taken captive.

Although things seemed grim, the thirty minutes that Buffy had spent in Folkvang invigorated her. It not only renewed her hope but also her spirit. Unfortunately, it was short-lived.

One second she was surveying the carnage below, the next, a mammoth chunk of rock came crashing through the roof of her own house, nearly crushing her. The enemy were using the elves’ own engines to destroy the many buildings throughout the lands. She had leapt away just in time, but in her haste, stumbled over backwards on some furniture. The Slayer’s head hit the corner of Maglor’s desk, the force so great that it tore the skin open.

“Shit!” she moaned, reaching for the back of her head. She looked at her hand, which was now covered in blood. To her horror, she suddenly heard the harsh sounding voices of yrch coming down the corridor.

She turned toward the sound. A cloud of dust still lingered in the air. Rubble littered the floor of her bedchamber. She had no time to dress her wound. She cursed again, wishing that she had pulled the hood over her head before her departure from her Blessed Realm. Not wanting to make the same mistake again, she pulled the hood down, just as a group of goblins entered, seeking the spoils of their efforts.

“ELFLING! ELFLING!” shouted one of the hideous creatures in the Dark Tongue. “IN HERE!”

Buffy leapt to her feet in one swift motion, her anger inflamed by the mere presence of the yrch that were defiling her home. She charged them, hewing, with ease, through both the armor and flesh of her foe, for no creature, good or evil, could withstand the mystical weapons wrought by the Dark Lord himself.

“This is for Kit, you mother-fucker,” she hissed, cleaving the head from one of the goblins.

It soon became clear to the enemy that they were not dealing with some elfling. They never considered that they were fighting the Slayer, as their comrades had taken her captive two days before. What should have been an easy kill for the yrch, turned out to be nothing of the sort. Their brethren were falling fast from the wrathful blows of the mysterious ‘Warrior-elf’.

Yet to Buffy, it seemed like the Glamhoth numbers were unceasing. No matter how many she killed, more quickly filed into the room. The stone floor had become so slick from the blood of the enemy that both she and the goblins found themselves losing their footing, sliding in the opposite direction than intended. That, along with the corpses that were now piling up on the floor caused her to stumble a time or two. If not for the mithril suit beneath her clothing, she would have lost an arm and a leg because of near mishaps.

“I will persevere,” she mumbled in an attempt to reassure herself that she could get through her ordeal.

Buffy was so consumed with battling the yrch that she gave no heed to what was going on outside her house. With the Orch Captains now alerted that a mighty warrior was still inside the Halls, they instructed their underlings to position ladders beneath every window leading to the bedroom.

As the Slayer felled her fiftieth orch, hordes of goblins were climbing the rungs in anticipation of attacking her at unawares. None dare break through the glass panes until given the signal. The Orch Captains were waiting until all their men were in position. But first, they had a special surprise in store for the lone Warrior-elf.

The orch that Buffy had just brought to his knees, wobbled, his eyes still unfocused from her blow. She brought her axe down with all her might. The goblin let out a high-pitched squeal as her weapon cut though his helm, then his head, splitting it in two. The cloven head clung to the torso by a few ligaments and tendons.

As the Slayer pried her weapon from his clavicle, she quipped, “Head’s up, boys!” before kicking one half of the cloven head with her booted foot, tearing it from the muscular cords to which it was attached, and into the face of another foe.

She mocked the yrch by behaving as badly as they had. Laughing manically, she ran her tongue along her blood-splattered lips, tasting the bitter life force of her adversary. That single gesture sent the goblins into a frenzy. They resumed their attack with renewed vigor, yet, somehow, the Slayer still managed to hold them off, not allowing any of the enemy to best her in that contest of strength and endurance.

All of a sudden, she was pelted by severed heads that were being flung through the gaping hole in the ceiling. The sight not only shocked the Slayer, but sickened her as well. Some of the faces, she recognized. Others were so grotesquely mutilated that she had no idea who they once were. She tried to pay close attention to those with long dark hair, fearing that one of them could be her husband or son.

Before Buffy could react, yrch came crashing through every window in the room, alarming her further.

“Oh, shit!” she moaned, unsure of where she should direct her attack. Prior to the goblins entrance through the windows, she was able to prevent any of the enemy from surrounding her. Now, they were quickly closing in on her from all sides. All she could do was swing her weapon at anything that moved, doing her best to avoid the blades that came at her from all directions.

Those goblins that could not reach her, began placing the severed heads on their blades, flinging them at the Slayer or mutilating them even more.

Buffy desperately tried to cleave her way toward one of the walls, so that at least she couldn’t be attacked from behind. But when she saw many yrch climbing onto her bed reaching for Nacil and the scythe, which hung in a crisscross pattern over her headboard, something inside her snapped. She regarded those weapons as the greatest treasures of her House and Maglor’s.

With a grunt, she kicked the goblin at the forefront of those near her bed. The impact sent him reeling backwards, knocking down those behind him. She then did a somersault over the fallen yrch, landing on her mattress as an orch pulled the scythe from the wall. She swung her axe with all her might. Her weapon sliced through the mid-sections of two yrch, their upper extremities spewing blood and guts all over, as the dismembered bodies fell onto her blood-soaked quilts.

A goblin then jumped on her back, the force sending her forward into a roll, and off the other side of the bed. Slightly winded, she let go of her weapon, and reached for the head of the beast still clinging around her neck, choking her. She managed to flip him over her back and onto the floor in front of her. Grabbing his head, she twisted it until she heard a loud crack. As she pushed the limb body aside, she was blindsided by a kick in the face. The force sent her flying into the nightstand, which shattered upon impact.

She slammed her foot down on the edge of the axe handle, which sent it flying in her direction. Catching the weapon, she used the handle to block a blow from another goblin, who threw his full weight behind the strike, holding her to the floor. If anything, she was grateful that her back was against the wall, preventing any from attacking her from behind.

Glancing to her right, she saw a jagged piece of the broken nightstand still standing upright. She turned her gaze back to the orch on top of her, streams of saliva hanging from his twisted and sharp teeth. Sickened by the rancidness of the goblin’s breath, she shifted her weapon to a forty-five degree angle, causing his blade to slide down her axe handle toward the waiting spiked piece of wood. She then kicked his knee out from under him. Utilizing the weight of the orch, she grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing him face first through the wooden spike.

Buffy eased her back up against the wall, bringing the axe up with her, nailing another orch in the crotch. Holding her weapon with both hands, she kicked him, sending him flying backwards, knocking down more of his kindred.

Her entire room was overflowing with goblins. Some, in their eagerness to fell her, climbed over and fought with their own kind, desperately wanting the ‘honor’ of slaying the Warrior-elf. One thing Buffy knew for sure - she had to get out of there. Quick.

Looking back up on the bed, she saw that her scythe had been taken. Another orch was now reaching for Nacil. Swinging her axe in a back and forth motion, she managed to cleave her way back on top of her bed. She cut off the hand of the goblin as he tried to pry the sword of Fëanor from its spot. As luck would have it, she was able to retrieve her betrothal gift, wielding it along with her axe.

Desperate to flee her current situation, her eyes scanned the room, looking for the best means of escape. She decided that leaving through the nearest window was her best bet. She only had to bypass the twenty or so yrch that stood in her way.

Mustering her strength, she leapt off the bed, somersaulting over several of the goblins. Their weapons struck her body, which had a jolting effect, but they were unable able to pierce her mithril suit of armor. She landed only feet from the eastern window. Using both weapons in her defense, she hacked her way to the opening. When the next goblin’s head popped into view, she jabbed it with Nacil, sending the orch plummeting to his doom.

Buffy dove out of the window as another orch on the ladder grabbed her ankle. The momentum of her leap caused her to take both the ladder and those stupid enough to still cling to the rungs with her. As she fell though the air, she kicked and twisted her foot, desperate to free herself from the goblin’s grip. The last thing she needed was to land face first on the stone patio below.

Mid-way down, she successfully hewed the hand from her captor.

Correcting her position in her freefall, the Slayer managed to land on her feet. Panting from the non-stop action, she took in her surroundings, groaning with dismay. Before her were not only a sea of fifty thousand yrch, but also two thousand Balrogs, eagerly awaiting their chance to kill the Warrior-elf.

“Fuck me,” she uttered with a whimper…


Chapter 82 - CRUSH

Surprisingly, the yrch at the forefront of the mob paused, shocked that the small ‘elf’ before them possessed the strength and skill to have killed scores of their kindred with relative ease. They were too stupid to see that the ‘elf’ was Buffy, as the mithril mask, exposing only her eyes and slightly parted lips, covered her face.

The Slayer stared down the enemy with narrowed eyes. Still breathing heavily, puffs of white emanating from her mouth as her hot breath met the icy cold air, she raised her weapons, crossing them so that they formed the symbol of her House: the Sacred Cross, which represented not only her, but Ilúvatar as well. Evidently, the yrch had no idea that she had just revealed her identity, however subtly. The gesture went over their heads.

In that moment, as she held her weapons aloft, she felt her fear melt away. A warmth encompassed her essence, both bright and brilliant. That feeling of warmth, of love immeasurable, revived the Slayer’s dwindling courage to inexplicable new heights despite the insurmountable odds she faced.

To the enemy she looked golden, like the sun breaking the darkness in the early hours of dawn, casting both fear and doubt into their evil hearts. The sight caused the yrch nearest to her to take a few steps backward, unsure of what was happening to the ‘Warrior-elf’ that stood amid their bodily ring.

As Buffy’s eyes scanned the legions before her, she knew that this next wave of the battle would be a true testament of who she was. Her strength and endurance would be pivotal to its outcome. For this was not a battle to save her husband’s lands, which were now stained with the blood of both good and evil. No, this was a battle of retribution, of vengeance. All that Maglor and his people had labored over in centuries past, lay in ruins, nearly all utterly destroyed.

The city was aglow in flames. Plumes of thick, grayish-black smoke rose into the midnight sky, lingering over the lands like a menacing shadow of doom. Ash continued to rain down upon them, almost in mockery of the snowflakes that Melkor had created ages before. The stench of death and foulness wafted across the plains as a cold breeze picked up from the northwest.

The yrch that manned the engines sent a volley of enormous stones toward the dwelling just west of where Buffy stood. The sudden sound of the multiple crashes drew her gaze. She sadly watched as yrch carted off the belongings of Luthor. It was the Maia’s own house that she watched come tumbling down.

That sight stirred her to action. She tightened her grasp on both weapons. Then, going on the offensive, she charged the Orch Captains that stood dumbstruck at the vanguard. Using all her might, she swung her weapons at anything and everything within reach. Her blows were more forceful than before. With each strike from either weapon, she was able to take out three or four yrch, sending dismembered body parts soaring through the air, much to the dismay of the enemy.

Buffy was unstoppable. Her eyes were ablaze with fury, frightening many of the yrch who made actual eye contact with her. Some, she deemed, then recognized her, for they fled before her, disappearing into the throng of goblins. Others remained, fearing their Master’s wrath more so than hers. Facing her meant that they’d have a quick death, something that most, when faced with such a situation, would welcome wholeheartedly.

When the Balrogs noticed some of the yrch retreating, they began to push their way from the rearguard to the frontline of the clash, lashing their whips at those that did not move hastily out of their way. Amongst them was none other than Gothmog.

The Slayer continued her savage attack, felling beast after beast in record numbers. She was undaunted by those able to strike her from behind, as their weapons were repelled by her mithril armor. Their blows were equivalent to a push, causing her to lurch forward when hit. Turning, she’d then smite them down before assailing the others within close proximity. Although she was drenched in orch blood and her body was perspiring heavily, she remained indefatigable in her campaign against the minions of Morgoth.

Buffy didn’t know how long she had been fighting when several of the Balrogs reached the frontline, calling for a ‘ceasefire’.

“Let us put an end to this conflict,” said the menacing form of Gothmog. “We have come to parley.”

“Fuck you!” she barked, continuing her assault on her foes.

“I know that it is you, Dagnir, hidden behind that mystical mail,” declared the Lord of Balrogs, throwing his weapons at her feet. He raised his fiery hands and said, “I wish to parley with you in earnest. I have laid down my weapons in good faith. Will you not do the same?”

“Fuck you!” she replied again, that time with much more disdain.

Gothmog scowled, watching as the Slayer continued her assault. Since she had disappeared from his clutches two days before, he could only conclude that her powers had returned, that Marduk had disobeyed Melkor’s commands, or that she had discovered the secret means of breaking the spell that had been placed on her. Despite the advantage he had in numbers, an enraged Vala, namely Maranwë Luinil, could withstand all his men, and kill them all, one by one. His Lord would be most displeased if that happened. Gothmog had to somehow convince the Slayer to stop the slaughter of his forces, and there was only one way to do that: to tug at her heartstrings.

“Do you not wish to learn the fate of your husband and son?” asked the Lord of Balrogs with a smug look on his face.

“You talk. I slay,” she responded, still annihilating those surrounding her. “I’m a master of multi-tasking!”

Gothmog frowned upon hearing that. He and his men jumped back as the Slayer neared their spot, her weapons moving like a whirlwind, cleaving anything with which they came in contact. He wasn’t ready to die, not just yet, anyway.

“Why do you continue to fight when all here is lost?” he continued, narrowing his dark eyes on her. “Your kin folk have fled to Thargelion, and it is there that you are needed, Inanna. Why waste your strength on taking out my men when the Noldor are in need of your might in those parts?” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Have you not noticed that Glaurung is not here, that he has moved on to the next son of Fëanor’s kingdom? Do you think the elves can withstand the fires of the Great Worm? They will wither before him like the once green grasses of the plains!”

Buffy felt her heart drop when she heard that, yet she continued to assail the enemy. She bit her lip knowing that Gothmog was right. Glaurung was nowhere to be seen. But how could she trust the words of a minion of Morgoth? He could be deceiving her. Then again, with the Gap overrun with the enemy, it only made sense that the armies of Angband would move on to the next Noldorin realm. Was it a waste of her energies to remain? Was it wrong to seek vengeance upon those that had decimated her home? Was she really needed in Thargelion? Her mind was racing. Gothmog had managed to make her question herself.

“There is still time, Inanna, time to save those that you love most,” continued the Lord of Balrogs, sensing that his words were hitting near their mark. “Remain here, and all the sons of Fëanor will die. Flee to the lands of Caranthir and you can save them all. Would that not redress your… problems with your Noldo husband, to rescue him and his kindred?”

“And you’d simply let me walk away from this?” she asked skeptically, still attacking the yrch.

“Indeed!” answered the Balrog Lord. He then ordered all his troops to throw down their weapons. They did so, even though the Slayer continued her relentless attack. “My men are unarmed, Inanna! Must you continue your assault? I would think that you would be above slaying an unarmed combatant!”

“Not the ones that crawl from the bowels of Hell,” she said, panting. The yrch scrambled to get out of striking distance of Buffy.

“Come now, Dagnir,” said a frustrated Gothmog. “You are wasting time. Flee to Thargelion!”

The Slayer finally stopped, her chest heaving from her strenuous workout. “How is it that, first, you capture me, wanting to take me to Angband, and now, you’re willing to let me go? It doesn’t jive, Gothmog. It doesn’t jive for one second.”

“I now see that you are too powerful to be taken by force,” he answered without missing a beat. “If Melkor desires you as much as he claims, then he should be the one to… fetch his pet.” He smiled. “I know when to admit defeat. I, Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, do not possess the strength or cunning to defeat the great Inanna Ishtar, the most benevolent Valië in all Arda… ”

“You’re so full of shit,” she said, unimpressed by the Balrog’s attempt at flattery.

Gothmog motioned to the southeast. Buffy’s eyes followed. She saw that the enemy had moved back several paces, making a pathway in the direction of Thargelion.

“You have wasted much time already, Dagnir. I suggest that you aid your kin as soon as possible or else Glaurung will further develop a hungering for the flesh of the Noldor.”

Buffy turned her gaze back to the Balrog, hesitant to believe a word that he had told her. Yet a pang in her heart told her to go, to run to Thargelion at full speed and help those that had escaped the onslaught at the Gap.

“Go!” he instructed. “My men will not molest you in flight. But you must go before it is too late.”

Reluctantly, the Slayer started down the cleared pathway. She held her weapons up threateningly, ready to strike should the enemy try to attack her at unawares, again. As she passed the demonic creatures of Morgoth, they bowed, confusing her all the more. Gradually, she increased her gait, moving faster and faster.

When Buffy was out of earshot, one of the Orch Captains questioned Gothmog about his decision to let her leave.

“Glaurung can deal with the bitch,” he answered with contempt. “Get a move on!” the Lord of Balrogs then shouted to the others. “Gather the spoils and prisoners. We have need for haste.”

Once Buffy reached the outskirts of the Gap, she slowed her pace considerably. The piercing cold winds whipped across the plains, freezing her to the core. The coat and thick wool sweater that she was wearing was now in tatters, offering very little warmth from the cutting winds. While mithril was able to prevent a weapon from penetration, it did nothing to ward off the cold. Her face hurt from the winds in particular, especially her ears. They felt like they were burning.

The Slayer wrapped her arms tightly around herself, keeping her hands wedged in her armpits. Still clutching Nacil (she was unable to retrieve its scabbard), the sword of Fëanor sticking out behind her. To a casual observer, it would have looked as if she was walking with a blade protruding from her flesh.

The frigid weather was beginning to take its toll on her after an hour or so. Her muscles, which now ached horribly, were tightening up, slowing her pace even more. The sound of wargs howling echoed amidst the darkness that enveloped the Slayer. Other than that and the winds, the only sound she heard was the chattering of her own teeth and labored breathing. Whatever super-strength she had possessed earlier had completely diminished. It was a constant struggle to take the next step, as Buffy’s feet felt like lead blocks. Her weariness caused her to stumble on the rugged terrain repeatedly.

What she needed, other than more adequate clothing, was food and drink, two things that she had not brought with her. She knew at some point that she’d meet up with the Greater Gelion, and would at least be able to quench her parched mouth, although, at that moment, she would have done nearly anything for a huge mug of hot, steamy tea.

Mists rolled over the land as she neared the ford of the river. She licked her chapped lips in anticipation of slaking her thirst. She carefully placed Nacil on the ground when she reached the water’s edge. Refusing to allow her hands to get wet, Buffy intended to lap the water up like the wild beasts that had often visited that stream in times past. It took a couple of minutes for her senses to awaken, having been numbed, as she thought, by the weather. A putrid stench emanated from the Gelion, its waters had been defiled by the enemy, making it no longer potable for man or beast.

The Slayer wept, crying out, “NO!” in a voice muffled by the fog. Nothing seemed to be going right for her. Nothing!

She had no idea how long she had remained seated by the stream before trying to muster her strength to get back on her feet. She failed in her efforts. Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she crawled to a nearby sapling. Grabbing hold of the spindly tree, she tried to pull herself to her feet. She got halfway up before her legs completely gave out, causing her to fall to the ground in a heap. She was spent. She no longer had any strength, not even enough to stand.

Feeling defeated, Buffy grabbed Nacil and crawled into the brush, hoping that the winter vegetation would provide her some relief from the blistering wind. Curling up in the fetal position, she allowed her weariness to overcome her. She assumed that at some point, Sargon would defy her orders and extract her from her miserable surroundings, taking her to the warmth and beauty of Folkvang.

As the Slayer fell into a fitful sleep, she gave no heed to the shadows that moved within the mists. The enemy was ever vigilant, and had been stealthily following her on her journey. None were permitted to assail her, only to watch her, as Glaurung had already been informed that she was heading to Thargelion. The mighty Dragon was already on his way, determined to be the one to recapture her, and bring her back to his Master.

A short while later, Buffy was roused from her slumber by the unmistakable sound of hooves beating against the earth. Her eyes darted open as she listened intently, her head still resting on the ground. She could literally feel the ground vibrating beneath her, which she found disconcerting. She lifted her head, squinting in the direction the sound appeared to be coming from - due south. Her eyes searched the thick mists that lay over the land in hope of seeing what four-legged beast was coming her way. Judging by the sound of it, she thought that it could possibly be a horse, buck, or maybe some creature of Morgoth that she had not yet encountered.

She clambered to her feet, clutching Nacil tightly in her grasp. Although she felt weary, the uneasy feeling that something was fast approaching unnerved her, causing her heart to race. Her sudden adrenaline rush gave her a burst of strength and a feeling of warmth.

Gradually, the galloping turned into a canter, then a trot. The animal was drawing near. The Slayer widened her stance, in anticipation of a possible attack. Her muscles tensed as she waited fretfully for the creature to appear from amidst the dense clouds.

Then she heard it, a neighing sound that gladdened her heart. She relaxed a bit, wondering if one of the refugees from the Gap was returning or perhaps an ally scout from a neighboring land had come seeking news of the battles in the north.

Her jaw dropped when she saw Rocco, her horse from Folkvang, coming out of the fog. Buffy literally rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, thinking that he was a hallucination brought on by lack of food and drink. But when the beast approached her, nuzzling her neck, the warm air streaming from his nostrils on her cold flesh, she knew he was no mere figment of her imagination. It was a surreal moment, and one that renewed her hope.

She patted the horse’s neck, whispering, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Rocco neighed again, moving his head frantically from side to side. He appeared agitated.

Before Buffy could say another word, the horse moved behind her. She then felt his head between her legs. She gasped in surprise as Rocco moved forward, raising his head, lifting her off her feet, so that she slid down the length of his muscular neck and onto his back.

He neighed once again, which she instinctively knew was his way of telling her to hold on. Still clutching Nacil in one hand, Buffy grabbed a handful of his black mane with the other. As soon as she had a hold, Rocco took off, heading west instead of southeast.

“No, no,” she said, her tone full of distress. “Káno and his people are in Thargelion, Rocco. We need to go to Thargelion.”

The horse shook his head, and continued to gallop across the plains at full speed.

It was then that Buffy realized that Gothmog had duped her. She didn’t know how she knew - whether it was her gut or Rocco had somehow psychically communicated that to her. She felt like an imbecile, having fallen for the Balrog’s ruse, hook, line and sinker. She should have had enough sense to know that Maglor would flee to Himring, not Thargelion. She only hoped that Gothmog’s ploy hadn’t cost more elves and mortals their lives. That realization angered her even more.

When she and Rocco reached the Little Gelion, some fifty miles from where they had started, they encountered a band of yrch waiting by the banks of the river.

“Turn south! Turn south!” she ordered half-frantic. She feared the enemy would hurt her steed.

Rocco did not heed his Mistress’ words. Instead, he charged the enemy at full speed.

“Oh, shit,” she uttered, watching as the yrch armed their bows. A hail of arrows came at them from all directions. Buffy knew there was no way she could block every single flying projectile. Rocco was about to get nailed.

Much to her surprise, and the goblins’ as well, the arrows bounced off the hide of her steed. The Slayer laughed when she saw that.

“There’s more to you than meets the eye,” she said with a chuckle.

She then lifted Nacil, preparing to cleave those yrch that were within striking distance. While she swung her blade at the enemy, Rocco continued his sprint, trampling those goblins that stood in his way. Hearing the piercing shrieks of those that were crushed beneath the pounding hooves of Rocco invigorated the Slayer. Things didn’t seem as bleak as before.

As soon as they crossed the river, Rocco galloped north-northwest, traveling away from the bend of the watercourse. They had seen many scattered enemy bands on the plains but Rocco and his passenger were moving so fast that their foes never got the chance to waylay them on their journey.

It was with great joy that Buffy first caught sight of the hills surrounding Himring. When they neared the roadway leading to Maedhros’ fortress, she was stunned that Rocco didn’t follow that way, but began to climb the great hill to the south from which the River Celon sprang.

“You’ve got a mind of your own, I see,” the Slayer chortled, tightening her straddled legs around the beast as they made their ascent. “You remind me of a certain Prince of Folkvang. Do you know that?”

Rocco whinnied in reply.

Once they had reached the apex of the hill, Buffy had a clear view of all the lands within the ring of hills. She was glad to see that Himring still stood, the banner of Fëanor proudly waving atop Maedhros’ tower beneath the darkened sky. Balrogs, trolls, yrch and wargs had besieged the fortress, yet both elves and mortals were vigorously defending their turf, fighting outside the great gates of the eldest son of Fëanor’s city.

Rocco stomped his hooves, neighing loudly. The high-pitched sound traveled down from the hill to the lands below, alerting the enemy of Buffy’s arrival. Many turned, looking to the summit of the hill.

The Slayer lifted Nacil high above her head and shouted, “Behold, minions of Morgoth - Dagnir has arrived! Death is now upon you!” as Rocco took off down the hill.

Maedhros, who was on the battlefield, instantly recognized the sword of his father and the voice of his sister-in-law that reverberated from hill to hill. “Luinil,” he uttered under his breath, delighted to see that she had somehow managed to escape the enemy’s clutches.

The Balrogs quickly made their way toward the base of the hill, forming a blockade with their massive bodies so that Buffy could not unite with those from Himring.

The Slayer was looking forward to a fight with the Balrogs. After being hoodwinked by their Lord, she felt it was only befitting that she kill them all in retribution.

It soon became clear that Rocco’s hide was definitely of the mystical variety, as the Balrogs’ fires had no effect on him. Neither sword nor whip could break his flesh. Buffy had no idea that he possessed such powers. She was beginning to see how important a role Rocco would play in future events, not only in wartime, but also for breeding purposes as well.

The clash between the Slayer and the Balrogs was a spectacular one. Feeling reenergized, (something she attributed to the elves’ magic that was woven about the land), she began hewing the fiery fiends of Morgoth with relative ease. When she had felled thirty of the beasts, thus breaking their blockage, the Balrogs rethought their strategy. Instead of ganging up on Buffy, allowing her the opportunity to take them out, one by one, they separated, fleeing in different directions.

The Slayer chose to follow those bolting north, as they were nearing the city itself where most of the elves were already engaging the enemy.

As she approached, southwest of the city, she saw Maedhros fighting one of the retreating Balrogs. The eldest son of Fëanor was demonstrating his prowess on the battlefield, for the memory of his torments in Angband was still fresh in his mind. His grey eyes burned with the Light, instilling fear in his foes. The yrch fled before the copper-headed Elf Lord, knowing that any clash with him would only bring about their doom.

Despite his skill, Buffy was concerned about Maedhros’ fighting one whose strength surpassed his own by threefold. She and Rocco took off toward her brother-in-law. When they neared the combatants, she carefully rose to her feet, clutching the mane with one hand, Nacil with the other. Her horse’s gait was smooth enough that she didn’t lose her footing. Approaching the Balrog from behind, she leapt from Rocco’s back onto that of the Balrog. She clung onto the fiery form as she plunged her blade through the back of his heart. The monstrous beast let out an ear-piercing shriek. He dropped his weapon, reaching for the sword that the Slayer continued to twist and drive into its flesh repeatedly. A few moments later, his fires burned out. His lifeless body fell face first onto the ground.

Maedhros stood beside the dead beast, staring at Buffy in amazement. “Well met, Muinthel!” he said with a laugh, helping her off the beast.

“Russandol,” she said, grateful to be amongst her kin again. She pulled Nacil from the still form of the Balrog before embracing the eldest son of Fëanor. “Olofin? Káno?”

“They’re fine,” he replied with a smile. “They are resting in the citadel.”

She let out a sigh of relief, as Rocco came trotting up beside her.

“What is with that mask of yours?” he queried with a slightly amused expression on his face. “I wouldn’t have recognized you had it not been for your voice.”

“Oh, just something I picked up,” she answered, eyeing the skirmishes around them.

“Olofin told us that you were captured by the enemy. How did you manage to escape?”

Buffy didn’t hear her brother-in-law’s question; her thoughts were elsewhere. “How’s Luthor and Kit?” she asked, turning her gaze back to the Elf Lord.

Maedhros’ face turned grim. “Oh…” he paused, shifting his eyes to his feet. “I’m sorry, Muinthel. I really am.”

She felt her stomach drop. “No,” she uttered in shock.

Before her brother-in-law could say anything further, the Slayer leapt on top of Rocco and raced toward the gates of the city. She paid no mind to the battles taking place, her only concern was to be with her loved ones.

“Open up!” she yelled once she had reached the entrance to the city.

Not realizing that Buffy was before them, the guards refused to allow her admittance.

Cursing, she threw back her hood, and held Nacil above her head. “I’d think that one from the House of Fëanor would not only recognize me, but the sword of the man himself!” she said angrily. “Now, open up these gates before I knock them down myself!”

“Forgive me, Lady,” apologized the Noldo, as one of the gates began to open. “I did not realize that it was you.”

As soon as the gap was large enough for Rocco to get through, they entered the city. Her horse took off down the street leading to the citadel. People jumped out of the way as her steed speedily went up the stone roadway. For the first time, she noticed numerous mortals in the compound, something she had not seen before. They were obviously refugees from nearby lands.

When Rocco reached the bottom of the steps to Maedhros’ Halls, Buffy jumped off. She ran up the steps, taking three at a time in her haste. The elves she passed were stunned by her most unexpected arrival.

Upon entering the fortress, she breathlessly asked one of the guards, “Where’s Luthor?” before shoving Nacil into his hands.

Slightly startled, the guard awkwardly took the weapon thrust upon him and stammered, “He’s… he’s resting in the Healer’s Wing of the citadel.”

“And Kit? Where are my lions?”

“He… er, they are in the Great Hall… ”

That’s all Buffy needed to hear. She took off down the corridor pushing her way through the group of soldiers that were preparing to go back out on the battlefield. She dashed up the spiral staircase that would take her to the next floor where Maedhros’ main chamber was located.

Stopping outside the double doors to the Great Hall, the Slayer tried to catch her breath. One of the two guards posted outside the chamber nodded dutifully before cracking the door open enough to allow her entry. She hesitated, as a feeling of trepidation overwhelmed every fiber of her being. Reluctantly, she stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a dull clunk.

She froze on the spot, her eyes welling with tears as she beheld the sight before her. On the dais where Maedhros’ seat normally was, lay the motionless form of Kit, on his side, upon a table draped with a velvety red cloth trimmed with dangling gold cords. At the head of the table, on a box covered in the same material, sat Kat, her doleful yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at her mate. Many guards stood in a semi-circle around the rectangular slab, each holding a spear upright in his hand. Maedhros was honoring Kit as if he were a Noldo Lord, a gesture that touched Buffy deeply.

The sound of her sniffling echoed throughout the chamber as she shuffled toward the dais. Her feet felt like heavy weights. She pulled off her gloves, tucking them in the waistband of her breeches. When she reached Kit’s side, her bleary eyes scanned the lion’s body and the many wounds he had received. The lion’s jaw was partially open, his left eye socket, empty. Buffy counted twenty-three wounds to that side of his body alone.

With a trembling hand, she reached for his face. His fur was clean and soft to the touch, as was his body. It appeared that the Noldo healers had used their special brand of magics to prevent rigor mortis from setting in. The Slayer’s tears splattered on his golden coat as her hand moved towards Kit’s ear, his favorite place to be scratched in times past. Yet that time, the lion didn’t moan with delight at her touch, something that caused her tears to turn into outright sobbing. In her grief, she threw her body over the beast, burying her face in his thick mane, bawling uncontrollably.

Images from the past flashed in her mind. She recalled the first time she had encountered the lions during her maiden trip to the mainland of Folkvang, centuries before, how she had feared that the wild beasts would attack both her and Rocco, how both Kit and Kat approached her whilst she slept, waking only to find each cat on either side of her. She remembered how Kit would stalk the butterflies in the gardens of Eanna during the spring, of his playing with Celegorm’s dog, Huan at Lindecoa, of his affectionate grooming of Kat before the fireplace at the Gap on a cold winter’s night. For Buffy had not lost just a pet or companion, she had lost a member of her family. Both Kit and Kat were like her children, and the death of a child brings about a kind of despair that leads the bearer of the pain to do and say things that they wouldn’t otherwise.

She then felt Kat’s paw on her back. Without raising her head, she reached out, grabbing hold of the lioness’ outstretched leg. Buffy could feel Kat’s body shaking. She could feel her agony, her loss.

The Slayer then turned her attention to the lioness, wrapping her arms around the beast, holding her mournful kitty in a tight embrace. She spoke reassuring words to Kat, knowing that nothing she could say would replace the emptiness that they both felt.

Buffy then heard the door open, the noisy sounds from outside the room carried into the chamber. Turning, she saw Olofin standing there, suited for combat, a look of sorrow on his long face.

He slowly approached his mother, as Thranduil came into the chamber, stopping just inside the doors.

“I’m sorry, nana,” said the half-elf with a heavy heart. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t gone in for that last swoop… ”

“Why did you?” barked Buffy bitterly through her tears. “I told you to flee. I shouted it at the top of my lungs. But no,” she continued, her anguish causing her to lash out unjustly at her son, “you had to play the hero and try to save me. And look what happened! I hold you to blame for this entirely, Olofin Tirnon. Kit’s death is on your hands!”

She then stormed out of the room, leaving her son behind in tears.

Thranduil went to his friend’s side, placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Fin. It’s the grief talking. Bella didn’t mean it.”

The half-elf wiped away his tears. “Yes, yes she did,” he answered, before quickly leaving the chamber, now eager to get back on to the battlefield.

In her sorrow, Buffy wandered aimlessly through the corridors, regretting how she had spoken to her son. She didn’t know what had happened, she had just snapped. The sudden need to blame someone had overcome her, making her say the unthinkable. She knew he wasn’t at fault, she was. She didn’t insist that the lions wear their mithril mail before sending them into battle. She wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. The sudden attack led her to make a poor judgment call, and unfortunately, that poor judgment call came at a great cost.

Buffy found herself in the Healer’s Wing, unaware that she was there until she looked up and noticed the many healers anxiously running to and fro, dealing with those injured from battle. She grabbed the arm of one passing by, asking where she might find Luthor.

“Around the corner, fourth door on the left,” he answered, pulling free from her grasp and disappearing into a chamber at the opposite end of the hallway.

She continued down the corridor. The stench of death filled the air. Glancing into some of the rooms with opened doors, she saw many bodies covered with linens, the various colors denoting the rank of the dead. She shifted her gaze to the floor, doing her best to keep out of the others’ way as she ambled on, following the aforementioned healer’s directions.

Buffy softly rapped on the door before pushing it open. Hweston was taking the old man’s pulse when she entered.

“How is he?” she asked gloomily.

“He’s on the mend,” answered the Noldo, giving the Slayer a quick glance. “Things were touch and go at the start. The blade of the enemy was poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” she queried, stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Yes, but thankfully your son had the cure to his ailment. It made all the difference.”

“Oh,” said Buffy, feeling a pang of guilt over her earlier words with Olofin. “And what was that?”

The healer turned his eyes to the Slayer and gave her a warm smile. “Your blood, my Lady. It seems that Olofin carries a vial of it with him at all times.”

“Oh,” she replied, shifting her gaze to the sleeping form of Luthor. “I didn’t know that.”

“Do not fret, Luinil,” continued Hweston as he made his way to the door. “Luthor will be fine in a few days time. He is heavily sedated and will sleep for many hours yet, but you are welcome to sit with him. I’m sure he’d find comfort in hearing your voice. Rumor had it that you were captured by the enemy a few days ago. It is good to see that it was just that.” He gave her a quick smile. “I must go. I have many to attend to.” The healer then left the chamber.

Buffy remained standing at the foot of the bed for a few minutes, studying Luthor. He looked so peaceful, and well-groomed. She didn’t remember the last time she had seen his long grey hair and beard looking so neatly brushed. She watched as his chest rose and fell with each deep breath, grateful that the old man was still alive.

She helped herself to some water from the pitcher beside his bed, not remembering the last time she had tasted anything so refreshing. After downing a couple of glasses, she sat down beside the Maia, her expression somber.

“Kit’s dead,” she said softly. “I blamed Olofin, Luthor. I shouldn’t have done that. If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d find him, and apologize, but I just don’t have the strength.” She shuddered, her eyes heavy and puffy from crying so much. “The war isn’t going so good,” she continued, shifting her gaze from the Maia’s sleeping form to the blackness outside the window over his bed. “The sky’s so dark, just like in Sumer long ago… Except, this time, there is no hope, there is no one for me to turn to for help.” She glanced back at Luthor. “The Gap is destroyed, our homes. The lands lay in ruination. It’s sad.” She sighed heavily, her eyes welling with tears. “I feel numb, dead inside. I can’t do this any more, Luthor. I just don’t have it in me.”

Buffy fell quiet, as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She remained seated beside the old man for a long while. When a healer entered to check on him some time later, she slipped out of the room, wandering down the corridors in search of a place where she could be alone. There was much activity within the fortress and she wanted no part of it.

She took refuge in the library, wearily dropping to her knees before the dwindling fire. The Slayer threw a few logs on and repositioned the burning embers with the poker. She finally pulled off her shredded garments and tossed them onto the fire. The flames greedily licked at her blood and guts covered clothing, sizzling as it consumed the fabric. She then curled up on the rug next to the fireplace until sleep took her.

It was Maedhros that later found Buffy sound asleep on the floor of the library. He sat in a chair beside the fire, watching her as she slept. The Noldo’s heart went out to her. He knew that the last few days had been trying for her, especially since learning of the death of her beloved lion. He wished he could comfort her, and, quite frankly was a little peeved that his brother had not taken the time to do so. That was Maglor’s responsibility and, to the eldest son of Fëanor, it seemed as if his younger brother was shunting his responsibilities, not only as a husband, but more importantly, as a friend to his wife.

After letting Buffy sleep for a few more hours, Maedhros decided that he needed to wake her. The time was drawing near when he would need to get back out onto the battlefield, and he really wanted the Slayer by his side when he did so. He had food and drink brought to the library along with several sweaters and coats from the children of those that belonged to his Household.

The Noldo crouched beside her, calling her name, as he gently shook her awake. “Muinthel. Muinthel.”

Buffy softly moaned, slowly rolling onto her back. She blinked her eyes open. Upon seeing the face of her brother-in-law, she asked, “What time is it?” with a yawn.

Rising, Maedhros looked up at the clock on the wall. “It is half past eight.”

“In the morning or night?” She stretched her arms behind her back as she sat up, causing her back to make a series of popping noises.

“It’s night time.”

She glanced out the window. “It’s always night time,” she remarked with a sigh.

“Indeed,” he answered, following her gaze. “Not even the stars of Elbereth can penetrate Morgoth’s clouds of doom.”

The Noldo looked back at the Slayer, surveying her appearance, as she remained seated on the floor, staring blankly out the window. She looked battle worn. Her white mithril top was splattered with dried blood, guts and grime, as were her black leather breeches, which had seen better days. Holes and slashes had cut through the material, revealing the mithril leggings underneath. The belt wrapped around her waist glimmered from the light of the flames and looked unmarred to his elvish eyes.

Her hair was the most shocking thing about her appearance. It was short, very short. The shortest the Noldo had ever seen it. Her once long, golden hair didn’t even come down to the nape of her neck. He assumed the enemy had hacked it off in a display of their cruelty. The creases on either side of her mouth seemed more pronounced, making her appear older. But it was the look in her green eyes that made Maedhros just want to grab her and hold her tightly in his arms. They were still red and puffy from the tears she had shed hours before and revealed her pain, her anguish.

Maedhros’ heart ached for her. He would do nearly anything to see her smile again, or hear her lilting laughter when she was in one of her playful moods. Maglor was a fool not to see that his greatest treasure was not lost. She was here, and in desperate need of him. If his brother would not be there for Buffy, then Maedhros most certainly would.

“I’ve brought food and drink,” he finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. He walked over to the table and picked up a tray laden with a pot of beef stew, a loaf of bread, a couple of apples and a pitcher of water. He placed the tray on the floor before taking a seat across from the Slayer. “You must be famished. I know I am,” Maedhros continued, as he lifted the lid from the pot, waving the delicious aroma toward the Slayer.

Buffy didn’t say a word, but continued to stare out the window, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I know how much Kit meant to you,” he continued, doling out the hearty stew into two bowls. “He was truly a noble beast. None can deny that. We will give him a proper burial once the war is over, for there is no question that he deserves it.”

The Slayer remained despondent, unresponsive. A single tear escaped her eye, running down her face, splattering onto her leg.

“Oh, Luinil,” said Maedhros, his face and voice fraught with worry. He let the ladle fall back into the pot as he gently grasped Buffy by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do not let your grief consume you. I know that you’re heartbroken, really, I do, but you must pull yourself together. Kat needs you. Olofin needs you. Turn your grief into anger and direct it at the ones responsible for Kit’s death. Let us kill the enemy in recompense for his death. Let us make them pay dearly for taking one so mighty from us.”

“Morgoth’s gonna destroy everyone I love,” she sobbed, no longer able to restrain her sorrow. “I see that now. Kit’s just the beginning. He won’t stop until he takes everyone away from me… ”

“Do not underestimate the skill of the Noldor, Muinthel,” said Maedhros reassuringly, wiping her tears with his fingertip. “We will fight him tooth and nail. We do not fear the Craven Lord, but we need you. You are needed on the battlefield, for your mere presence alone gives hope to my people, to your people. Do not let Kit’s death be in vein. Let us make the enemy pay for killing such a lordly beast. Let us show Morgoth that his attempts to destroy us are futile.”

“But… but he’s already taken the Gap, and… and… ”

He pressed his finger to her quivering lips, stilling her words. “Himring still stands. And we will be a stronger people because of this. This is your home now, Muinthel. Help me keep it, to preserve it for generations to come. Will you do that, for me?” asked the Noldo pleadingly, his grey eyes welling with tears.

Buffy nodded in reply.

Maedhros leaned over the tray, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Muinthel.” When he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders, he thought his heart would thump out of his chest. He stroked her head with the stump at the end of his right arm, wishing that that moment would last forever.

The Noldo convinced the Slayer to eat, although he couldn’t help but notice that after a couple of bites, she mostly picked at her food as opposed to actually eating it. While he ate, he talked about possible strategies to employ once they were back on the battlefield. She listened, but made no suggestions, merely nodding in agreement with Maedhros’ plan. He hoped beyond anything that Buffy would snap out of her mournful state once she was back in the combat zone.

While the Elf Lord finished eating, the Slayer got up and chose a black sweater from the many that had been placed on the sofa. She tried on many coats, and found only a blue one that fit comfortably.

Once they had left the library, Buffy insisted on seeing the lions prior to leaving the castle. When they reached the Great Hall, she embraced Kat, vowing to get revenge on the yrch for killing her mate. She then grabbed the dagger that hung from Maedhros’ belt, and cut off a tuft of Kit’s mane. After handing the blade back to her brother-in-law, she kissed the clump of hair before shoving it into the mithril glove on her right hand.

The Slayer then turned to one of the guards and said, “Bring Kat fresh meat and a bowl of milk sweetened with honey.” She stroked the lioness. “You must eat, baby. Do that for mommy.”

Kat nuzzled her Mistress, giving her a kiss of farewell before Buffy left the room with Maedhros.

As soon as they reached the bottom steps of the fortress, Rocco came trotting up to the Slayer.

“That beast of yours is untamed!” cried out the exasperated elf that had tried to catch the horse and take him to the stables. “He’s been rearing and bucking at all who approach him!”

Buffy leapt atop Rocco, whose demeanor was now rather calm. She gave the elf a reproachful look before replying, “Then don’t go near him.” She then pulled down her hood and took off down the road, leaving Maedhros and the others behind.

Once outside the walled city, Buffy pulled a sword charm from her belt. Instantly, it turned into a full-sized weapon. Her eyes scanned the battlefield, looking for the most menacing of Morgoth’s creatures. Spotting the nearest group of Balrogs, she tightened her hold on Rocco’s mane as he took off in the direction of her fiery foes.

She had taken Maedhros’ earlier suggestion to heart, turning her anguish into rage, unleashing her unbridled fury upon all that she encountered.

News quickly spread throughout Himring that the Vala of War was now on the battlefield making mincemeat of the forces of Darkness. The mortals were amazed when they heard that, for very few had encountered her in recent years. To them, she was a legend, a mythological being that had loved and fought for the survival of their race in days of old. The stories from the East continued to pass in secret from generation to generation, none willing to share them with the Eldar that they had come to love dearly.

Mortals, both the young and old, flocked to the armories, anxious to join the God of yore in combat, increasing the numbers of their forces on the battlefield. Even women insisted on joining the fray, as the Slayer proved that they too were capable of doing deeds of surpassing valor.

The war raged on, non-stop, for weeks on end. Buffy was reunited with not only her husband and son on the field, but also many of those from her Household. Rallying under her banner, the elves and mortals were able to route the enemy from their lands, forcing them southwards down the road between the hills. Turning west, they continued their assault as some of the creatures of Morgoth tried to escape through the Pass of Aglon that once was the home of Celegorm and Curufin. The two sons of Fëanor had held the Pass for centuries, but lost hold of it sometime during the battle. Their entire city was destroyed and many a good elf lay rotting upon the once fair lands. Fortunately, none were the C-brothers.

For nearly three months, they battled the enemy until all were dead, or fled into the woods of Dorthonion. Dagor Bragollach (Battle of Sudden-Flame), that war was named, and it proved to be the turning point in all events afterward.

Over the next couple of weeks, in early spring, messengers came and went across the plains, eager to hear and deliver news of the battles fought elsewhere. Those in Himring exchanged tales of woe with the other Noldo Lords, for things had gone ill for not only the sons of Fëanor but also the other Noldor as well as the Sindar and Mankind.

When Maglor was driven from his lands, the enemy, led by none other than Glaurung, overran Thargelion, forcing the Noldor that dwelled there to flee south. Caranthir and his people escaped to Amon Ereb where they were able to strengthen their numbers with those of the twins, Amrod and Amras. The Noldor then set out again, heading back north. Along the way, they sent word to Orchal at Lindon, who then unleashed the armies of Green-elves to aid the sons of Fëanor in combat. The united forces then hunted down the minions of Morgoth, obliterating the Dark Lord’s armies in southern Thargelion.

The enemy breached the Pass of Aglon in the first couple of days of battle, as was later learned. So great were the forces of Morgoth that Celegorm and Curufin had to retreat south, finding refuge for themselves and their people in Nargothrond, the hidden realm of Finrod. Upon hearing of the war, Finrod let loose his forces, sending them north to aid his kin. The golden-haired Noldo also rode out to battle with his men, but soon found himself in a perilous situation when he had become separated from his armies in the Fens of Serech. The yrch were quick to surround the son of Finarfin. He surely would have died if it had not been for the bravery of the mortal, Barahir and his men, who came rushing to the elf’s aid from the southwestern eaves of Dorthonion, where they were valiantly fighting the enemy in defense of their homeland.

Barahir and the Edain of the First House were able to break through the lines of yrch, forming a defensive ring around the son of Finarfin with their spears. Grateful for the timely arrival of Barahir, Finrod made a vow to aid him and those of his seed in times of need. As a token of his oath, he gave to the mortal the ring he always wore on his forefinger. While Barahir and his men held off the yrch, Finrod was able to escape, fleeing back to his hidden halls along the River Narog.

Those devastated the worst were the people of Angrod and Aegnor, Finrod’s brothers. Since their lands lay closest to the mighty peaks of Morgoth, they died as a direct result of the eruption of Thangorodrim, having no time to flee to the highlands of Dorthonion to their south. The poisonous gases and rivers of flame killed nearly all the elves and mortals that dwelled on those open plains. Those that survived either managed to get up the steep slopes leading to the woods or fled to Himring and sought sanctuary with the eldest son of Fëanor.

The Noldor, Sindar and mortals in Western Beleriand rallied together under the banner of Fingolfin and never allowed the enemy to get beyond the mountain chain, Ered Wethrin, thus none of their fortresses were taken by the enemy. Yet the numbers of Morgoth’s minions were so great that none were able to come to the aid of the sons of Finarfin, much to the dismay of the Noldo King.

The end result of Dagor Bragollach was that the siege of Angband was over, and many of Morgoth’s creatures (namely yrch, trolls and wargs) now roamed freely in both Western and Eastern Beleriand, as the haze created by the Dark Lord still blocked out the sun, keeping most of the lands in perpetual darkness. Many vicious and fell beasts now inhabited the fair woods of Dorthonion, toiling endlessly in their efforts to destroy and defile the pristine forest. In days to come, the yrch would hinder any who traveled from Western to Eastern Beleriand or vice versa. Never again would Beleriand wholly know peace.

Ironically, the only lands not assailed by the enemy were Doriath, Ossiriand and the Falas, the three original elvish settlements in Beleriand. While Amon Ered too did not see warfare, many of the Sindar who had dwelled in Middle-earth prior to the Noldor arriving, considered that to be part of Ossir, even though, it was not.

Now, it must be mentioned that during the battle, Sargon had summoned Buffy to Sussrúmnir each and every night in order for her to pass her judgments. She had claimed many a mortal soul during Dagor Bragollach. In fact, she took more than half of the warriors that had fallen, in direct violation of the decree set by Manwë Súlimo.

Of all the warriors that had died, the greatest was Hador Lórindol, the mighty Adan from the Third House who had served Fingolfin in life, as well as being lord of Dor-Lómin. While she had never met him whilst he lived in Middle-earth, she would form a great friendship with him in the afterlife, and would, at times, bring back messages from the golden-haired mortal to those of his own House as well as his former Lord’s. With him, she also re-embodied his son, Gundor. Both were welcomed by their forefathers, and in after days, Hador joined the ranks of the Mightiest of the Mighty, being held in the highest of esteem by his kindred in Folkvang.

While Buffy had reconciled with her son on the battlefield, she never got the opportunity to speak with him at length until the war had ended. She assured Olofin that he was not to blame for Kit’s death and that she had unfairly accused him of that due to her grief. She apologized profusely for her behavior, explaining that Morgoth was the one at fault, no one else. Neither admitted it, but both would continue to harbor the guilt of Kit’s death for years to come.

As Maedhros had promised, Kit’s burial was to be the first of the mighty Lords that had fallen in battle. Hours before the ceremony was to take place, Buffy and her loved ones gathered around the still preserved body of the lion, paying their last respects in private to the noblest of beasts.

Overwhelmed with sorrow yet again, the Slayer turned to her son and said, “Hweston said that you healed Luthor with a vial of my blood. Do you have any left? Maybe we can reanimate Kit with some of it.”

The glimmer of hope in her eyes brought Olofin to tears. “I already tried, nana. I used what blood I had on both Luthor and Kit. I’m afraid it wasn’t enough. Alas, I cannot bring him back.”

Buffy was heartbroken when she heard that. Throughout the war, she clung to the hope that perhaps Kit could be revived with her untainted blood, but unfortunately, it was not destined to be.

Although the lion’s death pained her greatly, one good thing did come from it - it strengthened her bond with Maglor. The Noldo seemed to come back to his senses and begged forgiveness for his standoffish behavior over the past forty-some-odd years. That meant the world to her, as she needed her husband now more than ever.

Before Kit’s body was removed from the Great Hall, the Slayer cut off two more tufts from his mane, giving one each to Olofin and Thranduil, as the lion had loved both of them greatly in life.

“Keep these in memory of Kit. In times of distress, clutch it in your hand and your hope will be renewed. In times of war, place it in your glove, and it will give you strength in body, mind and soul,” she had said to the weeping young men. The gesture meant a lot to both of them, and forever afterwards, they kept the tufts of hair with them.

Maedhros, Maglor, Olofin and Thranduil carried Kit’s remains from the Great Hall to the cart that awaited outside the citadel. Buffy had decided to have her beloved kitty buried outside the wall surrounding Himring instead of in Folkvang. She felt that Middle-earth had become home to her lions, and it was there that she wanted Kit to sleep for eternity.

To the Slayer it seemed only fitting that Rocco pull the vehicle down the main street of the city, since he was with her when she had first encountered the lions centuries ago. The inhabitants of Himring lined up along the roadway, some weeping, as the cart slowly passed by. Buffy led the procession that followed behind, together with Kat, her immediate family (including Luthor, who was now fully healed), and those Green-elves from her Household.

Maedhros had a barrow built to the north of the entrance to the gates of the city. When Kit was placed inside, Buffy kissed the beast before covering his remains with her banner - a red cross on a white field. Before the tomb was sealed, Maglor sang a song of lamentation that he had written in honor of the lion. His beautiful voice bounced from hill to hill, heightening the effects of his mournful words. The lyrics brought many of the mightiest of Lords to tears.

When the last note had faded, all fell silent for several minutes, as was the custom of the Eldar. Not a sound was heard, no infant wailed, no maiden cried.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves racing upon the stone road leading to the city from the south broke the silence. The mourners looked for the source, only to see a lone white steed rapidly approaching. Its body gleaming brightly against the darkness that shrouded the lands.

“Is that Rochallor, Fingolfin’s horse?” asked Buffy, as she stepped away from the barrow for a better look.

“It looks like him,” replied Maedhros, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, that most definitely is.”

“Then where is Fingolfin?” questioned a puzzled Maglor. “Surely, some ill has happened for Rochallor to be so far from home, riderless.”

A deep sense of foreboding overcame the mourners upon hearing Maglor’s words. Rumblings broke out in the crowd.

“If something has happened to the King, then Rochallor is returning home,” answered the eldest son of Fëanor, watching as the horse neared the bereaved.

There was truth to Maedhros’ statement, as Rochallor was one of many steeds that he had given to his uncle in reparation for the wrongdoings of the House of Fëanor soon after coming to Middle-earth.

Rocco started neighing loudly, rearing up, nearly smashing the cart to smithereens.

“Unharness him,” Buffy ordered, after seeing how anxious her horse was to be free.

The elves did as commanded. Rocco came trotting up to Buffy, Maglor, Maedhros, and Olofin who had walked several paces toward the road, watching Rochallor’s fast approaching form. Something didn’t seem right with Fingolfin’s steed, which only proved true when the animal had finally reached the small group near the road.

Rochallor stopped before the Lords and Lady of the House of Fëanor. White puffs of breath came quickly and noisily from his wet nose. The horse’s neighing was filled with distress. He shook his head wildly from side to side, his eyes wide with fear. His white coat glistened with sweat.

“Whoa, boy!” said Maedhros, reaching out for the mighty steed. “Calm down, my friend. Calm down.”

Rochallor then collapsed, falling on his side. His breathing still labored, sending jets of white from his nose. He continued to bray, the sound weaker than before. Rocco approached the steed, sniffing the face of the exhausted beast.

Buffy squatted beside Rochallor, stroking the damp flesh of his neck. “What is it, baby? What happened?”

Rocco neighed loudly before placing his head on Buffy’s arm, as she locked eyes with Fingolfin’s horse. She then saw a vision play out before her eyes:

Fingolfin was angrily marching through the stables of Barad Eithel, surrounded by his sister and many Lords of his House.

“Don’t do this, Fingolfin,” cried out Lalwen in her distress, grabbing hold of her brother’s arm.

Fingolfin roughly pulled away, causing the woman to wail, as he freed Rochallor from his stall.

“This is madness, my Lord!” shouted one of the Lords.

The Noldo King didn’t listen to any. He leapt upon his horse, repositioning his blade, Ringil, once mounted. He shifted his shield in his other hand.

Lalwen stepped in front of the horse. “You’ll get yourself killed, brother! All is not lost!”

Fingolfin narrowed his blazing eyes upon his sister. They reflected both his wrath and despair. “All is lost, sister! Not even the mighty Luinil was able to save the lands of Kanafinwë! There is no longer hope for any of us. The Noldor have lost all that we labored for. The Doom has come to fulfillment. Yet before it claims me, I will make the Craven Lord pay. Farewell!”

Fingolfin then reined Rochallor around his sister, taking off from the stables at great speed. Those that saw the blurry form of the Noldo King speedily riding upon the dusty plains toward the gates of Angband grew fearful. Many thought that Oromë himself had come, seeking vengeance upon Morgoth for all the ills done to the people of Middle-earth.

When the enraged King reached the doors of Angband, he blew his horn three times, the high-pitched sound reaching the depths of Angband. Fingolfin shouted for Morgoth to come forth and face him in one on one combat. In his ire, he called the Dark Lord craven, a coward, as he beat upon the iron gates of the fortress of Hell.

Rochallor, keeping a safe distance from the gates, ran back and forth along the withered plains before the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim watching his Lord from afar.

After a short while, the gates opened, and out came Morgoth in all his demonic glory, clad entirely in black armor, Grond clutched in his right hand. He stepped before the Elven King, looking like a menacing mountain of terror to the much smaller form of Fingolfin, whose body emitted a white light that caused his silver mail to shine like a small star beneath the black cloud of Morgoth.

The Dark Lord then brought down Grond, but Fingolfin jumped to the side. The mighty mace hit the earth, renting it, as both smoke and flame shot up from the ground. Again, Morgoth lifted the weapon over his head, and slammed it down toward the elf, but once again, the Noldo leapt before the weapon could smite him. Time after time, the Dark Lord’s weapon missed its mark, making pits in the earth where the mighty mace struck. Fingolfin, most valiant of the Noldor, managed to drive Ringil into the foot of Morgoth, causing the Dark Lord to cry out in anguish. The sound reverberated across the dusty plains. The Elven King delivered seven such blows to the Dark Foe, each time the cries of Morgoth echoed to the utter depths of Angband, terrifying his minions.

At last, the Noldo became weary, and as Morgoth brought down Grond yet again, the elf managed to block the blow with his bejeweled shield, but the force sent him to his knees. Fingolfin struggled back to his feet but Morgoth brought him back to his knees two more times. When he rose the third time, exhaustion had set in, and the Elven King lost his footing and fell backward into one of the pits.

Morgoth then approached the hole, looking at Fingolfin with deep hatred, for his foot pained him as much as his pride. As he went to step upon the neck of the Noldo with his wounded foot, Fingolfin mustered the last bit of his strength and hewed the Dark Lord’s foot. Morgoth wailed again, but slammed his foot upon the Elven King’s neck, breaking it. The blood from the mighty Vala’s multiple wounds filled the pit with his foul, black blood. The fair son of Finwë disappeared beneath the grisly torrent.

Still angered, Morgoth then picked up the lifeless body of Fingolfin, snapping the elf’s back with one hand. He would have happily given the Noldo’s body to his wolves, which now came sprinting from his fortress, but in that moment, came Thorondor rushing from his eyrie in the north.

The Eagle swooped down upon the Dark Lord, cutting at the flesh of the evil Vala’s face with his taloned feet. As Morgoth tried to protect himself, Thorondor snatched the lifeless body of Fingolfin from Morgoth’s grasp before ascending into the pitch-black sky, heading southwest from the gates of Angband.

As the wolves made a beeline for Rochallor, the horse took off, galloping toward Himring…

Tears rolled down Buffy’s cheek, as Rocco whinnied, rubbing his face against that of Rochallor.

“Bella? What is it?” asked Maglor, placing his hand on her shoulder.

The Slayer fell to her knees and bent over Fingolfin’s steed, rubbing the horse lovingly. In a broken voice, she then said, “Release yourself from your torments, Rochallor. Sleep. Sleep.” She said that repeatedly, stroking the beast until it took its last breath.

“Bella?” Maglor crouched beside his wife. “What is it that you see?”

Buffy turned her teary eyes to her husband. “Fingolfin’s dead. Morgoth killed him.”

The people cried out in shock and despair when they heard the Slayer’s ominous words. Maglor pulled his wife into his arms, as everyone wept for the fallen Elven King.


Chapter 83 - FEAR, ITSELF

Buffy tried to get a grip on her emotions, as she clung to her husband. Shifting her head slightly, she turned her gaze northward, staring icily at Thangorodrim, looming in the distance. The mountains appeared blacker than the shadows that lay about the land, almost mocking her, challenging her. It was at that moment that she felt the burden of guilt for those that had fallen in battle. Here she was the Chosen One, the Champion of Ilúvatar, sent to Middle-earth to thwart Morgoth, yet in the span of nearly three months time, he had managed to decimate four elvish empires, three of which belonged to the House of Fëanor. Melkor was obviously targeting those whom she loved most. She couldn’t help but wonder, with her magics suppressed, how she was supposed to contest his might. Surely, it would take more than just her slayer strength.

Not only did she have to contend with that, but also those elves from her own Household that had died in battle. Since they had bound their feys’ to her long ago, they were unable to leave Middle-earth. Having no other choice, she had instructed them to go to Ossir, far from the evil that roamed in the north, where they could haunt the fair woods that they dearly loved. She hoped that one day soon, she’d regain her powers and be able make their flesh anew.

Drying her eyes, the Slayer rose to her feet. She turned, facing the numerous weeping mourners.

“My good people,” she said loudly, sniffing back her tears. The murmurings and wailings of the crowd died down, as the people turned their tear-streaked faces in Buffy’s direction. “Never again will we let the enemy catch us at unawares,” she proclaimed in a commanding voice. “From this day forward, we will be more vigilant, and less complacent. We’ll refortify the Pass of Aglon to our west and strengthen our watch along the northern fences. We will not let the loss of our loved ones be in vain.

“Let us strengthen the friendship of the many Houses in Middle-earth, for not all is lost. Today, we unite as one, no matter if one is an Ainu, Elf or of mortal kind. Together, we can contest the forces of darkness in this world, and defeat it. We shall turn our grief into wrath, and inflict it upon the enemy. Expect the unexpected as that will lead us to triumph in the end.”

The Slayer then glanced at the body of Rochallor before looking at Maedhros. “See to it that he has a proper burial, Russandol,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “Let us ride to Barad Eithel as soon as we may for I have urgent business to attend to there.”

She started back toward the citadel, her loved ones accompanying her. Maedhros quickly barked orders to his men to bury the horse before joining up with Buffy and the rest of their kin.

“What business do you have at Barad Eithel?” asked Maglor, looking at his wife with a slightly baffled expression as they passed through the gates of the city.

“The time has come for me to collect Lalwen.”

“Lalwen? My aunt?” questioned Maglor, his face wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I love her, and I need her,” answered Buffy.

The men around her looked at one another with stunned expressions on their faces.

“There are warriors amongst the women of the Noldor, Káno. Lalwen is one of them. Fingolfin refused to let her enter my service long ago, but I promised her that when the time came, when she was no longer bound to her brother, that I would bring her home with me.” She turned her gaze to Maedhros. “If it’s not too much to ask, Russandol, I’d like for you to prepare accommodations befitting one that I think so highly of. If Himring is now to be my home, it will be Lalwen’s as well.”

“Of course,” he answered with a nod.

“Wait a moment,” said Maglor, stopping his wife. “Bella, did you foresee Fingolfin’s death?”

Buffy looked into her husband’s widened grey eyes. “I’ve foreseen a lot of things, Káno. Some of which I did not document in my diaries. But no, I did not foresee Fingolfin’s death. Anno did. And in my heart, I believe Fingolfin knew that he would perish in Middle-earth, although I don’t think he knew exactly how.”

As they continued to walk back to the citadel, Maedhros remarked, “With Fingolfin dead, that means Fingon is now High King of the Noldor.”

A few hours later, the caravan of twenty-five was ready to depart Himring for Eithel Sirion. Much to Luthor’s dismay, Buffy asked him to stay behind to keep an eye on Kat, whose heart was still heavy with grief at losing her mate.

“This is but a ploy, I deem,” protested the Maia, his blue eyes suspiciously eyeing the Slayer. “You think of me as a feeble old man since I received my injury… ”

“That’s absurd,” replied Buffy, slightly appalled by his accusation. “I just don’t want Kat to be alone.”

“There’s many a good elf here that are more than capable of taking care of Kat. I am fit to travel. I may appear old but I am as hale as ever!”

Buffy studied the Maia for a few moments. “Come with me,” she finally said, linking her arm with his. They took off towards her and Maglor’s private rooms. “I know that you’re more than capable of traveling any road in Middle-earth, Luthor, but my heart aches with foreboding… for Kat. I fear that she will allow her grief to consume her, and I don’t want that to happen.”

“Then take the lioness with you.”

“No,” she answered with a sigh. “She’ll never leave Himring again, I’m afraid. She won’t part with Kit no matter what. I know that. I feel it. And since Olofin and Thranduil are coming with me, I trust no one else but you with her. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied with resignation.

“But, before I go, I have something that I want to give you, a peace offering of sorts.”

“Peace offering?” queried the old man, cocking his brow. “Since when have we been at odds with each other? Or are you harboring some deep resentment of me that I do not know about?”

Buffy chuckled. “I just want to right a wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, I suppose not.”

When they reached her rooms, she had Luthor sit on one of the sofas in the sitting room while she went into her bedchamber. She came out a few minutes later, holding something behind her back.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it or anything,” she said before handing him the Carnimír. “I know you’ve seen it in action. Olofin wanted to test it out,” she continued. “It was made for you, to replace the one I destroyed in Eridu.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” answered the old man, staring at the mystical scepter with wonder.

“The jewel was made by Fëanor in Valinor. It was given to me by Káno and his brothers when we became betrothed… ”

“I cannot accept this,” he said, trying to hand the mystically enhanced rod back to Buffy. “This should go to Olofin. It’s an heirloom of your House.”

She wrapped her hand around his that clutched the scepter. Taking a seat beside him, she said, “And you’re a part of my House. You’re like the patriarch. I want you to have it. Olofin wants you to have it, and the brothers, the brothers are in total agreement with that. We all love you, Luthor. And this is a token of that love.” She gave him a small smile. “I hope that this fixes things between us, that this makes up for my… belligerent behavior in the past.”

The Maia’s eyes welled with tears as he placed his other hand on hers. “It is I that needs to make up for the horrific thing that I had done to you, Bellaseth,” he said solemnly. “I am not worthy of receiving such a gift. I… I betrayed your trust… ”

“I don’t want to hear any of that,” she answered, waving her finger in his face. “Let’s just put the past behind us. We’ve both committed wrongs against each other.” She looked deeply into his blue eyes. “No more, Luthor. I need you, and I think you know, deep down, you need me too. Destiny has brought us together for some reason… ”

“Destiny?” he repeated with a chortle. “Is that not the meaning of Maranwë?”

“Okay, then I brought us together, for whatever reason,” she answered half-laughing. “Just keep it. You can discover the Carnimír’s mystical properties while I’m gone.” She rose to her feet before adding, “We should be back in a few weeks.”

Luthor rose as well, pulling her into a bear hug, still clutching the scepter in his hand. “I thank you, my dear. I will treasure this mighty gift, always.” He kissed the top of her head. “You take care while abroad,” he whispered in her ear. “The road you will travel upon has become perilous. Use caution. Be vigilant.”

“I will,” she answered, pulling out of the embrace. “I’ll see you soon.” She then left the chamber.

The journey to Eithel Sirion was a sad one. The once green pastures of Ard-Galen that had stretched from Eastern to Western Beleriand were reduced to dust by the fires of Glaurung and the Balrogs. Therefore, on that trip, the elves renamed it Anfauglith (Land of Gasping Dust).

The travelers rode hard and fast, eager to reach their destination. They stopped only for a few hours at a time in order for the horses to rest, and for them to stretch their stiff and weary limbs and partake of a bit of lembas.

It was on the second day of their journey that the yrch attacked from the slopes of Dorthonion. Yet the elves and Buffy were ever wary, and knowing beforehand the dangers that lurked on the road, had dressed in full battle regalia in anticipation of such an event. Arrows, poisoned by the enemy, rained down upon them from along the withered hillside. Their elven shields reflected the flying projectiles for the most part. Unfortunately, two horses were hit, and ended up dying as a result of their venomous wounds.

The many Green-elves in their company, who were awesome archers in their own right, returned fire. Squeaks rang out in the darkness as the arrows of the Noldor met their mark, hitting the yrch in the throat, a favorite target of the elves. While the travelers had anticipated a possible raid, they were not prepared to fight so many of the enemy, as they had a limited amount of arrows amongst them.

The Slayer ordered the men to ride on before they lost any more of their horses. Olofin, who had lost his steed, changed into falcon form and flew the rest of the way while Maedhros rode with Buffy atop Rocco. The eldest son of Fëanor was none to happy to flee from the yrch, but his sister-in-law had assured him that they’d replenish their quivers once they reached Barad Eithel, and would engage the enemy on their return home.

It was in the wee hours of the morning, on the third day of their journey, when they finally reached the former Halls of Fingolfin. For the first time ever, the Noldo guards of Barad Eithel witnessed, with amazement, one of Buffy’s two second disappearing acts. Of course, that brought much confusion amongst the sentinels.

“What just happened?” exclaimed one of the flabbergasted men, his grey eyes wide with disbelief. He pointed to Buffy, as the blood drained from his face. “You were here, and then you vanished, and now you’re here again!”

“Have you been nipping at the bottle again, Narudhur?” asked Gûrauth, the Captain of the Citadel with a snicker, having entered the antechamber after the Slayer’s return from Folkvang.

“I have not, my Lord,” answered Narudhur in an affronted tone. “I swear to the Valar that Luinil arrived with the others, then disappeared for a moment, and then returned. It happened in the blink of an eye. I swear!”

“He’s right, my Lord,” answered another, staring awe-struck at Buffy. “I saw it as well.”

The other guards nodded in agreement.

“They were not seeing things, Gûrauth, my old friend,” said Maedhros with a chuckle. “Indeed the Lady Luinil leaves Middle-earth at precisely two in the morning every day in order to tend to her duties in Folkvang. Your men have witnessed what so few ever have.”

“Duties?” queried the flummoxed guard. “How could she attend to any duties in only a moment’s time? That’s impossible!”

“Time moves differently in Folkvang, Narudhur,” answered Buffy, amused by the men’s reaction. “I was actually gone for several hours, but time was altered so that none here are the wiser!”

“Until now, my darling,” chimed in Maglor with a chortle.

That was the only light-hearted moment that the travelers had on that journey. The Noldor were mourning the recent loss of Fingolfin, and the Slayer’s sudden vanishing act was merely a momentary distraction from their grief.

“Fingon Lord has already taken the scepter of his father,” announced Gûrauth sadly. “He has taken up residence in these Halls. Surely, I should wake him and inform him that he has such important guests.”

“Nay,” answered Maedhros, who was closest in friendship with the newly appointed King. “Do not wake Fingon. We are weary from travel, and would be grateful for a warm bed within the safety of these walls.”

“Of course, my Lord Maedhros,” answered Gûrauth with a nod. “I will see to it that rooms are readied as quickly as possible. Should I have one of the cooks prepare some refreshments before you and your noble guests retire?”

Maedhros glanced at his companions. All shook their heads “no”, as they were quite eager to lose themselves to sleep.

“We are only in need of lodgings, Gûrauth. We can wait until morning and eat with the rest of the Household.”

Shortly thereafter, the travelers were escorted to their rooms in various sections of the castle. Once Buffy had seen which chamber she’d be staying in with Maglor, she took off for Lalwen’s rooms. She found the elleth sound asleep. She woke her, and spent the rest of the morning comforting the distraught woman.

By the time the bells had sounded for breakfast, the women had fallen asleep, sleeping well into the afternoon.

Upon waking, the Slayer returned to her chamber, eager for a hot bath. After washing and dressing, she and Lalwen went in search of the others. They found them in the main chamber, where many from the Houses of Fingolfin, Fingon, and Hador were gathered, along with those from Himring.

After Buffy had expressed her condolences to the newly ascended King, Fingon asked her to relay the ‘vision’ that she had experienced through the eyes of Rochallor. As she spoke in great detail of the duel between Fingolfin and Morgoth, many elves and mortals softly sobbed, the sound echoing within the enormous chamber.

“So Thorondor has taken the body of my father,” said the grief-stricken King once she had finished speaking.

“Yeah,” answered Buffy. “I assumed he would bring him here, but I guess I was wrong.” She paused before asking, “What of Turgon? Has any informed him of… well, you know?”

“Turgon?” repeated Fingon. “We have no way of contacting my brother. Not even his own kin know the whereabouts of Gondolin. And no messengers have passed through these doors from the hidden kingdom in over two centuries.”

“Oh,” answered the Slayer, turning her downcast eyes to her lap.

Lalwen took her hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, just as the dinner bells rang.

Buffy gorged herself at supper, having not eaten anything since her arrival at Barad Eithel. As she ate, she could feel someone staring at her. Looking up, she saw a small elfling watching her intently. She gave the boy a small smile, which caused him to quickly avert his gaze.

“Who’s the kid?” she asked Lalwen while buttering a piece of bread.

“That is Ereinion, Fingon’s son.”

The Slayer shifted her gaze back to the boy. He was watching her yet again. “Why is he staring at me?” she asked, shoving the bread into her mouth.

Lalwen chuckled. “Surely you must know, Luinil. The lad has never seen a Vala before,” she answered, turning her eyes to the young elfling, who quickly looked away. “He’s curious is all.”

In the days that followed, little Ereinion shadowed the Slayer’s every move, yet kept a distance when doing so. She thought that perhaps the boy was afraid of her, as he never approached her and properly introduced himself nor did his father. It wasn’t until a week later when she actually spoke with the boy during a council called by Fingon.

“Grave is our situation, Luinil,” said the Noldo King during the meeting. “With these dark clouds lingering overhead, we’re unable to sow the fields. Hithlum and our other territories are depending upon Ossiriand as the chief source for our food. We are in dire need of your canned goods.”

“Orchal is handling the affairs of Ossir, Fingon,” answered Buffy. “Long we’ve been preparing for such times, and will happily barter with any in need. I have received word from my Regent that our lands have not fallen under shadow, and that the first crops are already in the ground.” She turned her gaze to Galdor the Tall, Hador’s son and successor to the lordship of Dor-lómin. “We will not turn our backs on any. Send your men to Lindon, as that is where Orchal currently resides.”

“Good, good,” answered the King, nodding his head.

While Buffy hated war with a passion, she did however, discover that Morgoth’s clouds of doom would prove advantageous to the economic growth of Ossir, thus making it the richest of realms by the end of Yr 455. Not only would the Green-elves be the sole providers of sustenance to the Noldor, but also to the mortals and Sindar that dwelled in the northern parts of Beleriand. Moreover, in weeks to come, she would receive word from Orchal that the population of Ossiriand was growing, as many elves that fled the battles in the north had come to her lands seeking sanctuary, which, in turn, would increase the work force.

The discussion soon turned to refortifying the areas that had been overrun by the enemy.

Even though the Slayer had proclaimed earlier to the inhabitants of Himring about strengthening their watch along the northern fences, their numbers had dwindled, making it near impossible to do so. It was at this time that her brother-in-law pointed that out.

“Whilst I have the utmost respect for you and your counsel, Muinthel,” said Maedhros, somewhat reluctantly, “and I, for one, do not want my people to give up hope, we do not have enough manpower to secure our borders as you had declared. That wall around Himring is our greatest defense at present. I cannot afford to displace any more of my people outside the city.”

All eyes turned to Buffy, who sat there, her face flushing at the eldest son of Fëanor’s words.

“I hate to say it, but Russandol is right,” said her husband, adding to her mounting discomfort. “You cannot pull any more from Ossir, as that will leave your lands defenseless.”

“There will be no need for that,” said little Ereinion, who suddenly popped out from behind one of the pillars within the chamber.

“Ereinion!” said a startled Fingon. “What are you doing in here, my son?”

“He’s been stealthily following Bellaseth for days now,” said Lalwen, smiling at the elfling. “Haven’t you, lad?”

The boy slowly walked up to Buffy, stopping in front of her chair. He cocked his head to the side and said, “You’re very small. I would think a Vala would be… bigger.” His grey eyes scanned the Slayer’s small form. “I’m ten years old and am nearly as big as you!”

“Are you afraid of me, little Ereinion?” she asked, trying her best to keep a straight face. “Every time I wander through these Halls, I see you lurking behind. Am I that much of a curiosity?”

“I have heard tales of those that dwell in the West, and you are the first of that mighty race that I’ve ever encountered. Should I not be curious?”

Buffy turned to Fingon. “And this boy’s only ten?! He sounds like he’s a hundred!”

“I take that as a compliment,” replied the King with a smile, “as it’s my responsibility as a parent to teach my child well.”

“They are coming as we speak,” continued Ereinion, his eyes remaining fixed on the Slayer.

“Who’s coming?” she asked, confused by the boy’s words.

“Men. Those from the kindred of mankind, I mean,” he answered. “They are a strange looking to my eye as they are unlike the Edain that dwell in these parts.”

Fingon rose from his seat and walked up to his son. Crouching beside the elfling, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked, “Do you foresee that, my son? Do you see more mortals coming to Beleriand?”

“Yes, adar,” he answered, facing his father. “They come because of her,” he pointed to the Slayer, “the Lady Luinil, the Valië whom they love above all others,” Ereinion continued, turning his gaze back to Buffy. “They traveled by long roads from the East in hope of finding you. They long to enter your service, my Lady. Those mortals will replenish the numbers that you desperately need, as they will serve no other than the Vala of Love and War.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” said Buffy with a smile.

“They will die for you,” added the elfling, his face grave for one so young.

“Well, then,” began the Slayer, turning to the eldest son of Fëanor. “Looks like things aren’t as grim as you thought, Russandol. Hope is not lost, just like I said.” Smiling, she turned back to the elfling. “Come here, little Ereinion,” she said, as she undid the clasp on the gold chain that hung around her neck. “This is for you,” she continued as she clasped the necklace around the boy’s neck. “The ruby cross is the symbol of my House. Only the mightiest of my Lords and Ladies wear them. May it protect you, always.”

Ereinion lifted the red pendant that hung from the chain, and inspected it closely. “Thank you, my Lady,” he replied, his voice full of awe. “I will wear it at all times.” He then threw his arms around Buffy, hugging her tightly.

That’s when the visions came. Visions so disturbing, that Buffy jumped backwards in her chair and out of the grasp of the elfling. Her seat fell over, spilling her onto the floor, causing quite a ruckus within the chamber.

“Luinil? What is it?” asked Fingon, both his face and tone fraught with concern.

Buffy stared wide-eyed at Ereinion, the blood draining from her face, her heart pounding frantically within her chest.

The boy’s lips slowly curled into a knowing smile, freaking the Slayer out even more.

“Bella? What’s wrong?” asked Maglor, rushing to her side.

“We must go,” she said insistently, getting to her feet. “Now!” She quickly fled the chamber, many chasing after her, desperate to know what had happened.

“What was it that the Lady had seen, my son?” asked Fingon, horrified by Buffy’s unexpected display.

The smile had left the elfling’s face. He feigned innocence. “I do not know, adar.”

Buffy ran to her room, and began to shove her garments haphazardly into her bag. She was adamant on leaving, with or without those that had accompanied her. Her companions begged her to tell them what she had seen, but she refused to divulge any aspect of her vision. Even when Fingon himself came on bended knee, imploring her to reveal what she had seen, she still refused, vowing to disembowel any that continued to press the issue.

Despite the Slayer’s refusal, the King was gracious enough to replenish the company’s supply of arrows and to grant them two steeds for their journey home. Within thirty minutes, she, Lalwen and the others from Himring set out for home, leaving a troubled Fingon behind.

The Noldo King deemed that Buffy had foreseen something horrific happening to his young son. In his panicked state, Fingon immediately sent word to Círdan, beseeching the Lord of the Falas to foster Ereinion in his lands, away from the evil that lurked in northern Beleriand. Within a couple of weeks, the boy would leave the Halls of his grandfather for that of the Shipwright, never to set foot in Barad Eithel again.

Now, for some reason, the Slayer chose to journey home by a different road. Traveling across Anfauglith was, by far, the most direct route to Himring, yet she had decided to go south, taking the road that passed between Ered Wethrin to the west and Echoriath (the Encircling Mountains) to the east. Perhaps it was the disturbing vision she had that caused her to lead her men (and woman) on such a dangerous path, or perhaps, after so many years, she felt the overwhelming need to travel upon the same road she had tread when she had first entered Middle-earth over half a millennia before. Many in her party believed that she was eager to confront creatures more deadly than the yrch, and that that was the motivating factor for her taking them through the horrors of Nan Dungortheb.

Initially, Buffy’s true purpose in taking that treacherous road through the valley was to test Lalwen’s prowess and courage in the face of danger, to show the Lords of Himring that she was worthy of being accounted amongst them, as she was a daughter of Finwë and possessed the same skill and valor as her kinsmen. Yet, when many of the Noldor and Green-elves grumbled and complained about the way the Slayer had chosen to go home, she deemed that it would be good for the men folk to confront their own fears by passing through one of the wickedest of places in Middle-earth.

As they rode beneath the sheer southern slopes of Echoriath, none aware that they were mere miles from the gateway leading to Turgon’s hidden city, Gondolin, the Eagles espied them from their eyries on top of Crissaegrim, which ran parallel to the Encircling Mountains. For Thorondor and the other mighty servants of Manwë knew that Buffy and her band were carrying out the will of Ilúvatar, and making that pass less perilous in days to come, as Beren, son of Barahir, would soon be taking that same road, thus changing the course of history forever.

When the group had reached the entrance to the valley, many of the horses grew fearful, as did their riders. Rocco, bravest of all steeds in Middle-earth, neighed loudly, encouraging his brethren to boldly move forward through the region known for inflicting terror and dread into the hearts of any that dare tread through that valley. Moments later, the animals had settled down, yet their riders were still frightened of the doom that lay before them and were reluctant to proceed on into the despoiled lands of Ungoliant’s offspring: the gigantic spiders.

The Slayer reined Rocco around, facing her companions. “This is the first place in Middle-earth that I ever set foot upon… or, I should say, where I landed on my ass,” she corrected with a chuckle. “Here I was sent by the guile of Morgoth, alone and exhausted, to fend off spiders so hideous and huge,” her eyes widened, “the like I had never encountered before. But, as you can see, I survived. Now, it’s time to test your courage, and see how many of Ungoliant’s offspring we can take out as we make our way through Nan Dungortheb to Dor Dínen on the other side.”

“This is insanity, Luinil!” exclaimed Maglor, one of those who were reluctant to enter the foulest of areas in Middle-earth. “Why don’t we go back and travel north of Dorthonion. It will be much easier taking out yrch than the fiendish offspring of Ungoliant!”

“Honey, there’s nothing to fear,” she replied reassuringly. “I know you’re not fond of spiders, but facing them, facing them and killing them, that’s the only way to overcome that fear.”

“That’s easy for you to say - you’re a Valië!”

Many of the elves voiced their agreement with her husband.

Furrowing her brows, Buffy answered, “I’m a Valië whose powers have been stripped. I didn’t possess any special powers when I came through here the first time, only strength and wits. That’s all it takes to survive in this world or any other. Expect the unexpected. That’s the name of the game. Kill the fuckers before they kill you. That’s the nature of warfare, the key to survival.”

Maglor and some of the other elves looked unconvinced. They looked dishearteningly at the path before them. Everything was still. The only sound heard was the hooves of the horses stomping the ground, anxious to now be on their way. No birds, beasts or even insects could be heard from within the darkness that lay about them. The foul magicks of the spiders permeated from the ground up, casting fear and hopelessness into the hearts of many of the elves.

Buffy then pulled off a sword charm from her belt. As it turned into a full-sized weapon, she raised it above her head. The metal shone like a silver beam of light, illuminating the area in which they were gathered. Her green eyes then glimmered with the essence of her fey, revealing her true nature.

She then spoke in a voice so powerful and profound that the mere words alone seemed to cut through the oppressiveness that lingered about the land: “Though I walk through the Valley of Dreadful Death, I will fear no evil,” a wry smile came to her face, “for I’m the baddest mother-fucker in the valley!”

With that, Rocco turned around and set forth down the dark path, the others following behind. The sound of the unsheathing of weapons seemed muffled by the evil that hung over the land. Gradually, the darkness devoured the travelers who remained watchful for any sign of the spiders.

The air became heavier, stifling, the further they went into the gorge. Soon, they saw webs that stretched overhead from ridge to ridge, and along the walls of either side, forming almost a tunnel before them. Within the darkness, many mammoth shadows scurried to and fro in anticipation of capturing those foolish enough to enter the arachnids’ domain.

The attack came from behind as a dozen of Ungoliant’s mammoth offspring tried to catch the company by surprise. Needless to say, the elves were more than ready. Those at the rearguard quickly began to hack at the sinister creatures’ swollen bodies. The muted cries from the enemy rang out, alerting their brethren, who then came scuttling along the webs, dropping down upon the elves from overhead.

Lalwen demonstrated her talent by cleaving one of the spiders in two with a single blow. Maglor let out a startled shout when one of the arachnids lowered itself from a single web, its erect stinger colliding with his helm. Turning his mount, the Noldo swung his blade, cutting off the offending organ before ramming his sword into the belly of the beast. Foul, black blood ran down his weapon as he used all his strength to sling the creature to ground. It was a triumphant moment for Maglor, and one that would stay with him for all his days.

Aside from Buffy, Maedhros and Olofin proved most proficient in the slaying of Ungoliant’s offspring, although all her companions fared well in the clash.

After scores of their brethren lay dead, or dying from their wounds, the spiders began to retreat, scuttling along their webs and out of danger. The demonic creatures had never encountered such formidable foes, not since the Slayer’s arrival many years before. Quickly they spread the word to their fellows, informing them to steer clear of the group of elves traveling through their territory.

Slowly, the caravan made their way along that treacherous road, Buffy at the vanguard. The steel hide of Rocco easily broke the webs that blocked their path, making it easier for those following behind. The group did not stop while they were in Nan Dungortheb, and after three days and nights of constant riding, they safely made it through to Dor Dínen.

As they breathed the cool, fresh air, a feeling of accomplishment overcame the elves. Maglor lifted his voice in song, having mastered his fear. The elves celebrated that triumphant moment, as they were the only ones to ever survive the crossing of that perilous land. Feeling ecstatic, they made their way home, without incident.


Chapter 84 - BELONGING

That feeling of triumph in which the group had basked since leaving Nan Dungortheb faded the moment they passed through the gates of Himring. Though very late, with most sleeping in their beds, the air about the city was one of mourning, of great sadness, instantly diminishing the joy the warriors had felt with their successful campaign against the offspring of Ungoliant.

As soon as they entered Maedhros’ Halls, each went their separate way. Some were exhausted, in need of sleep, while others were eager to wash off the filth of many days travel.

Buffy, on the other hand, felt a sudden pang of foreboding in her heart, an ominous feeling that drove her to forego a much-needed bath to seek out Luthor. Searching from room to room, her heart became heavier when she approached the chamber referred to as the Blue Parlor. Inside, she found both Luthor and Kat, and an unexpected surprise that she hadn’t foreseen.

Ten days earlier, Kat had bore four cubs: two males, and two females. One, a female, was stillborn, and had been placed beside her father in the barrow outside the gates of the city.

Despite the loss of the one cub, such a happy occasion would normally give cause for celebration, regardless of the hour. Yet the look in Kat’s eyes marred the moment, for they were not filled with the joyful bliss of motherhood but with much sorrow and pain.

As the Slayer affectionately stroked the lioness, things began to make sense to her. She now understood that Kat would have succumbed to her grief sooner if it had not been for her babies. And having the litter while Buffy and her loved ones were away, made her kitty cling to life a bit longer, to hold on until they had returned home so she could say a final farewell before releasing her fey from its hröa, allowing her to reunite with her mate.

Immediately, Buffy had Luthor summon Maglor, Olofin and Thranduil, those that the lioness loved most that dwelled in Himring. When the Maia had left the chamber, she tried to talk her kitty into staying in Middle-earth, at least long enough until her babies were of weaning age. But, as she sat there with her beloved cat, she gradually saw the spark of life in her eyes begin to wane, stirring Buffy to tears.

By the time the men had arrived, Luthor had already informed them of what he and Buffy believed was happening. It was a bittersweet moment for them, and one that had brought her boys to tears. Kat nuzzled each one of them, giving them one last affectionate lick of her tongue before lying back down. She let out one last moan as she yielded to her grief, the light fading from her yellow eyes altogether.

Buffy dried her tears before removing the cubs from the lifeless body of their mother. She handed the large male to Olofin, the female to Thranduil and clutched the runt in her own arms.

“You know, we’re responsible for caring for these babies now,” she said to her grieving boys, who tenderly stroked the kitties that they held. “They’ll need to be fed at least every two hours, if not more.” She glanced at the cub in her arms. “I’m afraid for this one though. I don’t think he’ll make it. At least, not here in Beleriand.”

“Nana,” her son started, looking pleadingly at her. “Don’t break up the siblings. They belong together.”

“Look at him, Olofin,” she replied, holding the runt next to the cub that he clutched. “He’s half the size of his brother… and sister. He can’t survive here. He needs to be in Folkvang where he can flourish, for none truly ever die there.”

“Your mother’s right, son,” agreed Maglor. “Kat already lost one cub. Let us not let her lose another.”

The half-elf sadly relented, agreeing with his parents.

Luthor, Maglor, Olofin, Thranduil and Buffy remained seated on the floor around Kat’s lifeless body until the Slayer was summoned to Folkvang thirty minutes later. She took the runt with her.

The Valkyrie chieftains were excited when their Mistress arrived holding the lion in her arms. They cooed at the little fellow as if he were a newborn child. The Slayer refused to let her maidens garb her in her finery, deciding that she wished to take a bath before pronouncing her judgments. As she climbed the stairway, she summoned Sargon. She intended to present the cub to her mortal lover as a gift. Knowing how lonely the Adan was, she thought that rearing the runt would be a great distraction for him.

Before slipping into the tub, she handed the kitty over to her lover, who was thrilled and honored to raise the little lion. While the Slayer bathed, the Adan took the runt to those Maiar most knowledgeable with rearing beasts of that nature in hope that they could advise him on the feeding and caring of his new pet.

Under Sargon’s loving care, that lion would go from runt to the largest and noblest of his kind. Soon, he and his siblings would reveal that they had a skill that neither of their parents had possessed.



“Please, Bella,” pleaded Thranduil the following morning. “Don’t give the kitties those horrid names!”

“What’s wrong with Hershey and Nestlé?”

“Nana,” began Olofin, holding up the two little lions. “Look at them! Surely, these noble creatures deserve names more befitting than those strange names you have devised.”

“In ages to come, you’ll have a greater appreciation for those names!” she countered, disappointed that her boys were so quick to dismiss her choice of names. “I just thought I’d stick with the chocolaty goodness theme in naming them. You know, Kit and Kat were named after a delicious chocolate-covered cookie that I loved in my childhood… ”

The looks of revulsion on their faces caused Buffy to cave.

“Fine, fine. You guys win,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You name them then.”

“How ‘bout we name them after the Two Trees?”

That mere suggestion caused the Slayer’s blood to boil, although she didn’t know why. “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I name anything of mine after the creations of Yavanna!” she hissed, startling the young men by the sudden hostility in her voice.

They sat there with their jaws dropped, speechless over the enmity of her words.

“Just name them something else, okay?” she said, stunned by her own behavior. Feeling uneasy, she quickly left the chamber, leaving the young men with the cubs.

In the end, Olofin named the male Barathalion and Thranduil named the female Noeriel. Neither name appealed to the Slayer. She would very seldom call them by their ‘given’ names, instead, referring to them as ‘my babies’.

Buffy, Maglor and the young men were to be the primary caregivers of the lions. They each took turns keeping them for the night; feeding them milk with a bit of honey through hollowed out reeds every couple of hours.

Two days after Kat had died; she was placed in the barrow beside Kit and her baby.

As the weeks turned into months, Barathalion and Noeriel flourished under the loving care of the Slayer and the elves. Thranduil enjoyed working with them on stealth, teaching them to creep up on their prey, (which was usually unsuspecting servants of Maedhros’ Household), and pounce on them at unawares. Many an elf grew weary of the lions’ behavior, but since they were the beloved pets of Buffy, they could do nothing but avoid the beasts the best they could.

It was during the spring of Yr 456 that the lions finally revealed their new attribute, much to Buffy’s surprise.

One morning, as she and Maglor readied themselves for breakfast, the cats came bursting into their bedchamber, screeching, “Bella! Bella! Olofin wants to give us a bath! Hide us!” The lions then crawled beneath the bed in an attempt to hide from the half-elf.

The hairbrush fell from the Slayer’s grasp. She stood there, totally shocked by what she had just witnessed.

“Did you know they could talk?” asked Maglor, not as surprised by the lion’s ability to talk as his wife was.

“No,” she said, half-dazed. She shook her head. Squatting down, she peered under the bed. “Get out from underneath there, babies. Come here!” Buffy tapped her hands against the floor, encouraging the lions to come out.

They came darting out from beneath the bed and into the Slayer’s outstretched arms.

“You’d think I wouldn’t be so surprised to hear my babies talk, especially after encountering so many beings that do,” she said, looking up at Maglor with a smile. “Color me surprised!” She turned her gaze back to her lions, rubbing them affectionately.

“Please don’t make us take a bath, Bella,” pleaded Barathalion, rubbing his head against the Slayer in a desperate attempt to have her ‘veto’ her son.

“It’s unnatural!” whined his sister.

“Oh, come on now,” said Buffy with a chuckle. “Bathing is a good thing! Cleanliness is next to godliness, after all.” After catching a good whiff of her beasts she wrinkled her nose and added, “Ew! You two stink. Have you been rolling around in feces again?”

The lions decided that they weren’t getting anywhere with the Slayer, so they immediately leapt over to Maglor, pleading with him to help sway their Mistress from making them take a bath.

“Oh, no, don’t try that with me,” said the Noldo, waving his finger at Barathalion. “Just last week you peed on my pillow! And I can’t count how many times you’ve both left your kill in our bed… ”

“I was only marking my territory!” answered the lion in his defense, his tone quite serious. “It is instinct, you know.”

“And we just wanted to show your our prey!” chimed in Noeriel. “We thought you’d be proud of our kill.”

“Not when it’s in a pool of blood on our bed… ”

“Or half eaten,” interjected Buffy with a shudder. “You guys know the rules: no dead things in the House. Eat outside. Pee outside. Crap outside.” She thought for a moment. “Anything else, honey?” she queried, looking to her husband.

“I think you about covered it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Although I deem that most in Himring would not like you two jumping out at them when they wander through these Halls or in the streets. You might want to use a bit more care or you might get hurt. Some of these men still suffer from the war. It’s not a good idea to jump out at them when they least expect it.”

An out of breath Olofin then came dashing into the chamber. He had been chasing after the kitties throughout Maedhros’ Halls. Only moments later, he had the lions march out of the room and into their waiting bath.

As soon as the room was cleared, Buffy returned to the topic of the conversation that she and Maglor were having before the lions came rushing in. After fifteen months, she desperately wanted to escape the darkness that hovered over northern Beleriand and visit Ossir, to return to her spectacular Halls on Tol Galen, to feel the sun’s warmth on her skin. Not only that, but she really wanted to speak with Orchal in person, and see for herself how well their new enterprise was doing.

Maglor was quick to accommodate his wife, doing his best to make up for his standoffish behavior prior to the war. Therefore, the following morning, they left Himring with a caravan of Green-elves and Noldor, among them, Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor, Lalwen, Maedhros and the Slayer’s babies.

It was with great joy that they arrived in Lindon several days later. Buffy was delighted with the profits that the Green-elves were making, although slightly peeved at Orchal for charging the mortals more for their canned goods than the elves or dwarves. Despite the sacrifices and loyalty of the Edain, the Regent of Ossir still harbored a deep resentment for mankind. He still held them responsible for the Slayer’s downfall in Sumer and forbade any to set foot in the Land of Seven Rivers, unless they were conducting business.

Visiting Ossiriand was great for everyone, especially the lions, who now had the opportunity to practice ambush tactics and climb the towering trees in the forest.

During their stay in Lindon, Buffy encountered the Enyd, led by Fangorn, who always enjoyed visiting her realm in springtime. The Shepherds of the Trees loved to hear the enchanting melodies of the Green-elves, and smell the heavenly scent that wafted throughout the land at that time of year. The Enyd would prolong their usual stay and remain in Ossir for many decades, playing a major role in events to come.

After spending a few weeks in Lindon, the group leisurely sailed down the Gelion before turning east, traveling upstream on the River Adurant.

When Buffy caught a glimmer of Lindecoa, the topmost of the blue tower twinkling beneath the fading sunlight, she went to the prow of the ship, eager to enter her Middle-earth sanctuary. A huge grin came to her face when she felt Maglor wrap his arms around her waist. She placed her hands atop his, leaning against his muscular frame.

“I can see the Tower of Luinil already,” he whispered, playfully nibbling her ear.

“It’s good to be back home,” she sighed, drinking in the scenic beauty that surrounded them. She loved Ossir, the woods, the rivers, the peacefulness. She loathed being anywhere else. “I don’t understand how you Noldor can love the open plains over this. This is what natural beauty is all about. Just look around, Káno,” Buffy said enthusiastically, holding her arms wide open before them. “Look at the ferns, their rich green color, and the flowers that fill the air with their fragrance… and the trees towering above us, protecting us, shielding us from the weather and unfriendly eyes… ”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were one of the Laiquendi,” said her husband with a chortle. “Indeed there is no fairer place in Endórë during the spring.” His smile widened, as he pressed his cheek against hers. “Although the beauty of Ossir pales when you are in its midst.”

Buffy faced her husband, smiling. “You’re such a sweet talker,” she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m hoping that our visit will be like a second honeymoon. We have a lot of… things to catch up on.” She kissed her husband, elated that her life seemed to be back on track once again.

In the days that followed, the Slayer and her beloved Maglor took off by themselves, wanting to spend some alone time beside the falls of Lanthir Lamath. There, beneath the stars one night, they exchanged wedding vows again, declaring a new start to their marriage. They each placed a golden band on top of the silver ones they already wore on their fingers, signifying that their bond was twice as strong as it had been before.

Those were blissful days for the Slayer and she would cling to the memory of them for many years afterward. It was at that time that she renewed her determination to thwart whatever fate had in store for her and her Noldo husband. She would somehow figure out a way to foil the Doom placed upon her beloved, for she could not see herself with anyone else. Even though she had had many lovers in her past, her love for them, including Sargon never came close to her love for Maglor. He was everything she could ever ask for and proved to be a great companion and a passionate lover. She could spend every moment of every day with him, and never tire of his presence. That’s something that not many could say about their spouse.

Lindecoa hosted numerous parties during that summer. There was much merry-making, great music, lots of dancing and feasts fit for a king. Olofin had finally shown his father the mandolin (“prison-song”) he had made during his captivity in Egypt long ago. He played the instrument by strumming the strings with his plectrum, filling the gardens of Lindecoa with its sweet melody.

The elves remained on Tol Galen until the third month of Yr 457. It was at that time that Maedhros announced that it was time to head back to Himring. Since he was Lord of the House of Fëanor, his word was law.

As they boarded the ship that would take them back to Lindon, Buffy took a long look at Lindecoa sparkling beneath the early morning light.

“My heart aches at leaving,” she said with a frown. She turned her glistening green eyes to her husband. “I have this strange feeling that I won’t be calling this place home for many years.”

“Do not fret about that, darling,” said Maglor, pulling her into his arms. He held her, giving her a reassuring kiss. “We’ll be back, soon perhaps.”

“I hope so, Káno. I hope so.”

Together, they gave one last glance at the towering blue castle before embarking on the boat, and sailing down the Adurant.

When they reached the port at Lindon, Orchal was standing on the dock, waiting for the ship to glide next to the platform.

“Ah, you received my message, I see,” he said, as Buffy exited the vessel.

“What message?” she asked, slightly baffled.

“Oh,” said Orchal, his brows raised in surprise. “The Hildor that you had spoken of, the ones that Fingon’s son had seen, they’re here.”

“Here is Ossir?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

“No! I would not let any of those strange-looking folk into this land!” he replied with a sneer. “They are north of our borders, waiting for you, for you are the reason why they are here, or so they say.” Orchal cast a skeptical glance toward the northern fence of Ossiriand. “I detest the lot of them,” he grumbled, before taking off down the path leading to the nearest lift that took one to the city in the trees.

“I’m amazed that after all these years, Orchal still loathes Man so fervently,” commented Maglor, as they started down the same pathway as the Green-elf.

“He’s slow to forget,” answered Buffy. “Hopefully, he’ll come around one day. He needs to remember that there’s bad in every race, not just mankind.”

After mounting their horses, the group took off toward the ford that allowed them passage across the Ascar. Along the southern banks were many Green-elves, standing upon talons in the trees, preventing any of the newly come people into Ossir.

As the Slayer crossed the stream with her companions, they saw the newcomers waiting on the other side. They looked much different than the Edain, who possessed a natural beauty reminiscent of the Eldar race. These mortals were much shorter than those of the Three Houses, their shoulders broad, hair black, eyes dark, and their skin color ranged from sallow to swarthy, indicating that they were from two distinct Tribes of Man. They looked to Buffy to be of Asian and possibly Egyptian decent.

In times to come, the Edain would look upon them with suspicion and disdain, referring to the newcomers as Swarthy Men. Buffy, who hated that term, simply called them Easterlings, for they came out of the East in search of their God, Inanna Ishtar.

When the mortals caught a glimpse of the Vala Queen, they gasped, dropping to their knees. They then bowed their dark heads in reverence to the one whom they had journeyed by perilous roads to find.

“Blessed be Inanna Ishtar, the God of Love and the God of War,” the mortals said in unison.

Buffy’s smile broadened at the gesture. A part of her really missed the adoration that the mortals had shown her in Sumer, and she was only too happy to experience that feeling yet again.

“Rise, my friends,” she had said, knowing that the Second-born were waiting for her command to arise. However, they did not move at her words. The Slayer had spoken a tongue foreign to their ears - Sindarin. Chuckling to herself, she then repeated her words in Sumerian.

The mortals rose.

When Buffy and company dismounted from their steeds, the chieftain of the Easterlings slowly came forth from the throng.

He was an older man, maybe in his late fifties. His shoulder-length hair was mostly grey with flecks of black. Wrinkles graced the pale, yellowish skin of his face, especially his forehead. He kept his dark eyes fixed on the Slayer as he approached. As he took each step, he walked with a slight hunch, from age, she supposed. The long, twisted-looking staff that he grasped in his right hand provided his only support. Three younger men (who had to be his sons by the look of them) followed behind him. They appeared to be in their late twenties, early thirties (in mortal years).

The mortal chieftain greeted his God properly in the Sumerian tongue, before explaining to her the dream that had prompted him to rally his people for the long trip to Beleriand. He spoke of finding himself in a desert, surrounded by many dunes. Beneath a blazing hot sun, he climbed to the top of one of the hills and saw a blood-red sea that stretched out before him. Overhead flew thousands of doves, some white, most grey. For some unknown reason, the birds suddenly plummeted into the crimson waters. Their lifeless bodies floated to the surface, moving with the current. Scanning the shoreline, he saw Buffy’s body floating face down on the crimson waters. Running to her, he pulled her from the sea, desperately trying to revive her.

She coughed, spraying both blood and mucous from her mouth and onto the man’s shirt.

“It’s coming,” she sputtered.

“What is coming, my Lord?” asked the mortal anxiously.

“It’s coming,” she repeated, her voice distant. She turned her bleary eyes toward the sea and softly whimpered.

Without warning, a loud roaring sound emanated from out of nowhere. Turning his gaze toward the sound, the man’s eyes widened when he saw a crimson wave so large in size that it literally blocked out the sun, bathing the entire landscape in an eerie red glow.

Panic-stricken, the mortal struggled to pick up his blood-soaked King. Pulling her into his arms, he tried to flee the tidal wave, but to no avail. The enormous breaker hit with such a force that the Vala Queen was ejected from his grasp. The last thing he saw was red, and then nothing more.

Buffy was slightly unnerved by the mortal’s ‘vision’, as she believed it to be, especially since she had experienced the very same one on more than a few occasions. To her, it reaffirmed that that group of seventy-five hundred mortals was guided to her by a higher force, perhaps even by Ilúvatar Himself. She welcomed them, and invited them to dwell in Himring.

The chieftain gladly accepted. In return for her generosity, every man, woman and child pledged their fealty to her, vowing to protect her with their lives and limbs.

The Slayer then anointed the mortal with wine, marking a red cross on his wrinkled forehead. She gave to him the Sindarin name, Bór, and gave him the title, Lord of Easterlings. She then did the same to his three sons, giving to them the elvish names, Borlad, Borlach, and Borthand.

Once the impromptu mini-ceremony was completed, Buffy finally realized what she had done. Without thinking, she had stepped back into the role of God, blessing the newcomers under the name she was attempting to distance herself from, Inanna Ishtar.

What the hell was she thinking? Was a shared vision and looks of adoration from the new come Hildor all it took to have her revert to her old ways? She had vowed to end that part of her life, never to allow it to rear its ugly head, yet now she was eagerly embracing a sacred ritual performed often long ago.

No, she said to herself. I did the same thing for the Edain.

But not in Beleriand, said her inner voice in opposition.

She turned her gaze to her companions, having been totally oblivious to them, except those few Green-elves that assisted her in the anointing ceremony, as they had many times before. Her eyes scanned the faces of the elves, more particularly, the Noldor. They stared at her with stunned expressions on their faces, having never witnessed any of her ‘ceremonies’ from the East.

Buffy’s face flushed under their scrutinizing gaze. She took a swig from the same bottle of wine from which she had anointed the Easterlings. As she drank, it suddenly dawned on her that the newcomers were most likely still practicing some of the old rites from Sumer, rites that she didn’t want to be brought out in the open in Beleriand. While she knew that Maglor and Maedhros had read about some of those rituals, it was altogether something else to witness them firsthand, and she sure didn’t want the Eldar to be exposed to some of those practices.

Instead of addressing the people as a whole, Buffy pulled Bór and his sons off to the side, questioning them about their devotion to her. As she had suspected, they were still practicing the old rites from Sumer. The Slayer did her best to convince them that she no longer believed in the ‘sexual’ aspects of those rites, and that the Easterlings had to stop performing them. That took the lords aback, as that was a part of their religion, and their forefathers’ religion, as well. They could not simply turn their backs on their religious practices, as that would mean turning their backs on her.

Buffy could’ve argued until she was blue in the face - she wasn’t about to change their minds, even though she herself wished it to be so. She’d have to compromise, allowing them to continue their ‘acts of devotion’ but keeping it behind closed doors, like many of the Edain continued to do.

She then did something that none expected. Fearing that she might fall into her old ways again, she had the Easterlings pledge their loyalty to the House of Fëanor, to swear to defend those from that House. She then proclaimed that the mortals were to follow the wisdom of Maedhros and Maglor, as they were the heads of the family. The Hildor were once again shocked by her words, but Buffy felt it was best that she step out of the driver’s seat. After everything she had been through, she didn’t want to be the leader. She didn’t want that responsibility on her shoulders any more. It was time for the sons of Fëanor to step up and come into their own.

Shortly thereafter, the caravan began the march to Himring. It was to be a slow journey, as the mortals were nearly all traveling on foot. At dusk, they hunkered down for the night.

The Slayer slept fitfully that night, waking well before dawn with an overwhelming desire to visit Nargothrond and her old friend, Finrod Felagund. She woke Maglor, telling him of her urgent need to go see the Noldo.

“Then I shall go with you. Russandol can lead the Hildor north,” he said.

They then packed up what provisions they would need, and informed their loved ones that they would meet up with them at Himring. Buffy and Maglor both rode atop Rocco for she had an inexplicable need for haste. They then speedily took off, heading southwest toward the Dwarf-Road.

It took the couple two and a half days to reach Nargothrond. Upon their arrival, they were ushered to a private chamber where Finrod awaited them. Unfortunately, he had dismal news.

“Orodreth and his people were driven from Tol Sirion not two days ago,” Finrod told them, absently fiddling with his bejeweled necklace, Nauglamír. “It appears that Morgoth has sent out his most vicious of servants, Sauron, and he has seized Minas Tirith. The wolves of Angband now run freely on that isle.”

Buffy and Maglor were dismayed by that revelation.

“If you had only arrived a bit sooner, perhaps Minas Tirith could have been saved,” continued the Lord of Nargothrond sadly.

Finrod’s words cut through Buffy like a cold winter’s chill. She rose to her feet, fervently rubbing her arms to keep warm. “I’m afraid I’m no match for Sauron, not any more,” she replied. “I don’t have the strength to defeat him. He’s got powers nearly as great as Morgoth’s.” She turned her sorrowful gaze to the golden-haired Noldo. “This isn’t good, Finrod. Can you not rally your men and take it back?”

“Why bother?” he answered with a shrug.

The Slayer looked at Maglor, who sat there, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Káno, why don’t you go find Celegorm and Curufin. I’m sure they’d like to see you. I’d like to speak with Finrod alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” answered her husband, getting to his feet. “If you need me… ”

Buffy nodded in reply. When Maglor left the room, she sat beside Finrod. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you so down before. Is it your brothers? Fingolfin?”

Finrod raised his head; his grey eyes welled with tears. “I feel like a shadow has crept into my heart, Bellaseth. I feel… I feel like my doom is upon me,” he continued with a shudder. “I can’t shake it. I can’t rid myself of this feeling. My heart tells me that Nargothrond will soon fall… that I will soon fall, and join my brothers in the Halls of Mandos.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Buffy, placing her hand comfortingly on his arm.

“But it’s true. You know it as well. Is that not what brought you here?”

“I came because you were in my thoughts. I needed to see… ”

“That I was still alive?” he interjected. The Noldo shook his head. “I deem that the time is fast approaching when the Doom that is upon my kindred ensnares me in its clutches. Minas Tirith is just another realm added to those already taken by the Dark Lord.” He looked deeply into the Slayer’s eyes. “He will take us out, one by one, Bella. He’s already taken Dorthonion, Maglor’s Gap, Thargelion… ”

“But Barad Eithel still stands, and so does Himring,” countered Buffy abruptly. “And Nargothrond, Nargothrond still stands. Not to mention Gondolin. He doesn’t know where your kingdom is Finrod, and the lands under your command are vast. You’ve only lost an isle.”

“The Sirion has always been the gateway for my people to the northern kingdoms. We can no longer travel by ship.”

“There are other roads that lead north, you know that, Finrod. We can’t give up. We have to hold our own the best that we can.”

“How can you say that when your lands have also fallen? Your people were forced to flee their homes.”

That cold chill swept over Buffy again. She leaned back against the cushions of the couch, having no reply for the Noldo. It felt like that shadow that had grabbed hold of him was moving its way into her, swiftly changing her mood to one of gloom and doom.

“I’m sorry, Bella, I’m not much for company right now,” he said, rising to his feet. “You’re welcome to stay in Nargothrond as long as you like. You will always find welcome here.” Finrod then left the chamber.

The Slayer and her husband remained in the Hidden Kingdom for a few weeks. Thankfully, Finrod’s bout of melancholy passed after several days, and he appeared to be his old self once more.

They would’ve stayed longer, but Buffy encountered other problems during her stay in Nargothrond. So many elves had come up to her, pleading with her to confront Sauron and take back Minas Tirith, something that she couldn’t do. And of course, there were the ones asking her to beg Morgoth to release the captives that he took during Dagor Bragollach. Most persistent was Gwindor, whose brother, Gelmir was taken by the servants of Morgoth during the war.

Buffy couldn’t take it any more. She didn’t have the strength to confront Sauron much less Morgoth, so she felt that it was best that she and Maglor leave. After bidding farewell to Finrod and his kinfolk, she and her husband departed Finrod’s Hidden Halls. As they rode south, avoiding Sauron at all costs, she knew in her heart that that was the last time she’d ever see the son of Finarfin. And she was right.

When the couple crossed over Andram, they were met by messengers sent by Caranthir. Apparently, more mortals had entered Beleriand in their search for the Vala Queen. Buffy was elated by the tidings and immediately they all set out to the Dwarf-Road where the newcomers were waiting.

Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras and many of their people were already with the waiting Easterlings, whose numbers tallied ten thousand strong. In the tongue of the Eldar, the lords of those people were Uldor, Ulfast and Ulwarth, but their father Ulfang, was overlord of all of them. They were very similar to the other Easterlings that Buffy had encountered, except for Uldor. That mortal, in particular, looked at her in such a way that it gave her the heebie-jeebies. It was almost as if he was undressing her with his dark eyes, something she found sickening, especially since he supposedly “worshipped the ground she walked on.” His words, not hers.

Maglor immediately noticed his wife’s discomfort, and counseled her to let those mortals join the forces of Caranthir. To that, she readily agreed.

Yet, once again, as she and her beloved began the journey north, she felt that shadow fall upon her heart. She did her best to put it out of her mind, as her marriage to Maglor had been mended and she had high hopes for the future. She never gave thought to the subtle warning she was given by those that loved her in the West, bringing an even greater doom upon herself…


Chapter 85 - DESTINY

Author’s Note: The following chapter contains a rehashing of events from Yr 457 - 468. I ask those of you who have read The Silmarillion to please bear with me as this chapter is mostly for those readers who have not. Most of this chapter contains the epic and edited version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, a tale that warrants telling in great detail, as it most certainly will affect numerous storylines revolving around Buffy, after the fact. Please note that snippets of this chapter come directly from The Silmarillion itself. Those words belong to the good old Professor, J.R.R. Tolkien.



Chapter Eighty-Five: Destiny



Thuringwethil delivered the news to Morgoth regarding Sauron’s seizure of one of the elvish strongholds in Western Beleriand, delighting the Dark Lord to no end. With his most trusted servant now stationed on Tol Sirion, no man or beast could pass through that valley without being detected by the Necromancer. More importantly, that watchtower was strategically located in the heart of the Noldorin empires of the sons of Fingolfin and Finarfin, or so he believed.

Still suffering from the painful wounds inflicted by the former Noldo King, Melkor Bauglir turned his wrathful attention toward the destruction of Fingolfin’s House in particular. He wanted both Fingon and Turgon dead. It was time to raise the bounty on their elvish heads.

Morgoth dismissed the vampire-maiden, ordering her to return to Minas Tirith. He then turned his horrible, cruel gaze to the four Elf Lords that stood paralyzed by fear before him. He cursed them, binding their will to his.

“Now return to Himring and act as my eyes and ears. At my command, you will come back to Angband and relay all that you learn. Now go!” he ordered, scowling at the ‘former’ Lords of the Houses of Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir and Luinil.

The four men, Tincdan, Ovoron, Gúrvel, and Aeron then departed the bowels of Hell for Himring.

Upon their return to Maedhros’ land, they were welcomed back into the fold, telling their loved ones the story that Morgoth had concocted on their behalf. Those in Himring listened in shocked disbelief as they were told of the foursome’s heroic escape from their captors, how they had hidden in the wilds of Dorthonion until they could safely make their way to Himring. None realized that the Elf Lords were under the thrall of the Dark Lord, thus, they resumed their high-ranking positions that they had held prior to Dagor Bragollach, and would continue to attend the most secret of councils.

Morgoth did not just unleash his spies on Buffy and the sons of Fëanor. He did the same with the Noldor in Western Beleriand, and in those areas under the dominion of Man. None except the people of Doriath and the Falas were free from the returning thralls of the Dark Lord.

Everything was going according to Melkor’s plan.

He hobbled over to the portrait of Buffy that hung on the wall of his Great Hall. A malicious grin came to his face knowing that he had successfully decimated the House of Bëor, thwarting the prophecy involving his beloved Melisse. His blackened hand reached out, touching the face of the Slayer, stroking the painted canvas gently.

“Soon, it will be you and I, my love,” he whispered. “Whom will you run to when all that you love are dead?” He laughed, the sinister sound echoing within the mammoth chamber.

Little did he know that there still lived men from the bloodline of Bëor.

While Morgoth calculated his next move, Sauron was perfecting his most infamous of skills - the art of necromancy. Utilizing his talents, he summoned those tormented souls that had lost their way to Mandos, corrupting them to do his bidding. He sent them into the woods of Dorthonion, to act not only as his spies but also as phantoms seeking to inflict madness and despair on all whom they encountered.

Unfortunately, one of Buffy’s few female Captains, Aerial, who had perished during the war, and twin sister of Aeron, left the Land of Seven Rivers for the north, in search of her lost brother. When Sauron spotted her ghostly form, he ensnared her with his magicks, forcing her to submit to his will. She was then ordered back to Ossiriand to act as a spy for Morgoth, and to keep the Dark Lord informed of the goings-on in the regions in southern Beleriand.

It was during the summer of Yr 457 that the evil Maia sent a troop of yrch to assail Brethil, where the people of Haleth/Haladin (the Second House) dwelt with the Sindar of Doriath. Word was quickly sent to Thingol, who still claimed lordship of those lands, and to their aid he sent Beleg Strongbow and many of the elves from the Western March, who were in fact, Buffy’s Maiar in disguise.

Together, Man, Elf, and Maia attacked the yrch at unawares. Among the attackers were Húrin and Huor, the sons of Galdor the Tall of Dor-lómin, who had been sent to their uncle, Haldir at the start of Dagor Bragollach. Though Huor was only thirteen years old, he refused to be left behind with the women and children and fought valiantly beside the mightiest of his kinfolk.

During that clash, the company with which the youngsters fought became separated from one another along the northern fences of Brethil. As the yrch pursued them across Brithiach, the ford on the upper Sirion that divided Brethil and Dimbar, Ulmo sent forth great mists, concealing Huor and Húrin from the eyes of the enemy. The young men lost their way in the hilly regions beneath the sheer slopes of Crissaegrim. They were spotted by Thorondor, who sent two of his brethren to retrieve the young men, for fate had more in store for them than they ever bargained for.

The Eagles took the mortals, the first ever to set eyes upon Turgon’s Hidden Kingdom, to Gondolin. The son of Fingolfin welcomed the young men from the House of Hador (Third House) warmly, as Ulmo had sent him many visions regarding the mortals of that House, and because of that, the Noldo King treated them kindly. Turgon was dismayed to learn from the Huor and Húrin that the Siege had ended, and that many of the Noldorin fortresses in the north were lost. He was especially troubled to learn that Maglor’s Gap had fallen.

As the Elf Lord sat deep in thought, he realized that even Buffy, a Vala Queen, was powerless to thwart the Doom placed upon his kindred. It became clear to Turgon that the hope of the Noldor lay in the West, with the Valar themselves, who were the only ones that could lift the Curse from his people.

After a year, Turgon allowed the young men to return to the wars that plagued their people, since they did not know the secret way to his kingdom. Since the Eagles had brought them to Gondolin, the only way the Noldo Lord would allow them to leave was by the same means. The brethren of Thorondor then took the young men back to the woods that they called home, much to the amazement of their kinfolk who deemed that Huor and Húrin had died by the enemy’s hand.

Once Huor and Húrin had left his realm, Turgon sent a company of elves, in secret, to the Mouth of Sirion, to build ships to sail to Valinor, to seek the pardon and aid of the Valar. None of the ships would ever make it to the Blessed Realm, as they would be lost on the bewitched seas. Only a few of those elves would return to Middle-earth.

As the years passed, Morgoth’s spies proved to be most useful in providing him with much information. Although he was livid to discover that Barahir still lived, and that he, along with his outlaw band from the First House, were assailing his minions in Dorthonion. He then raised the bounty on the head of the descendent of Bëor, offering a reward on him equal to that on the sons of Finwë.

Gorlim was one of the twelve surviving mortals that had joined forces with Barahir. When he had returned from the war, he had found his house plundered and his wife gone. Grim in face and mood, and having nothing to lose, he became the fiercest warrior of the remnants of the First House (even though he himself was not a direct descendent of Bëor).

There were times when Gorlim thought that his wife had not been killed, merely lost in the wilds of the woods, and often, he would wander alone to his old house, searching for his beloved, Eilinel. This soon became known to the enemy and yrch hid in the woods along the fields, watching and waiting for the mortal to return.

Therefore, it came to be in the autumn of Yr 460, that Gorlim made the trek from the hidden lair of his companions along the shores of Tarn Aeluin to his former dwelling. There, he saw his wife through the window of his home, half-starved and crying that her husband had forsaken her.

Before Gorlim could run to her, the enemy captured him and brought him to Sauron. For the mortal had not seen his beloved wife, merely an apparition conjured by the Necromancer. In the dungeons of Minas Tirith, the hapless mortal was tortured until he revealed the whereabouts of Barahir and his companions. Sauron rewarded Gorlim’s treachery with a brutal death, feeding his remains to the wolves that inhabited Tol-in-Gaurhoth (Island of Werewolves), as Tol Sirion was now called.

The evil Maia then dispatched companies of yrch to the lair of Barahir and his companions, surrounding their dwelling so that none could escape. Before sunrise, two days later, the outlaw band was attacked whilst sleeping and cruelly slain, their bodies dismembered. As proof to Sauron that he had done the deed, and that he was entitled to collect the promised reward, the Orch Captain that had killed Barahir cut off the hand on which the mortal wore the ring of Felagund.

As fate would have it, one mortal was not present during the raid - Beren, son of Barahir. Beren had been sent on a reconnaissance mission at his father’s request and was far from the lair when the attack took place. While the surviving heir of Bëor slept, Gorlim’s wraith came to him in a dream, revealing his betrayal and telling Beren to flee to the lair in hope of saving his kinfolk.

By the time that the young man had arrived, the carrion fowl were already eating the flesh of the dead, including that of his father. After burying Barahir, he swore to avenge his father’s death. With his wrath stirred, he began his search for the yrch that had killed his father.

The following night, Beren stealthily came upon the company of the enemy at Rivil’s Well that had slaughtered his kinfolk. Hiding behind a large boulder, Beren listened and watched as the Orch Captain boastingly recounted the tale of the slaying of Barahir, mockingly waving the severed hand in the telling. The young man saw the ring of Felagund reflecting the flickering flames of the firelight, inciting him to action.

Leaping from behind the rock, holding his wooden shield in one hand, his sword in the other, Beren slew the Orch Captain and reclaimed the hand of his father. Protected by destiny, the mortal fled back into the wood, as the arrows of the enemy whizzed wildly about him, not one reaching their mark.

Once safely in the depths of the forest, Beren placed the ring of Felagund on his finger and began his wanderings through Dorthonion. He was now a lone outlaw who would do deeds of surpassing valor.

While Beren sought revenge on the enemy, hunting down the minions of Morgoth with a vengeance, Buffy remained in Himring with her people. Together with the Noldor and Green-elves, she taught the Easterlings the Sindarin tongue, the lore of Elves and Man, and anticipating future battles, the intricacies of warfare.



In the Yr 462, seven years after Dagor Bragollach, Morgoth sent out a great force to Hithlum, attacking from the passes within the Shadowy Mountains from the north and east.

Fingon, a few years before, had decided to return to his fortress in the north, and in his absence, delegated control of Eithel Sirion to Galdor. The castle was besieged by the enemy, and Galdor fell in the same spot as his father, Hador had years before. If not for the bravery, strength, and endurance of Húrin, the enemy would have claimed yet another Noldorin fortress as their own. For the young Captain and his company drove the yrch from Ered Wethrin, slaughtering them as far away as the sandy plains of Anfauglith.

Húrin then became lord of Dor-lómin, and ruled the people of Hador. He was a mighty lord, but in times to come, much sorrow would befall his House. His wife was Morwen, daughter of Baragund (who was kinsman of Barahir and one of those outlaws slain by the yrch), from the line of Bëor. She would give birth to their first child in Yr 465, a son named Túrin, whose life was beset with tragedy and doom like no other.

Things did not fare as well for Fingon in the north, for many of Morgoth’s servants were eager to claim the bounty for his head. The enemy greatly outnumbered the armies of the Noldo King. The opposing forces battled one another along the plains of Hithlum. Fingon surely would have perished at this time if not for the timely arrival of Círdan, who brought a great fleet of ships up from the Firth of Drengist to aid the son of Fingolfin.

Both the Sindar and Noldor attacked simultaneously, forcing the yrch to scatter and flee. The archers of Fingon pursued the enemy on horseback, slaying them before the very feet of the Iron Mountains. Thus, the Eldar claimed the victory in that unnamed battle. And for a few years afterward, had respite from war.



Word of the deeds of Beren in Dorthonion began to spread like wildfire, for that mortal did not fear death, but in his desperation, sought it out. Every orch he came upon, whether alone or in great numbers, he slew. His only friends were the birds and beasts not touched by the evil of Sauron, and they aided him willingly in many of his adventures. The son of Barahir’s love for his only companions was so great that he forsook eating the flesh of any animal and killed only those that were under the sway of evil.

Even when Sauron raised the bounty on his head to the same as that on the Noldo Princes, the yrch still fled at the mere rumor of his approach, angering the Necromancer more so. The evil Maia then summoned those tormented spirits that roamed the wilds and imprisoned their feys into the bodily forms of beasts and birds. Because of the wickedness of their spirits, the animals that they possessed became creatures both menacing and terrible. Sauron then ordered the monstrous beasts back into Dorthonion to hunt down Beren, and bring him his head.

For a while, the mortal was able to elude the evil creatures of Sauron, but in the winter of Yr 464, Beren could no longer endure the foulness of those demons which were hunting him, and was forced to flee from the place that he had come to call home. With the land covered in snow, he headed south through the Mountains of Terror, and from the top of a precipice, he could see the fair lands of Doriath in the distance. In his heart, he felt a sudden determination to enter the land of Thingol, the first of mortals ever to do so.

Perilous was his journey, for Beren had to cross the untamed Valley of Dreadful Death, Nan Dungortheb, which had become more evil than when Buffy and company had passed through several years earlier, for Sauron had woven greater spells of woe about that land. So horrific was that trek that Beren would not speak of it afterwards, and the mere memory alone caused him great anguish.

Wandering through the shadows of despair, and suffering great torments, the mortal finally escaped that wicked region and reached the northern fence of Doriath. Driven by both his determination and fate, he passed though Melian’s spells of enchantment and the Girdle, and, at last, entered the kingdom of Elu Thingol.

With his back bowed from weariness and his spirit crushed, he entered the forest of Neldoreth in the summer of Yr 465. Slow was his gait as he stumbled along amongst the towering hemlocks and beeches beneath the silver light of the moon. Then he came upon a glade beside the Esgalduin and there Beren beheld Lúthien dancing upon the green grass to the music of Daeron.

All the pain of his torments that the son of Barahir had felt, dissipated once he set eyes upon the loveliness of Lúthien, the fairest of all Ilúvatar’s children. He fell under her enchantments much like Thingol had done when he had encountered Melian ages before. Beren loved her with all his heart and the memory of her was forever burned in his mind. But as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone, breaking the mortal’s heart.

Ensnared in her spell, he sought long and hard for the maiden that he named Tinúviel, daughter of twilight, as he did not know her true name. Like a wild beast, he searched through the wood, looking for the woman that had stolen his heart. Autumn came and went, followed by winter, yet he only saw her from afar, and she always vanished upon his approach.

Finally, on the eve of spring, in the hours before dawn, Beren encountered Lúthien dancing upon a green knoll overlooking the river. Once again, he was spellbound. The maiden then lifted her voice in song, singing an enchanting melody that ushered out the winter and welcomed the spring. The ice-covered waters broke asunder, the river flowed in harmony with her song, and flowers sprang up from the cold earth where her feet wandered.

Then Beren found his voice and he cried, “Tinúviel!” His words echoed through the woods, causing Lúthien to stop, and she looked upon the mortal with wonder. Moved by love, he joined her atop that hill.

She studied him with her grey elvish eyes, and then took his hand in hers. For Lúthien returned his love, bringing an even greater doom upon herself. Together they stayed upon that hill, talking and holding each other until the sun began to sink behind the trees. Then she disappeared from his grasp, leaving Beren in a swoon of bliss and grief. He lay on the ground bewitched by the beauty of his beloved, and fearing that Lúthien had forsaken him, a shadow fell upon his heart. But she had not.

She returned to him, and secretly, they began their courtship, spending their days together throughout spring and summer. Great was their joy, but Lúthien, knowing her father well, knew that he would most certainly disapprove of her choice of suitor.

Beren was not the only one to love Lúthien, as Daeron, Thingol’s minstrel, did as well. When he caught sight of the lovers meeting in secret, he betrayed them both to the Lord of Doriath.

Thingol was livid when he learned of her trysts, for he loved his daughter more than all things in the world, holding her in higher esteem than all the elvish princes combined. To hear that she was running around with a lowly mortal, whom he thought nothing of, grieved and amazed him even more. He questioned her about her lover, but Lúthien refused to say anything unless her father promised not to kill or imprison Beren. To that, Thingol agreed.

He then sent out his servants to bring the outlaw to him. Lúthien hindered his guard, bringing the mortal before her father’s throne, as if he was an honored guest, and not as the criminal that Thingol deemed him to be.

“Who are you that dare enter this realm which is forbidden to your kind?” barked the King, narrowing his scornful eyes upon the mortal.

Beren was fearful, and did not answer. He was overwhelmed with, not only the splendor of Menegroth, but also the majesty of Thingol and Melian.

“He is Beren, son of Barahir, lord of Men,” answered Lúthien proudly. “He is foe of Morgoth, the one whose deeds even the Elves sing about... ”

“Let Beren speak!” said Thingol, silencing his daughter. He fixed his wrathful gaze on the mortal. “What ill-fate drove you from your lands to mine, breaking my law?” he queried. “Can you not give me a reason why I should not punish you for you insolence and folly?”

The mortal lifted his head, looking into the eyes of Lúthien. He then quickly glanced upon the face of Melian. His fear melted away and he stood tall, as one proud from the line of Bëor.

“Fate has lead me here, O’ King, and by perilous paths I have come. Only few of Elven-kind dare walk the road I have taken to get here. I have found that which I had not searched for, but what I would have forever. For it is above all the treasure in this world. No Elf Lord or fires of Morgoth can keep from me what I desire - Lúthien, your daughter, the fairest of all the children of Ilúvatar.”

Silence fell upon the hall. All the occupants feared that Thingol would have Beren slain for his boldness.

“Death you have earned with you words, and death you would have if I had not sworn an oath in haste,” replied Thingol slowly. “I repent of my earlier words, baseborn mortal, for one who creeps by stealth into my realm, passing through the Girdle of Melian, must be in league with Morgoth, either as a spy or perchance a thrall.”

“Death you can give me earned or unearned,” replied Beren, “but I will not accept being called baseborn, spy or thrall. For the noble deeds of my father, Barahir, did Felagund give him this ring on the battlefield in the north. My House does not deserve to be referred to by such names from any Elf, whether he be a king or not.” The mortal lifted his hand, revealing the ring of Finrod Felagund on his finger.

Then Melian leaned in close to her husband and whispered for him to heed her words and forego his wrath, for Beren would not be slain at the hands of Thingol, and that the son of Barahir’s fate was about to be wound with his own.

Thingol turned his gaze upon his only child and thought that the mortal should die for laying his hands on his beloved daughter.

“I see the ring, son of Barahir,” replied the King after several minutes, “and I can see that you are proud and account yourself mighty amongst your kindred. But your father’s deeds are not enough to win the daughter of Thingol and Melian.” A small smile came to his face, a chilling smile. “For I too have set my sights on a treasure that I have not been able to obtain. Since you fear neither Elf nor the fires of Morgoth - I say this to you, Beren: Go now and bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, then, if Lúthien desires, she may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel, and though all the fate of Arda lies within the Silmarils, you will hold me generous.”

And with those words, Thingol unknowingly wrought the Doom on Doriath and ensnared himself in the Curse of Mandos.

Those present knew that their Lord had just given Beren a death sentence, for not even the Noldor had been able to retrieve a Silmaril of Fëanor. They knew that Morgoth coveted those gemstones more than anything, and that they were housed in the bowels of Angband, surrounded by many swords and numerous Balrogs.

“For what a little price do Elven-kings sell their daughters,” Beren laughed. “But if that is your will, Thingol, then I will do it. And when we meet again, in my hand will be a Silmaril, for you have not seen the last of Beren, son of Barahir.” Then he looked into the eyes of Melian before bidding Lúthien farewell. He then bowed before the King and Queen before pushing his way through the guards, departing Menegroth alone.

Then Melian turned to Thingol and warned him of his ill-conceived counsel, and that he had just doomed either their daughter or the King himself.

And Lúthien fell silent, and no longer sang in the woods of Doriath, for a shadow had crept into the kingdom of Thingol.

Once he had left Menegroth, a feeling of hopelessness overcame Beren. He knew that he alone did not possess the power to pass through the gates of Angband unhindered, and sought one that could aid him in his Quest. Turning his feet westward, he began the trek to Nargothrond, to call upon Finrod Felagund to fulfill his oath.

At last, beneath the misty rains, he reached Talath Dirnen, the Guarded Realm, that stretched between the Sirion and Narog. Concealed amidst the fields and woods of that region were numerous Noldorin archers, who kept an unceasing watch upon the land and whose marksmanship was accurate and deadly.

Long before Beren came upon that road, the elves marked him and surely would’ve killed him had he not held the ring aloft, crying out, “I am Beren, son of Barahir, friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!” Even though the mortal saw no one, he sensed that he was being watched and every few minutes he loudly repeated his words.

A group of hunters called him to a halt. Upon seeing the ring of Finrod Felagund, they bowed before the scruffy-looking mortal and did not slay him. They waited for nightfall before leading Beren to Nargothrond, as they did not want him to learn the way to the hidden kingdom of their Lord.

When they reached Nargothrond, the mortal was ushered to a private chamber where Finrod waited. The Noldo Lord didn’t need to see the ring to know that one from the line of Bëor and Barahir sat before him. Beren cried as he told the Elf Lord all that had befallen his father, of his joy and love for Lúthien, and of the Quest on which he had been sent.

Finrod listened in amazement, though a heaviness filled his heart. For he now knew that his doom was before him and that, in keeping his oath, he would meet certain death.

“Surely, Thingol wishes you dead, son of Barahir,” he said to Beren. “But my uncle does not know what he asks and I see that the Oath of Fëanor is again at work. For the Silmarils are cursed with an oath of hatred and any that names them in desire awakens a greater power, for the sons of Fëanor would suffer none to win or possess a Silmaril, for it’s what drives them. They would lay all realms in ruin to reclaim what was once theirs. Even now, Celegorm and Curufin dwell in my Halls, and though I am King, they hold a great power in my realm, and lead many of their own people here. The brothers have shown me friendship in every need but I daresay they will show you no love or mercy if they learn of your Quest. But I am a man of my word, and will fulfill my oath, thus ensnaring us all.”

With a heavy heart, Finrod called forth his people into his Great Chamber, and both sons of Fëanor came along with their people. The son of Finarfin then spoke of his vow to Barahir, to aid his kin in their time of need, and of Beren’s Quest. He asked his chieftains to help.

But then Celegorm arose from the throng, and drawing out his sword, cried, “Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing in Arda, neither law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor might of the Valar, nor any power of wizardry, shall defend him from the pursuing hate of Fëanor’s sons, if he take or find a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.”

Many other words he spoke and with no less potency. And after him, spoke Curufin, more softly, but with words as moving as his brother, conjuring in the elves’ minds, visions of war and the ruination of Nargothrond. So great a fear that he set in their hearts that no Elf from the realm would go into open battle, but hunt all strangers by ambush and stealth, killing them with wizardry or poisoned dart, forgetting the bonds of kinship and falling from the valor of the elves of old.

The sons of Fëanor murmured that Finrod was not a Vala to command them and they turned away from the son of Finarfin. For the Doom of Mandos was truly at work and dark thoughts stirred within the brothers’ hearts. Thinking that Felagund should go off to a sure death, Celegorm and Curufin plotted a way to usurp the throne of Nargothrond. Not only did they have the gift to sway the Noldor with their speech, but they were from the elder line of Finwë, entitling them to that kingdom.

Finrod took off his silver crown and threw it at his feet. “No oaths of faith to me must you keep, but I must keep mine. Yet I would hope that there would be at least a few of you that would follow me and not send me forth as a beggar thrust from the gates.”

Of all those in Nargothrond, only ten came forth. One of them, Edrahil, took the crown from the floor and asked Finrod to leave it with a steward until his return.

Finrod then gave the crown to Orodreth, and the regency of Nargothrond now lay upon his shoulders. Celegorm and Curufin said nothing, but left the hall with smiles on their faces.

One evening, in autumn, Finrod and Beren set out with ten companions, following the Narog to its source - the Falls of Ivrin. When they reached Ered Wethrin under a starlit sky, they came upon the campsite of a company of yrch. They killed them, taking their gear and weapons.

Finrod then wove his magics about his companions and himself, changing their bodily forms so that they resembled yrch. Disguised as such, they continued marching north, hoping that they’d be able to pass by Tol-in-Gaurhoth unnoticed by the ever-watchful eyes of Sauron.

Yet the Necromancer grew suspicious when he saw the yrch band, for they were walking rather quickly and did not stop and give a report of their deeds, as was commanded of all the servants of Morgoth. He then sent out his own guard and had the group brought to him.

Then began the contest of power between the disguised Finrod, and Sauron, dueling each other with songs of power. The power of the King of Nargothrond was great, but the Maia’s was even greater, besting the Noldo in that challenge.

Sauron then stripped their raiment from them, and they stood naked and fearful before him. Although their races were revealed, none would give their names or their purpose. Therefore, one by one, they were cast into a deep and dark pit, and the evil Maia threatened to kill them unless one of them revealed their true purpose. Yet none would betray their Lord.

Those tossed into the hole waited alone in silence for some time. When Sauron grew weary, he would unleash one of his wolves through a tunnel from the dungeons of the tower, and the beast would attack his prey as the Noldor and Beren listened to the horrific screams of the victim. The wolf’s prize was the flesh, which he ate completely before the next poor soul was thrown into the pit.



When Beren was tossed into the hole, an overwhelming feeling of horror overcame Lúthien. She went to her mother, who told her that her lover lay in the dungeons of Sauron, without hope of rescue. Lúthien knew in her heart that none could save Beren except her, so she planned to leave Doriath for Tol-in-Gaurhoth in order to aid him. She then sought the help of Daeron, who once again, betrayed her to Thingol.

The King was astonished by his daughter’s behavior and grew fearful. Not wanting to lock her away in Menegroth, he had a little wooden house built for her in the mammoth three-trunk beech tree outside the gates of his Halls, which the elves afterward called Hírilorn. Lúthien was locked away in that house, and the ladders removed so that she could not escape.

But that maiden was a daughter of Melian, and she too, possessed powers of the Ainur. While sitting in her dwelling, hundreds of feet above the earth, she began to sing one of her songs of enchantment, which caused her hair to grow to a great length. She wove a cloak from the hair to conceal her from all eyes, and cast a spell of sleep about it. With the remaining hair, she made a rope and lowered it out her window. She swayed her bewitched hair above the guards’ heads until sleep found them. Then she escaped through her window, beneath her enchanted cloak, and vanished from Doriath.

As chance would have it, or perhaps fate, both Celegorm and Curufin had gone on a hunt with their hounds as Sauron’s wolves were entering the Guarded Plain of Nargothrond. Huan found Lúthien running through the woods like a shadow along the western eaves of Doriath, as nothing could escape the scent of that hound. He then brought her to Celegorm.

Lúthien, learning that he was a Noldo Prince, told him who she was before casting off her cloak. So great was her sudden beauty, that Celegorm immediately became enamored of her. He spoke to her kindly, promising to help her, but only if she would come to Nargothrond first. Lúthien had no idea that the sons of Fëanor already knew of Beren’s Quest, or how dear that matter was to them.

Once they had reached Finrod’s Hidden Halls, the brothers took away her cloak and locked her away in a deep chamber. She was forbidden to speak to any, save the brothers. After having spoken with Lúthien, they knew now that Felagund and Beren were prisoners of Sauron, without hope, and waited eagerly to hear news of their deaths.

With Finrod dead, the brothers would claim the lordship of his kingdom. Not only that, but Celegorm was determined to make Lúthien his bride, which would bring him one step closer to being the heir of Menegroth as well. Immediately, messengers were sent to Thingol, urging the King to allow the son of Fëanor to wed his daughter.

Huan was grieved at heart by Lúthien’s imprisonment, for he had fallen under her spell of enchantment upon their meeting. Often, he lay outside her door, her only companion at times, and she would speak about Beren and his many deeds, and their love for one another. Being a hound of Valinor, Huan understood all her words, and it was fated to be that he himself would be able to speak in the tongue of the elves, but only on three occasions. Since he had gone into exile with his master, Celegorm, he too fell under the Doom of Mandos. Moreover, it was said by Oromë long ago that death would come to Huan but not until he had faced the mightiest wolf in Arda.

Therefore, Huan devised a plan to help Lúthien to escape. Coming to her at night, he brought her cloak, and spoke for the first time, telling of his plan. He then led her out through the secret exit and they fled north together with Lúthien riding on his back. They traveled at great speed, as that hound was swift in limb and did not sleep, whether by day or night.



Both Beren and Finrod were both thrown in the pit of Sauron, lying naked in a pool of blood, the bones of their companions strewn across the floor. The Necromancer proposed to keep the elf for last, for he could perceive that he was a Noldo of great might and wisdom, and he believed that the secret of the errand lay with the golden-haired elf.

A wolf was unleashed, ordered to kill Beren. As the beast came for the mortal, Finrod summoned all his power. He then burst from his bonds, and using only his bare hands and teeth as weapons, wrestled with the creature, slaying it. Yet, he himself received a mortal wound and knew that death was upon him.

Turning to Beren, he said, “And now I must go to my long rest in the Timeless Halls. Long it will be before I am seen amongst the Noldor again. Perhaps we will not see each other again, in this life or the hereafter, since the fate of our kindreds are apart. Farewell.”

And so died Finrod Felagund, the fairest and most beloved of the House of Finwë in the dark pit of the fortress he himself had built. He had honored his oath.

Beren mourned his loss with great despair.

At that moment, Lúthien arrived. Standing upon the bridge that lead to the tower, she then sang a song of power. Beren heard her song, and the nightingales singing in the trees on the isle and it seemed as if the stars above shone all the brighter. He deemed that he was dreaming, but he sang a song in answer, a song he had made up in praise of the Seven Stars, the Sickle of the Valar that Varda had wrought and had hung in the north as a sign of the fall of Morgoth. Then all strength left the mortal and he fell into darkness.

Lúthien, hearing his voice, then sang a song of greater power, causing the wolves to howl and the isle to tremble.

Sauron smiled upon hearing her voice, knowing that she was the daughter of Melian. He wished to take her captive and turn her over to Morgoth for his reward in doing so would be great. Therefore, he sent out one of his wolves to the bridge, but Huan slew it. Still, he sent another and another. One by one, they all died from the bite of the hound.

The Necromancer then sent out Draugluin, the sire of all wolves, the fiercest of those wretched creatures. Long was the battle between the wolf and the hound. Yet Draugluin managed to escape from Huan and fled back to his master, near death.

“Huan is there!” he said with his last breath.

Sauron, knowing well the fate of that hound, changed his own form to that of the mightiest of wolves. He himself would challenge the hound of Valinor.

So great was the horror of his approach, that Huan leapt aside. Then the evil Maia leapt upon Lúthien and she swooned before his fell spirit and foul breath. But as he came, she cast her cloak before his eyes, causing him to stumble, for a sudden drowsiness overcame him. Then Huan sprang upon him, and they fought a great battle. When the hound had him pinned down, his jaws clamped around his throat, Sauron tried to free himself by changing his form, from wolf to serpent, from serpent to his own monstrous form, yet he was unable to escape Huan’s clutches.

Lúthien then approached the pinned form of Sauron. She declared that he should be stripped of his bodily raiment and his fey sent back to Angband to face his Master’s judgment.

Unable to overthrow the hound of Valinor, as it was fated to be, Sauron willingly let his fey leave its hröa. Taking the shape of vampire, with blood dripping from his throat, he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin, and filled that forest with his own special brand of horror.

Lúthien stood upon the bridge and sang another song of power that caused the stone to separate from stone. The gates came down, the walls opened and the pits laid bare. All the captives and many thralls then came forth, shielding their eyes from the brightness of the moon, but Beren was not among them.

Huan and Lúthien searched the isle for him. They found Beren in one of the pits, laying next to the body of Finrod, in a catatonic state. Lúthien, thinking that he was dead, wrapped her arms around him, and fell into darkness.

When the sun rose the following morning, Beren rose with it. Seeing the sleeping form of his lover beside him, he lifted her in his arms, waking her. Though he was filled with sorrow, he was happy to see her once again. They then buried the remains of Finrod upon the hilltop of his isle. Green grass grew upon the son of Finarfin’s grave, and none dare defile it in after days.



Beren and Lúthien, in their contentment, took to wandering the forests again. Even though it was winter, the weather had no effect on them as they were joyful as young lovers in springtime.

Huan did not go with them. Being loyal to his master, he once again returned to Celegorm in Nargothrond, where things did not look good for the sons of Fëanor.

Many of those held captive in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth were in fact Noldor from Nargothrond. Upon their return, they spoke of the deeds of Lúthien and all that they had heard. A clamor rose amongst the elves when the treachery of Celegorm and Curufin was revealed. And the elves, even those from their own Houses, turned from the brothers and pledged their loyalty to Orodreth. Even Celebrimbor, Curufin’s own flesh and blood, turned away from his father.

Many of the elves said the brothers deserved death, but Orodreth, who was now rightful King of Nargothrond, refused to have the sons of Fëanor slain, saying that that would bring the Doom of Mandos to fulfillment. Instead, he banished Celegorm and Curufin from his Halls with no provisions, and the King swore that, thereafter, there would be little love between his House and that of the sons of Fëanor.

The brothers didn’t care about the turn of events. They left the halls, mounted their horses, and took off northwards, deciding that they would join Maedhros and Maglor at Himring. And Huan, being ever faithful, followed his master.



In their wanderings, Beren and Lúthien found themselves in the Forest of Brethil, near the northern borders of Doriath. Once he had seen her safely to her lands, Beren proposed to fulfill his vow, but Lúthien refused to be left behind, telling her lover that he could forgo his oath and live in the wilds of Beleriand or continue on his errand, but either way, she would accompany him.

As the lovers spoke of these things, walking and talking without heed to anything else, Celegorm and Curufin were fast approaching through the forest. The brothers espied them from afar, and steered their horses in their direction. Celegorm charged at Beren, wanting to ride him down, while Curufin swept up Lúthien and placed her on his horse.

Beren sprang aside from Celegorm and came before the speeding horse of Curufin that was about to pass him. And he then did something for which he would be renowned by both Men and Elves. He leapt up, taking Curufin by the throat from behind, and hurled the elf backwards and off his steed. They fell to the ground as the horse reared and neighed, sending Lúthien flying onto the grass.

The mortal then wrapped his hands around the elf’s throat, as Celegorm came riding up with spear in hand. Then Huan forsook his master and leapt before the horse, causing the animal to steer away from Beren. Celegorm cursed both hound and horse.

Quickly getting to her feet, Lúthien forbade the slaying of Curufin, and Beren released him. But he took his gear and weapons, including Angrist, the knife wrought by Telchar of Nogrod, which could cut through iron as if it were green wood.

Beren then flung Curufin back to the ground and took his horse for the service of Lúthien.

Curufin cursed Beren as he climbed onto his brother’s steed. The brothers then made as if they were riding off, and the mortal turned away, no longer heeding them. But Curufin, being filled with shame and malice, took Celegorm’s bow. A ping sounded as he released an arrow, sending it directly at Lúthien. Huan leapt up and caught the arrow in his mouth, so Curufin sent another toward the maiden. Beren leapt before it, the arrow hitting him in the chest.

Huan chased the sons of Fëanor away, before finding an herb in the wilds to bring back to Lúthien. She tended to Beren’s wound with the herb, her love and magics, and soon healed her lover. They then continued on to Doriath.

Before sunrise the following morning, Beren decided that he must continue with the Quest, for he could not see Lúthien living a nomad’s life. While she slept, he placed her under Huan’s protection before setting off for Angband, on his own.

Beren, riding Curufin’s horse, rode north at great speed. When he reached Anfauglith and saw the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim in the distance, he dismissed the steed. A feeling of dread and doom came upon him as he looked across the desolate wastelands. Knowing that he was going to a sure death, he sang the Song of Parting that he had written in praise of his beloved Lúthien.

Then Beren heard Lúthien singing in answer, as she had followed behind, riding atop Huan. When she came out of the wood, he was dismayed. He did not see the fair maiden that he loved but a wicked minion of Morgoth accompanied by one of his wolves. For both Lúthien and Huan had disguised themselves as two of the Dark Lord’s servants - Thuringwethil and Draugluin. When they cast off their raiment, Beren was glad, yet he did not want his beloved to go with him into the depths of Angband.

No matter how much he tried, he could not dissuade her.

Huan then spoke for the second time, counseling the lovers. Their fate was already sealed, and though all seemed hopeless, they needed to continue on their Quest.

Lúthien then arrayed Beren in the skin of Draugluin, and having woven her magics about him, none could tell that he wasn’t the beast. Together they set off to cross the sandy plains toward the gates of Thangorodrim.

Dismay fell upon the lovers when they saw Carcharoth before the gates of Hell. The mighty wolf of Morgoth watched them closely, knowing that something was amiss, as reports had already come to Angband of the death of Draugluin. Stopping the couple, he slowly walked around them, sniffing them with his keen nose. Something was off, the wolf could tell.

Lúthien then pulled off her raiment and revealed herself. But before Carcharoth had time to react, she waved her enchanted cloak before his eyes, and he fell to the ground, fast asleep. Thus, Beren and Lúthien were able to pass through the gates and down the labyrinth of stairs to Morgoth’s Great Chamber.

While Beren furtively made his way beneath Melkor Bauglir’s throne, the Dark Lord stripped Lúthien of her disguise. Undaunted by the eyes of Morgoth, she revealed her true name and offered to sing for him.

Upon seeing her beauty, Morgoth conceived in his thought an evil lust, more dark in design than any that had entered his heart since he had fled Valinor. And as he pondered over those dark thoughts, he unwisely allowed the daughter of Melian to move about freely. He had lost sight of her, and then from the shadows of his chamber she began her song of enchantment, blinding the evil Vala with her words. Though his eyes desperately searched for her, he could not see her.

All his acolytes fell into a sudden slumber, and all the fires were quenched by her song. The light from the Silmarils then blazed forth, shining a white light within the chamber. Morgoth’s crown became heavier, and slowly he began to slip from his seat, his eyes still searching for Lúthien.

Springing before him, she then cast her cloak before his eyes, causing the mightiest Vala to fall out of his chair and onto the floor, asleep. The iron crown fell from his head and noisily rolled across the floor. Then all was silent.

Lúthien then roused Beren, who had also fallen under her spell, and he cast aside his wolf-raiment. He then pulled Angrist from his belt, and used the knife of Curufin to pry a Silmaril from the crown. The light of the Jewel glowed through the flesh of his hand, but did not hurt him. It then came to his mind, to take all three Silmarils from the iron crown. As he pried the jaws that locked the next Jewel in place, Angrist snapped, and a shard of the blade struck Morgoth’s cheek, stirring him from his slumber.

The Dark Lord groaned as he started to come to, the sound causing the host of Angband to move in their sleep.

Filled with terror, Beren and Lúthien fled, heedlessly and without disguise. Yet none hindered or pursued them, for Carcharoth, now wide-awake, was waiting for them at the threshold of the gates.

When the wrathful wolf caught sight of them, he sprang upon the fleeing lovers.

Lúthien was spent and had not the time or energy to stay the wolf. Therefore, Beren stepped before her, holding the Silmaril aloft in his right hand.

Carcharoth stopped, suddenly afraid of the Jewel in the mortal’s hand.

Beren thrust the Silmaril into the wolf’s face. “Go!” cried the mortal, “for here is a fire that will surely consume you.”

The mighty wolf was undaunted by the holy light. Suddenly, his jaw sprang shut on the mortal’s hand, biting it off at the wrist. Swallowing the Silmaril, it burned his insides, causing Carcharoth much anguish. Howling in pain, he fled Angband in his madness, killing all creatures that he passed on the way.

Beren fell to the ground in a swoon, as the fangs of Carcharoth were venomous, and death was upon him once again. Lúthien drew out the poison with her lips, and mustering her dwindling power, she staunched the wound.

They then heard a clamoring of great noise, for those that dwelt in Angband were now wide-awake.

As luck would have it, Thorondor and two of his brethren espied the doomed couple from above, and suddenly, they swept down and grabbed the lovers, taking them high above the earth.

In Morgoth’s anger, the ground began to shake violently; thunder sounded and bolts of lightning leapt from the ground upwards. So great was the Dark Lord’s wrath that even those that dwelled in Hithlum became fearful.

Lúthien wept throughout the journey, knowing that her lover would die from his wound. Beren did not speak nor did he open his eyes. The Eagles took the couple to the borders of Doriath, and to the same exact spot where the mortal had left Lúthien sleeping.

Huan came to the lovers, and Lúthien attempted to heal his wound with the same herb as she had before. But Beren fell into a dark sleep, close to death. His lover remained by his side and after much time she began to lose hope.

Suddenly, Beren’s eyes opened, and he heard Lúthien singing softly and slowly beside him.

Soon he was healed, although his face remained graven from the torments he had endured. And he and his beloved took to wandering the fair woods again.

Lúthien would have gladly given up all claims to Menegroth, her people, her home in order to be with her mortal lover. But Beren was a man of honor, and he would not have his beloved wandering about in the wild, without home and the fair things with which one of such noble birth should be surrounded. Therefore, after a while, Beren persuaded Lúthien that they should return to Menegroth. She reluctantly agreed.



Dark days had fallen upon the Halls of Menegroth and silence filled the woods, for a great grief had come upon those people when Lúthien was lost. Long the elves searched for her. Even Daeron had gone out on his own looking for the woman he loved. Wandering down unfamiliar paths, he passed over the Blue Mountains into the eastern regions of Middle-earth, never to be seen in Beleriand again.

Often, Thingol turned to Melian for counsel, but she refused to give it, saying that he himself had brought this doom upon their daughter and would have to wait and see how events would unfold. While Lúthien was gone, the only news the King received was the message from Celegorm, declaring that both Finrod and Beren were dead and that his daughter was in Nargothrond, and that the son of Fëanor wished to wed her.

That made Thingol wroth and he gave thought to waging war against the realm of Felagund. Yet when he sent his spies out, he learned that Lúthien had fled, and that Celegorm and Curufin were driven out from the Hidden Halls. Unfortunately, for the King, he did not have the strength to assail the seven sons of Fëanor.

He hoped that Buffy would aid him, and not forget how he had succored her in her time of need. He had recently sent messengers to Himring, asking that she and her kin help find Lúthien since Celegorm and Curufin had not kept her safe, nor returned her to father and home.

However, Buffy never received Thingol’s plea, as his messengers met sudden peril on the northern fences of Doriath - the crazed form of Carcharoth. Nothing hindered that wild beast, and he easily passed through the enchantments that Melian had placed about the lands, for fate drove him and the power of the Silmaril was his torment. Only one of Thingol’s messengers survived the onslaught of the Wolf of Angband - Mablung. It was he that brought the grim tidings to the King.

Even at that time, Beren and Lúthien were coming from the west, and a great host of elves followed them. Then Beren led his beloved to her father’s throne, and all looked at the mortal with wonder, thinking that he was dead. But Thingol did not look upon him with love because of all the grief brought to his House.

Then Beren knelt before the King and said, “I return as I had said. I now come to claim my own.”

“What of your Quest?” asked Thingol.

“It is fulfilled. Even now a Silmaril is in my hand.”

“Show me!”

Beren then held out his clenched fist, and slowly opened his fingers, but his hand was empty. Then he held aloft his right arm, and named himself Camlost, the Empty-handed (although both men and elves would later call him Erchamion, the One-handed).

Thingol’s heart softened at the sight. Beren and Lúthien then sat before the King and told their woeful tale, while all listened in amazement.

While Thingol thought Lúthien’s love for the mortal was a strange thing, he couldn’t help but see that Beren was unlike all other mortals, that he was amongst the greatest in all Arda. Therefore, knowing he could not hinder their love, he yielded, and Beren took the hand of Lúthien before the throne of her father.

The joy of the people of Doriath was marred by the discovery of the cause of the Great Wolf’s madness. When Beren learned that Carcharoth had entered Doriath, he was resolved to fulfill his oath and complete his task. Preparations were then made for the Hunting of the Wolf. Those that would pursue the beast were Beren, Thingol, Mablung, Beleg and Huan the hound.

The following morning, they departed Menegroth. As Lúthien stood before the doors of Menegroth, a shadow fell upon her heart.

The hunters crossed the Esgalduin and turned east and north, following the course of that river until they finally came upon Carcharoth in a dark valley where the river rushed over the steep falls. There the wolf drank the sweet waters, quenching his horrible thirst. Carcharoth espied the hunters, and as they stealthily surrounded him, he crept into the brush and hid.

Beren stood beside Thingol and soon became aware that Huan had gone. Suddenly, a great baying sounded from the thicket, as the hound had become impatient and took it upon himself to dislodge the wolf from his hiding place.

Carcharoth avoided Huan and leapt from the thorny bushes toward Thingol. Beren jumped before the King, with a spear in hand, but the wolf pushed it aside and sunk his venomous teeth into the chest of the mortal. In the next moment, Huan leapt upon the wolf’s back, and there fought the two beasts in a great battle, to the death.

While the beasts fought, Thingol knelt beside Beren and saw that he was gravely wounded.

After Huan had killed Carcharoth, he stumbled to Beren’s side, for he too had received a deadly wound. He then spoke for the third time, bidding the mortal farewell. And then he died. Beren did not speak but placed his hand on the hound’s head.

Beleg and Mablung then hastily came to Thingol’s side, and upon seeing the wound on Beren, they cast aside their spears and wept. Then Mablung took a knife and he slit the belly of the wolf open. Inside, he saw the mortal’s hand still clutched around the Silmaril, which burned like a white flame. As he reached for the Jewel, the hand disintegrated, and the light glowed within the shadows of the wood. Mablung quickly took the Silmaril and placed it in Beren’s left hand.

Beren held the Jewel aloft and told Thingol to take it. “Now the Quest is achieved,” he said slowly, “and my doom full-wrought.” And he spoke no more.

The elves then made a bier and they set both Beren and Huan on it, and slowly they made their way back to Menegroth. At the feet of Hírilorn, Lúthien met the hunters. She threw her arms around her husband and told him to wait for her beyond the Western Seas. Beren looked at her one last time before his fey left him. Then the light was quenched from the eyes of Lúthien Tinúviel, and she succumbed to her grief.

Lúthien fled to the Halls of Mandos, where Beren was waiting. And she knelt before Mandos, crying, and sang a song so moving and sorrowful about the hardships of the two kindreds. Her words reflected the sorrow of the Elves and the grief of Men, the beloved children of Ilúvatar. And her words moved even the sternest of the Valar, and Námo took pity on her plight.

Námo then summoned Beren and there in Mandos he was reunited with his beloved. But Mandos did not have the authority to change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. Therefore, he went to Manwë and sought his counsel.

Two choices were given to Lúthien. Because of her sorrowful trials, she could be released from Mandos to dwell in Valimar amongst her mother’s kin until the world’s ending, or she could return to Middle-earth, and take Beren with her, for the mortal was not permitted to dwell in the Blessed Realm. But if she chose the latter, she would become mortal, and be subjected to a second death, the same as Beren.

She chose to go back to Beleriand, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and forfeiting her kinship with all that dwelt there.

Mandos then sent their feys back to their bodily forms in Doriath. Those that saw them were happy and fearful. And Lúthien went to Thingol and healed his sorrow with a touch of her hand. But Melian, upon looking into her daughter’s eyes, saw her doom, and turned away, seeing a new grief she had not expected, for now death would separate mother and daughter until the world’s ending.

Beren then took Lúthien’s hand and together they left Menegroth alone, fearing neither thirst nor hunger. Traveling by foot, they crossed the bridge before turning south. This would be the last time they ever walked through the beautiful woods of Doriath, for the lovers had already decided where they wished to live out the rest of their lives in peace - Ossiriand. Not only was it far from the evils of Morgoth, but it was also under the domain of Lúthien’s old friend, Buffy, whom she now knew to be a Vala.

When they reached the ford at the River Ascar, the Green-elves called them to a halt. Tarlanc, the chieftain of that company, then came forth. Upon seeing Lúthien, whom he knew, he greeted her warmly, permitting her to enter, but not so Beren.

“The laws of our land state that no mortal may pass through our borders under penalty of death, as decreed by our Queen, Bellaseth Dagnir,” Tarlanc said to Beren. “I’m afraid that you cannot enter this realm.”

“And would you restrain one from the House of Bëor?” he asked, reaching into the pocket of his cloak. “One who bears the symbol of Luinil?” Beren then pulled out the Cross of Brolach, holding it before the chieftain’s face.

The Green-elves gasped, whispering to one another when they saw the token that Buffy had given Brolach, Beren’s forefather, centuries before.

Tarlanc took the Cross, examining it closely, almost expecting it to be a forgery of the original.

“Come now, Tarlanc,” said one of his kinsmen with a chuckle. “If you cannot see that Beren is a descendent of Bëor you must be blind! That heirloom proves that he speaks truly and the Lady would no doubt permit his passage.”

The chieftain glared at Gelir. “One cannot be too sure nowadays. The enemy can be quite cunning, as we have seen in the past.” Tarlanc handed back the Cross after determining that it was authentic. “I beg your forgiveness, lord,” he continued with a slight nod of his head. “Though it is not permitted to allow you to enter these lands, I will suffer the consequences if Orchal deems my decision unwise, for possession of that token is enough for me to allow your entry. But first, I must take you to Lindon where you must face Orchal, the Regent of Ossiriand, the one in which your fate now lies.”

“Take me to him,” answered the mortal, undeterred by the elf’s comments.

A small band of Green-elves then led Beren and Lúthien through the woods to the nearest lift that took one to the city in the treetops. They were brought before the throne of Buffy where Orchal now sat, holding her lapis lazuli scepter. The lovers then told their story in full to those congregated in that chamber, many weeping at the telling.

Every single elf looked upon the couple with wonderment in their eyes, Orchal no less.

“Not since the days of Sargon the Great, have I renewed hope and faith in Man,” said the dumbstruck Green-elf at the end of their tale. “Surely, any that has seen death, and returned, as many that live here have, has earned the right to dwell in these lands. My heart tells me that Bellaseth would have it no other way, and that, if she were here, would welcome you kindly and with much love and honor.”

Not only did the Green-elf allow them entry, but he also named them Lord and Lady of Ossiriand, a coveted title indeed! And he offered to them the finest halls in all that land - Lindecoa, on Tol Galen, which he afterwards renamed, Dor Firn-i-Guinar (the Land of the Dead that Live), for now that name had more meaning.

Orchal obviously had a change of heart, and of all the mortals that would now find welcome in those lands, none did that Green-elf love more than Beren Erchamion.

Beren and Lúthien wandered throughout the woods of Lindon as Orchal had Buffy’s dwelling readied for them. After hearing their woeful tale, he wanted all evidence of the sons of Fëanor removed from Lindecoa, so that the lovers would have no reminders of their torments surrounding them. All those lovely things wrought by the brothers, all the portraits that adorned the walls, everything, was hauled away to the vaults on the western edge of that isle.

By the time that the lovers boarded their ship for Tol Galen, Orchal had already sent messengers to Buffy in Himring, urging her to come home immediately…


Chapter 86 - AMENDS

“Don’t be afraid to hit me, Borland,” said Buffy, a hint of frustration in her tone. She held her quarterstaff horizontally before her body.

“But you’re my God, er, Vala. I cannot harm you!” he replied in protest.

She rolled her eyes. “Right now, I’m a minion of Morgoth, a viper released from the bowels of Hell,” the Slayer began, slowly circling her mortal prey. “Kill or be killed! The enemy would like nothing more than to disembowel you, hanging you from a tree by your own entrails for the wolves and carrion fowl to feed upon.”

Many in the crowded courtyard chuckled at Buffy’s comments, watching with amusement, as she and the eldest son of Bór practiced combat tactics with weapons that wouldn’t inflict much damage.

“But you are a woman!”

Buffy sighed, holding her quarterstaff upright on the ground. “You foolish, foolish man,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you think Morgoth has no women in his service?”

Borland shrugged.

“He most certainly does! And let me tell you, they’re a vicious bunch,” she replied, lifting her weapon once more. “Do not underestimate the abilities of a woman. We are vicious creatures and more deadly than any man.” She started circling the Easterling again. “Men think we’re no threat, that we’re weak. Let me tell you, that’s bullshit in every sense of the word! Try taking a cub from momma bear some day. She’ll rip you to shreds before you can lay hands on her young… ”

“Well said, Bellaseth,” called a voice from the second floor balcony of Maedhros’ Halls.

Buffy turned, recognizing the voice of her brother-in-law. Leaning against the railing, eating an apple was none other than Curufin.

“Hey,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her free hand. “When did you get here?”

“A little while ago,” he answered, as Celegorm suddenly walked out beside him, waving to the Slayer below. “I see you’re training the new recruits.”

“Trying is a better word for it,” she answered with a snicker.

“Is my favorite sister-in-law not going to greet her kin properly?” queried Celegorm with a smile.

“Where’s my man-”

WHACK! Borland blindsided the Slayer with his quarterstaff, knocking her in the side of the head. She stumbled, but caught herself before falling onto the stone patio. She saw stars.

“Oh, my Lady,” said the horrified man, running to her side in a state of panic. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…. I’m sorry… I should never have… ” he sputtered.

“It’s okay, Borland,” she replied, rubbing the side of head. The Slayer looked at her hand. “See, no blood. You didn’t even break the skin.” Her hand went back to her throbbing temple despite the fact that she was trying to downplay the whole situation. “Here, Thranduil,” she said, tossing her quarterstaff to the Green-elf. “I need a break and a nice dose of Hweston’s tonic.”

“That’ll teach you for turning your back on the enemy,” laughed Curufin from above.

“Yeah, yeah. Very funny,” she mumbled, still rubbing her head. “So, you guys gonna come down or do I need to come up?”

The two C-brothers looked at one another. “We’ll meet you downstairs,” answered Celegorm before disappearing back into the house with his brother.

Buffy then followed the stone pathway to the nearest set of doors. Once inside, she made her way to the central stairway knowing that that’s where she would meet both Celegorm and Curufin.

Sure enough, when she reached the foot of the stairs, the brothers were descending them.

The Slayer hadn’t seen her brothers-in-law since the last time she was in Nargothrond some years earlier, and their reunion was a happy one. Neither brother mentioned the truth of what had brought them to Himring, at least, not to her. They claimed that they had grown tired of dwelling within the caverns of Felagund and longed to come back north where the threat of Morgoth was greatest. While Buffy was delighted to hear that, she didn’t understand why their respective Households, including Celebrimbor, had not come with them, or Huan, who was always at his Celegorm’s side.

“Huan is dead,” revealed Celegorm, his voice bitter. “The wolves of Tol-in-Gaurhoth now roam freely across Talath Dirnen, and killed him whilst we were in pursuit. It was Draugluin, the sire wolves, that done him in.”

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry to hear that,” replied a shocked Buffy, stroking the elf’s arm sympathetically. “First Kit, now Huan.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll make Morgoth pay, Celegorm. Mark my words.”

Curufin then added, “Our people wish to remain in Nargothrond. It seems that they’ve become weak-willed in their contentment, and fear returning to the battles of the north.” He shook his head in disgust. “I would never have thought that my own son would turn out to be such an utter disappointment.”

“Well,” started Buffy, unsure of what to say. “There’s one in every family, I’m afraid.” Her thoughts immediately turning to her firstborn.

Several days later, the Slayer would discover the real reason for the two C-brothers’ sudden need to be with kin.

It was nearly four in the morning when the messengers from Ossir arrived at Himring. Arachas and Nimrod first met with Thranduil, as he was the only Green-elf with the authority to enter Buffy’s private rooms at any time. By order of Orchal, they were not permitted to share their message with any except the Slayer. Therefore, the task of waking her fell upon Thranduil.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” asked the agitated elf.

“I’m afraid not, my Lord,” answered Arachas. “Believe me, I would not wish to wake the Lady at this hour, but it is imperative that Orchal see her at once. I cannot stress that enough.”

“Is Ossir at war with the enemy?”

“No. No, my Lord. The threat of war does not lie at our doorstep just yet. I cannot say more than that. Please, Thranduil, wake her.”

The urgency of the Green-elf’s voice prompted Thranduil to slip into the Slayer’s bedchamber while she lay sleeping beside her husband.

“Bella,” he whispered, shaking her gently. “Bella, wake up.”

She moaned softly, stirring in her sleep.

“Come on, Bella. Wake up,” he said, shaking her a bit harder.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open to a darkened chamber. Feeling a hand clutching her arm, she turned her head to the side. As her eyes adjusted to the blackness, she made out the silhouette of an elf kneeling beside her bed.

“Thranduil?” she yawned overly loud.

“Shh,” he sounded, as Maglor noisily smacked his lips before rolling over onto his side. When the Noldo was still again, Thranduil whispered, “Come with me.” He threw back the covers and helped her from the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“Shh.” The Green-elf didn’t want to wake Maglor. He didn’t speak until they had left the darkened bedchamber and entered the adjoining dimly lit sitting room. Linking his arm with hers, he resumed speaking in a hushed voice as they left her quarters for the main corridor. Thranduil lead her to the library where both Arachas and Nimrod sat waiting.

“My Lady!” they said in unison, falling onto bended knee.

“Forget the formalities,” she said, unconcerned with protocol at that hour. Being woken up before dawn with an urgent message from Orchal concerned her greatly. “What’s the matter? What happened?” she asked, slightly frantic in tone, as she came to a stop before the two Green-elves.

The men rose. “Orchal asks, no, implores you to come to Lindon at once, my Lady,” started Arachas. “The wheel of destiny turns, and you’re urgently needed at home.”

“What the hell do you mean by the ‘wheel of destiny’?” She put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t the time for elvish riddles. It’s four in the morning for Eru’s sake.”

“My Lady,” Arachas nervously began again. “Of what has happened I dare not speak in the halls of a Noldo, especially one from the House of Fëanor. All that I can say is that you need to meet with Orchal as quickly as possible! Take your chariot and fly! When you reach Lindon Hall you will hear everything.”

“That sounds cryptic.” Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill.

“Bella, there is need for haste!” added Nimrod, the Mighty Hunter.

“Alright, alright,” she answered, making her way back to the door. “Let me wake Káno, and we’ll… ”

“No, Bella,” said Nimrod, grabbing her by the arm.

The Slayer stopped, her eyes darting to the elf’s hand that gripped her arm.

He let go. His grey eyes looked beseechingly at her. “None are to accompany you. Orchal wants you to come alone. That is his order.”

Buffy’s anxiety was growing by the moment. Not pressing the messengers any more, she ordered Thranduil to ready her chariot while she changed for the trip. She offered Arachas and Nimrod lodgings so they could rest, but they refused, being quite eager to return home.

She told Thranduil to tell Maglor that she was called away on ‘slayer business’ and would be home as soon as she was able. The Slayer then climbed aboard her lion-drawn chariot, and ascended into the chilly darkness of early morning.

Her mind was racing, trying to figure out Orchal’s message, but it proved undecipherable. She had no idea why her old friend was being so secretive or why he deemed that none of the Noldor should know the purpose of her summons. Hell, she didn’t even know.

Shortly before noon, the lions landed in Lindon. After freeing her babies from the harness, she took a lift to the city in the treetops, meeting in private with Orchal over lunch.

The Regent of Ossir then told Buffy about Beren and Lúthien’s Quest for the Silmaril. She, like the others before her, listened with amazement to the tale until Orchal reached the part where Finrod died in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

She broke down, weeping. The Green-elf did his best to comfort her, but Buffy was quite distraught. He actually had to postpone telling the rest of the story until later that night.

Nestor ended up giving Buffy a sedative to calm her down. Like old times, Orchal held her in his arms, singing softly, until she fell asleep.

Upon waking, he resumed telling the story. She sat there in a dazed state, listening to all that had befallen the lovers. Once again, she failed to hold back her tears.

“I hope you’re not angry at me for what I’ve done,” said Orchal at the end. “After all that Beren and Lúthien had been through, it only made sense allowing them to dwell in your halls, and… ”

“Don’t worry about it, Orchal,” she interjected, placing her hand on his. “I would’ve done the same thing.” The Slayer wiped her eyes dry. “You know, it makes me happy that you finally see mortal kind in a different light, that your hostility toward them has lessened.” She forced a smile. “It’s about damn time!”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he laughed.

Buffy then had a messenger sent to the couple, requesting to meet with them, at their convenience.

Two days later, she and Orchal boarded the boat that would take them to Tol Galen.

Upon their arrival to the isle, they were taken to the cooling porch where Beren and Lúthien were waiting. The Slayer’s jaw dropped when she first set eyes on the mortal, his resemblance to Bëor was uncanny. She quickly regained her composure, and hugged the daughter of Thingol and Melian, whom she had not seen since she had left Doriath long ago. She then embraced Beren in greeting, telling him how much he looked like not only Bëor, but also his forefather’s earlier incarnation, Sargon the Great.

The couple expected Buffy to ask that they retell their story, but she did not. In fact, she made no mention of the trials that the couple had been through. Instead, she asked to see the Cross of Brolach, as she hadn’t seen it in many years. When Beren produced the heirloom of his House, the Slayer then shared the story with the lovers of her first meeting with the patriarch of that line.

“Can I ask you something, Bellaseth?” asked Lúthien at the end of Buffy’s tale.

“Sure.”

“When we were in Angband, I noticed the most peculiar thing: a portrait of you hanging on the wall of the Dark Lord’s hall. Why it is that Morgoth would possess such a thing? Is there some hidden tale there that my elvish eyes do not perceive?”

Both Buffy and Orchal shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging quick glances. The Slayer then looked at their companions.

After taking a deep breath, Buffy said, “I guess since you’re mortal, I can share with you a story that few in Beleriand know about. I only ask that you do not share it with anyone else, including your kinfolk, Lúthien. I’d rather keep it hush-hush, if you know what I mean.”

“Absolutely,” she replied, intrigued by her friend’s evasiveness.

The Slayer then told the tale of her bewitchment by Morgoth long ago when she had still dwelt in Doriath with Mablung. She didn’t hold back anything, revealing that she had given birth to a daughter, Illyria, and that she ended up battling her child with Melkor in the East.

Orchal was quite stunned that Buffy spoke so openly about her past, especially her eldest daughter. Since Illyria’s death at the hands of Oromë, she never discussed her firstborn, in public or private. Even those of her Household never mentioned the Blue Demoness by name, calling her ‘The Enemy’ when they talked of bygone days in Mesopotamia.

When she finished her story, Lúthien looked at her with pity. “It grieves me to know that you’ve gone through such trials.” She reached out, placing her hand atop Buffy’s. “My heart tells me that you are now bound to Morgoth, much like I am to Beren.”

The Slayer turned her gaze to the cascade of water that made up three of the walls of the porch. “Such is my doom,” she mumbled in a faraway voice, staring at the flowing water as though in a trance. Her thoughts then drifted to her current dilemma.

The gravity of the lovers’ Quest was finally sinking in with Buffy. There would be repercussions; there was no doubting that. With the Oath of Fëanor now kindled, she knew that Thingol was in grave danger since he had a Silmaril in his possession. The deeds of Beren and Lúthien would most certainly spread quickly throughout Beleriand. And with Celegorm and Curufin in Himring, it was only a matter of time before the brothers rallied their people and sought to reclaim the heirloom of their House, putting the Slayer in a rather precarious position. Could she stay the sons of Fëanor hand, protecting Thingol whom she had sworn allegiance to or would the brothers seek to destroy her if she stood between them and the Jewel of Fëanor? It was a tough position to be in, and one that would cause her much despair in times to come.

The Curse of Mandos was alive and kicking, and Buffy now saw that those that dwelt in Middle-earth, those that had aligned themselves with the Noldor would suffer from the Doom placed upon the exiled elves, including her, her people, and the Hildor that followed them.

“Bella? Bella?” Orchal squeezed the Slayer’s hand, bringing her out of her reverie.

“Huh?” she said, turning her gaze to the Green-elf and their companions. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“It’s been a long day,” Orchal said, looking at Buffy with concern. “Perhaps we should call it a night. You need rest, my friend.” He turned to Beren and Lúthien. “We shall see you in the morning, for breakfast,” the Green-elf continued, rising to his feet.

“Wait a second, Orchal,” said Buffy, shifting her gaze to the couple. “If you guys don’t mind, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, anything,” answered Lúthien.

“If you’d be ever so kind to let me get a sampling of your blood - both yours and Beren’s… ”

“What for?” asked Beren, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Well,” started the Slayer, “it’s actually for my Mirror. Don’t think for one second that I’m not out to take Morgoth down - I am! And I’m hoping that maybe your blood will reveal to me things that have changed in Angband since I’ve last been there… like Carcharoth. When I was last there, he didn’t guard the gates, but I was told that he was appointed gatekeeper when you guys passed through. It’s little details I’m looking for that you both may not have noticed, things that will help me in the future.”

Beren and Lúthien looked at one another for a moment before nodding their heads in agreement.

“I do not see what harm it could do,” answered Beren. “How much blood do you need?”

“Not much.”

Buffy then had one of her servants brings her two small wooden bowls. Pulling a dagger charm from her belt, she took Beren’s hand first, slicing the tip of his index finger with the blade. She held his finger over the bowl, squeezing out enough blood to activate her Mirror. When she had the desired amount, she found herself sticking the mortal’s finger in her mouth, healing it with her saliva as she had many times in the past. The Slayer then did the same to Lúthien.

She thanked them both before rising to her feet, carefully holding both bowls in her hands. She and Orchal bid the couple goodnight before retreating to the chamber that contained her Mirror.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your healing powers had returned?” asked the Green-elf as they walked down one of the corridors.

“I didn’t know it had until then.”

He looked at her with a baffled expression on his face. “Then how did you know that sucking their fingers would work?”

“I don’t know. I just knew,” she shrugged. “Let’s call it a gut instinct.”

“Well, answer me this, Bella: What does your gut say about Maglor and his brothers? Will they assail Thingol in Menegroth?”

“I don’t know,” she answered dismally.

“If they do, what side will you fight on?” he asked, watching closely for her reaction.

Buffy was silent for a few moments. “I don’t want to think about that right now, Orchal. My head’s spinning with so many questions. Let’s see what Beren and Lúthien’s blood reveals and then we’ll take it from there, okay?”

The Green-elf nodded in reply.

“Get the keys out of my pocket, will you? My hands are kinda full.”

Orchal reached into the pocket of her breeches and pulled out the keys. He unlocked the door, allowing her to enter first.

Buffy placed the bowls of blood on a table before preparing her Mirror. She permitted her friend to stay and witness the trials and tribulations of Beren and Lúthien as they unfolded. After filling the basin with the water of Ulmo, she emptied the bowls of the lovers’ blood into the vessel. As she waved her hands over the Mirror, vapors rose. The blood swirled within the water. Images then started to appear, blurry at first, but gradually they became clearer as the mists dissipated.

Orchal stood on one side of the Mirror, Buffy on the other. They stood there, for hours, watching all the things that befell the couple. At certain points, the Slayer would stop the scene and have it replay again, or she’d fast forward during intimate moments between the lovers, not at all interested in their courtship.

The Slayer experienced a wide array of emotions as she watched: sorrow, anger, fear, and disappointment. She felt very little glee when the lovers had triumphed over evil. The pain of Finrod’s death and her fury over the two C-brothers’ multiple acts of betrayal left her feeling numb by the time she was summoned to Folkvang at two o’clock in the morning.

She spoke briefly to Sargon about the deeds of his descendant as they walked to her Hall of Judgment. She promised to tell him more the following day, being quite eager to return to Lindecoa so that she could resume studying the events that had taken place.

When Orchal finally collapsed into one of the overstuffed chairs in need of sleep at half past four, Buffy hastened the images to the point where the lovers had arrived in Angband. She re-watched the scenes in slow motion, particularly when they had entered Melkor’s Great Hall. Despite her hatred for Morgoth, a part of her felt the slightest bit jealous when she saw the way that he had looked at Lúthien with that lustful gaze of his. She had never seen him look that way at anyone but her.

The Slayer cursed under her breath, hating the feeling that that image roused in her, yet she couldn’t help the way she felt.

Shortly before dawn, she emptied the bowl. She then refilled it, but this time, added her own blood to the water. She was curious to see if she could conjure images from the future, her future. As the contents swirled around, Buffy saw something she hadn’t expected to see: Morgoth.

“Greetings, Melisse,” he said with a smile on his face.

The Slayer didn’t say anything, but stared into the basin.

“It’s been a long time, my love. It gladdens my heart that you have summoned me.”

“I didn’t summon you.”

“No? You wished to see your future, and now you see that is me,” he laughed. “I am your future!”

She remained perfectly still. Her face, expressionless. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the image of Morgoth. Despite the deep gashes that marred his face, he still appeared quite handsome.

“Why must we have all this death?” he continued in a tone that definitely revealed that he was mocking her. “I have killed many of your people, people I deem that you love very much, yet you continue to forestall our reunion. It can all end, Melisse. You can bring all the peoples’ woes to a screeching halt. All you have to do is come home. Come back to Angband and take your rightful place beside me. Let us start our family over and we can let the elves and mortals do as they wish, in peace.”

“You lie,” she hissed.

Morgoth’s mouth went agape, mimicking surprise. “How can you say such a thing? All I want is you.”

Buffy snickered. “That’s a lie too.” Before she realized what she was saying, she added, “I saw the way you had looked at Lúthien, the desire in your eyes.” Her voice was faint, and as soon as she said those words, she wished she hadn’t.

Melkor’s laughter filled her chamber. Surprisingly, the sound didn’t wake Orchal.

“Oh, my dear Melisse - you’re jealous!” he cackled, his smile broadening. “That only proves how much you love me. Have no fear; my desire for the daughter of Melian was merely a… fleeting notion, a thought that never materialized. I assure you, my dear, that you are the only woman for me.

“Now, let’s stop this nonsense. I tire of playing your games. Come home, come home to me.”

“Never!” she replied through gritted teeth, her courage growing. “You will die, and I will be the one to do it.”

Morgoth laughed even louder then before, causing the hair on the nape of Buffy’s neck to stand on end. She cast a quick glance at Orchal, knowing that he would awaken for sure, but nope, he still slept.

“You will not kill me,” he laughed. “You love me too much. If you wish to continue to play, then I will be forced to act accordingly. You cannot defeat me! You cannot kill me! I am the mightiest Vala of them all… ”

“How’s that foot of yours, Melkor?” she queried in disdain. “Such a shame that the mightiest Vala got maimed by an elf, a son of Finwë, no less.”

Her lips curled into a contemptuous grin when she saw Morgoth’s face twitch in anger at her words.

“You find my misfortune amusing, eh?” he remarked, narrowing his scornful gaze on her. “Alright, Melisse, have it your way. You wish to continue to play, then I will too. I will inflict such pain and sorrow on you that you will beg me for mercy before the end!”

“Blah, blah, blah,” she said tauntingly. “You bore me.”

“Let’s see if we can do something about that,” he replied, his eyes glinting with malice.

Morgoth’s blackened hand suddenly popped out of the Mirror and grabbed a handful of her hair. Buffy shrieked in alarm, awaking Orchal with a start.

“What? What’s going on?” shouted the Green-elf, still half-asleep. A loud crashing sound jolted his attention to the Slayer, who had knocked the basin off its pedestal, sending a stream of bloody water across the marble floor.

Buffy stood there, her hand pressed against the side of her head, trembling from the pain.

“Bella, what happened?” asked Orchal when he ran to her side.

“Morgoth,” she gasped. “His hand came through the Mirror.”

“Holy Eru!” exclaimed the Green-elf, pulling her away from the Mirror and out of the room.

“He pulled a handful of my hair out,” she whimpered, her hand still pressed to the side of her head.

“Let me see.” Orchal pried her hand away and winced. “Oh, Bella. He did pull quite a bit out. You have quite the bald spot. Does it hurt terribly?”

“Of course it does!”

“Let’s go see Nestor.”

All that the healer could do was smear some salve on her raw flesh, numbing the pain.

Orchal then took her to her room, insisting that she sleep. Buffy refused, having agreed to breakfast with Beren and Lúthien. She decided to forgo sleep until afterwards. She then stepped before her mirror, taken aback by how tired she looked. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes making her appear slightly older than normal. She groaned while desperately trying to cover up her bald spot by brushing her hair in various styles.

“Just wear a veil,” suggested her friend. “That’ll hide it until the hair grows back.”

“How come I can’t sing some enchanting melody like Lúthien to make my hair grow back?” she asked, looking fretfully at her reflection.

“I deem that your powers lie elsewhere, in your strength, not in your voice,” answered Orchal, now standing behind her.

“Lucky me,” she grumbled, her face wrinkled in disgust.

The Slayer ended up taking the Green-elf’s advice. After changing into a black gown, she wore a matching headdress with her circlet of luinil flowers over that. At least, none would see her disfigurement.

When they joined the lovers for breakfast, Buffy felt stupid over the way she had been carrying on about her hair. Beren had lost his hand, Lúthien her immortality. She had no right to turn something so trivial into some big deal. It was petty. She was being petty.

“I’m really sorry about what my brothers-in-law did,” she said after downing a cup of coffee. “They both deserved death and your mercy was most generous. I feel like I should make amends for their criminal behavior.”

“There’s no need, Bellaseth,” answered Lúthien. “You are not responsible for the deeds of the sons of Fëanor.”

“Yeah, I am,” Buffy sighed. “I can only make a promise that I, myself can keep, or at least, try my damnedest to keep.”

She then swore to both Beren and Lúthien that she would ensure that the couple’s bloodline never failed throughout all the ages of the world. So great of an oath it was, that when the Slayer spoke, a rushing of air came through the opened windows whirling around the three of them, signifying that Manwë himself bore witness to her words.

It was an oath that would prove burdensome at times, but Buffy would keep it, even until the End of Days.

After breakfast, she and Orchal left for Lindon. When they reached Lindon Hall, she called a meeting with all her councilors informing them that she approved of all of her Regent’s decisions regarding Beren and Lúthien. She expected the Green-elves to honor that, and commanded them to do as the newly appointed Lord and Lady of Ossir asked.

Despite her friends’ pleas for her to rest, the Slayer left Lindon for Himring. Along the way, she stopped at Tol-in-Gaurhoth in order to pay her respects to her fallen friend, Finrod Felagund. She and the lions remained there for several hours before taking to the sky again.

When she saw Himring glimmering in the fading sunlight, her anger toward the two C-brothers grew to new heights. After witnessing all that she had in her Mirror, she was most eager to confront the both of them. Not only had they committed atrocities against Beren and Lúthien, but also Thingol, Melian and Finrod. There was no doubt in her mind that their actions called for a good old-fashioned ass-whooping, and Buffy was just the one to give it to them.


Chapter 87 - WHY WE FIGHT

Upon her arrival at Maedhros’ citadel, Buffy asked a passing member of the Household where she might find both Celegorm and Curufin. When she was told that they were in the library with their brothers and Olofin, she hastily stomped up the steps of the main stairway, her face flush with anger.

The lions quickly darted pass her. They were quite anxious to see the two C-brothers get a much-deserved thrashing at the hands of their Mistress.

As the Slayer stormed down the corridor, those elves in the passageway were quick to get out of her way. By the look on her face, it seemed obvious to them that the she was wroth with someone, but they had no idea who that was or why. Some of the Noldor stopped, milling around in the corridor, curious to know who would be the recipient of her anger.

When Buffy stopped outside the doors to the library, Barathalion and Noeriel stood on either side of her, waiting impatiently for her to open the doors. After taking a deep breath, she threw open the doors so forcefully that they slammed into the walls with a bang, startling the occupants.

Seated around a rectangular wooden table sat the sons of Fëanor and Olofin. Maedhros and Maglor were playing a game of chess while the others watched. Both Celegorm and Curufin were seated side-by-side facing her. Before any could say or do anything, she was across the room. Skirting pass her son’s seat, she placed her hands on the edge of the table, and shoved it so that the opposite side hit the two C-bothers in the stomach, pushing their chairs backward.

The others had leapt from their seats, shouting in their confusion, as the chessboard and pieces went flying to the floor with a clatter.

“You lying mother-fuckers,” she snarled, pinning the C-brothers against the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?” cried out Maglor, as he and Maedhros tried to pry her fingers from the table’s edge. “Stop it, Bella!”

Barathalion and Noeriel then pounced on the two eldest sons of Fëanor. Since the lions had now reached their full size, they easily took the elves down. Both kitties clamped their massive jaws around the two brothers’ throats, threatening to bite down if either moved.

“Nana, what’s going on? What are you doing?” asked Olofin, who stood there in shock. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Buffy kept the C-brothers in place with her sheer strength but turned her gaze toward her son. “I’m telling you right now, Olofin, that if you stop me, you’ll be in for a beating too.” She turned her eyes back to Celegorm and Curufin. “Guess who I saw while on my journey?” she said between gritted teeth, ramming the table into their bellies yet again.

The C-brothers yelped but couldn’t reply, as the Slayer had the table pushed so far into their stomachs that they had a hard time catching their breath.

“Beren and Lúthien,” she answered, her face contorted in rage.

Their eyes widened, the blood draining from their fair faces. They now understood the reason for their sister-in-law’s wrath.

Buffy then slung the table across the room.

Celegorm and Curufin slid from their chairs, gasping for air. As they fell in a heap onto the stone floor, the Slayer grabbed a handful of either brother’s hair, pulling them into a sitting position. She then slammed their heads together, dazing both sons of Fëanor.

“Consequences!” she yelled. “There are consequences to your actions, to your lies, to your hatred! You want glory and power! Well, then I’ll give it to you myself, assholes!”

Buffy then started pummeling the brothers as she shouted each offense that they had committed.

Those Noldor that were milling around in the corridor now stood at the threshold of the room watching in horror. One had the audacity to attempt to creep up on the Slayer with a leg that had broken off the table she had thrown moments before. But Olofin sprang upon that elf, disarming him.

Despite the fact that both Celegorm and Curufin were now unconscious, Buffy continued to punch their battered and bleeding faces. So focused was she on punishing them that she didn’t even notice that both were out cold.

Olofin tearfully pleaded with her to stop. His cries drew more people to the library.

“Please, Nana! My uncles have suffered enough! I beg of you - STOP!”

The half-elf’s appeal did not fall on deaf ears. An out of breath Buffy stopped the beating, allowing the insentient C-brothers to fall to the floor. She sat there, her legs folded beneath her, wiping the blood from her bruised knuckles on the brothers’ garments. Her body still trembled from the adrenaline rush.

None dare come to Celegorm and Curufin’s aid until the Slayer rose to her feet and stepped away from the two Noldor.

“Okay babies,” she panted, “you can get off Russandol and Káno now.”

The lions let go of their prey and ran to their Mistress’ side. Each cat began licking her knuckles, removing the blood that she was unable to wipe off.

The two eldest sons of Fëanor ran to their younger brothers’ side, neither pleased by what the Slayer had just done. They carefully lifted Celegorm and Curufin from the pools of blood they lay in, and placed them back in their chairs.

“Get Hweston. Quick!” ordered Maedhros to one of his people, trying to staunch the flow of blood from Curufin’s nose. While he tended to him, Maglor cared for Celegorm.

Olofin pulled his mother over to one of the couches. They sat down whispering to one another as they watched many elves come rushing into the room, helping the two C-brothers. The lions sauntered over to their Mistress, taking a seat at her feet.

Once Celegorm and Curufin were revived, Maedhros ordered everyone to leave the library except for his brothers, Olofin, Buffy and the lions. When the last elf had left, shutting the door behind him, Maedhros turned his narrowed gaze to his sister-in-law.

“I cannot believe that you would do such a thing to my kin in my own house!”

“Did you not hear what they have done?” she queried in disbelief, sneering at all her brothers-in-law. “Your brothers have screwed things up so badly, that I don’t even know if I can repair the damage they have caused.”

The two C-brothers attempted to glare at the Slayer, but their eyes were so nearly swollen shut that they looked more like deformed creatures of Morgoth than the once attractive elves from the line of Finwë.

It was then that Buffy noticed something strange. A quick glance between Maedhros and Maglor that sent shivers up and down her spine.

She jumped from her seat. “You knew,” she said in a tone that revealed both her shock and dismay. Her eyes shifted from brother to brother. Neither met her gaze. “You knew what they’ve done this whole time!”

“I didn’t know,” spoke up Olofin, who, at this point, understood and agreed with his mother’s punishment for his uncles.

“We knew, yes,” answered Maglor, locking his gaze on his wife.

“And you didn’t think that I should’ve been told,” she said in a slightly wounded tone.

“Because of this!” he retorted, pointed to his injured brothers. “I knew you’d overreact… ”

“Overreact?!” she exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t think your brothers had this coming to them? They kidnapped Lúthien for Eru’s sake! They held her prisoner in Nargothrond! They convinced Finrod’s people to turn against him, causing his death… ”

“Celegorm and Curufin played no part in Finrod’s death,” interjected Maedhros sternly. “It was Finrod’s choice to go on the Quest, a quest he should have had no part of.”

“Are you people mad?” shouted a stunned Buffy. She couldn’t believe Maedhros, of all people, felt the need to defend the actions of his younger brothers. “People died as a direct result of their deeds,” she added, motioning toward the two C-brothers.

“We swore an oath,” spat Curufin, droplets of blood splattering from his lips as he spoke, “and have no intentions of breaking it!”

“None will withhold a Silmaril from us,” hissed his partner in crime. “Be he friend or foe… ”

“Don’t even go there!” barked the Slayer, waving her finger threateningly in Celegorm’s direction.

“…Whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf or child of… ” continued Celegorm, raising his voice with each word.

Buffy cut him off again. “I swear to God, if you continue to spew that sons of Fëanor hatred speech, I will rip your vocal chords from your throat and wear ‘em as earrings!”

The Noldo spoke no more, but scowled his disapproval.

The room fell quiet.

“Word’s gonna reach your ears sooner or later, so I might as well be the one to tell you all,” said the Slayer in a softer voice. “Beren and Lúthien were successful in their Quest. They retrieved a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown.”

The sons of Fëanor gasped in shock upon hearing that bit of information.

“How is that possible?” asked a dumbfounded Maedhros. “How were they able to pass so many of the enemy?”

“Fate,” answered Buffy. “And love. Love can drive us to do things unfathomable,” she continued, looking at her husband as she spoke those words. “Don’t underestimate its power.” She sat back down beside her son and then told the brothers all that Beren and Lúthien had gone through in order to achieve their Quest. They listened intently to all she had to say, not speaking until she had finished her tale.

“So Thingol now has a Silmaril in his possession,” said Maglor softly, cagily shifting his gaze from his wife to his eldest brother.

“Yes, he does,” she answered. Knowing that the brothers were more than likely going to plot an assault on Thingol and Menegroth, the Slayer continued before any could speak. “I’ll say this only once, and I hope you guys have enough sense to heed my words. If any of you attempt to assail Thingol or his people in order to take the Silmaril, I’ll stop you. With Eru as my witness, I will never let you lay a hand on him or Beren and Lúthien…”

“Are you saying that your allegiance is to the House of Thingol and not the House of Fëanor, your kin?” blurted out Celegorm.

“I swore allegiance to Thingol long before you set foot in Middle-earth!” she shot back. “He helped me in my time of need, and I don’t forget things like that.”

“You are a member of our House now,” countered Celegorm, leaning forward in his seat. “Your allegiance is to us, not some dark elf who hides in his caves!”

“If you intend to do evil, then I will stop you. It’s doesn’t matter which House I belong to. It’s called doing what’s right, plain and simple.”

“None will stand between the sons of Fëanor and a Silmaril,” he said, his tone seething with contempt. “That includes you, Dagnir.”

Buffy laughed. “I’m a Vala, Celegorm. You can’t kill me.” She leaned forward and hissed, “But I can kill you.”

“Is that a threat?” the Noldo exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’re threatening me!” He turned to his brothers. “You heard that! She said that she’d kill me if we sought to reclaim what was stolen from us.”

Curufin grumbled his discontent, but his face and body were still throbbing so that he wasn’t about to provoke the Slayer’s wrath.

“You’re the one that said none, including me, will stand between the sons of Fëanor and a Silmaril!” she barked back, getting to her feet. “Well here I am, Celegorm! You ready for another ass-whooping, ‘cause, guess what,” she held up her newly healed knuckles in front of the Noldo, “my hands are mended and I’m raring to have another go!”

“Enough! There’s been enough violence in these halls. I will have no more of it. Everyone needs to calm down,” declared Maedhros. He turned his gaze to Buffy. “You seem to forget, Muinthel, that we all swore an oath to do whatever we must in order to recover the Jewels of our father. That is the only reason we came to these shores, it’s why we fight… ”

“See, that’s where we differ, Russandol,” interjected the Slayer sadly. “I’m here to fight evil, to thwart Morgoth and his oppression of the free people of Middle-earth. I don’t care about some stupid Jewels… ”

“That’s blasphemy!” shouted Celegorm.

“Blasphemy, my ass,” said Buffy in disgust. She then turned her sorrowful gaze to the eldest son of Fëanor, hoping that she could reason with him. “I always thought that you had more sense than Celegorm and Curufin. You did the right thing with Fingolfin. You did the right thing by removing your brothers into Eastern Beleriand, but now,” she shook her head, “to even contemplate an assault on Thingol… I can’t have that. I won’t have that. You can’t just go around killing innocent people because of some oath you took in a moment of grief. You’re a good man, Russandol, and so are most of your brothers.” She cast a contemptuous look at the two C-brothers. “Please, don’t force my hand. I love you and don’t want to fight you. Please, I beg of you, don’t make me.”

Maedhros remained quiet, a solemn expression on his face. His silence spoke volumes.

Buffy rose from her seat and walked over to the eldest son of Fëanor. Looking him in the eye, she asked, “Would you kill me, Russandol? Would you kill me if I stood between you and a Silmaril?”

The copper-haired Noldo looked into his sister-in-law’s eyes for a few long moments before averting his gaze altogether.

The Slayer felt her heart drop. With her stomach twisting into knots, she walked over to her husband. She knelt before him, and placed her hands on his knees.

“And you Káno? Does our love mean nothing? Are the Silmarils more important than me? Than our son?”

Maglor’s eyes filled with tears, but he too spoke not one word.

That caused Buffy to break down and weep. At that moment, she knew that no matter how hard she tried to keep her marriage together, it was doomed. She feared having to fight those she loved. But if push came to shove, what other choice did she have? If the sons of Fëanor were intent on making war over a Silmaril, then she’d be forced to act accordingly.

Olofin went to his mother and pulled her into his arms, comforting her when no one else would. “It saddens me that our family has now become divided,” he said. Both his tone and face were grim. “I swore no oath in Tirion. And though I am a descendant of Fëanor, I am against the killing of any who are not in league with Morgoth or those of like mind and power.” The half-elf turned his attention to his mother. He lifted her chin as the tears continued to spill from her eyes. “I will not desert you, mother. We may have had our disagreements in the past, but I will stand beside you. If my uncles are foolish enough to wage war on Thingol, then they will have to battle me as well.” Olofin turned his green eyes to the sons of Fëanor. “You will have to kill me and mother if you wish to reclaim the Jewel from Thingol.”

The half-elf shook his head disapprovingly, his eyes revealing his disappointment.

“It’s such a shame that I was raised to believe that this House was seeking redemption for the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and for the burning of the ships at Losgar. Now I see that those words were hollow, meaningless. Words said in vain to hide the true motives of my kin. I find your words and actions deplorable, and now have a better understanding as to why there is a curse upon the Noldor, especially this House.”

“You’re no different than my son. You and Celebrimbor are both traitors,” said a sneering Curufin, no longer able to keep quiet. “You seem to forget that your forefather was slain on the doorstep of his house in Formenos by Morgoth himself. Not only was Finwë brutally murdered, but so were many others that were faithful to our House… ”

“I am saddened that Finwë died, but it does not justify the slaying of innocent people,” replied Olofin calmly. “Two more Silmarils adorn the iron crown of Morgoth. Why not seek to reclaim those? If Beren and Lúthien were able to take one of those Jewels that you covet so, then surely the armies of the Noldor can as well. Not once have you taken the battle to Morgoth! Instead, you sit idly by, waiting for him to make the next move. That is where your folly lies. You, Uncle, say that the Noldor of your House grew weak-willed in their contentment, well, it seems to me the same can be said for the sons of Fëanor.”

“Let’s go, Olofin,” Buffy sniffled, her face glistening from her tears. “I’m afraid this is an argument that we can’t win.” She turned her bleary gaze toward her husband. “It breaks my heart that you’d throw your family away for mere trinkets… ” Her words trailed off. She had a better speech planned in her mind, but the thought that her marriage was crumbling before her eyes was too much to take. She started to bawl again.

With her son in tow, and the lions following close behind, she left the chamber for the crowded corridor, which was brimming with both Noldor and Green-elves. The Slayer told her son to summon the chieftains of her House and have them meet with her at Luthor’s home. If Maglor felt so little for her, then there was no need to remain in Himring. Buffy decided amidst her turmoil that it was time for her and her people to return to Ossiriand.

Lalwen pushed her way through the throng and threw her arms around a distraught Buffy. The elleth tried her best to console her Mistress as she led her to Luthor’s house, which was a short distance away from the citadel.

They entered the Maia’s home as he was preparing his evening meal. Luthor was surprised by the sudden arrival of the women, but even more by Buffy’s tears. He quickly ushered them into the front parlor.

“My dear, Bellaseth, what has happened?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

The Slayer haltingly began telling the story of what happened. Each time one of her chieftains entered the house, she’d have to begin her tale again from the very beginning. After a few times, she decided to wait until all her people were there, as it was too painful to continue saying the same things over and over. While they waited for the others, she pulled Lalwen aside, taking her into Luthor’s bedchamber so she could speak with her in private.

“I have to ask you something, Lalwen,” she said, blotting her eyes and nose with a handkerchief.

“You can ask me anything, Bella. You know that.”

“I know that you didn’t take the Oath in Tirion, but I have to know,” started the Slayer, searching her dear friend’s grey eyes. “Would you try to kill me if I kept a Silmaril from Káno and his brothers?”

“What?” said the elleth, shocked that she would be asked such a question. “What would ever make you think that I would do something so heinous?” Lalwen was slightly hurt and offended by Buffy’s question. She thought it was ludicrous.

The Slayer’s eyes welled with tears. “Because… because Káno would,” she stammered.

The woman’s jaw dropped. “NO!” she exclaimed, covering her opened mouth with her hand. She shook her head. “No! Kanafinwë would never do that. I cannot believe that.” She stood there flabbergasted, as she watched the tears roll down Buffy’s cheek. Yet her uneasiness grew. “Did he say that?” she asked, nervous to hear the answer.

“Not exactly. But I know it’s true. I saw it in his eyes. He loves those damned Silmarils more than me and Olofin… Oh God, Lalwen, my own husband would destroy his family over those stupid Jewels. I wish they never existed,” she wept. Buffy then grabbed hold of the woman’s arm. Choking back her tears, she said, “Tell me, why did you come to Middle-earth? Did you come only to aid those in battle with Morgoth, to regain the Silmarils? Do I have to worry that you’ll turn on me too?”

Lalwen now became teary-eyed. She grabbed hold of Buffy’s arms. “By all that is holy in this world, I will never ever turn on you, Bellaseth. I swear! I only came to Endor to be with Fingolfin. I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him again. We were close since childhood and the thought of his leaving Aman without me… I had to come for his sake… I knew he wouldn’t come back to Eldamar. I knew I’d never see him again once he left the Blessed Realm. That is the only reason I came, yet because of that, the Doom of Mandos is upon me as well. I shall perish like my beloved brother.”

“Don’t say that! I won’t let that happen. I can’t lose you too. Not now. Not ever.”

The women threw their arms around each other, sobbing. It wasn’t until Olofin peeked into the room to inform his mother that all the chieftains were present, that Buffy and Lalwen pulled themselves together. They then exited the chamber, meeting with the men and women congregated in the front parlor of Luthor’s house.

Clutching Lalwen’s hand in hers, the Slayer sat beside her friend and relayed to the others what had happened with the Quest of Beren and Lúthien, including the misdeeds of Celegorm and Curufin as well as the sons of Fëanor’s pledge to recover the Jewel that Thingol now had in his possession.

“What in Eru’s name possessed you to tell Maglor and his brothers that Thingol holds a Silmaril in Menegroth?” asked a baffled Luthor.

“They already knew of the Quest,” answered Buffy, her frown lines deepening. “It was only a matter of time before news of Beren and Lúthien’s success reached Himring anyway. The elves love to gossip, at least, many of the ones I know do. Something as big as Melian’s daughter and a son of Bëor swiping a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown is gonna spread through Beleriand rather quickly. Don’t you think?”

“Too true. Too true,” agreed Luthor, nodding his head.

“The problem is, Káno and his brothers will attack Thingol if he doesn’t hand over the Silmaril… ”

“How can you be so sure?” queried Thranduil, standing behind one of the couches with his arms folded across his chest. “Who’s to say that Thingol won’t just give them the Silmaril?”

“You don’t know Thingol,” answered Buffy with a snicker. “I’m not saying that he’s greedy, but… ” She paused, her eyes narrowing in deep thought. She recalled the time when she had asked Morgoth for a Silmaril during her thralldom, long ago. “There’s something about those Jewels of Fëanor that make you long to have one in your possession,” she finally said as she pondered on that memory. “I actually asked Morgoth for one. He slapped the shit out of me instead.”

The Slayer shook her head. “But that’s beside the point. What I’m saying is, Thingol’s not about to hand over anything to those responsible for killing his kin in Valinor. And kidnapping his only daughter. And aiding in the death of Finrod, his favorite nephew.” She let out a heavy sigh, sickened by her current dilemma, and heartbroken over Maglor. “No, this will only end in a catastrophe. For both sides, I believe.”

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Olofin. “Do we leave for Menegroth at once or will you send a messenger to Thingol first?”

Buffy fell quiet for a couple of minutes, considering her options carefully before officially declaring them.

“I’ll go to Menegroth and warn Thingol,” she finally said, resolved with all her decisions. “But I think that it’s time for all of us to leave Himring.”

“Permanently?” queried Luthor, as the chieftains looked warily at one another.

“What about Morgoth?” asked the Captain, Araglas. “Are we to leave the Noldor though the threat of war is a constant at their doorstep?”

“Yes, to both questions,” Buffy replied as she rose to her feet. Murmurings broke out in the room as she walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a stiff drink. She needed something to numb her emotional pain. After downing the drink in one gulp, she poured another before rejoining her most trusted officials stationed at Himring.

The Slayer then announced that they’d be leaving in two days time. She had no plans to set foot in Maedhros’ citadel again. Olofin, Thranduil and Lalwen were assigned the task of gathering those personal belongings she wished to bring back to Ossir. It was time to start her life over once again, a life without her beloved Maglor.

Yet fate would intervene on Buffy’s behalf, as the time had not arrived for her and the Noldo to be parted. While she spent the rest of the night drinking herself into a stupor, her husband sat in his private sitting room, his heart heavy with grief at the prospect of losing his wife and son.

For the first time ever, Maglor was having second thoughts about, not only the Oath, but also his claim to the Silmarils. Were the Jewels more important than his family? No, he thought to himself. The Jewels were important to my father, but not so much to me. Not any more. My wife and son mean more to me than the Silmarils.

Maglor deemed that there had to be another way. Perhaps he and his brothers should trust the wisdom of his son, and seek to reclaim the Silmarils that Morgoth still had in his possession. As he was mulling over that possibility, Maedhros, who also was sitting alone in his private rooms, was pondering the same thing.

The eldest son of Fëanor loved Buffy very much, too much perhaps. And while a part of him wished she would leave his brother, his sole desire in her doing so would be so that he could have a chance to woo her himself. Yet the Noldo was no fool. He could never do that to his favorite brother, yet the thought was still there. His feelings for her had not diminished even after her lions had held him down with the razor sharp teeth wrapped around his neck, and the beating of his younger brothers. The bottom line was that he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to call Himring home. He wanted to see her every day.

The words of Olofin came to his mind. There was truth in what the half-elf had said. That much, Maedhros knew. Perhaps it was time to take the fight to Morgoth.

The two eldest sons of Fëanor didn’t come to supper when the bells rang throughout the citadel. Both remained in seclusion, contemplating making war with the Dark Lord in order to recover the Silmarils.

The following morning, a famished Maedhros rose at dawn, eager to speak with his brothers. When he opened the door to his bedchamber, he wasn’t surprised to find Maglor standing there, his balled fist nearly hitting his brother instead of the now opened door.

“We need to talk,” said the dark-haired Noldo.

Maedhros could tell that his brother had been crying, his eyes were glassy and puffy and it looked like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Let me order us breakfast first. I’m starving. We can eat up here so that we can speak in private.”

“Should Celegorm and Curufin join us?”

“I think so.”

The two brothers ran their errands before returning to Maedhros’ main sitting room with the two C-brothers in tow.

Not surprisingly, all four brothers feared the thought of the Slayer’s leaving Himring. Each had their own motivations in wanting her to stay. Even though the two C-brothers had taken a beating from her, they wanted her to remain in Himring, as her strength was needed. If she left, her armies would follow, and chances were, the mortals would go as well. That would leave the Noldor in a vulnerable position and hinder their defenses greatly.

On the other hand, Maedhros and Maglor were approaching the situation from the heart. They understood Buffy’s love for Thingol and his people, and knew that she would fight the Noldor if they attempted to strike the King of Doriath. Neither brother wanted to cause her that pain. The success of the Quest had brought hope to the sons of Fëanor, especially Maedhros.

Before they had finished eating, all four brothers had reached an agreement. They would forfeit their claim to the Silmaril that Thingol had in his possession and seek to recover the two that Morgoth held. However, there was only one way that they could achieve that goal - they needed Buffy’s help.

Maglor immediately left the citadel for Luthor’s dwelling. Thranduil had informed him that both his wife and son had spent the night there.

Barathalion roared loudly when the Noldo entered the house, waking a rather hung over Buffy. When Maglor told her how much she and their son meant to him, that he loved them more than the Jewels of his father, she broke down and cried. They were not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy.

The minute she heard that the brothers would allow Thingol to keep the Silmaril he had in his possession, the heaviness lifted from her heart. By the time that Maglor reached the part about making war with Morgoth, Buffy had offered to help in every possible way that she could. She was so happy that the sons of Fëanor saw the light, and considered their decision wise.

Peace had returned once again to the House of Fëanor and the House of Luinil. Unfortunately, it would be short-lived…


Chapter 88 - DISHARMONY

Maglor informed his wife that Maedhros wished to hold a council that morning with her and her chieftains together with those from the House of Fëanor, the House of Bór, and those Edain that had taken refuge in Himring. Buffy felt like crap, and was not too keen on attending any meeting, but she had promised to aid the brothers in their war so she resigned herself to attend.

At her husband’s urging, she returned to the citadel, although she was still suffering from the emotional vicissitudes from the past twenty-four hours. She felt both physically and mentally drained.

Maglor suggested that they take a bath together, as that always seemed to pick up the Slayer’s spirits when she was feeling down. As they soaked in the tub, the Noldo washed her hair, careful not to injure the spot on her head where Morgoth had pulled out a handful. He spoke sweetly to her, telling her how enriched their lives would become once they had regained the Silmarils and that their love was greater than any love between husband and wife in all of Arda.

Buffy was desperate to believe those words and took them to heart, vowing to let nothing come between her and Maglor again, including the Jewels of Fëanor. Sadly, she was oblivious to the fact that her husband was still withholding vital information from her. Though the Noldo loved her greatly, his love was constrained by the Oath, and no matter what he said or did, inevitably, the Oath would come before his love for his wife and only son.

As she leisurely readied herself, munching on dry toast and downing cupfuls of steamy black coffee, numerous men and women waited impatiently in the Great Hall for the council to begin. Maedhros refused to discuss the prospect of war until his brother and sister-in-law arrived, however late they may be. Most of the people made small talk or gossiped about the news of Beren and Lúthien, which was spreading throughout the land like wildfire.

It was during that waiting period that two Noldor entered the hall, motioning to the sons of Fëanor. Maedhros, Celegorm, and Curufin excused themselves as they followed the men into the corridor. Not one spoke a word until they had entered the eldest son of Fëanor’s study where they could all speak in private.

“What news do you bring?” asked Maedhros, leaning against his desk with his arms folded across his chest.

“Thingol says he will not surrender the Silmaril as both Lúthien and Beren had suffered greatly in retrieving it. He said that the sons of Fëanor have become overly proud and found your words haughty, in spite of the misdeeds of Celegorm and Curufin. Name him an enemy if you must, but he will not part with the Jewel and will fight the Noldor with all his might if it should come to that.”

“That is what I thought,” mumbled Maedhros, his grey eyes glinting with hatred.

“Then we name him enemy!” proclaimed an outraged Celegorm. “As soon as we defeat Morgoth, we shall assail Thingol and take back our greatest treasure.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Brother,” said Curufin, nodding his head. “The Dark Elf won’t be able to withstand our forces or our ire.”

“What of Maglor?” asked Celegorm, looking to his older brother. “Do we trust him to keep this secret from Luinil?”

“His is a son of Fëanor. He’ll speak of it to no one unless we tell him to.”

“Do you really think she’ll defend Thingol from an assault?” queried Curufin, a tinge of doubt in his tone. “You here know her best, Russandol.”

“Only if she knows about it,” Maedhros sighed. “Any attack we plan on Menegroth needs to be kept from her.” He locked his grey eyes on Curufin. “But yes, she would defend him. She has great love for both Thingol and Melian and a need to do what’s right. I blame that on her misadventures in the East. Muinthel is still seeking redemption for the sins she committed in Sumer.”

“She’s nothing but a whore!” spat Celegorm distastefully.

“Don’t say that!” barked Maedhros in reply. He stood to his full height, towering over his younger brother. He waved his finger in Celegorm’s face. “If I ever hear you call her that again, I will give you a thrashing myself! Don’t you ever speak ill of her again. You have no idea what Muinthel has been through, what she’s still going through… ”

“Oh, my brother,” answered Celegorm slowly, his voice full of dismay, “you have fallen under the Vala’s spell. You’re in love with her!”

“I have said no such thing,” refuted the eldest son of Fëanor.

“Not so much in words. But your eyes reveal it’s true,” countered Celegorm, as he carefully scrutinized the copper-headed Noldo.

“Curse her!” shouted Curufin. “This is one son of Fëanor she will not beguile.”

“Add me to that as well, Curufin. Bellaseth holds no sway over my heart, not after last evening.”

“I will hear no more of this. You will not speak of this conversation with any or you will contend with my wrath!” said Maedhros with an air of finality. “That goes for all of you.” He eyed the messengers as well before leaving the room in haste, slightly unnerved by his brother’s perceptiveness.

No one said anything when Buffy and Maglor finally entered the Great Hall an hour and a half after the council was scheduled. While she apologized for her tardiness, she was hoping that the others would have begun the discussion before she had arrived. She still wanted the sons of Fëanor to take the lead in planning the battle. However, the Green-elves especially would hear none of that.

“You’re the Vala of War!” cried out Aeron, taken aback by the Slayer’s lack of enthusiasm for planning the intricate details of battle. “There are none here better equipped to strategize than you, my Lady. You have fought in more battles than all of us. Your knowledge is imperative to our achieving a victory over Morgoth!”

The others in the room voiced their agreement.

“I really don’t see the point in discussing this right now,” said the Slayer with a sigh. “We’re jumping the gun here.”

“What do you mean?” asked Maedhros, his narrowed eyes fixed on his sister-in-law. “Are saying that you won’t help us?”

“No, of course not,” she answered. “But we’ve got bigger problems still, Russandol. We need more forces for one thing! Morgoth’s armies outnumber ours considerably, and if we can’t unite all the peoples of Beleriand to aid us, then we’re not gonna get very far.”

“Fingon will fight with us, and the Edain,” replied the eldest son of Fëanor.

“I’m sure Círdan will also send what forces he has,” added Maglor.

“That’s good and all, but it’s gonna take some time for us to prepare if we’re gonna do this thing right,” said a grim-faced Buffy.

Everyone stared blankly at her.

“Hello, people! We need weapons! We lost most of ours during Dagor Bragollach and don’t have nearly enough to arm everyone in this city,” she continued, annoyed that the elves hadn’t seen that simple fact from the get-go.

“Why not use the Trident?” suggested Thranduil. “Isn’t that the only weapon we need?”

“No way, uh-uh,” she answered, shaking her head. “Using the Trident in Beleriand would be disastrous, for us all.”

“How so?” queried her husband. “You were able to destroy the cities, Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and Numeira in the East with it. Surely, that weapon is the answer to our prayers.”

Buffy really didn’t want to answer that question, as it would show her in an unfavorable light to those who had no knowledge of her ‘secret’ past life with Morgoth. She knew how many Hellmouths were in Beleriand and feared that by using the Trident in Angband, it might set off a chain reaction throughout the western portion of Middle-earth, thus sinking all the lands into an abyss.

Before the Slayer would even contemplate the strategizing for the upcoming battle, she and the Noldor would have to meet with the Lords of the other lands. It was of the utmost importance that they rallied as many people under one banner as possible. Since it was at Maedhros instigation that they go to war, the future battle (during the planning stages) was referred to as the Union of Maedhros. It would be the eldest son of Fëanor’s task to speak with the Lords of the northern realms, while Buffy met with Thingol and Orodreth, since it seemed rather obvious that those two Kings wouldn’t give the brothers the time of day after all that Celegorm and Curufin had done.

But first, Buffy wanted to go to Amon Ereb and meet with the twins, Caranthir and the sons of Ulfang and have them begin their preparations. She also debated with herself over bringing more armies up from Ossir even though it would leave her own lands vulnerable to attack should Morgoth unexpectedly send any companies through the pass in the Blue Mountains. She’d need to consult with her councilors on that one.

Knowing that Glaurung would be unleashed once again, and after learning how deadly that Dragon was in the last war, the Slayer turned her thoughts to the Naugrim. If any could withstand the fires of that beast, it would be the dwarves. Luckily, she was on friendly terms with the Lords of Belegost and Nogrod, although she was closest in friendship with Azaghâl, the Lord of Belegost, and grandson of her dear old friend Drór.

Since they were in the preliminary stages of planning the war, she and Maglor set out for Amon Ereb the following morning in her chariot. When they reached the lands of Amrod and Amras, Buffy was quite impressed with how well trained the armies of mortals had become under the direction of Caranthir. Not only that, but Uldor said that he could bring more of his kin into Beleriand, as some of them dwelled east of Ered Luin. That alone made the Slayer more hopeful.

From Amon Ereb, she and Maglor traveled to Nogrod, as it was the closer of the two dwarvish kingdoms. On the journey, Buffy made it perfectly clear to her husband that he was not to mention the Silmarils.

“The Naugrim aren’t about to wage war with Morgoth so you guys can reclaim the heirlooms of your House, make no mistake about that. For the love of Eru, do not mention anything about the Jewels. Anyone that’s not a Noldo has to believe that this war is about ousting Morgoth from his throne. Nothing else! You let me do the talking.”

“Fine,” answered her husband with a scowl. Maglor was a bit perturbed by the manner in which his wife was talking to him. He wasn’t an idiot.

Buffy, on the other hand, had heard too much talk of the Silmarils of late. While she was willing to keep peace in her Household by helping the brothers, the recovering of the Jewels wasn’t her motivation for starting a war against Morgoth, not by a long shot. All the anger and bitterness that had been accumulating within her over the past few weeks was screaming for release, and what better place to direct that wrath than at the Dark Lord himself. The Slayer was tired of playing games, and if she and the Noldor were successful at gathering the peoples of Beleriand together in battle, then they stood a damn good chance of taking Melkor Bauglir down. And right now, nothing would make her happier than doing just that, to take all that pent-up fury and apply to the one who was at the root of everyone’s misery and misfortune.

When the lions landed outside the gates of Nogrod, the couple met with Avadmir, the Lord of that realm. Buffy spoke long with the dwarf and his many councilors. Unfortunately, he wasn’t willing to let his people march into battle. Danger only found its way to his people when they journeyed across Beleriand on business. Since Morgoth had not yet struck out at Avadmir, the Dwarf Lord had no intention of incurring the Dark Lord’s wrath should the battle go ill.

Maglor attempted to sway him by telling of the tragedies that had befallen those Noldor, Green-elves and Edain that had fought the legions of the enemy in the north that had allowed the Naugrim to live in relative peace. But Avadmir wasn’t buying it.

In the end, the Dwarf Lord offered to provide weapons and armor for the northern forces, at a price, of course. Buffy gladly accepted his terms.

When she and Maglor set out for Belegost, she was slightly disappointed that the Nogrodhrim would not be joining them in the battle. She hoped beyond anything that her close friendship with Azaghâl’s grandfather had not been forgotten.

Thankfully, it had not. Azaghâl not only offered to lead several companies of dwarves into battle, but he also insisted on helping to replenish the armories in the north, at no charge. To this, Buffy was ever grateful, as was her husband. Liking the Dwarf Lord immensely, the couple remained in Belegost until the arrival of autumn.

From Belegost they went to Lindon where they met with Orchal and her councilors. Knowing that it would take the dwarves a few years to finish their labors, the Slayer and her husband sent word to those in the north, and remained in Ossir on holiday until spring of the following year.

On the trip back to Himring, Buffy insisted that they travel through Western Beleriand so that she could stop by Finrod’s grave. Maglor found that to be strange, but did not attempt to dissuade his wife. The Slayer was pleased to see clusters of luinil, elanor and niphredil blossoms amid the blanket of green grass that covered Felagund’s mound. Even though his fey was long gone to Mandos, she sat beside the grave and spoke of the upcoming war. She then vowed to avenge Finrod’s death.

By the time that they arrived back at Himring, many of the Lords from the northern realms had arrived for a council. Among those present were the High King of the Noldor, Fingon, along with many of his people, Húrin and Huor with their chieftains from Dor-lómin, and Halmir and those from Brethil.

Buffy and Maglor informed the elves and mortals that when the first shipment of goods was ready, Caranthir and his kin would haul them to Himring.

The council revolved around the evil still lurking within Dorthonion. Since the Union’s main strategy in the impending battle was to attack Morgoth’s minions simultaneously from the east and west, it was imperative that they destroy the yrch and menacing creatures that dwelled in the wood, before the war started. There was no way they could risk an enemy attack from the south, as that could be devastating to their numbers.

Over the next couple of years, they hunted the woods from west and east, killing all the evil creatures that inhabited the once fair wood of Dorthonion. The yrch were easy enough to slay, but it took much more effort to destroy those twisted and deformed creatures that Sauron had unleashed years earlier. Yet, with the goodly races working together, they were able to successfully kill those monsters and capture their wraiths in the Orbs of Thezula that Buffy had brought back with her from Ossir.

One of the last councils was held during the final days of Yr 472. There would be one more in the following spring, as Maedhros had decided to attack on Midsummer’s Day, Yr 473. The eldest son of Fëanor had been badgering the Slayer over the past year to seek the aid of those from Doriath and Nargothrond, but she argued that she wanted to wait until all was readied.

“The time for war fast approaches, Muinthel,” Maedhros said at the council. “We are running out of time. We must know now if we are to have additional forces from Thingol and Orodreth so that we may finalize our plans.”

“We still have six months, Russandol,” countered Buffy. “My hope is that by appealing to them at the last minute, they’ll be more apt to join the Union. I really don’t want Thingol and Orodreth to think long over this whole thing, especially after what Celegorm and Curufin have done.”

Surprisingly, the two C-brothers readily agreed with her. They knew that once she had met with Thingol, the Slayer would learn that the sons of Fëanor had demanded that the Lord of Doriath surrender the Silmaril under threat of war. If she waited until the last minute, learning of these things later rather than sooner, chances were, she wouldn’t pull her own forces from battle.

As luck would have it, the bells rang indicating that it was time for the noon meal, which brought a halt to the meeting. Buffy exited the Great Hall engrossed in conversation with both Húrin and Huor while the sons of Fëanor lingered behind, waiting for the chamber to empty.

It was then that Celegorm and Curufin convinced their older brothers to follow the counsel of their sister-in-law, to let her wait until the waning of spring to visit the Lords of Doriath and Nargothrond, who were undoubtedly estranged from the House of Fëanor. The siblings relented, and no longer pressed the Slayer to act quickly.

The last council was held a month before Midsummer’s Day. Once again, everyone met in Himring. All the eastern forces had now been mustered, including all the Noldor from the House of Fëanor (save for Amrod and Amras and some of their people, who refused to come north for the battle), the Green-elves, the Edain, and those from the Houses of Bór and Ulfang. Unfortunately, both Bór and Ulfang had passed away before the battle was to begin, but their eldest sons now ruled their people and had no intention to dishonor their fathers’ last wishes to fight alongside the Noldorin forces. Uldor, who had succeeded his father as lord of the southern based Easterlings, had also marshaled additional men from east of Ered Luin to join their ranks. All these armies were under the command of Maedhros and were to march under the standard of Fëanor.

Under the banner of Fingon would fight those Noldor in Western Beleriand, including many of the Sindar. Halmir, lord of Brethil had also passed away, and his son Haldir would lead their people into battle. Both Húrin and Huor also attended with their chieftains from Dor-lómin. Unfortunately, Círdan decided to sit this battle out, a mistake he would realize soon afterward.

Their strategy hadn’t changed from the start. Their goal was to lure the minions of Morgoth from Angband and attack them on the sandy plains of Anfauglith. Fingon and his forces would descend upon the enemy from the hills of Hithlum while Maedhros lead his cavalry at the vanguard from the hills of Himring. The Union hoped to trap the legions of Morgoth between the hammer and anvil, thus annihilating them all. While the plan seemed well laid out, it would prove more advantageous if Buffy could persuade both Thingol and Orodreth to provide additional forces.

When the council ended, she took off for Doriath, taking both Olofin and Thranduil with her. Neither had ever set foot in Menegroth and they were both anxious to meet with Thingol and Melian. Even though the trio was traveling in her chariot, the lions did not fly toward the eastern fences of Doriath, but instead flew west, crossing Himlad for the northern boundary of Thingol’s land. There, Beleg Strongbow was marchwarden, and was ever a good friend to the Slayer in times past. After the debacle with the C-brothers, she knew that she could play to her old friendship with Beleg, as he was the first elf she had ever met and had shown her much kindness from day one. She hoped that that alone was enough to gain her entry into Doriath.

Barathalion and Noeriel touched down on Iant Iaur, the old bridge that crossed the Esgalduin River just north of Doriath’s borders. As they made their way off the stone road, Olofin sounded his trumpet, the sweet sounding notes echoing across the plains and into the Forest of Neldoreth. Only a few moments later, a call came in answer and many armed elves came out of the eaves of the wood.

Buffy was taken aback when she saw so many weapons pointed in her direction. She jumped from the chariot, holding her empty hands above her head and slowly walked toward the edge of the forest.

“I come seeking Beleg Cúthalion, marchwarden of Thingol!” she shouted, her eyes scanning the edge of the wood. “I am Bellaseth Dagnir, friend of Thingol and Melian and the good elves of this land.”

“Halt right there!” yelled someone sharply in reply.

She did.

Dozens upon dozens, possibly even a hundred elves suddenly came out of the woods. All of them armed, eyeing Buffy with suspicion. She didn’t lower her arms until a familiar looking dark-haired elf came from behind his comrades-in-arms, the elf, Beleg.

“I see that you guys have tightened your watch on the northern fences,” she smiled.

“Can’t be too careful nowadays,” responded the marchwarden as he came to a stop before Buffy. He gave her the once over before looking at her companions. “What brings you here, Dagnir?” he asked, his tone a little too cool to her liking. “And who are your companions? Your personal guard, perhaps?”

“Come here, boys,” she said over her shoulder, motioning to the two young men.

Olofin and Thranduil stepped off the chariot and quickly made their way to the Slayer’s side. The lions pulled the cart forward, not wanting to be left behind. The elves eyed the kitties warily, as they had never seen beasts of that kind before.

“This is my son, Olofin,” she said, grabbing hold of her son’s arm. “And this young man is like my son,” she continued, taking hold of the other’s arm as well. “This is Thranduil, son of Oropher, heir of the Green-elves.” Buffy smiled proudly at her two “boys”. “And those are my babies, Barathalion and Noeriel,” she added, motioning toward her lions with her head.

Beleg glanced at Thranduil, but his gaze lingered on Olofin. “So you are from the proud line of Fëanor,” he uttered in a low, unfriendly voice. He was about to speak again, but the Slayer cut him off.

“He is my son, as well, Beleg. You best not forget that.” She let go of the young men’s arms, placing her hands on her hips. “Why the cold welcome? I haven’t seen you in ages. I thought that you’d be a bit more friendly.”

The marchwarden turned his eyes to Buffy. After giving one last quick glance to her son, he said, “I’m sorry, Bellaseth. I’m afraid that no son of Fëanor will find welcome in these lands, especially after… ”

“My son played no part in that, Beleg!” interjected the Slayer, somewhat angrily. “I was most certainly not pleased by the antics of Celegorm and Curufin. And believe me, I gave them a good beating for it too! I’ve come to speak with Thingol… ”

“Is this about the Silmaril?” he asked, cutting her words off this time.

“No!” she answered with a shake of her head. She was tired of hearing about those damned Jewels of Fëanor. “I’ve come on my own accord and wish to speak with Thingol. It has nothing to do with the Silmaril.”

With those words, Beleg motioned for his men to lower their weapons. A smile then came to the elf’s face. “That is good to hear. We fear that the sons of Fëanor are planning to attack us… ”

“That’s absurd!” she said, her voice revealing how annoyed she was becoming. “I promise you, Beleg, we’re not here for the Silmaril nor will my husband and his brothers attack Doriath. I’ll see to that myself!”

The marchwarden’s smile widened upon hearing that. “Thingol will be glad to hear that.” He locked his eyes on her, the smile not leaving his face. With a shake of his head he continued, “It has been many long years since we’ve last spoken. We still talk about the incident with the vampires in Brethil.” He turned his gaze to the west. “That seems so long ago, yet I remember it clearly, as though it had happened only yesterday.” Beleg let out a heavy sigh before fixing his grey eyes on Buffy. “The fair woods of Doriath isn’t the same without you.”

“That’s more like it,” she chuckled. “I like knowing that I’ve been missed.”

Beleg laughed. “Come, now,” he said, taking the Slayer by the hand. “I will personally escort you and your companions to Menegroth.” He linked his arm with hers, as Olofin and Thranduil followed with the lions. “So, tell me, my old friend, what is this I hear about your being a Vala? The Vala of Love and War, I’ve been told.”

“Well, I see now that secrets are hard to keep in Beleriand,” the Slayer replied with a grin. “I know how you damn elves love to gossip.”

“Ah, and you are very elf-like yourself, my dear Bellaseth,” he chuckled. “I remember many rumors that you yourself enjoyed spreading… ”

“Only ones that didn’t involve me!”

The tension that Buffy had felt melted away as she and Beleg spoke of old times. She made a point to keep both the sons of Fëanor and the Silmaril out of the conversation. She considered those topics off limits. And knowing Thingol the way she did, she knew damn well that the Elf Lord would bring it up himself. She’d rather wait and deal with it at that time.

Thankfully, Beleg warmed up to Olofin during the trek to Menegroth. After engaging the half-elf in conversation, the marchwarden saw that he was unlike his kinfolk from the House of Fëanor. He liked the young man’s calm and thoughtful disposition, and his fondness for him grew with each passing hour.

The Slayer waved and chatted with the many elves that they encountered along the way. She felt good knowing that she still had friends in Doriath and they had not forgotten her. Of course, she told all whom she encountered that they were welcome to come to Ossir any time, whether Buffy was there or not. The alliance between those two lands went way back to the days of Denethor, some ages before.

When they crossed the bridge over the Esgalduin that lead to the gates of Menegroth, the guards there told the trio that they had to leave their weapons at the gates. While Buffy wasn’t too pleased about that, she understood Thingol’s rationale after the misdeeds of her brothers-in-law. The Lord of Doriath did not want any type of physical confrontation within his Halls. As Olofin and Thranduil laid aside their weapons, the Slayer showed the Sindar that she was weaponless. The guards of Menegroth had no idea that an arsenal of weapons hung from the belt clasped about her waist, and she wasn’t about to tell them otherwise.

Buffy freed her kitties from the chariot so that they could stretch their legs and frolic in the woods while she met with Thingol. She instructed her babies to remain on their best behavior and not to stray too far from the main gates.

Once disarmed, the trio entered through the mammoth gates of Menegroth with a train of elves following behind. Both Olofin and Thranduil were in awe. They walked slowly down the passageways, their wide eyes scanning the many wonders of the Halls of Thingol. Beleg continued to walk with them, chatting with Buffy as they made the many turns that took them to the Great Hall.

“Hello, Nimros,” greeted the Slayer to the guard standing outside the double wooden doors to Thingol’s chamber. “Long time, no see.”

“Bellaseth,” the elf nodded in acknowledgement. “You are expected.” He motioned her and her companions forward.

“Good to see you again,” she smiled.

“And you,” he answered succinctly.

Immediately upon entering that Great Hall, Buffy noticed that there were a number of guards present, more so than she had ever seen before. Hordes of people filled the room. When the Sindar had heard that Bellaseth Dagnir had returned accompanied by her son and the heir of Ossiriand, they had to be there, for curiosity’s sake more than anything else.

Just like the first time she had come through those doors, many people whispered and pointed. The trio made their way toward the dais. The closer they got to the King and Queen, the more faces Buffy recognized. She noticed many of Thingol’s own kin, but none stood out more than her former lover, Mablung, whose eyes remained fixed on her from the moment she crossed the threshold.

When they reached the dais, Buffy heard Thranduil let out a small gasp as he looked upon the splendor of the King and Queen of Doriath. Following protocol, both he and Olofin fell on bended knee, leaving Buffy standing. Her son cleared his throat, gesturing to his mother with his eyes that she needed to show Thingol some respect.

With a roll of her eyes, she begrudgingly followed suit, showing the King his due respect.

“Thingol,” she said, rising to her feet. She gave the Elf Lord a nod before turning to his wife, and doing the same. “Melian.”

Melian nodded curtly in reply, but did not speak. She looked somber. The Slayer wasn’t sure if she was still suffering the agony of her only child’s fate or if it had to do with the King’s mood.

Buffy turned her gaze back on Thingol. “You look well… all things considered,” she said in an attempt to make small talk.

“What brings you to Menegroth after all these long years, Dagnir?” asked the King, speaking as coolly as Beleg had at their first meeting. His long silver hair glimmered in the flickering flames of the torches as his narrowed grey eyes scrutinized her every movement. “Am I to find your unexpected arrival a mere coincidence? It seems strange to me that I have seen neither hide nor hair of you in centuries, and now that I possess one of the coveted Jewels of Fëanor - here you are, at my doorstep!” He looked at her icily. “What am I to make of that?”

“I have not come for a Silmaril nor am I here to make any demands from you, Thingol,” she answered as calmly as she could. “I come in friendship, and seek your counsel… ”

The King laughed, a chilling sort of laugh that cut Buffy to the bone. None of his kinfolk joined in his mirth. All remained deadly silent.

“Seek my counsel!” he repeated with a snigger, his face a mask of amazement. “None have sought my counsel over these many years save Finrod and his brothers, even though I am Lord of all Beleriand!” he spat angrily.

“That may be so,” she answered, “but Middle-earth is a big place, Thingol. I’m still the Slayer, and I’ve spent many years fighting in the far East with my people. Evil does not only dwell in Beleriand, I’m afraid. It’s like a plague that has spread throughout all the lands.”

“Not… in… my… lands!” he replied slowly, emphasizing each word as he spoke them.

“Well, I hear otherwise,” she answered. “If Carcharoth wasn’t evil, then I don’t know evil.”

Now, Buffy did not mean for those words to be offensive, but somehow Thingol took it that way. His nostrils flared at the mere mention of the wolf’s name and his scowl deepened.

Yet the King refrained from speaking his mind, having been warned against doing so by Melian shortly before Buffy, Olofin and Thranduil had set foot in Menegroth. The Queen placed her hand atop his, which was a reminder of that promise he had made to her.

“What is it you want, Bellaseth? What is it that brought you to my Halls?” he asked in a slightly calmer tone.

The Slayer glanced at the young men that flanked her on either side, catching a glimpse of Mablung out of the corner of her eye.

“We are planning to wage war against Morgoth,” she started.

Immediately, hushed whisperings broke out in the chamber. Thingol raised his hand, a gesture that brought silence within the chamber.

“For too long Morgoth has had the freedom to torment those of us that dwell in these lands, and quite frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of playing his games. I’m tired of my people and my friends dying or being taken captive as thralls or worse. The time has come to bring an end to Melkor Bauglir’s reign of tyranny. We are taking the battle to him, for once. We can’t afford to lose any more people than we already have. That is why I have come.

“The success of Beren and Lúthien has renewed hope in the Noldor. Angband is not impenetrable, as the Dark Lord would have us think! Beren and Lúthien proved that. He can be assailed! The greater our numbers, the better chance we have for taking him out once and for all. We take him out, and peace will be restored, not only to Beleriand, but all of Middle-earth.” Buffy paused, hoping beyond anything that her words had hit the mark with the King of Doriath. “What do you say, Thingol? Will you join us? Will you aid us in battle?”

Thingol glared at Buffy, shocked by her audacity. “You have some nerve, Dagnir. I’ll say that much about you! You dare enter my Halls, with a son of Fëanor no less, and wish for me to aid those that had slain my kinfolk in Valinor! You expect me to overlook the atrocities committed by the sons of Fëanor and those that follow them!”

“Olofin is my son too,” she said defensively. “He had no part in anything that his father and uncles had done. He wasn’t even alive when the tragedy at Alqualondë occurred… ”

“Tragedy!” exclaimed Thingol. “Is that what you call it? Tell me, Dagnir, does it make it easier for you to sleep at night by calling it that? A tragedy? Your beloved husband and his kin ruthlessly slaughtered my people! My own flesh and blood! And you call that a tragedy! How dare you insult me! ”

Buffy turned her gaze toward her booted feet, as a feeling of shame overcame her. Over the years, she had convinced herself that the killing of the Teleri was a tragedy, a tragedy brought about by Morgoth, not Fëanor and the Noldor. She had overlooked what they had done for so many years that she had never given any thought of Thingol confronting her with the Kinslaying when she came to Menegroth seeking his help.

She took a deep breath before raising her head. She fixed her eyes on Thingol and with a last desperate attempt said, “My husband’s kin seek redemption for the evil they have committed in the Blessed Realm. Even the wisest know that Morgoth was behind that. He’s the instigator of all evil in this world.”

“Redemption, eh?” the King cackled, his tone full of contempt. “Not but a few years ago, your beloved sons of Fëanor threatened me with war unless I relinquished my Silmaril to them. No, Bellaseth, the sons of Fëanor do not seek redemption. They are bound by their Oath, which will bring about their own self-destruction. It will not be long before the Curse takes them all.”

The Slayer was blindsided by Thingol’s words. She quickly averted her gaze, shifting her eyes to her feet. Her eyes burned with tears as the King’s statement, “the sons of Fëanor threatened me with war unless I relinquished my Silmaril,” echoed in her mind. She had no idea the brothers had done that.

They lied to me. Káno lied to me.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke.

Thingol didn’t care whether she knew or not, not at this point anyway. While Buffy was nearly ready to throw herself at the feet of the King and beg for his help, he then said something that caused something inside her to snap.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” he said, turning his wrathful gaze to Olofin. “You are the spawn of evil. No good comes from any son of Fëanor.”

“Don’t you ever speak to my son like that!” barked Buffy, her blood boiling at Thingol’s comments. She could deal with his verbal thrashing of the sons of Fëanor and even herself, but there was no way she was going to allow him to speak of her innocent and virtuous son in such a manner.

“How dare you raise your voice in my company!” shouted the Lord of Doriath, leaning forward on his throne.

“I dare! I sure the hell dare!” she shot back, her body beginning to tremble with rage. “You’re the last person to pass judgment on any. You can speak of my husband and his kin with disdain, I don’t blame you there. But you know absolutely nothing about my son, and have no right to show him such disrespect.”

“Yet I should accept your insolence because you are a Vala! Isn’t that what you mean, Luinil?” retorted the King, his face reddening with his ire.

“You know what, this was a mistake,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I see that now. I thought that the bonds of friendship still existed between your House and mine. I would think that the fact that your own daughter came to my lands, asking to live out the rest of her mortal years there would strengthen the goodwill between our people.” She shook her head in disgust. Stepping forward, she placed her foot on the bottommost step of the dais. “But what can I expect from a man whose greed and lust for the Silmaril led to the death of his own daughter. You’re a sick, selfish man, Elwë Sindacollo,” she sneered, calling the Elf Lord by his Quenya name. “May Mandos show you mercy when you find your way to his Halls.”

“How dare you speak that forbidden tongue in my presence! Seize her!” shouted the King to his guards.

Before any could take a step, Buffy pulled a sword charm from her belt. When it turned into a full sized weapon before the elves very eyes, they stopped, and took a couple of steps backward, unsure of what powers the Vala of War’s weapon possessed.

“No, Mother,” cried out Olofin, grabbing hold of her arm and lowering the weapon to the floor. “Do not spill any blood.” The half-elf kept his grip tightly on Buffy’s arm as he turned his gaze to Thingol. “We came out of friendship and mother’s love for you and your kindred. It saddens me that you’d let the actions of others, however deplorable, come between the House of Thingol and the House of Luinil.

“It was I that suggested to my father and his brothers to seek the Silmarils from Morgoth, thus staying their hand against you. Both mother and I feel that your House has earned the right to keep the Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien retrieved from Morgoth’s crown. We had vowed to our kin that should they attempt to regain that Silmaril, we would stand between them, that we would fight them to the death if it came down to that. We do not forget old friendships and alliances that easily, and long to do what is right.

“I can only hope that in time you realize that those Jewels curse any that name them in desire. Already, your beloved daughter has paid the ultimate price by losing her immortality. Who’s next? Will it be Melian the Wise? Or perhaps some of these good elves will be sacrificed as a direct result of your lust,” he continued, motioning to Thingol’s kinfolk with his free hand. “This is a sad day indeed, for it seems to me that Morgoth has achieved yet another victory by dividing our Houses further.

“I wish you peace, Lord.” He turned to his mother. “Put your weapon away, Mother. We have wasted enough time in Doriath. Let us be on our way.”

Thingol was livid. “You, Bellaseth Dagnir are hereby banned from ever setting foot in Doriath as long as my reign lasts! You are the company you keep! I account you amongst the slayers of my kin! No love does Thingol have for you or your House. Get thee gone from my Halls before I demonstrate my prowess with Aranrúth in recompense to your haughty outburst!”

“I’d love to see you try,” the Slayer hissed, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Mother!” said her son, still clutching her by the arm. “Enough! Let’s go.” Olofin started to pull her away from the dais, but stopped when Thranduil remained motionless before the thrones of Thingol and Melian.

“I used to respect you, Thingol,” the Green-elf said stiffly to the Lord of Doriath. “My father and his kin always spoke highly of the mighty Lord of Doriath. But after meeting you, and witnessing your hostile treatment of Olofin and Bella, I’m amazed that you’re able to cling onto your lordship.” He glanced at the half-elf before facing Thingol again. “Olofin is the most righteous man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and I love him as if he were my own blood kin. To hear you speak of him as the spawn of evil is a sin in itself.

“I can now see for myself that one filled with such unbridled hatred for one so virtuous and holy can easily be mistaken for a minion of Morgoth. Let us hope that Mandos shows you more mercy than you have shown us. For sooner or later, doom shall come to Doriath, and know this Thingol King, that you yourself have brought it about. Farewell!”

As they exited the chamber, Thingol ordered his men to see to it that the trio was escorted to the borders. Many of the Sindar were filled with dismay, for they saw some truth in the words spoken by all three visitors. Though they loved their Lord greatly, there were many that loved the Slayer as well, some Thingol’s own kin. Next to the fate of Beren and Lúthien, they looked upon that heated exchange as one of the darkest hours in Menegroth’s history to that point.

“That went well,” chortled Thranduil in an attempt to lighten the mood. “At least, we now know where Thingol stands.”

“The problem is how long will he be able to stand,” added Olofin. “My heart aches bitterly at this moment.” He looked at his mother, whose face was flush, her mood sullen. “How are you holding up, Nana?”

Buffy shook her head, not wanting to speak. The rage she had felt was quickly turning into sorrow. If she attempted to speak, she’d break down. Not only had she learned that Maglor and his brothers had threatened Thingol, but also her friendship with the Lord of Doriath was no more. Even though Thingol proclaimed loudly his hate for her, she’d still honor her promise to protect him from the sons of Fëanor.

As they continued down the passageways, she sadly realized that Thingol would never set foot in her lands, which meant that he’d never see or hold his beloved grandson, Dior, who had been born in Ossir only a few years before. That, in itself, she deemed a tragedy.

Once they had exited the gates and collected their weapons, the trio made their way to the chariot parked on the other side of the bridge. Barathalion and Noeriel were nowhere to be seen, so both Olofin and Thranduil set out in search of them. While Buffy waited, she sat on the back of the chariot, staring at the earth beneath her feet. The pain of her confrontation with Thingol had taken its toll. She broke down and wept, burying her face in her hands.

She now understood that she was a victim, a victim of both the Oath and the Doom attached to it. She feared what the future had in store for her, for it seemed that no matter which way she turned, some new grief would find her. While life had always had its ups and downs, the Slayer was experiencing one of the lowest moments of her life. At this point, she couldn’t see the light at the end of the dark tunnel she found herself in. All hope for a happy and blissful future was diminishing with each sob.

Buffy then felt a hand rubbing her back comfortingly. She lifted her head. Through her tears she saw the bleary form of Mablung crouched before her, his handsome face a mask of anguish…


Chapter 89 - LOYALTY

Buffy instinctively threw her arms around the elf, burying her face in his shoulder, as she had done numerous times in the past.

“Oh, Bella,” Mablung whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her, offering her the solace she so desperately needed. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain. Thingol is a proud man, and I’m sure that, in time, this whole incident will blow over.”

“No, it won’t,” she sobbed, still clinging to the Elf Lord. “I foresaw this a long time ago. He hates me.”

“That’s not true. He’s wroth right now, true, but mostly at the sons of Fëanor. You and your son just happened to be in the crossfire of his ire, which, I deem, was unwarranted. I will speak with the King myself,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “I will mend the fences between the House of Thingol and Luinil.”

“Don’t bother,” she answered, pulling out of the embrace. “What’s done is done.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. “I won’t let my husband’s kin harm him. I won’t break my promise despite Thingol’s loathing of me… ”

“Listen to me, Bella,” said Mablung, his green eyes fraught with worry. “You need to distance yourself from the sons of Fëanor. I fear that the Doom that follows them will get you ere the end. Flee now whilst you still can. I will help you.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, and looked lovingly into her eyes. “I don’t want to see any ill come to you, and my heart tells me that as long as you remain with Maglor, despair and sorrow will be your constant companions.”

“He’s my husband,” moaned Buffy in reply. “I love him. I won’t leave him. I’ll… I’ll die without him.”

“A Vala does not fade from grief! The pain that he will cause will haunt you throughout all your days, prolonging your suffering. I beg of you - flee as fast as you can!”

Her eyes began to well with tears, but the Slayer hardened her heart. “I’m not gonna leave him. I’ll never leave him… ”

“But he lied to you! What kind of husband lies to his wife?” he said incredulously.

“One whose own wife has lied to him, betraying her wedding vows, more than once,” she answered, choking back her tears. “He forgave me. He stood by me. And I’ll do the same for him. That’s what love’s all about.” She searched Mablung’s eyes with her own and could see that the elf still loved her, that he had been clinging to the memories of their past life together.

Buffy brushed his hand aside as she rose to her feet. The Elf Lord stood as well.

“I’m not the same woman you once knew, Mablung. You’re in love with a mirage of my former self. You have no idea of the things that I have done, what I have become.

“I’ll never give up hope on Káno or our love. He’s a good man. And our son, our son is living proof of that. Olofin epitomizes the best traits in both of us, without the flaws. Hope is not lost. Not yet.”

Mablung grabbed Buffy’s hands. “Please, Bella, listen to me,” he started, making one last desperate attempt to reason with her. But his words were cut short by the untimely arrival of Olofin, Thranduil and the lions.

“What’s going on?” asked Olofin, who now stood beside the chariot with the rest of their party. His eyes darted to the elf’s hold on his mother. “Nana?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said, pulling from Mablung’s grasp. “Harness the kitties.” She wiped her face again, suddenly aware of the numerous guards and spectators that had surrounded her and the chariot.

“Bella! Please do not leave just yet. I haven’t finished speaking with you,” implored the Elf Lord.

“There’s nothing more to say, Mablung,” she answered firmly. “We’ve got a war to prepare for. It’s as Olofin had said: We’ve wasted enough time in Doriath.”

Thingol’s Chief Captain hung his head in defeat. He wished beyond anything that he could whisk Buffy away to somewhere safe, somewhere where there were no sons of Fëanor to lead her astray. Yes, he still loved her. He always would. After all the many years that had passed, Mablung still didn’t understand what had possessed him to do the things he had that brought an end their relationship. It was his greatest regret.

When the lions were harnessed, both Olofin and Thranduil stepped onto the platform of the chariot, as the Slayer looked one last time upon the gates of Menegroth. She didn’t expect to return to the Halls of Thingol again, and was saddened by the thought.

“I will be part of the company that escorts you to our borders,” said Mablung, acting the part of Captain of Doriath.

“We won’t need an escort,” answered Buffy, turning her gaze to the Elf Lord. “Unless you guys can sprout wings and fly.”

He gave her a peculiar look. “I was ordered to do so,” he replied, watching as Olofin and Thranduil assisted her onto the chariot.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. The lions jolted the chariot forward.

A voice suddenly cried out, “Bellaseth! Bellaseth! Wait!”

“Whoa, babies,” Buffy said to her kitties, bringing the vehicle to a halt. She turned toward the sound and saw Nimloth, accompanied by several maidens, running across the bridge. She waited patiently for them to approach.

“I’m glad I caught you before you departed,” said the out of breath daughter of Galathil, leaning against the cart for support.

“What’s up, Nimloth?”

“My Lady,” she panted, her face glistening with sweat. “If I may, I have a request to make of you.”

Buffy raised her brows, curious as to what the kinswoman of Thingol would ask of her.

“I miss Lúthien terribly. May I… do you mind if I join her in Ossiriand?” she asked hesitantly. “I hate the thought of not being with her whilst her mortal years dwindle away… ”

“Of course you can. I’m sure she’d be grateful to have some of her kin with her,” answered the Slayer with a small smile. She then raised her gaze, scanning the many elves that had gathered outside the gates of Menegroth. In a loud voice, she addressed them all. “Any from Doriath are welcomed in Ossir. You need not ask - just go. None of the Sindar will ever be turned away. We do not forget the friendships and alliances of old.”

Buffy turned her eyes back to Nimloth. “I’m sorry, Nim, but as you can see, we don’t have room for you and your maidens on my chariot. You’ll have to find some other means of getting there. Nevertheless, I’ll alert Orchal and our Captains that you’ll be coming. I’ll have a ship waiting at Lindon to take you and your kinfolk to Tol Galen when you arrive.”

Nimloth grabbed Buffy’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my Lady. Bless you! I do not care what Thingol says, my love for you has not lessened though you wed a son of Fëanor.”

“I appreciate that.” She gave a nod of her head and the woman stepped back. “Take care.”

“Bella,” said Mablung, taking Nimloth’s vacated place beside the chariot.

“What?”

“When do you propose to make your war with Morgoth?”

“Midsummer’s Day. At first light.”

“Midsummer’s Day,” he repeated, nodding his head.

“Beleg knows more about it,” she said, casting a quick glance to the marchwarden, who stood amongst the guards. “Take it easy,” she said, forcing a quick smile of farewell.

“We’re supposed to escort… ” His words faltered as the lions started running, gradually ascending into the darkening sky, careful not to hit any of the towering trees that surrounded them. The Sindar gasped in amazement, having never before witnessed beasts without wings flying. Many were pointing above the treetops, shrieking with excitement.

Buffy looked below and saw both Mablung and Beleg in deep conversation. She half-heartedly waved good-bye to the elves as her kitties headed south. After the ordeal with Thingol, she decided that a stopover in Ossir was called for before heading on to Nargothrond. The sons of Fëanor had damaged her relationship with the King of Doriath beyond repair, and she could only assume that she’d find the same thing to be true with Orodreth. For her own emotional well-being, she needed to recuperate from the first reaming she got before facing the next one.

While the trio was flying to Lindon, both Mablung and Beleg returned to the Great Hall of Menegroth and begged Thingol to let them join the battle against Morgoth. There was no way that they could remain in Doriath knowing that such a huge war would soon take place. Besides, they both loved Buffy and wanted to help in any way they could (although they did not share that reason with their Lord).

In the end, Thingol relented. He allowed the two Elf Lords to join the battle, but they were not permitted to fight under the banner of any son of Fëanor or Buffy. He commanded them to go to Eithel Sirion and join the forces of Fingon. They were the only elves from Doriath to do so.

Upon reaching Lindon, the Slayer was exhausted, emotionally drained and hungry. She spoke privately with her closest of friends, Orchal and Nestor as she ate, telling them of what had happened with Thingol.

The two Green-elves were dismayed to hear about the threatening words of Maglor and his brothers, but were angered more by the King’s condemnation of their beloved friend and Queen. They couldn’t believe that she still pledged to protect Thingol after his banning of her from setting foot in Doriath. Regardless of their feelings, Orchal and Nestor would do everything in their power to support her and abide by whatever decisions she made. They trusted her completely.

Unfortunately, the visit to Ossir didn’t ease the Slayer’s heartache as she had hoped. She found herself unable to sleep. Her mind was racing, and refused to shut down, causing her to toss and turn in bed despite her many efforts to do otherwise. Nestor’s tonics didn’t work nor did the sweet, melodic voice of Orchal. Even when she went to Sussrúmnir that night, Istahiro failed to find a remedy to make her sleep. Her friends could only surmise that some new devilry was at work.

Under the circumstances, Orchal decided that he too wished to fight in the upcoming battle, and would lead a few companies of Green-elves. Feeling that something was amiss, he wanted to be by Buffy’s side.

A week later, the Slayer, now quite fatigued and moody from lack of sleep, left for Nargothrond with her boys. The Green-elves left for Himring. Nestor was left as Regent, holding the scepter until Orchal’s return.

The lions swiftly flew to Western Beleriand. When they reached Taleth Dirnen, Buffy had the cats touch down on the plains that were under the ever-watchful eye of the Noldor. Unlike Beren, she didn’t announce herself as she felt no need to do so. Who else in Middle-earth had a lion drawn chariot other than she? No one. That’s why she was quite shocked when things took an unexpected turn for the worse.

She was re-braiding Thranduil’s hair that had come loosened during their flight when, out of nowhere, an arrow came whizzing directly at her.

“Look out!” shouted an ever vigilant Olofin. With Vala speed reflexes, he caught the dart mid-air, only inches from his mother’s face.

Buffy yelped. Thranduil shrieked as she dropped down within the protection of the cart’s copper sides, pulling the poor elf down with her by the hair she still clutched in her hand. Unsure of what to do, the lions halted, causing the chariot to come to a sudden stop with a jerk. She and the Green-elf ricocheted off the walls, their heads painfully colliding with the metal.

Olofin didn’t seem to notice. He was too preoccupied with studying the arrow in his hand. Sniffing the metal tip, he said, “It’s poisoned,” before showing the projectile to both his mother and Thranduil.

“God damn it!” said the Slayer, standing once again. She looked at Thranduil. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, getting to his feet as well. He scanned the plains that surrounded them, rubbing the growing knot on the back of his head. “Why the hell are the Noldor sending poisoned darts at us?”

Buffy didn’t answer. Instead, she angrily bellowed, “If one more arrow comes our way, I will rip the head off of the Elf responsible, for I am Bellaseth Dagnir and I come seeking Orodreth, brother of the late King and my dear friend, Finrod Felagund!”

The Noldor didn’t reply nor was there any movement in the treetops where the Slayer knew the archers remained hidden on their talans amidst the thick greenery.

“Come on, babies. Let’s get a move on.” The chariot lurched forward as the trio kept their eyes open for any more flying projectiles.

“Why are they shooting at us?” asked Thranduil again, disturbed that the elves had resorted to such underhanded tactics against their own kindred.

“Paranoia,” replied Buffy, her eyes still searching the treetops for any sign of the elves.

“Or the Curse,” uttered Olofin. “It was said by Mandos himself that kin will turn upon kin. I think that is what we’re witnessing here.”

“Hmm,” sounded the Slayer. “I’ll go with Orodreth being a dumb-ass. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Finrod, Aegnor and Angrod were the smart ones from the line of Finarfin - Orodreth, not so much,” she snickered. Pointing to the arrow in her son’s hand, she added, “That’s proof of his ignorance… and stupidity.” Buffy shook her head in disgust and mumbled under her breath, “Sending a poisoned arrow at us. They have some nerve. Humph!”

For a while, all remained silent, except for the sound of the wheels of the cart rolling over the uneven surface of the terrain. As the lions continued onward, a series of chirping sounds rang out across the fields. Buffy knew that those were no birdcalls but the elves signaling to one another. Fearing that the Noldor were preparing an attack, she loudly proclaimed who she was again, and that if any dare assault her and her companions, she would personally obliterate Nargothrond herself, including all those that occupied the Hidden Halls of Felagund.

“That was unwise, Nana,” sighed her son. “We come seeking the aid of Orodreth and now you threaten to destroy his home and people.”

“They sent a poisoned dart at us!” she exclaimed in her defense. “For the love of Eru, I don’t know what the hell they could be thinking!”

The Slayer should have taken that as a sign of things to come, but she wasn’t about to let the episode with the poisoned arrow deter her from speaking with Orodreth. She had many friends that still dwelled in Nargothrond and convinced herself that she would be able to persuade some to join the Union in battle. Yet that voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Finrod himself was only able to gather ten companions to join him on the Quest, and he was their King. Surely, one wed to a son of Fëanor, even a Vala Queen, would have little luck convincing anyone from the House of Finrod to join forces with the brothers. Buffy tried her best to push that thought out of her mind but to no avail.

They saw no elves until they neared the heart of the realm beside the banks of the River Narog. There, they were met by numerous elves, all armed to the teeth. The enmity that the Noldor had for Celegorm and Curufin now encompassed all from the House of Fëanor, Buffy included. Despite the chilly reception they received, she insisted on speaking with Orodreth at once.

As they were led to the entrance of the Hidden Halls, the Slayer took the arrow from her son. She wasn’t sure whether the King knew of the violent act committed against her and her boys, but she was going to bring it to his attention nonetheless. With her lack of sleep, and her thoughts constantly on the upcoming war, Buffy was in no mood to play games or take anyone’s shit, King or not.

Outside the gates, the trio was asked to surrender their weapons. Buffy nonchalantly ignored the request, but Gildor knew very well that numerous weapons hung on the mystical belt girded about her waist.

“Come now, Bella,” said the Elf Lord, eyeing her belt. “I know that those charms of yours are of the mystical variety and turn into full sized weapons once removed. I must ask that you turn it over.”

Buffy forced herself not to smile. “If you insist,” she replied with a wry grin.

She unclasped the belt, the charms tinkled in harmony as she placed her most coveted weapon on the palm of Gildor’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” he said, closing his fingers around the belt. Not a second later, he screeched in pain, dropping the belt from his grasp. His hand was smoldering as he showed the others how the belt had literally burned through his glove, searing the elf’s flesh.

The many Noldor present then watched in shocked disbelief as the belt slithered across the stone floor and up the Slayer’s leg, clasping itself around her waist.

“Huh, imagine that,” said a smiling Buffy in mocked surprise. “I guess my belt’s not meant to be anywhere but here,” she chuckled, fondly tapping the mystical chain.

The elves stared at her with their mouths agape. None had ever seen anything like that before.

“Does anyone else want to handle it?” she asked, reveling in the shock of the Noldor. Her eyes then lit up as a thought crossed her mind. “Hey, maybe the belt is like my very own Silmaril, and burns those deemed unworthy or unclean with a simple touch.”

Gildor’s eyes widened as he frantically took a closer look at his burnt hand. The flesh was deep red, not black.

“I’m just saying - it’s food for thought,” she sniggered at the elf’s reaction. She waved the poisoned dart in her hand as a reminder of their ignominy.

None attempted to take the belt after that, but the armed guards formed a ring around her, separating Buffy from her two young companions, as they marched into the Halls of Nargothrond. Both Barathalion and Noeriel were forced to wait outside, something that didn’t bother them in the slightest.

When they finally arrived before the throne of Orodreth, a multitude of elves crammed into the massive chamber, much like in Menegroth. Despite the fact that there was little love between the House of Finarfin and the House of Fëanor, the Slayer was a Vala, and that alone commanded her some respect and an audience with the newly crowned King.

Buffy wasn’t about to show any propriety to Orodreth, as she believed him undeserving. Nearly being struck in the face by a poisoned arrow would tend to have that effect on someone, and the Slayer was no different. Incensing her more was seeing the Nauglamír dangling from around the Elf Lord’s neck. That was Finrod’s bejeweled necklace, not Orodreth’s, and she found his wearing of it to be disrespectful to Felagund’s memory.

“Is this how you greet visitors to your lands nowadays, Orodreth?” she queried bitterly, waving the poisoned dart before the throne of the King. “Or have the Noldor of the House of Finrod confused us with the enemy?”

“Those from the House of Fëanor must be viewed with suspicion… ”

“You mean as the enemy,” she interjected, narrowing her eyes at the King. “Why else would one employ the tactics of Morgoth against their own kin?”

“And just who was it that taught the Noldor the craft of poison-making? Hmm,” he answered with a sneer, tightening his grip on the arms of his seat so much so that his fingers had started to turn white.

“I assumed that it would only be used on the minions of Morgoth, not elves or… me,” she answered back coolly. “Your brothers would be ashamed to see how low you’ve sunk in such a short amount of time. Whoever advised you to slay me with this has misinformed you, my dear Elf,” she continued, waving the dart for all to see. “I cannot be killed by you or any of your kindred.” She snapped the arrow in two, tossing the pieces at Orodreth’s feet. “You have disgraced the lordship of the House of Finarfin.”

“I am beginning to doubt my own counsel by allowing you admittance into Nargothrond, Bellaseth,” answered the King, his temper flaring. “I deem that you’ve spent far too much time with the proud sons of Fëanor and their haughty attitude has rubbed off on you!”

Buffy laughed at the Elf Lord’s words. “You’re an idiot, Orodreth. You attack me, and make unfounded accusations and consider me the enemy!” She shook her head in disgust. “I bet Finrod’s rolling in his grave over your cheek. Perhaps it’s in the best interest of all that you no longer seek the goods and services of my people. I do not reward impertinence!”

“So be it,” he grumbled with disdain.

The Slayer turned her back on the King, and faced the masses in the Great Hall. She spoke of the upcoming war, doing her best to rouse the warriors in attendance to join the Union in their fight to take out Morgoth.

Her speech incited one of the Lords of Nargothrond to loudly proclaim his support - Gwindor, who wished to retaliate against the Dark Lord for taking his brother, Gelmir captive during Dagor Bragollach. Since Gwindor’s lover was none other than Finduilas, Orodreth’s only daughter, she hoped that the Elf Lord would be able to sway even more elves into joining the Union.

When Buffy had finished speaking, she faced the King once again. “If you attempt to assail me and mine again, I will show you what kind of powers I truly possess. I won’t take shit from any elf, especially one who’s been coddled and holds the scepter only because he is the sole survivor of a once noble bloodline. You are no King. You are a disgrace to the line of Finwë and by your own ill-advised counsel are bringing the Doom upon these good people.”

“I was mistaken in my earlier declaration, Bellaseth,” said a seething Orodreth. “You are not like the sons of Fëanor, but more like the Dark Lord himself. I now see why he views you as the apple of his eye. You and Morgoth are more alike than I had thought.”

Once again, the Slayer laughed. “See, that proves something, Orodreth. You know nothing! I will take Morgoth down. I will defeat him.” She turned to her son and gave a slight nod of her head. Slowly, she climbed the steps of the dais.

The guards attempted to stop her but Olofin used his magics to keep them at bay.

When Buffy had reached the throne of Orodreth, she leaned over the frightened King. “Yes, my friend,” she said derisively, “the Curse is alive and well in Nargothrond. You have kindled it awake by hunting down your own kin, bringing the Doom upon you and the good people of this realm. Think on that when you reap the reward for your evil deeds.”

The Slayer glared at the King for a moment before descending the steps of the dais. She then left the chamber with her two companions amid the loud rumblings from the crowd.

Despite the hostility of her meeting with Orodreth, Gwindor rejected the counsel of his Lord and was adamant about joining the Union. Because of the King’s love for the Elf Lord, he allowed him and a small company of Noldor to go to war under the condition that they fight alongside the forces of Fingon, not the sons of Fëanor, and especially not Buffy. Only fifty elves would depart Nargothrond for Eithel Sirion.

The trio did not speak as they took to the air once again. Buffy remained aloof, staring into the distance, as the events that had transpired over the past week played over and over in her head. She mulled over her confrontation with Thingol, which hurt her the most, but also put her in the foulest of moods. While she was angered by the brothers’ lie, she, in turn, directed that anger at the King of Nargothrond. She rationalized her rather harsh attitude toward Orodreth as the byproduct of the incident with the poisoned dart. Evil had crept into that realm since Felagund’s demise, and the Slayer blamed that on his younger brother, who, in fact, was only partially to blame. Most of the blame fell on the two C-brothers, for they were the ones that had awakened the Curse in Nargothrond, leading Orodreth to make some unsound decisions in order to maintain the secrecy of his kingdom.

Olofin and Thranduil were deeply concerned about the Slayer, and were quite anxious to speak with Luthor upon their return to Himring. They could see that Buffy was beginning to break down, both physically and mentally, from her lack of rest, and they no longer doubted that Morgoth was behind her condition. Each wondered to himself whether the Dark Lord knew of the impending attack or if it was merely a coincidence that this new ailment plagued her at the most inopportune time imaginable.



When the sentries’ elvish eyes spotted the chariot’s approach, they quickly sent word to the sons of Fëanor, who, in turn, passed the information on to those from the other Houses gathered in Himring. The mightiest Lords and Ladies quickly made their way to the front of Maedhros’ citadel, which was where Buffy normally landed her vehicle.

“Don’t speak of what happened,” instructed the Slayer to her boys as they began their descent.

“Why?” asked a curious Thranduil. “Surely, everyone should know… ”

“NO!” she snapped so rudely that the Green-elf flinched. Noticing the hurtful expression on Thranduil’s face, Buffy apologized. “I’m sorry, little man,” she said, softening her tone. She gave him a quick reassuring smile, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I’m just… I’m just so tired… I don’t want to have to talk about what happened,” she added weakly.

“You won’t have to, Nana,” suggested Olofin. “Thranduil and I can tell the others… ”

The Slayer’s demeanor changed in an instant. She became belligerent. “Tell them what?” she barked, turning her now blazing eyes to her son. “Tell them that Celegorm and Curufin destroyed my friendship with Thingol? That I’ve been banished from Doriath?” Her cheeks reddened as she spoke. “Or are you gonna tell them that their own blood kin will kill any that happens to cross into Orodreth’s realm?”

Buffy stopped herself. She clung to the front panel of the chariot and took several deep breaths, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves.

“I did not mean to provoke your wrath,” Olofin replied dejectedly, stunned by his mother’s drastic mood swing. “I apologize, mother, truly, I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she softly said, closing her eyes, which had begun to burn with tears. “I don’t mean to bite. It’s just,” she paused, taking another deep breath. “Just let me deal with this… ”

The two young men warily eyed one another, their growing concern evident. They were even more determined to speak with Luthor.

Buffy saw that her internal struggle was manifesting itself in the most unpleasant of ways. Her insomnia, combined with her firsthand experience of what she believed was the Doom of Mandos at work, weighed heavily on her mind. Seeing how dismal things had become with Thingol and Orodreth, she couldn’t possibly imagine what lay ahead with her husband and his brothers, as they were the only ones that had actually sworn the Oath. Were the atrocities that had been committed by Celegorm and Curufin a sampling of what was to come should the sons of Fëanor fail to regain the Silmarils from Morgoth? Would she lose them all to the ‘utter darkness’ that they had called upon themselves if unsuccessful, and what exactly did that mean?

Since she was unable to sleep, those thoughts remained constantly in her mind along with the impending war, which was now less than three weeks away. Making matters worse, the Slayer’s physical condition was beginning to deteriorate. And that most certainly didn’t bode well.

The crowd that had congregated at the foot of the stairs made a pathway for the chariot’s landing. Once the vehicle had touched down, the Slayer leapt off the back while Olofin and Thranduil unharnessed the kitties. As she climbed up the steps to the citadel, she heard many people gasping, pointing at her.

“The Lady looks ill!” she heard some say.

When she reached the top of the stairway, Maglor came up to her and said, “What’s happened to you? You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, honey. That’s what every woman loves to hear from her husband,” she sarcastically answered back.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, darling, it’s just… you look ill,” he answered, rubbing her shoulders as he scrutinized her physical appearance.

“You try going a week without sleep and tell me how good it feels,” she replied curtly, running her fingers through her hair. She eyed each of the sons of Fëanor. “We’re on our own,” Buffy continued stiffly. “Thingol won’t help and neither will Orodreth. The trip was a bust, except for Orchal. He’s coming with a few more companies of Green-elves.”

Maedhros sighed. “Then we will make do with what forces we have,” he answered. “I consider it a blessing to have additional warriors from Ossir amidst our forces.”

“Good,” she answered, before pushing her way through the throng and into the citadel.

Those remaining outside the doors were stunned by her terseness and abrupt departure.

“We’ve got problems, Adar,” said Olofin once his mother was gone. The half-elf then told the others of the Slayer’s affliction but did not mention what had happened in Doriath or Nargothrond. He wished to speak with Luthor about that first.



“Oh, my God,” said Buffy, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror of her bedchamber. “I look like shit.” She touched the black circles beneath her droopy, bloodshot eyes, amazed that her boys had never mentioned how dreadful she looked. She quickly turned away from the mirror, sickened by her appearance. Plopping down in one of the overstuffed chairs, she sat there, staring blankly at the wall.

It wasn’t long before Maglor came in with Hweston at his side. The chief healer of Himring offered the Slayer a variety of potions and powders, all of which she scoffed at.

“If Istahiro couldn’t help me, what the hell makes you think that you can? He’s a Maia for Eru’s sake!” she snapped at the healer.

“I only want to help, my Lady,” responded a crestfallen Hweston.

“Let him try, Bella,” said Maglor encouragingly. “Hweston studied the medicinal properties of herbs in Valinor and may have a remedy that Istahiro doesn’t have.”

Buffy snorted. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m sure the elves know more about herbal remedies than the Ainur.”

“Let him at least try,” suggested her husband.

“Fine!” She turned her heavy eyes to the healer. “Well, come on, Hweston. I don’t have all day! Work your wonders.”

Not surprisingly, nothing that the healer tried worked.

In the days that followed, it seemed to the Slayer that everybody in Himring suddenly was an expert in the art of healing and offered to help. Azaghâl claimed that the music of the dwarves had the ability to lull one to sleep. Buffy, who had become desperate by this time and was willing to try just about anything, listened to the tuneful melody of the Naugrim, but that too failed. Luthor tried some of the remedies he himself had prepared, but those too failed to provide her with any relief. She even followed Caranthir’s suggestion of drinking spirits until she passed out. While that sounded like a promising idea at the time, the results were far from. Instead of passing out, she ending up staying up all night vomiting while the rest of the people of Himring lay sleeping in their beds.

Buffy was a mess. One moment, she’d be shouting insults at someone, the next, weeping uncontrollably. It’s as if she had lost all control over her emotions and one never knew which personality they would be greeted with when in her company. Adding to her misery, was how physically weak she had become. The Slayer couldn’t spar worth a damn. Even young elflings had the ability to best her in a duel, something unheard of prior to her bout with insomnia.

The sons of Fëanor became fearful, as Buffy was integral to their plans. They were depending on the strength of her, Luthor and Olofin to take out the more formidable foes, such as the Balrogs and Glaurung. With her continuing to deteriorate before their eyes, they began to question the possibility of waging a successful campaign against Morgoth. But things were already in motion, and it was too late to call off the battle, which was now only ten days away.

Now, the Slayer knew that she was not the most pleasant person to be around, and she had started to distance herself from the others, terrified that her behavior would destroy the bonds of friendship that she had with those in Himring. She confined herself to her bedchamber, refusing to see any except those who would never let mere words come between her and them. The only time she left her room was at night. When all lay nestled in their homes, Buffy would wander the deserted streets beneath the starlit sky or sit in the gardens outside the citadel, bemoaning her latest misfortune.

All that changed a week before the battle was to start. The Slayer was sitting atop the wall of the courtyard, wrapped in her cloak, staring up at the many stars of Varda Elbereth. Weeping, she beseeched Ilúvatar to help her through her current predicament.

It was then that she heard a voice in her head. “Oh, Luinil, heavy is my grief in seeing you suffer so.”

“Lord, please,” she cried out pleadingly, “Help me. Help me overcome this new obstacle put before me. Soon we march to war, and I haven’t the strength to fight.”

“Oh, my dear Maranwë,” answered the voice soothingly. “I will answer your prayer. Do not think that I would forsake my favorite daughter. You will find comfort and relief this very day from one whom you least expect. I will send him to you when the sun reaches its highest point in the heavens.”

“Thank you, Lord,” she wept. “Thank you.”

The voice did not respond.

Buffy remained on that wall for the rest of the night. When the sun rose the following morning, she still sat there as those within the city began to wake. Mid-morning, she watched the Easterlings practice some of their drills in anticipation of the upcoming battle. She remained in a dazed state, looking up to the sun every now and again, waiting expectantly for the emissary of Ilúvatar to reveal himself.

When afternoon rolled in, someone joined the Slayer atop the wall. With bated breath, she turned, and saw none other than Uldor, lord of the southern-based Easterlings. Her excitement abated the moment she laid eyes on him for surely the mortal that she found ‘creepy’ could not be the one of whom the Allfather had spoken.

“My Lady,” he began, his dark eyes looking at her with much sorrow. “It grieves me to see you suffering so. We have so little time before the war is to start and I fear that your condition is worsening with each passing day. Will you let me attempt to ease your torment for I wish to put an end to your suffering?”

Buffy raised her brow skeptically at the mortal. “And what would you do differently that the others have already tried?”

“I would sing to you of the glory days,” he simply answered. “Will you let me try, my Lady?”

The Slayer let out a heavy sigh. “Why not? I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

Uldor gave her a reassuring smile as he undid the clasp of his cloak. He formed a pillow with the material, placing it on his lap. “Rest your head here, most benevolent one.”

She hesitated, unsure whether she should place her trust in the mortal. She remembered how he had looked at her upon their first meeting. It still sent shivers down her spine just thinking about it.

“I assure you that my intentions are noble,” he continued in the same reassuring tone. “I only wish to provide you with relief from you ailment, but you must trust me. That is all I ask.”

“Alright,” she answered, as she stretched out on the wall, resting her head on the makeshift pillow on the mortal’s lap.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered softly, gently stroking her hair.

She did.

Uldor then sang the most popular hymn written by Enheduanna, (Sargon’s daughter), Exaltation of Inanna, from bygone days. The words conjured images in Buffy’s mind of her glory days in the East. A blissful look came to her face as she felt her body relaxing. Soon, she found herself sound asleep, reliving the zenith of her reign in the dreamscape.

When Maedhros happened by and saw his sister-in-law sleeping with a smile of contentment on her face, he was absolutely dumbfounded. He took the sleeping Slayer into his arms, and carried her to bed. Those nearest and dearest to Buffy then gathered around her bed, watching and waiting to see if Uldor truly had been successful in curing her ailment.

As the hours swiftly passed by, the Slayer’s friends saw the dark circles under her eyes gradually fade and her skin had a healthy glow to it once again. For three days, she slept. When she finally awoke, Buffy felt refreshed, but famished. That definitely gave cause for a great celebration.

At the feast, at which the Slayer ate more than anyone thought possible, she named Uldor her hero and savior. She then elevated his status to the highest imaginable amongst all mortals in Himring, even higher than the Edain, who, out of loyalty, had followed her into exile long ago. She insisted that the Easterling fight at her right side, and publicly declared her love, trust and faith in the son of Ulfang.

Hope was renewed with the Eastern forces…


Chapter 90 - UNLEASHED

On the morning of Midsummer’s Day, after her return from Folkvang, Buffy changed into her mithril suit of armor. There was no possible way she could sleep, and many in Himring felt the same way. Despite the early hour, the city was bustling with much activity.

“How are you feeling?” asked Maglor as he laid out his battle garb on the bed.

“Nervous… and excited,” she answered, shoving her mithril mask into the pocket of her coat. “But in a good way,” she added in a more optimistic voice. “I’m nervously excited! And can’t wait to kick some demon butt!”

“That’s my Luinil,” said her husband with a smile. “It’s good to see you raring to go. You had me worried for a bit.”

“What can I say? Ilúvatar pulled through for me. Big time,” she laughed, walking over to the small wooden box on her dresser. “I’ve got to say, Káno,” she continued, glancing over her shoulder, “the Eldar really should put more faith in Eru than the Valar. He can do things they can’t… or won’t do.” Buffy pulled the tuft of Kit’s mane out of the box, kissed it, and shoved it into the palm of her mithril glove.

“They are the Guardians of Arda and… ”

“Pfft! Guardians my ass!” she exclaimed, cutting off the Noldo mid-sentence. “They may guard their realm, but they sure as shit don’t do anything here in Middle-earth.”

“Perhaps they know they’ve left it in good hands,” suggested Maglor with a wink. “You’ve done remarkably well since you’ve been here.”

“Well, I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I feel good about today. We’ve prepared, well enough.” A wide grin came to her face. Buffy excitedly added, “I can’t wait to see the look on Morgoth’s face before I kick his teeth in.” She fixed her bright eyes on Maglor. “I’ve been thinking about beating him to death with Grond, just like he did Fingolfin. Seems just to me.” She chuckled. “He’ll wish he never fucked with the House of Fëanor and Luinil, that’s for sure.”

The Noldo’s own smile broadened upon hearing her words. He swept across the room and pulled his wife into his arms, and gave her a passionate kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked, slightly taken aback by her husband’s unexpected kiss.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he replied with a chuckle. “Hearing you speak of killing Morgoth with such enthusiasm, and seeing you in your battle regalia - it turns me on.”

“No sex before the battle!” she said somewhat seriously. “We can celebrate our victory afterward.”

Maglor then whispered all the naughty things he’d do to her once the war was over. Her eyes widened as he spoke.

“Ooh, you’re so bad,” she chortled. “But I’m gonna hold you to your word on that.” She pulled out of the embrace. “I’ve gotta go see how things are going. Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t,” he answered, playfully swatting her on the butt before she left the room.

As Buffy walked confidentially down the corridor, she happily greeted all that she passed. Everyone in Himring was delighted to see that she was back to her normal self. She headed down the main stairway and out the front doors of the citadel.

The streets were filled with people busily going to and fro. Oxen were pulling wagons laden with supplies toward the main gates, as Maedhros had ordered. The Slayer wanted to inspect the engines before they left the city. Since they would have to be assembled on the battlefield, she wanted to make sure no parts were left behind. Something as simple as a missing bolt would be catastrophic, and would render a war machine useless. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

After her inspection, she climbed the stone steps to the top of the bulwark. She stood on the wall, scanning the landscape to the north. Thick mists covered all the land, obscuring one’s vision between the numerous hills in the region. Below her, she saw the hundreds of horses that the cavalry would ride into battle. Already, men were busy placing the protective coverings on the beasts. The banners of Fëanor, Luinil, and Ossir (a green leaf on a golden field) waved proudly in the chilly morning breeze.

Buffy smiled, knowing that she was witnessing history in the making. Having taken their time in preparing for this war, she knew they were going to win. She could feel it. Morgoth was going down, and the Slayer herself would oust him from his throne. She couldn’t wait.

Maedhros sent word to her to come to the gates as all the Captains were to assemble there. Even though the eldest son of Fëanor was running the show, he still consulted with Buffy on all decisions. She smiled when she saw all the mighty Lords and Ladies gathered there. The flames of the torches and the light from the lamps reflected against their armor, which shone like blood, portending what was to come.

The time had arrived to send the scouts out to survey the route the Eldar intended to follow. Uldor volunteered himself and his men for that task. Maedhros looked to Buffy, who nodded her approval. The Easterlings’ then mounted their steeds, galloped north, and disappeared in the dense fog that continued to linger over the land.

Already, the Elves, Men and Dwarves were gathering at the gates, eager to begin the march.

When the sun rose, bringing with it the first light of the day, the Noldor sounded their trumpets. The sound bounced from hill to hill, filling all that area with the sweet sounding melody.

To their north, Morgoth answered their challenge. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled from the very depths of Angband, causing the earth to tremble beneath the host’s feet. Thick black clouds issued forth from Thangorodrim, slowly rolling across the northern sky, obscuring the sun over the Dark Lands of Morgoth.

Shortly thereafter, Uldor returned, informing Maedhros and the others that Morgoth’s troops were marching toward Himring, as he spoke. The Easterling advised the Captains to wait, and confront the yrch on their own turf as opposed to meeting them on the open plains. The hills in the area would provide a natural shield from the enemy and could be used to the advantage of the Noldor.

That made perfect sense to the Captains, and so they waited…



In Western Beleriand, the host of Fingon had assembled amongst the hills and woods of Hithlum in anticipation of dawn. The Noldo King was quite pleased that he had received reinforcements in the past week from Círdan, Orodreth and two of Thingol’s greatest warriors. The more people, the better.

When the sun had risen in the sky, the Eldar sounded their trumpets, and they too, saw the black smoke billowing from Thangorodrim and felt the rumblings beneath their feet in answer to their call. Fingon turned his gaze to the east, and with his elvish eyes hoped to see the cavalry of Maedhros approaching. Unfortunately, he saw no clouds of dust along the sandy plains of Anfauglith. Doubt stirred in his heart. He expected to see the Eastern forces shortly after dawn.

Seconds later, sweet sounding notes echoed across the vales, drawing the host’s attention to their south. To the surprise and amazement of all, Turgon had come out of his hidden kingdom, having heard news of the impending battle, and brought with him an army ten thousand strong. Both elves and men lifted their voices in song. Joyful was the meeting between Fingon and his brother after so many years of separation.

With Turgon’s unexpected arrival, Fingon ordered him and his men to guard the Pass of Sirion along the Fen of Serech to prevent Morgoth’s minions from escaping that way. Having such a great force of Noldorin warriors stationed there would make it nearly impossible for the enemy to get through.

Not long afterward, the hosts of Fingon saw a great army of yrch marching toward Hithlum. Many of the Eldar grew restless, eager to engage the enemy on the plains, but Húrin wisely warned otherwise.

“Do not underestimate the guile of Morgoth,” counseled the Lord of Dor-lómin. “He shows us but a little of his might.”

The yrch drew closer and closer, stopping just shy of the River Sirion. The hosts of Morgoth stretched for miles, from the outer walls that encompassed Barad Eithel all the way to Rivil’s Well in the northwestern eaves of Dorthonion. From the various outposts in that area, the Eldar could clearly see the eyes of their enemy. Yet, the hosts of Fingon remained silent, and kept hidden behind the wall, hills and trees.

The Captain of Morgoth was ordered to draw Fingon’s hosts out from hiding by any means possible.

The yrch then taunted the Noldor, speaking gleefully of the deaths of Fingolfin and Finrod, two beloved elves of the line of Finwë. Their words inflamed many of the Eldar, who could hardly restrain themselves from attacking.

Once again, Húrin told the host to wait.

A few yrch chieftains were sent forth on horseback and offered tokens of parley. When that failed to bring out Fingon and his army, the chieftains returned to the Captain of Morgoth, who bid his men to return to the gates of Barad Eithel with someone who would surely rile the Noldor to action.

The yrch then brought forth Gelmir, Elf Lord and brother of Gwindor, from Nargothrond. During the Noldo’s captivity in Angband, the yrch had cruelly gouged out the elf’s eyes. The empty sockets had since become infected and were swollen and coated in a greenish-yellow crust. The yrch threw him roughly to the ground. The elf’s hands desperately felt around in an attempt to get his bearings.

Gwindor was beside himself with rage, but Húrin cautioned him and the others to wait. “This is but a ploy,” he warned. “Let us not be so hasty in taking the battle to the enemy.”

“We have more such as this one at home,” snickered the Orch Captain, Olburz, in an attempt to entice his enemies out of hiding. “You must make haste if you wish to find them all, for we will slay them upon our return.”

The Noldor made no answer. All remained silent. The yrch chieftains were getting angry.

Olburz laughed wickedly, the gruff sound breaking the silence. He then grabbed a handful of Gelmir’s hair, pulling the elf upright.

“Your brethren have forsaken you, Noldo,” he grunted. “You prove to be little worth to not only them, but to us as well.”

The poor elf, reached out, grabbing blindly at the air, crying out for someone to help him.

The yrch laughed mockingly at the Noldo, imitating his woeful pleas. Olburz then unsheathed his scimitar and while one of his cohorts held the outstretched arms of the elf, the Orch Captain brought his blade down, hewing off the man’s hands. The painful cries of Gelmir reverberated throughout the land. His wailing seemed amplified. When the Eldar did not respond to the Noldo’s howls of pain, Olburz then cut off the elf’s feet.

His accomplices threw the severed limbs over the wall, hitting several elves on the other side.

“This is the reward awaiting those that choose to contest our Lord,” he laughed evilly before cleaving the head off the poor elf.

The madness of grief overwhelmed Gwindor. He could no longer be restrained. The Noldo leapt upon his steed and rode out from his hiding spot with those elves from Nargothrond. They charged down the yrch chieftains, slaying them with a vengeance. Fingon put on his silver helm, and sounded his trumpet as a signal for the rest of his warriors to attack, and so began the Fifth Battle in Beleriand.

So great was the sudden onslaught of the Western forces that nary an orch could withstand them. The blades of the Noldor tore through the iron armor concealed beneath the dun raiment of the yrch. The shrill cries of the enemy and the sound of metal colliding with metal rang out across that region.

Those yrch that formed the rearguard of Morgoth’s forces grew fearful and fled the battle with the Noldor in hot pursuit. Gwindor, in his madness, lead the chase with his company. Their horses speedily crossed the desolate wastelands outside the gates of Angband, killing all in their path. They then slew the gatekeepers and passed into the Dark Lands, determined to retrieve their kin held captive and slay all the minions of Morgoth.

When the elves beat against the iron doors of the Dark Lord’s fortress, Morgoth trembled upon his throne. Yet he trusted in his designs, knowing well the strategy of the Eldar. He had confidence that his minions in the east would keep Maedhros’ forces from uniting with Fingon’s. The time was ripe for him to send out his main host of yrch and annihilate those remaining from the House of Fingolfin.

Morgoth then gave the order to unleash the forces he had in waiting, their numbers much greater than the Eldar had anticipated. From hidden doors along the peaks of Thangorodrim, thousands upon thousands of yrch issued forth, trapping those elves that had passed through the first gates into Morgoth’s lands. All were cruelly slain, save for Gwindor, who was taken captive, and brought before the Dark Lord’s throne.

Fingon was dismayed by the turn of events and was unable to aid those trapped beyond the walls of Thangorodrim. He called for his armies to retreat. So great was the number of yrch that they were rapidly closing in on those that had dared to pursue the fleeing enemy. The Noldo Lord’s western and eastern flanks were being decimated as they attempted to withdraw toward Ered Wethrin.

Haldir fell before the walls of Thangorodrim along with most of the men from Brethil that made up the rearguard of the Noldorin forces.

By the fifth day of the battle, as night fell, all the forces of Hithlum, including Fingon, High King of the Noldor were surrounded by the enemy…



“Something’s not right,” said a deeply concerned Buffy, standing atop the bulwark with the sons of Fëanor. “Morgoth’s forces should have reached us by now, don’t you think?” She faced Maedhros, her eyes narrowing in doubt.

“I would think so. I wish these damned mists would lift from the land. I cannot see a thing beyond the nearest hill!”

“My Lord and dear Lady we should wait a bit longer, as the minions of Morgoth move faster under the cover of darkness,” suggested Uldor, who stood on Buffy’s other side.

“Uldor,” started Buffy, turning toward the Easterling. “It’s been five days! Five days! No, something’s up. And I don’t like it.”

The Slayer moved along the wall in search of Luthor. The Maia had been given command of her lion drawn chariot so that he could attack from the air with the Carnimír. As of now, none had been deployed from within the safety of the walls of Himring, the lions included. She climbed down the stone stairway and into the streets, which were jam packed with the armies. She squeezed passed the men and women, who looked anxiously at Buffy in hope that the time had arrived for them to depart. But the Slayer said nothing to any as she disappeared into the throng.

She climbed up the side of one of the catapults, which they had assembled in anticipation of the impending attack. She scanned the masses until her eyes stopped on a grey head. Leaping off the war machine, she quickly pushed her way through the crowd until she reached Luthor.

The Maia was speaking with Lalwen when she finally approached him.

“Luthor!”

He turned and faced the Slayer. “What is it, Bella? Are we ready to open the gates?”

“Not yet,” she answered, narrowing her eyes. “Will you take the chariot up and see if you can spot Morgoth’s hosts? They should have been here by now.”

“Of course.”

“Report back to me. I’ll be at my post on the wall.”

The Maia nodded, as the Slayer disappeared into the crowd again.

For a fleeting moment she had misgivings, but quickly quelled those feelings. She had too much riding on this war. They had to win. She feared what would happen if they didn’t. The Curse proved to be working its magics already and the thought of the sons of Fëanor not regaining the Silmarils from Morgoth was a terrifying one. Buffy didn’t want to be put in the position where she’d have to stand between Thingol and the brothers. She didn’t want them to force her hand.

As she climbed back up the stairway, she became grim. Since Midsummer’s Day, the fog had lingered over the lands preventing all from seeing what lay beyond the nearest hills that surrounded Himring. She wondered if that was the work of the Valar and part of the Curse, or was it some diabolical device of Morgoth’s. Was it possible that the hosts that Uldor had seen somehow surrounded them all, waiting to attack once all was readied?

Stop it, she chided herself. You’re letting paranoia get the best of you.

The gong at the citadel rang twelve times, indicating that yet another day had passed. It was now six days after the battle was to start.

Buffy resumed her position along the wall.

“I see that you sent Luthor out,” remarked Maglor. “It seems we probably should have done that sooner.”

“Better late than never,” she mumbled in reply.

She and the sons of Fëanor waited with nervous anticipation for Luthor to return. While the Maia was only gone for about twenty minutes, it seemed like ages to her.

“The hosts of Morgoth have turned west and are assailing the hosts of Fingon!” shouted Luthor as the chariot flew in circles above the wall. “We must go now!”

“Fuck!” yelled Buffy in her anger.

“Open the gates!” bellowed Maedhros, running along the bulwark to the nearest stairway.

The trumpets of the Noldor rang out under the pitch-black sky. There was a moment of chaos at the gates as everyone tried to push their way out of the city at the same time.

“In formation!” shouted the eldest son of Fëanor in a commanding voice, putting an end to the confusion at the gates.

Maglor climbed atop Rocco, pulling Buffy up behind him. She wrapped her arms tightly around her husband as they hastily sped off with the rest of the cavalry, which made up the vanguard of their forces.

Once they had cleared the hills and reached the sandy plains of Anfauglith, the fog lifted. The Slayer looked over her shoulder and could see that all of Himring still lay shrouded in the ominous white clouds. Something more was at work besides ‘Mother Nature’.

She turned to Uldor, who was riding beside her and Maglor, and gave him a reassuring smile. She had assured the mortal that she didn’t hold him to blame for the recent turn of events. There was no way, she thought, the Easterling could have known that Morgoth’s forces were going to change direction. Uldor’s apparent mistake had ended up delaying the hosts of Maedhros from joining the battle for five days.

The cavalry rode hard and fast, faster than ever before, hard-pressed to reach the hosts of Fingon and provide them with much needed aid…



Fingon and his men fought the yrch throughout the night. Their numbers were rapidly depleting, along with their hope. Things had gone terribly wrong and it was only a matter of time before the yrch would cut down all of the King’s host.

Yet when the sun rose on the sixth day of battle, hope was renewed. Turgon, who had prevented his armies from the rash onslaught of the battle, now came marching up from the south, the armor and shields of his warriors shining like stars beneath the morning sunlight.

The phalanx of the Gondolindrim broke through the lines of yrch, and together with their King, they hewed their way toward Fingon, who was trapped in the center with those from his House. The enemy could not withstand the forces of Turgon and it was with great joy that the brothers came face to face yet again.

“Well met, Brother,” said Fingon, grabbing hold of Turgon’s arm. “Your timing could not be any better!”

“I deem that it was by the grace of the Valar that I restrained my men from rushing into the fray,” he smiled. “Things surely would have gone ill if I had done otherwise.”

Turgon turned his gaze to Húrin, who stood beside Fingon. It gladdened his heart to see that adan once again.

At that moment, the trumpets of Maedhros sounded to their east. The Western forces looked across the sandy plains and saw the Noldorin cavalry quickly approaching. The standards of Fëanor and Luinil could clearly be seen at the forefront.

Buffy reached in her pocket and put on her mithril hood. She then pulled off a sword charm from her belt, clutching the now full sized weapon tightly in her hand. She slid the strap of her shield from her shoulder, holding it firmly in her left hand, waiting for the impending clash with the forces of Morgoth.

She turned her head, looking to see where Uldor was. He remained by her side atop his steed. He was the only Easterling in the cavalry, which mostly consisted of Noldor and Green-elves. Behind them, marched the greater part of their forces. The Edain and people of Bór formed part of the frontline together with the Naugrim and Elves. The rearguard consisted mostly of Noldor and the people of Ulfang.

The cavalry charged the eastern flank of the yrch, trampling many beneath the horses’ feet. The Slayer leapt off Rocco into the host of the din-horde, taking her frustration out on every orch within striking distance.

Morgoth chose that moment to empty Angband before the two elvish hosts could unite. From the bowels of Hell came wargs with armed archers riding atop them, trolls, Balrogs, Glaurung the Great Worm and many smaller Dragons.

The most nefarious of the Dark Lord’s hosts came straight between the forces of Fingon and Maedhros, forcing them back from their positions thus preventing the two armies from joining together. Glaurung, who had grown considerably since Dagor Bragollach, spewed his venomous flames at the armies, setting ablaze elves and men who happened to be in the line of fire.

Sadly, many Easterlings from the House of Bór had only heard tales of the wicked creatures of Morgoth and had grown fearful when they actually saw them in the flesh. Seeing the monstrous size of the fiery Balrogs and the potency with which the Dragons slew all they encountered, the men fled the battle in horror. Yet the lords of that House remained steadfast in their loyalty to Buffy and the sons of Fëanor and vigorously fought the minions of Morgoth.

The Slayer sought out the most formidable of foes, the Balrogs and Dragons, slaying them with relative ease. To the monsters’ dismay, they could not kill her, under direct orders of their Master. Morgoth demanded that his servants bring her back to Angband, declaring that if any harmed her in any way - there would be hell to pay. Unfortunately, for those demonic creatures, they could only defend themselves against Buffy’s wrath and were careful not to deliver any deadly blows to Morgoth’s beloved.

Luthor proved to be quite effective, assailing the enemy from above. Having learned from the mistakes of the past, both lions had been outfitted in the mithril raiment of their parents prior to engaging the enemy, which prevented the Balrogs’ whips from tearing their flesh. With three sets of eyes, they were able to dodge the fiery thongs of the towering beasts before they could become entwined with the straps of the harness.

Thranduil gleefully sung aloud as he sought out the trolls to combat. Using the leather sling given to him by Cahal in Sumer long ago, he showed the mammoth, dull-witted creatures of Morgoth that a small stone could be just as deadly as any elvish blade. Using all his strength, the Green-elf hurled the rocks with such a force that when they struck the enemy between the eyes it killed them instantly, as it had the giants in bygone days.

When Buffy heard her son shout in triumph, she turned her eyes to him, as he leapt upon a fallen Dragon.

“Take this, spawn of Morgoth!” he yelled, before plunging his blade into the eye of the creature. The sword sunk deep into the head of the beast, nearly to the hilt. The Dragon let out a low, painful moan as the half-elf twisted the blade before pulling it out. Olofin had killed his first Dragon.

“That’s my boy!” the Slayer said proudly.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Buffy scanned her immediate surroundings. She watched as Orchal and Arachas took down another Dragon, filling her with such joy. They were going to win. Victory was nearly in their grasp.

Morgoth’s plans were indeed going astray for the Eldar had managed to withstand the additional forces he had unleashed from Angband. Though it took a greater effort on the Union’s part to slay creatures such as the Balrogs and the smaller Dragons, they were able to nonetheless. The only demonic creature that any fled from was Glaurung, for that beast was, by far, the most lethal in Morgoth’s hosts.

Yet the Dark Lord was ever cunning and he had saved his trump card for the last. While the Noldor, Green-elves, Edain and those from the House of Bór continued to slaughter their foes, the Easterlings under the command of Uldor began to make their way through the ranks, toward the banner of Luinil.

Buffy found herself surrounded by numerous Balrogs, yet she remained undeterred by that fact. After an hour of fighting, she realized that none of Morgoth’s minions had attempted to kill her. She had guessed, and rightly so, that the enemy was instructed not to by their Master, and decided to use that to her advantage.

She happily taunted the beasts, wielding successfully both her blade and shield against the enemy. In her cockiness, she threw down her shield as she climbed upon one of the felled beasts, ready to deliver her final, deadly blow. From out of nowhere, another Balrog used his axe handle like a baseball bat and struck her in the throat, sending her flying backwards several yards.

Even though her neck was protected with mithril, she still felt the blow. Tears streamed from her eyes as she gasped for breath. She dropped her weapon, clutching her throat. She feared that her trachea had been crushed. The guilty Balrog was horrified at the prospect of having hurt his Lord’s beloved, and quickly took off, but was captured by his kin and rewarded for his stupidity with death.

Buffy was on all fours, still gasping for air, when she felt two arms wrap around her waist. Uldor pulled her into his arms, looking at her with worried eyes. He fell to his knees, holding her tightly.

“My Lady, I saw what happened,” he said fretfully. “Let me see.” He pulled off her mithril mask and crammed it into the pocket of his cloak. “Let me see,” he repeated, forcing her hands away from her throat. She groaned as his fingers pinched and squeezed along her neck, sending jolts of pain throughout her body. “You’ll be fine, Inanna. I promise. No harm was supposed to come to you. The Dark Lord was adamant about that.”

The Easterling’s words didn’t immediately register with the Slayer, as she was still trying to catch her breath.

“Shh,” continued Uldor. “I’ll make the pain stop, my dear.” The mortal then opened his hand, revealing a mound of white dust on his palm. He blew the particles into her face, instantly paralyzing her.

What the fuck!!! she screamed. Yet no words escaped her lips. Buffy couldn’t move a muscle, not even her eyeballs. Although her eyes were open, and she could see, her body remained frozen. Her throat still throbbed in pain, and she could feel the fingers of Uldor digging into her side. Help me! Someone, please help me! she cried.

Her eyes remained locked on the Easterling, whose lips had curled into a wicked grin.

“Great is the reward to the one who returns you to Melkor the Magnificent,” he said in a low hiss. “But, I’m no fool, Inanna Ishtar. Long have my people known about the prophecy regarding your procreating with a lord of Men, bringing forth the greatest of kings into Arda. Melkor can keep his reward, for I shall be the father of that child.”

Káno! Help me! she screamed in her mind, hoping that her husband could hear her internal pleas. Oh, God, please help me!

Uldor scooped Buffy into his arms, and climbed onto his steed. At that moment, he gave the signal to his men, who then began to attack the hosts of Fëanor as the Easterling made his escape…


Chapter 91 - THE HOUSE (OF MORGOTH) ALWAYS WINS

Those Noldor, Green-elves and Men that happened to be near Buffy at that time were totally blindsided by the sudden attack by the traitorous Easterlings. So focused were they on battling the enemy that the mortals under Uldor’s sway were able to slice their throats or drive their blades deep into the most vulnerable parts of their flesh before the loyalists even knew what had happened. A few of the wicked aimed their crossbows at some of the mightiest Lords of the various Houses, striking many of the unsuspecting men down with an arrow to the face. They were brutal and malicious in their actions, and by their duplicity were on their way to turning the tide to Morgoth’s favor.

The Balrogs and Dragons played their part in the scheme as well. They kept those from the host of Maedhros from immediately noticing the treachery that was taking place amongst their ranks by diverting the attention of Elf and Man while the evil Easterlings’ slew them from behind.

Luthor was the first one to spot the horrific deeds of those from the House of Ulfang. Using the Carnimír, he sent blasts of flame at those committing those atrocities, drawing the attention of Orchal and Tarlanc who were fighting nearby.

The two Green-elves stood there stunned for a moment or two before the realization of what they were actually witnessing sank in.

“I knew something would go awry!” growled Orchal in his fury, tightening the grip on his blade.

As Tarlanc charged the malevolent Easterlings, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Traitors in our midst! Traitors in our midst!” With his face contorted in rage, he rushed the newly discovered defectors with his notched sword above his head. Reaching the closest of the betrayers, he brought his weapon down with such force that he clove through the mortal’s helm, splitting his head in two. Yet the Captain of Ossir didn’t stop there. He continued to hack all he had seen assailing those true to the Union, slaying them ferociously.

Orchal tried to alert as many people around him as possible, as he, Tarlanc and Luthor would not be able to fend off so many from the House of Ulfang. He shouted the same thing as his friend, yet his voice was lost to the din that normally accompanies battles. The sound of metal hitting metal formed the grisly melody to the wargs’ high-pitched howls. Men grunted loudly in combat or cried out in pain. However, it was the deafening roars of the Balrogs and Dragons that truly drowned out his voice.

The Green-elf still managed to inform those closest to himself. Dozens of elves turned their attention to the traitorous Easterlings, as fighting broke out on all sides. Some unfortunate mishaps happened in the confusion and some of the discombobulated Noldor killed their own kindred, unsure at that point, of who was friend and who was foe.

Yet the melee diverted the attention from Uldor. His most trusted comrades swiped the horses of the fallen elves and rode in a tight circle about the Easterling so that none could see that he was absconding with the Slayer. He wrapped his cloak around her in an attempt to conceal her from her loyal followers. Since he now claimed the reward for his treachery, he wanted to make sure that none could hinder his escape. He had his brother Ulwarth sound his trumpet. The shrill notes rang out in the darkness. Suddenly, thousands of traitorous Easterlings that had hidden themselves amongst the hills came rushing into the battle, assailing the hosts of Maedhros from the south. The Eastern armies were now being attacked on three sides, forcing the warriors to scatter.

Buffy was cursing the mortal in every tongue she knew. I swear to God, you’ll pay for this, you son-of-a-bitch. As soon as I can move again, I’ll inflict such pain on you that you would’ve wished to suffer Morgoth’s wrath rather than mine, she screamed in her mind, half-expecting Uldor to hear her internal dialogue.

Though paralyzed, her other senses seemed to work just fine, perhaps too fine. The Easterling held her tightly against his chest, the chain mail rubbing uncomfortably against her cheek with each step the horse took. Not only that, but her hip painfully collided with the front of the saddle, adding to her misery. But nothing seemed worse than being hidden beneath the mortal’s cloak. No longer smelling the fresh air, she had to endure the rank odor from Uldor’s body as well as the heat generated by it. It was unbearable. Yet she was powerless to do anything. The Slayer could only hope and pray that nothing happened to her before two o’clock, when Sargon would surely summon her to Folkvang.

“Already Himring has been seized by Melkor’s armies,” revealed Uldor, drawing Buffy even closer to himself. “Yes, Inanna, the delay was part of the plan. A host from Angband had positioned themselves to the east of Maedhros’ land before we ever left for the war. All those left behind will be killed, my wife and daughters included.” He sniggered before continuing. “But I care not. I will happily sacrifice them as long as you are my prize.”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, my love,” Uldor continued. “Fret not! Whilst I know Melkor will be wroth at me for straying from the original plan by taking his beloved, how could I not after you publicly declared your love for me. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t return it? How could I bring you to him when I love you more than he does?”

He tightened his arms around her. “I may have led my people here for the riches that Melkor has promised, but I no longer wish to possess the fair lands of the Eldar. You are my only desire. You are love and mercy, but you are also hate and pain. And how can I not find that irresistible?” he laughed.

The Slayer grew fearful, now believing that all the Easterlings were lured to Beleriand by the guile of Morgoth. Knowing that the lords from the House of Bór were fighting alongside Maglor, she was terrified that they would kill her beloved husband. Her heart ached at the thought. This had to be a nightmare, some terrible nightmare that Morgoth had conjured in her mind. How else could things go so wrong?

This is real, her own voice of reason said in her head. You feel the pain in your heart, in your body, and in your soul. Morgoth has bested you in battle. The Valar have forsaken you, yet again. They care nothing about you. Why else would they allow this to happen? Ilúvatar. Ilúvatar ordered this. He’s punishing you for some reason or another. Why else would He send a traitor to heal you, a traitor who has taken you captive and will rape you the first chance he gets?

It’s the Curse! screamed her conscience in opposition. Do not doubt Eru, not for one moment. Remember the words said by Mandos - all things that the Noldor attempt will start out well, but will go bad in the end. This is part of the Doom upon them. You can’t change it, not with all the preparations, not with love. It is how it’s fated to be.

Buffy’s eyes burned with tears. Despite all the conflicting thoughts racing through her mind, she couldn’t help but think that everything was her fault. She allowed herself to trust the Easterlings with a few mere words of flattery and had invited them to join their respective Households to the detriment of all.

“… This battle marks the end of the Age,” Uldor had rambled on. “Once you gift me with immortality, together we shall rule these lands, instilling fear in all those that dwell here… ”

He’s insane, the Slayer thought. And delusional.

She screamed her husband’s name at the top of her lungs, but, of course, no sound came out. Buffy was beginning to panic. She desperately tried to move any part of her body - a finger, a toe, anything. Nothing moved. Concentrating hard, she tried to blink, but to no avail. The only part of her body that seemed to work other than her lungs was her tear ducts. She could feel the warmth of her tears running down her cheeks.

Words could not describe the terror that was overcoming the Slayer. It seemed obvious to her that Morgoth had given Uldor the ‘magick dust’ that caused her paralysis, and she wondered if the mortal possessed other magically enhanced items to keep her docile. Did the Dark Lord have the ability to keep her from traveling to Folkvang at the appointed time? Were his powers that great? Would Morgoth retaliate against Uldor once he learned that the mortal had double-crossed him? Was Buffy going to be raped repeatedly until she conceived? That thought terrified her more than any other.

Káno! she cried out in her mind. Help me, Káno!

At that moment, Maglor killed yet another orch. As he pulled his sword from the creature’s body, he heard his wife’s tormented cry in his mind. He stopped and looked around the area, hoping to glimpse his beloved battling some minion of Morgoth.

“Russandol,” he shouted to his elder brother, “Do you see Luinil?”

Maedhros, who was much taller than all his brothers, scanned the battlefield from atop his steed. Yet he saw no sign of his sister-in-law who had been fighting near the sons of Fëanor. “I don’t see her, Maglor! I do not even see her banner.”

“Something’s happened to her, Russandol. I feel it in my heart,” said the Noldo with dismay, mounting his horse once more.

Celegorm and Curufin came riding up to their elder brothers. “The enemy is overwhelming us. There’s no way we can withstand all of our foes. We must flee!” declared the eldest of the two.

“Bella’s gone,” revealed Maglor. “We must find her. I fear that the enemy has taken her.” The Noldo then took off in search of his wife, refusing to wait until their forces were mustered.

Maedhros sounded his trumpet, summoning all those faithful to his House. Those remaining from the House of Bór came as did the Naugrim and those Green-elves fighting in the general area. Unfortunately, the eldest son of Fëanor had to give the order to retreat. Seeing Maglor disappear into the throng to their east, he and his remaining forces took off in the same direction, hoping that they could aid their brother in his attempt to find his wife as they made their escape.

Those gathered then cleaved their way through the enemy, slaying all in their way. The Balrogs and Dragons pursued them in their hatred, killing many in the Union as they fled east. Some of the evil Easterlings were killed by the flames of the monstrous beasts, but not enough to diminish their numbers significantly.

Orchal, Olofin and Thranduil had gathered as many Green-elves as they could. They fought in a tight circle, doing their best to fend off the fiendish creatures and wicked mortals. They were the first to see Maglor who had cut his way to the group.

“Where’s Bella? Have you seen Bella?” he queried, anxiously looking from Captain to Captain.

“Mother’s gone?” cried out Olofin.

“Yes,” answered Maglor. “My heart tells me that she’s been taken captive.”

“Shit!” shouted Thranduil as he released another flying projectile at an Easterling. “We have to find her!”

“I’ll bet it was the traitorous Easterlings,” said Orchal with revulsion. “Those bastards!” His eyes scanned the immediate area as a whip from a Balrog came out of nowhere, striking the elf. The men were forced to scatter from the sudden attack. While the Green-elf was only slightly injured from the fiery thong, his horse’s legs snapped with a loud crack from the impact. The beast let out a painful neigh, falling to the blood-covered earth, taking with him the Regent of Ossir.

Olofin came in and grabbed Orchal by the arm, pulled him onto the back of his own horse and took off. The Balrog gave chase. The Naugrim formed a blockade about the retreating men, and hewed down the towering demon with their axes.

With the remnants of those from the House of Fëanor and Luinil sticking together, they made their way east following the same course as Maglor.

When the second son of Fëanor spied a band of Easterlings moving in the same direction as he was traveling, his heart grew hot. He knew that his beloved wife was hidden in the midst of the traitorous men. Though he was alone, his love for Buffy drove him on.

Lifting his blood-streaked blade over his head, he shouted, “I’m coming Bella! I’ll save you!”

Those elves close by joined Maglor in his pursuit, some on foot, some on horseback. As they approached those from the House of Ulfang, a group of Balrogs mobilized. They formed a barrier between the elves and retreating Easterlings, unaware that they were protecting mortals who were no longer following the commands of their Master.

Maglor led the charge against the burning foes, unhindered by the flaming thongs that lashed at his armor, denting his protective covering with each blow. Fate protected the furious Noldo. The Balrogs struck at their much smaller adversary with their blades and axes, missing him with each strike. With the others’ help, the son of Fëanor was able to slip past the protective shield of the Balrogs and engage the Easterlings in combat.

The evil men aimed their bows and crossbows at Maglor, sending a hail of arrows at the enraged elf. Many of the flying projectiles went astray, missing their mark completely, while the Noldo, with a wave of his blade, was able to knock others off target mid-air. Unfortunately, an arrow struck his steed in the eye. The animal bucked and reared in pain, flinging Maglor from its back. In its madness, the horse stamped and kicked those mortals around him, injuring quite a few before the Easterlings finally slew the beast.

Maglor heard his wife’s tormented cries in his mind, which renewed his strength and determination to find her. His eyes blazed with the light of his fey as he fought the Easterlings on foot, masterfully wielding his weapon and shield. The mortals began to close in around the elf, confident that they would kill Buffy’s husband. Yet the ferocity with which the Noldo fought made it impossible for any to deliver that fatal blow. Some of the traitors even fled, fearing that they would fall alongside their comrades-in-arms.

Time seemed to be ticking slowly, too slowly, but the remaining hosts finally reached the Balrogs’ line of defense. None, at that point, was aware that Maglor was alone on the other side, fighting with all his might to reach his beloved wife.

Glaurung now took notice of the commotion that was taking place to his southeast. Knowing how furious Morgoth was when they failed to bring Buffy back to him during Dagor Bragollach, the Dragon summoned his fellow worms and quickly slithered across the carnage on the battlefield toward the clash between the Balrogs and the remnants of Maedhros’ host.

The eldest son of Fëanor, seeing the Dragons approaching, ordered the dwarves to form a line of defense between the elves and mortals and the approaching worms, as they could not withstand the fires from those dreadful beasts. This allowed the elves and mortals the opportunity to focus all their attention on the Balrogs, working together to take them down, one by one.

The C-brothers proved quite effective against the towering beasts of flame. They and their men rode around the creatures, striking them simultaneously with a variety of weapons so that the Balrogs constantly turned in circles, using only their whips in defense. Gradually, they began to fall. The ground shook beneath the hosts’ feet at the impact. Some members of the Union took advantage of the gaps formed in the line of Balrogs and rode past the fallen fiends before the breach was closed again. Those that made it through encountered the fleeing Easterlings on the other side.

Maglor was trapped within a sea of Easterlings and a few Balrogs, fighting his damnedest. Whilst dueling with one of the fiery foes, an Easterling leapt upon the Noldo’s back, attempting to slice his throat. The elf’s legs folded under the mortal’s weight. The blade of the dagger missed its intended target but slashed Maglor’s cheek instead. Blood poured from the gash, a mere inch from his left eye. The elf wrestled the weapon from the Easterling’s grasp and drove it into one of the evildoers dark eyes until the tip of the blade became imbedded in the back of his skull.

As the Balrog he had been fighting brought down his axe, Maglor quickly lifted the mortal’s twitching body, using it as a shield. The Easterling was split in two by the strike, spraying the Noldo with a mixture of blood, bodily fluids and guts. In his fury, the Balrog lashed at the elf with his whip. Maglor grabbed hold of one of the fiery thongs. As the monstrous creature lifted the whip back up, be brought the Noldo up with it as well. He clung to the strap for dear life. When he flew over the beast, he let go, dropping onto the creature’s flaming head. Letting out a scream of triumph, Maglor rammed his sword through the top of the Balrog’s skull. The fires of the demon began to sputter out as it teetered from foot to foot, reaching for its head. The Noldo clung to the hilt of his weapon, kicking at the mammoth hands of wailing creature as it reached for him and the sword imbedded in its head.

The archers of Caranthir suddenly burst onto the scene, sending many flying projectiles at the Balrog. The monster’s attention was averted to the new menace as it stomped wildly at the Noldor by its feet.

Maglor, still firmly holding the handle of his sword, quickly surveyed the area below him. From his perspective, and with his keen elvish eyes, he spotted Uldor in the distance surrounded by many of his kinfolk. He noticed the mithril covered legs of Buffy dangling over the side of the traitor’s horse, inflaming the tiring Noldo. He clung to his weapon with both hands as the towering beast started to fall. When he neared the ground, he leapt off the dead beast, landing at the feet of his younger brother.

Caranthir jumped from his horse and helped his brother to his feet. “You’re hurt,” he said gravely, examining the wound on Maglor’s face.

“Uldor’s got Bella,” panted the elf in response, unconcerned for his own well-being. “We need to hurry, Caranthir.” Maglor pulled his blade from the lifeless body of his foe before his brother helped him atop his steed.

Maedhros’ host finally met up with the others, having bypassed the wounded Balrogs, who were now fleeing the battle. The Naugrim continued to hold back the Dragons, successfully killing many of the smaller ones. Glaurung proved quite a formidable opponent for the dwarves. Adding insult to injury, the Great Worm devoured several of the stouthearted people from Belegost in an attempt to dissuade them from battle. However, the heinous actions of the Dragon had the opposite effect on the children of Aulë. In their madness of grief, they encircled the worm, assailing him from every angle, as the beast spewed his fiery breath at them. The Great Worm then noticed that the Eastern forces were now attacking the rearguard of Uldor.

The scaly beast sent a jet of flames at the host of Maedhros engulfing many elves and mortals with his fiery breath. Some of the horses singed by the fire threw off their riders as they escaped the foulness that is Glaurung. Some of those from the House of Bór caught the fleeing animals, and leapt atop them so that they could catch up with the sons of Fëanor and the other surviving Lords of that House who were hewing their way through the legions of Easterlings.

Caranthir and Maglor were at the forefront of the host. As they led the way through the multitude of traitors, the mortals’ numbers became greater as more and more of their kinfolk joined the fray.

Glaurung, desperate to hinder the elves’ progress, rose up onto his hind legs, spewing flame and poisonous fumes at those rushing the evil mortals. From amidst the smoke, Azaghâl crept upon the beast and delivered a powerful blow that inflamed the Great Worm’s wrath. He struck the Dwarf Lord, knocking him to the ground with a grievous wound. As the beast went to crawl over the Lord of Belegost, the dwarf pulled the dagger from his belt, and with the last bit of his strength, smote the Dragon in its most vulnerable spot - his belly. Black, noxious blood oozed from the wound as the beast bellowed in its anguish. The wounded Dragon came crashing down upon the Lord of Belegost, crushing him to death. Although Azaghâl perished in his act of bravery, he caused the Great Worm to leave the war zone for Angband. Many of the beasts seeing Glaurung fleeing the battlefield followed suit, fearing that they were no match for the wrathful elves. Yet some remained, determined to fulfill their Master’s orders or die trying.

The dwarves of Belegost wailed in anguish upon seeing the death of their Lord. While the battle raged on, the Naugrim made a bier from their weapons and placed the remains of Azaghâl atop it. In their low gravelly voices, they sang a dirge in memory of their fallen Lord as they slowly began the march to their Halls in Ered Luin. None of the enemy dare waylay the mourning dwarves, who would refrain from joining the Eldar in all future conflicts.

No longer hindered by Glaurung, the allied forces were able to continue their pursuit of Uldor, whom Maglor now called the Accursed.

Those aligned with the sons of Fëanor stuck close together, cleaving their way to the center of the evil Easterlings where Uldor was holding the Slayer prisoner.

“Faster, Caranthir! Faster!” ordered Maglor, catching sight of the helm of Uldor the Accursed.

Caranthir clicked his tongue, encouraging his steed to increase her gait.

“The sons of Fëanor are drawing near!” shouted one of Uldor’s comrades to his lord.

Buffy felt her heart jump within her chest despite the fact that she was still powerless and could not move a muscle. The Easterling’s words renewed her hope, which had diminished with the slow ticking of time.

“Kill them!” barked Uldor, as the horse quickly picked up its pace to a gallop.

The Slayer could hear the sounds of the skirmish between the evil men and the elves fading as the horse put some distance between her and her captor, and those coming to her rescue. Her nerves were shot. She feared that Uldor would kill her in order to prevent her from reuniting with her loved ones. With her magics hindered, she didn’t know whether one of the Valar would remake her hröa or if she’d be left bodiless, a wraith left to roam the wilds much like the Green-elves that had fallen in the last war.

“Your elven husband will soon be dead!” snickered Uldor with contempt, tightening his grip on Buffy even more. “All five brothers will perish, my sweet, severing the ties you have with the House of Fëanor. Curse them! Curse them all to Hell!”

The Slayer tried to move again. If only she could somehow slide off the horse, then Uldor would be forced to stop or flee, giving her people an opportunity to catch up to her. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn’t move any part of her body. She screamed in frustration though none heard her cry of distress, or so she thought.

Caranthir urged his steed on. Increasing her gait, the horse maneuvered through the traitorous Easterlings. Following closely behind were Borlach, Borlad, and Borthand, from the House of Bór. Even though the Slayer thought that those lords were faithless to the alliance, they most certainly were not. They were enraged by the deceitfulness of their brethren from the House of Ulfang and sought retribution against them.

Uldor and his partners in crime continued to press on, but Caranthir, Maglor and those from the House of Bór were fast approaching the fleeing men.

“Faster, Brother. We’re nearly there,” said Maglor fervently as they closed in on Uldor and his kinfolk. The Noldo held on to his brother as he shifted his position on the back of the horse. He placed his feet on the hind quarters of the animal, crouching low, in anticipation of the leap he would soon make onto the lord of the traitorous Easterlings.

Those evil mortals that formed the rearguard and chief defense of Uldor and his immediate Household were forced to stop and confront the loyalists in order to allow their lord the chance to escape with the Slayer. Yet they proved ineffective against the enraged Elves and faithful Easterlings.

Caranthir’s steed managed to make her way alongside the retreating Uldor.

Maglor then made his move. He jumped from the back of his brother’s horse and clotheslined the treacherous mortal, sending the Noldo, Uldor and Buffy crashing to the ground.

The fall knocked the wind out of the paralyzed Slayer. She desperately prayed that the other horses would not trample her in the midst of the chaos now taking place around her. Laying face down on the hard earth, she was unable to make out anything clearly, seeing only blurry movements from the corner of her eye. She listened hard to the sounds around her.

Both Maglor and Uldor quickly got to their feet, each brandishing his sword.

“You will die for stealing off with my wife, you faithless shit,” said the Noldo between gritted teeth, delivering his first strike to the evil Easterling.

“You’re unworthy of the Valië’s love, son of Fëanor. Let the Doom upon your kin now claim you!” spat the mortal in response.

So began the duel between the Noldo and the traitorous Easterling. The mortal was able to hold his own for a while having not battled any since he had abducted the Slayer. Maglor, on the other hand, had fought many enemies to get to this point and the weariness in doing so was beginning to take its toll. Yet seeing his wife lying motionless on the ground increased not only his ire, but also his strength and determination to make the traitor pay for his evil deeds.

A few others from the House of Fëanor had shown up by that time, clashing with the other evil Easterlings that surrounded the dueling pair. It seemed just to the Noldor that Maglor should be the one to slay the conspirator responsible for their loss in the war and the abduction of Buffy.

It did not take long for Uldor to begin to feel the strain of battling the furious Noldo. When he had fallen to his knees, his brother, Ulfast, shoved his way through the crowd and attempted to strike the elf from behind. But Borland leapt from the horde and delivered his own blow to the son of Ulfang, hewing off the mortal’s head.

In his fury, Ulwarth then killed Borland with a single strike before turning his attention to the other sons of Bór. As they battled, Caranthir slipped past the men and pulled Buffy into his arms, getting her out of harms way.

With a leg sweep, Maglor brought Uldor crashing to the ground. The elf stamped his foot on the blade of the mortal, preventing him from using it. Standing astride the defenseless son of Ulfang, the Noldo pressed the tip of his blade to the throat of the traitor.

“This is for Bella!”

The Easterling’s eyes widened in fear knowing that death was about to take him.

Placing both hands on the hilt, the Noldo pushed his weight down on the blade, piercing the flesh and bone of Uldor the Accursed. Thus, Maglor avenged those from the Houses of Fëanor and Luinil for the treachery committed by that Easterling.

Turning toward the others, Maglor saw that the sons of Bór lay dead, having been slain by Ulwarth, who also lay dead in a pool of blood on the ground.

The fighting had never ceased during that time and the surviving elves and few Edain still found themselves in peril. Not only did the evil Easterlings still outnumber them, but also a group of Balrogs accompanied by some smaller Dragons was hastening their way, forcing the remnants of the host of Maedhros to flee at once.

Maglor quickly went to Caranthir and took Buffy in his arms. Despite the continuing threat of the enemy, the Noldo tenderly caressed his paralyzed wife’s cheek, glad that he was able to save her from Uldor.

Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on her husband’s hovering face. Her heart ached at seeing Maglor’s face covered in blood. She wanted to tend to his injury, to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, but could do nothing but cry.

The deafening roars from the approaching Balrogs and Dragons snapped the Noldo to action. Holding the Slayer in his arms, he climbed upon Uldor’s steed as jets of flame and plumes of smoke forced the host to scatter yet again.

“To Himring!” yelled Maedhros over the noise of battle.

The survivors then bolted. Some heading east while others had no other choice but to go south, as the Balrogs and Dragons prevented them from joining Maedhros and his kin.

“Everything will be alright, Bella. I promise,” said Maglor soothingly as they rode speedily along the plains with the remnants of their Houses.

Much to their dismay, when they neared Himring, they saw the city atop the hill engulfed in flames. The last fortress of the House of Fëanor in the northlands was no more.

Maedhros was devastated at the sight of his city burning. He choked back his tears, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“We ride to Ossiriand!” declared Maglor, taking the leadership role of the survivors.

With their hearts heavy from both the loss of Himring and the battle, the group began their journey south. At that very moment, Buffy vanished from her husband’s grasp. Two o’clock in the morning had arrived, and bringing with it, Buffy’s summons to Sussrúmnir to fulfill her obligations as the Fëantári of Folkvang.

When she reappeared only a moment later in the antechamber of her sacred Halls, Sargon was there to catch her limp body. None of the Valkyries were present, as they were busy collecting those mortal souls that had fallen on the battlefield.

“I’ve got you, Luinil,” said the Adan, rushing up the staircase with the Slayer in his arms. “Istahiro is waiting.”

Buffy couldn’t help but notice the troubled look on Sargon’s face. By the look of sorrow in his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind that he knew about everything that had transpired. Sargon gave her several quick glances as he hurriedly climbed the stairs. He looked sleep deprived. The stubble on his face indicated that he hadn’t shaved in several days.

There were so many questions racing through her mind. The Slayer didn’t clearly understand everything that had happened and knew that Sargon was the one that held all the answers. If only she were free from Morgoth’s spell so that she could question the Adan.

“This way, Sargon.” Buffy immediately recognized the voice of her chief healer. Only a few seconds later, Istahiro’s face appeared in her line of vision. “Greetings, Maranwë. I see Melkor’s up to his old tricks again. Have no fear, I’ve already prepared the remedy for your latest affliction,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. The healer turned his gaze to the Adan. “Inside, Sargon. All is ready.” Istahiro disappeared from her view as Sargon took her into one of the healing chambers in Sussrúmnir.

The next thing the Slayer knew, she was laid upon a bed, as some sort of glimmering bluish-green blanket was wrapped around her body, instantly stifling all her senses for about a minute or two. She no longer heard Sargon and Istahiro speaking or saw any shadowy movements from the other side of the material. Then she heard it, the sound of the sea. The fabric seemed to ripple to the sound, emitting flecks of the bluish-green light that coursed through her body. Buffy felt no pain, but experienced a rather strange sensation. It felt like electrical impulses were jolting all her bodily systems awake, yet it didn’t feel hot, it felt cool.

First, her leg gave a sudden jerk, and then she was able to blink her eyes closed. She enjoyed the cool, rushing feeling that encompassed every fiber of her being. It washed away her anguish and her fears, but only while she remained wrapped in the mystical cloth.

What Buffy thought was a few minutes, in actuality, turned out to be several hours. The Sheath of Ulmo, as that healing device was called, caused her to lose all sense of time.

“How do you feel?” asked Istahiro after removing the blanket.

“Physically? Fine,” she answered, sitting upright. “Emotionally? Devastated.” She turned her gaze to Sargon. “How could this happen? How could things go so wrong? What the hell happened with the Easterlings? How the hell were they able to trick us, to trick me? How could Eru - ”

“One question at a time, Luinil,” interjected Sargon, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

Buffy jumped up. “I’ve got to get back… ”

Sargon grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “The war’s over, Bella. Has been for hours.”

“But… but… ”

“You’ve lost. I’m sorry, but this was one battle you weren’t slated to win,” the Adan answered sadly.

“But we did everything right,” she countered, the desperation in her voice evident. “How could we have lost?”

Sargon sighed heavily. “I’m afraid Uldor’s the one responsible for your loss. He and his kin - they betrayed you.”

“How could Eru let that happen?” she asked, her eyes beginning to well with tears. “He sent Uldor to me, to heal me, only to have… ”

“Eru never sent Uldor to you,” said the Adan, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“Yes, He did!” she vehemently protested. “I heard Him as plain as day. He said… ”

“That wasn’t Ilúvatar!” interrupted Sargon yet again. “Eru speaks through me, and only me, in regards to you. I am His emissary. Other than me, He speaks only to Manwë Súlimo.”

“Then… then who’s voice was it I heard in my head? Who else would call me his favorite daughter?”

The Adan pulled her closer, sitting her down on the bed beside him. “Can you think of no one?” he asked, cocking his brow at the obviousness of the answer.

Buffy shifted her gaze to the floor. Closing her eyes, she answered faintly, “It was Morgoth, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it!” she shouted, falling onto the mattress. She buried her face in her hands, disgusted by the fact that she was so easily fooled by Melkor. “How could I be so stupid!” she cried out. “How could I not see this coming?”

“It’s the Doom of Mandos at work, Bella,” answered the Adan, shifting on the bed so that he could get a better look at the Slayer. “The Curse will foil all that the sons of Fëanor attempt.”

“But they were doing something good,” she replied, sliding her hands off her face. She pulled herself upright again, locking her eyes on Sargon. “They were fighting the forces of evil.”

“Only to reclaim the Silmarils. That’s what drove them, their need to fulfill the Oath. They were not fighting Morgoth to rid the world of that evil Vala. Their motivation… ”

“I don’t care what their motivation was,” she whined in reply. “They were helping me to do the right thing, to oust Melkor from his throne.”

“No, Bella,” answered the Adan, looking sadly at his lover. “You were helping them achieve their goal of retrieving the Silmarils. Even your motivation in fighting Morgoth was… tainted.”

“Tainted?” she repeated, her face screwed in disbelief. “That’s bullshit! No one wants him dead more than me! He’s killing everyone I love, one by one. He’s got to be stopped. That’s what we were trying to do. That’s what I was trying to do.”

“I’m sorry, Luinil, but as long as the sons of Fëanor are in your life, things will go badly,” said Sargon, stroking her arm sympathetically. “The battle is lost. The time has come for you to take a good look at the future, your future. The brothers now see that they cannot win the Silmarils from Morgoth, which means they will turn their attention to Thingol.”

“No!” she said, shaking her head. “That won’t happen. I won’t let that happen.”

“And how do you propose to stop them?” the Adan queried.

Buffy remained quiet for a few moments, pondering that question. “Love,” she finally answered. “My love will stop them.”

“I’m afraid that love does not conquer all, my beloved. The sons of Fëanor are driven by their Oath, and the love of any, even you, will not change that. You may delay it, but you cannot stop it. Not until the Oath claims them. They brought this on themselves, Bella. They called the utter dark- ”

She raised her hand, stopping the Adan. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You must hear this. You must prepare yourself for what’s to come… ”

“NO!” she said louder, rising to her feet. The Slayer wasn’t ready to deal with the Oath or Curse right now. The pain of losing the war was too fresh in her mind and she refused to blame the loss entirely on the sons of Fëanor. “Not now, Sargon.” She slowly shook her head, as tears filled her eyes. “My people have died,” she continued, her voice breaking with emotion as she spoke. “Our losses were horrific. My home was destroyed.” She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. “Maybe Fingon and his armies did better than us. There were no traitorous Easterlings in his hosts.”

“Fingon’s dead,” revealed Sargon sadly.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “No, he can’t be.”

“He was killed by Gothmog.”

That news sent her over the edge. The tears now streamed down her face. She couldn’t believe it.

“Sargon, can’t this wait?” queried Istahiro, concerned by his Mistress’ latest misfortune. “Maranwë does not need to deal with this right now.”

The Adan turned his gaze to the healer. “It is best that she deal with this sooner rather than later.” He turned his sorrowful eyes back to the weeping Slayer. “I love you, Luinil. I do not wish to cause you any pain, but you must deal with this, now. You must prepare yourself for what’s to come. I fear losing you. I fear losing you to the darkness.”

Buffy raised her head, taking the handkerchief that the healer offered. She wiped her nose and weakly asked, “I’m not evil, am I?”

“No! No, of course not,” answered Sargon, getting to his feet. He approached his lover, his anguish etched on his face. “You allow yourself to follow your heart, and that can be folly at times.”

“Was my loving you folly?” she asked, locking her bleary eyes on the Adan. “Twice I violated my marital vows with you. Isn’t that wrong? Who decides? Who decides what’s right and wrong? Can you tell me that, Sargon?” she cried. “I try to do what’s right, but I follow my heart in doing so. I can’t change how I feel. I can’t turn my back on Káno. I love him too much. If the Curse is to claim him, then it will claim me as well. Maybe that’s what Eru wants. Maybe that’s my destiny.”

“No,” answered the Adan, grabbing hold of the Slayer’s shoulders. He studied her closely as tears filled his own eyes. “He doesn’t want that! The Doom of Mandos is fated to take the sons of Fëanor, not you. But you will be confronted by the brother’s deeds… ” He paused. “What you saw with Celegorm and Curufin was only the beginning.”

“I don’t want to hear this!” sobbed Buffy, pulling from Sargon’s grasp. “I can’t deal with this, Sargon. Not now… Please, just stop!”

The Adan bowed his head, the tears now escaping his eyes.

No one spoke for several minutes. The Slayer desperately tried to regain her composure.

“Prepare me a bag of supplies, Istahiro,” she ordered, wiping her eyes and nose dry. “I need stuff to heal the injured. Give me whatever you have - tonics, ointments, bandages and the like. Bring them to me in my Hall of Judgment.” She shifted her eyes to Sargon for a moment. Not wanting to deal with him any more, she turned and left the chamber. He wasn’t going to be any help to her she deemed. His only concern seemed to be the Doom awaiting Maglor and his brothers, and what the future had in store for them, not the here and the now. That’s all she cared about - the present.

When she reached her Hall of Judgment, the only one there was Fulla, her cupbearer. While the maiden took it upon herself to attempt to garb her Mistress in her royal attire, Buffy refused. Since she was covered in blood and guts, and stunk to high heaven, she had no desire to soil her finery. All she wanted to do was to sit upon her lapis lazuli throne and see what had happened during the war, to see how things had gone so wrong for the Union. Then and only then, would she do as she was supposed to, judge those slain in battle.

As soon as Buffy had eased onto the cushioned seat of her canopied throne, she began to get flashes of images from the war. Each more distressing than the previous one.

She saw the slaying of Gelmir outside the walls of Barad Eithel that initiated the war between Fingon’s host and that of Morgoth’s, and the unfortunate demise of those from Nargothrond caught within the gates of Angband.

While Maedhros’ host was fighting on the eastern front, Fingon and Turgon were doing their best to assail Morgoth’s hosts on the western front. The Dark Foe had sent out armies three times greater than what the elves had. Even though they didn’t have to contend with Dragons, they were attacked by numerous Balrogs, led by none other than Gothmog.

The Lord of Balrogs and his fellow fiery fiends charged the elven hosts, separating Fingon’s armies from Turgon’s, forcing the latter toward the marshes of the Fens of Serech.

Gothmog then turned his attention to the eldest son of Fingolfin. He and his comrades joined the yrch and trolls in their battle against the High King, gradually slaying all those in the Noldo’s guard until only Fingon was left standing, surrounded by thousands of dead elves and men. Yet the King valiantly fought the Balrog chieftain. That is, until another fiery foe came up behind him, striking him with the thongs of his whip. Fingon’s arms became entwined with the burning straps allowing Gothmog that split second opening to deliver his fatal blow. Bringing down his axe, the blade hit the helm of the Noldo Lord, splitting it, and his head. A burst of white flame sprang up from Fingon as his head was cloven. The son of Fingolfin fell to the ground as other towering beasts of flame beat his body into the blood-soaked earth with their maces. Thus died the High King of the Noldor.

Turgon and the Gondolindrim continued the fight, and with them were the men from Dor-lómin, including their lords, Húrin and Huor. They still held the Pass of Sirion, not allowing any of the enemy to pass deeper into Beleriand from that way.

Upon seeing the devastation to their north, Húrin turned to Turgon and said, “Flee now, Lord, while there’s still time. For as long as Gondolin stands and you along with it, Morgoth shall know fear in his heart.”

“Gondolin will not stand much longer,” answered the Elven Lord grimly. “My heart tells me that it shall soon fall.”

Huor locked his grey eyes upon Turgon. “But if it stands a bit longer, then hope for Elf and Man will come from your House. I say this to you, Lord, knowing that death will soon take me: Whilst we will never meet again, in this life or thereafter, from you and me a new star will rise.”

Turgon took the counsel of Húrin and Huor. Gathering what survivors from Fingon’s House that he could, he ordered his men to retreat through the Pass of Sirion, back toward their hidden kingdom within the Encircling Mountains.

Húrin and Huor refused to depart the northlands that they called home and would defend it to the death. They gathered the remnants of the House of Hador and formed the rearguard of Turgon’s forces so that the Noldo Lord could escape with his people. Ecthelion guarded the western flank of Turgon’s host while Glorfindel did the same for the eastern, preventing the enemy from passing them by.

As the Gondolindrim made their escape, the men of Dor-lómin held their line of defense. All the forces of Angband then charged the Edain. The men were gradually forced back until they were behind the Fen of Serech and the River Rivil flowed before them. That’s where they made their last stand.

The enemy used the dead to form a bridge over the stream and soon the survivors of Hithlum found themselves surrounded by the yrch and other beastly creatures as the sun began to sink in the west on the sixth day of battle.

Huor fell there by a poisoned arrow to the eye. Soon, all the men from the House of Hador had fallen except for Húrin who continued to fight with a vigor rarely seen in the race of Man.

Some of the yrch cut off the heads of the slain men and piled them in a mound. Their golden hair signifying that they were from the House of Hador shone beneath the fading sunlight. It was a morbid display and one that kept Húrin fighting. Throwing aside his shield, he wielded his axe with both hands, killing orch, warg and troll with each devastating strike.

With each kill, Húrin yelled, “Day shall come again!” Seventy times, he uttered that cry, until the enemy laid their hands on the lone mortal. The lord of Dor-lómin continued to hack at the yrch that dared touch him. He cut off their arms, which still clung to his raiment, though detached from their bodily forms. As he became buried beneath the many corpses of his enemy, he was taken at last, by order of Morgoth. Gothmog came forth and bound Húrin before leading the mortal to Angband. Thus, ending the western hosts’ part in the Fifth Battle in Beleriand.

When the images stopped, Buffy wept upon her throne. She had hoped that things hadn’t gone as badly for Fingon and his people, but now she knew that the war was a complete disaster. All those years of preparation amounted to nothing, nothing but the loss of so many lives. It was heartbreaking. And the burden of guilt fell on her shoulders whether rightly so or not. She had failed, again.

Fulla brought her some wine to help ease her frazzled nerves. After downing several glassfuls, she felt the effects. She became mellow although still grief-stricken.

The Slayer herself would name that battle in the annals of Man, Elf and Dwarf. She called it Nirnaeth Arnoediad in the Sindarin tongue, which translates to “Tears Unnumbered”, which seemed befitting of the tragedy that had taken place.

Once she had calmed down, she ordered the first spirit to enter her Hall of Judgment. For hours, she handed out her pronouncements to every man and woman who had perished during battle. All the Edain had their fleshly forms remade and were afforded a second chance at life, a life free from the evil that had taken them from Middle-earth in the first place. In Folkvang, their torments would fade, and their hearts would know such bliss and pleasures that they had never enjoyed in their previous incarnations.

Those chosen few that the Slayer deemed worthy to join the ranks of the Mightiest of the Mighty would be granted the same special privileges that were bestowed upon their forefathers. Huor was amongst them. The lord of the Edain begged Buffy to find a way to bring Húrin to Folkvang when his time came. He couldn’t bear the thought of his brother wallowing in the dark Halls of Mandos or wherever mankind was sent to wait until the Breaking of the World. Even though she had no say over those that died by any other means than on the battlefield, she promised the adan that she’d find a way to bring Húrin to Folkvang.

When Uldor himself appeared before her, trembling in fear, Buffy’s eyes glinted with a malice that the mortal had never seen before. A wicked grin came to her face, as she garbed the mortal in his former bodily raiment. Then, summoning her chief torturer, she sentenced the traitor to an eternity of hellish torment, the like he could never possibly imagine. All those that had aided or abetted in the deception were given the same sentence. Failo was pleased that he could now try out the new torture devices that he had been developing over the years.

While the Slayer could not bring back those Elves and Dwarves that had perished, she felt good knowing that the perpetrators involved with the treachery would suffer the consequences of their actions as long as Arda endured. And boy oh, boy, would she make them pay.

Pleased with her pronouncements, she rewarded herself with a hot bath. She refused to speak with Sargon, not wanting to hear anything more about the Curse or Doom upon her husband and his kin. As she soaked in the tub, she replayed the moment when she had pronounced her judgment on Uldor over and over, savoring the look of utter terror on his face. She closed her eyes knowing that those from the House of Fëanor would also be thrilled by the punishment of the traitor and his cohorts.

Finding herself falling into an altered state of consciousness, Buffy suddenly saw the face of Morgoth, a look of triumph on his face. He smiled broadly. The Silmarils that adorned his iron crown illuminated his face with a bright white light. He folded his arms behind his head as he leaned back on his throne.

The Slayer remained calm although her heart was beating frantically within her chest.

Morgoth uttered only one word, “Check!” before his sinister laughter echoed in her mind.

She bolted upright in the tub, splashing water onto the marble floor, shocked that Melkor was able to invade her mind, especially whilst in Folkvang…


Chapter 92 - CONVICTION

Buffy’s abrupt disappearance startled Maglor. After everything that had happened, he had given no thought to his wife’s sacred duties in Folkvang. He gasped in surprise when she returned only a second later, fully recovered from her paralysis, with huge bulky sacks hanging from either shoulder. The sweet smell of honey emitted from her now clean, braided hair.

“I still find it disconcerting when you disappear suddenly like that,” he said, half-amused.

“Sorry, honey, but duty calls,” she answered. “I’ve brought back some medical supplies from Istahiro.” The Slayer repositioned her bags, as they were beating against her husband with the footfalls of their steed.

Maglor wrapped his arms around his wife, keeping her close to himself. “I don’t think we should stop until we at least reach Nan Elmoth. The woods will shelter us from the eye of the enemy.”

“Unless it’s infested with the enemy,” she countered. “It’s so dark in there; it’s an ideal habitat for yrch and trolls.”

“As long as we do not go too deeply into the woods, we should be fine. I’d rather we not stop on the plains.”

“But you’re hurt,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I need to tend to your injury.”

“It’s already scabbing over. There’s no need to fuss.”

“Okay, Káno, if you say so,” Buffy answered, easing back against her husband, not caring that he was covered in blood, grime and guts. “I’ll do whatever you want, my knight in shining armor.”

The Noldo chuckled at her comment, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

She liked Maglor’s take-charge attitude. Since Morgoth’s minions had ravaged the Gap, forcing them to dwell in Himring, he had become second-in-command to Maedhros, the eldest brother, therefore making him the rightful Lord of the House of Fëanor. It was a nice change of pace to see her husband calling the shots. He had always been a gentle ruler, and had seldom acted rashly or made hasty decisions. That, in itself, was a rare quality for any son of Fëanor. Even Maedhros had made the mistake of parleying with Morgoth after his father’s death in Middle-earth, resulting in the loss of the Noldo’s right hand. Regardless, once they had reached Ossir, Buffy would appoint Maglor to a higher position of authority whilst in her realm, giving him a greater status than Maedhros.

The Slayer was thankful that her pain had been eased by her visit to Folkvang. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for those in her company. They rode on in relative silence, each person suffering from the grief and anguish of their defeat. She glanced over to Maedhros, whose expression had remained grim since seeing Himring aflame. Her heart ached for him, especially since she knew that one of his dearest friends had perished in battle. She knew that she’d have to be the one to break the news to the eldest son of Fëanor about Fingon’s death, but wanted to wait until they had reached the safety of Ossir’s borders first. Undoubtedly, the spies of the enemy were out and about, now having free rein in most of Beleriand, and she sure didn’t want any to overhear anything she had to say.

Upon reaching the southwestern eaves of Nan Elmoth, the company halted. Those few healers that had survived the conflict, including Hweston and Amdir, helped Buffy tend to the injured. Most suffered from burns in varying degrees. A few, like Maglor, had received superficial flesh wounds. The most serious were those that still had arrows protruding from the vulnerable parts of their body where their armor had offered no protection. Those injuries concerned the Slayer the greatest, as the enemy was notorious for poisoning the barbs of their flying projectiles. Unfortunately, those noble men and women would never make it to Ossir’s borders. They would die before sunrise.

After a few hours rest, at first light, the group continued on, making their way to the Dwarf-Road, which was only a few miles away. Following the roadway, they encountered none of the enemy until late afternoon when a band of yrch riding atop wargs attempted to assail the survivors. Still reeling from their losses, the elves and the few Edain that accompanied them managed to destroy the minions of Morgoth. In their fury, they impaled the yrch and wolves on spears as a warning to other evil creatures that might be lurking in the area.

When they reached Lindon, it was obvious to the Green-elves that had stayed behind that things had gone badly during the war. Seeing so many Noldor and so few of their kindred filled their hearts with sorrow. Buffy planned to address her people, telling them of what had happened, after she met with her councilors. But first, she needed her people to ready accommodations for the newly arrived Noldor. Clean garments needed to be found and some would have to offer their dwellings to them until more houses could be built.

The women who rode into battle were given first dibs on the hot springs, where all the elves in Lindon bathed.

Nestor came dashing out of Lindon Hall, and pulled Buffy into a bear hug. “Oh, Bella,” he cried out, “it does my heart good to see you again. Dark dreams plagued my sleep, and I feared the worst.” He pulled out of the embrace, his eyes surveying her appearance before looking to her companions. “Orchal?” he queried, his brows raised in question.

“He’s fine,” she answered. “We became separated. He’ll be here soon.”

The healer let out a sigh of relief. “I must speak with you, alone,” he said, sounding more business-like.

“It’ll have to wait, Nestor,” she said, glancing to the sons of Fëanor. “Will you show my brothers-in-law to their lodgings? I’ll meet you in my study. Gather those councilors that are here. We have important business to discuss.”

“Right away,” he answered with a nod.

The Slayer turned to her husband and his kinfolk. “You’re in good hands,” she smiled. “After you all get settled in and bathed, we’ll get a hot meal in you.” She kissed her husband before disappearing into her house in the treetops. It was time to step into her role as ruler, and already, she was struggling with many conflicting thoughts. With Beren and Lúthien dwelling on Tol Galen, and with the sons of Fëanor, especially Celegorm and Curufin newly arrived in Ossir, the fear that the two C-brothers might retaliate against the doomed lovers seemed a very real possibility to her. That was something she would not allow, and called for her to take drastic measures to prevent.

Buffy went straight through her Halls until she reached her favorite porch that overlooked the Gelion. There, she sat in one of the rocking chairs, deep in thought. No matter how much she wanted to run from the Oath that the sons of Fëanor had sworn, she knew Sargon was right, that she had to confront and deal with it. Despite what her mortal lover had said, she still believed that love could conquer all. She had seen it so many times in the past, and refused to believe that it would fail to work with Maglor and his brothers.

No one disturbed the Slayer while she remained seated there. After a couple of hours had passed, she heard several quick blasts from a horn, which brought her out of her reverie. She recognized the sound immediately, knowing that those that had become separated during the battle had finally returned. Leaping to her feet, she ran along the many walkways until she reached the lifts. Peering over the side down below, she saw the remnants of her House. Luthor was there with the lions, as was Olofin, Thranduil, Orchal and the rest of her armies. Far too few of her warriors had returned. She would later learn that sixty-five percent of her forces had perished in battle, a number she found staggering, and one that left Ossir quite vulnerable to attack.

When she reached the ground, she threw her arms around Olofin, before inspecting her son for any apparent injuries.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Just a few burns,” he answered. “Nothing life-threatening.”

“How ‘bout you, little man?” she queried, turning her attention to Thranduil. Her eyes scanned the Green-elf as thoroughly as her own son.

“Same as Fin. Just a few burns. I’ll live,” he replied with a smile. “I’ll feel better after a dip in the spring.”

“The women have already bathed, so have at it,” Buffy said, stepping back onto the platform. “Dinner will be ready soon, so hurry.” She glanced at her lions, who were now unharnessed from the chariot. “Come on, babies. Come with mommy and we’ll get that mail off.”

The kitties leapt onto the lift as the Slayer’s maidens handed towels, robes and slippers to those that had just returned. Once the platform had reached the top, Nestor was standing there with his arms folded, tapping his foot impatiently on the wooden planks of the walkway.

“Where have you been?” he asked somewhat agitatedly. “I need to speak with you, Bella.”

“Hold your horses, Nestor,” she answered. “I’ve got to get the armor off my babies… ”

“For the love of Eru, surely you can entrust such a simple task to someone else.”

“What’s the urgency?”

Nestor linked his arm with hers. “You received a letter whilst you were away,” he said, as he led her down the walkway.

“From the twins?” she asked, turning her hopeful gaze to the Green-elf.

“No, not the twins.”

“Then from who?” she queried, narrowing her eyes at the healer. Buffy nodded in greeting to a group of Noldor passing by.

“I’d rather not say,” Nestor said in a hushed voice. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at the surviving warriors from Himring. “At least, not where any from the House of Fëanor can overhear.”

“What’s with the secrecy?”

“Oh, just wait and see,” the healer answered, his tone revealing his frustration. He grabbed her hand and quickly pulled her along.

“Hey!” yelled Barathalion. “What about us? Aren’t you going to remove our mithril mail?”

Buffy looked over her shoulder as Nestor hastened their pace. “Just get one of my maidens to help you.” She glanced up at her dear old friend. “Obviously, my Regent has something important to share with me.”

“But you said you’d help us,” whined Noeriel.

“Just get one of my ladies to help,” she answered, looking back at her kitties. “I’ll let you guys forego a bath as a reward… But you’ll have to sleep in Olofin or Thranduil’s room.” She snickered. “There’s no way I’m about to let two stinky lions in my bedchamber,” she mumbled to her companion.

“We can hear you, you know,” replied Barathalion sarcastically.

Buffy chuckled as Nestor continued to drag her along. He led her to her study where several of her councilors had already assembled, some fresh from combat, and looking and smelling the part too.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to open it,” said Nestor, handing her an envelope from the desk drawer.

“I’ve got no secrets, Nestor. It’s no biggie.”

“Well, I didn’t recognize the name, so I thought… ”

“Isis,” said the Slayer, reading the name on the envelope. She looked up at the healer with a bewildered expression on her face. “Who the hell is Isis?”

“Apparently, you are,” replied Nestor.

“So, who’s bestowed me with yet another name?” she chortled, flipping over the envelope. The green, waxy seal resembling a ram had been broken.

“Osiris.”

“Osiris,” she repeated, furrowing her brows. “Why do I know that name? Osiris.” The name sounded so familiar, but she had no recollection of who he was or where she had heard the name before.

“He’s Marduk’s son.”

“Huh?”

“Just read the letter!”

Buffy pulled out the many pages of papyrus and took a seat in one of the wing-backed chairs. Quiet murmurings broke out amongst her councilors as she perused the letter with great interest. Even though Marduk had granted his son the lordship of Egypt, he had written the letter in Sumerian. She could only assume he had done so because she was quite familiar with the language.

When she had nearly finished reading the letter, Maglor and his brothers entered the chamber, causing the Slayer to ball up the letter guiltily. With her face flushing, she tossed the crinkled ball across the room.

“What’s that?” asked her husband, his eyes following the flying ball of papyrus until it came to a standstill next to the wall.

Buffy crossed her legs, placing her arms on the rests of the chair. “Just a letter of warning from Osiris,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Who’s Osiris?” asked the Noldo, his face wrinkled in confusion.

Her eyes quickly shifted to Nestor, who, in turn, looked to the wood floor.

“He’s Marduk’s son, or Ra, I should say, since that’s the name the renegade Vala goes by in Egypt nowadays,” she answered, trying to seem indifferent to the correspondence. “It appears that my nemesis’ son attempted to warn me about the traitorous Easterlings.” She snorted before adding, “It’s unfortunate that his timing was off by a good many years.”

Caranthir picked up the wadded ball of papyrus, unfolded it, and pressed out the creases. The Noldo could not read the language of the East, thankfully. The letter actually contained a great deal of information, but Buffy wasn’t about to discuss its contents with any from the House of Fëanor. She thought that it would be most inappropriate, considering some of the content. Osiris appeared to be an admirer, and the wording of the letter revealed his apparent fondness of her.

“Isis,” said the fourth son of Fëanor, cocking his brow at his sister-in-law. “Is this yet another name that you go by?” he asked with a sly grin.

“As the world changes, so does the tongue of Man,” she smiled, fixing her gaze on her favorite C-brother. “Besides, Osiris thought it best not to send any letter using my well-known names in case dear old Marduk intercepted his mail.”

“And all these pages tell only of the evil Easterlings,” he continued, looking through the many sheets of papyrus.

“Not… exactly,” the Slayer replied hesitantly. “Osiris also warned me that his father has no intention of releasing Anno and Mirë from captivity… ”

“Oh, Bella,” said Maglor, running to his wife’s side. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do?” He crouched beside her, caressing her arm consolingly.

Buffy took a deep breath. “I don’t want to sound heartless or anything, but… ” she paused. “The twins aren’t in any immediate danger. In fact, Marduk loves them dearly and holds them in high esteem. Their letters have stated so. Hell, they dwell in Eanna, my favorite temple in Eridu.” She looked deeply into the eyes of her husband. “Right now, my priority is us, and our family. The twins will have to wait until I figure out what I’m gonna do. A thousand years haven’t passed yet. I’ll show Marduk that I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Maglor, looking at her with deep concern.

“I’m sure,” she answered, patting his hand with her own. “We actually have some business to discuss. Why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Caranthir eyed the letter in his hand one more time before balling it up and tossing it nonchalantly over his shoulder. He shrugged before taking a seat.

“What is it that you want to discuss, Muinthel?” asked Maedhros, resuming his position once again as the eldest in the line of Fëanor.

When everybody had sat down, the Slayer gazed at each brother before answering. “Beren and Lúthien have made Ossir their home.”

Celegorm and Curufin shifted uneasily on the couch, warily eyeing one another.

“Let me start out by saying that I love each and every one of you dearly. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Don’t ever doubt that, not for a single moment. But, I have granted Beren and Lúthien the right to live out their mortal lives in my lands, and they are to do so without threat by any, including you two,” she said, locking her eyes on Celegorm and Curufin. “I may forgive, but I don’t forget. While I abhor your past actions against them, I’m willing to give you a home here.”

“And we’re very grateful for that,” spoke up Maedhros with a nod of his head.

“Let me just cut to the chase,” Buffy continued, leaning forward in her chair. “No Noldo is permitted to travel beyond the River Duilwen to our south. I will place my men along that river as well as the Gelion. They will be instructed to kill any of your kindred that dare violate my orders. None are exempt from that law except Olofin, as he has proven his virtuousness in every aspect of the word.”

“Are you saying that you would have us killed if we pass the Duilwen, even if we are pursuing game?” asked Caranthir, narrowing his eyes at his sister-in-law.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she replied firmly. “Even my beloved Káno is not exempt, which brings me to another matter that needs to be addressed - Thingol.” She eyed each brother again, perceiving their minds. “The same applies to him. He succored me in my hour of need and I will do the same for him… ”

“But he has turned his back on you,” protested Celegorm, leaping from his seat. “Why should you remain loyal to one that detests you as much as Morgoth? He has in his possession a Silmaril of Fëanor. No one has the right to keep from us the heirloom of our father… ”

“I don’t want to hear it, Celegorm,” said Buffy calmly. “Don’t go there.”

He cursed the Lord of Doriath.

The Slayer rose to her feet, and walked up to the third son of Fëanor. She turned her gaze upward, her green eyes boring into the grey eyes of the Noldo. “I will not tolerate any assault against Thingol. I will kill you personally, if you try.” She turned to his brothers. “That goes for all of you. I love you, as I said before, but I won’t let you lay a finger on him or Melian. That includes you, Káno.” Her eyes welled with tears as she fixed them on her husband. “I love you more than life itself, but if you force my hand, I will follow through. I can’t let you do something as evil as that. And you know, my love, that I will do it.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze back to Celegorm. “I may not be at my strongest, but I can still beat you to a bloody pulp. You know that! I beg of you, Celegorm, don’t do anything stupid. Let me try to help you free yourself from the Doom placed upon you and your brothers. That’s all I want. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you guys. I really don’t.”

The Noldo turned his back to the Slayer, but said nothing.

“We will heed your counsel, Muinthel,” answered Maedhros. “None of us want to cause you any pain.”

“Thanks, Russandol. That means a lot to me,” she said, forcing a smile.

The dinner bells then rang out throughout Lindon Hall.

“Ah, meal time,” said Nestor, getting to his feet. “Are we through here, Bella? I’m famished.”

“For now,” she answered, folding her arms across her chest. “Go eat.”

One by one, the elves got up and left the room. Both Maedhros and Maglor stayed behind.

“If you don’t mind, honey, I’d like to speak with Russandol, alone,” she said to her husband.

Maglor cast a quick glance to his brother before nodding in reply. “Of course. Take your time.”

“Thanks, Káno.” She gave him a kiss. “We won’t be long.”

“Alright,” he answered, as he made his way to the door. He gave another quick look over his shoulder before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

“What is it, Muinthel?” asked the curious copper-headed Noldo.

Buffy took a seat on one of the couches. “Sit with me,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

Maedhros took a seat next to her. “Is something wrong?” he asked with a puzzled expression on his face.

“I’m afraid so,” she sighed.

The Slayer took the elf’s only hand in her own, caressing it gently. She then recounted what she had seen in her vision while sitting upon her throne in Sussrúmnir, telling the Noldo about Fingon’s grisly demise. Maedhros sobbed at hearing that news. Buffy pulled him into her arms, trying her best to console her grief-stricken brother-in-law. He wrapped his arms around her, his tears spilling on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Russandol,” she kept saying over and over, rubbing his back sympathetically.

After several minutes, Maedhros pulled out of the embrace, yet his face remained inches away from Buffy’s. She dried his tears with her fingertips. The Noldo held her hands to the smooth skin of his face.

“Though my heart aches at losing one whom I love greatly, I appreciate your telling me in private. You must think I’m a fool for weeping so.”

“No, of course not,” she answered, giving him a warm smile. “Believe me, I cried my fair share of tears too. That’s why Nirnaeth Arnoediad seems such an appropriate name for the war. Our defeat was bitter in more ways than you know. Which reminds me, Russandol, there’s something you need to know… ”

“Shh,” he sounded, pressing his finger to her lips. “No more talk of the war. That’s behind us now. It’s time to move on, to look to the future.”

“But… ”

Maedhros stopped her from speaking yet again, as his hand slid to her cheek, caressing her skin softly. She could feel the roughness of the calluses on his fingers and palm.

“I love you, Bella,” he whispered.

“Well, I love you too, Russandol,” she answered lightheartedly.

Maedhros then did something that she didn’t expect. He kissed her. While she had received a peck on the lips from her brother-in-law in the past, this was totally different. For one, it immediately made her feel highly uncomfortable, something that had never happened before. She felt that there were sexual connotations to the kiss.

Buffy eased back, putting a little bit more distance between her and Maedhros. Yet the Noldo maintained his hold on her, his massive hand covered not only her cheek but also part of her neck.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “What was that for?” as her face reddened.

“You’re always there for me, and my brothers,” he answered softly, his eyes searching hers. “You’ve taken us into your home… ”

“Well, you did the same for me and Káno, and our Households,” she interjected, wanting to mention her husband’s name in hope that it would snap Maedhros back to his senses. She didn’t like the glint in his eyes. It seemed quite inappropriate, and not the way the Noldo should be looking at his brother’s wife.

Unfortunately, her comment did not deter the eldest son of Fëanor in the slightest. He went to kiss her again, this time throwing his body into it, so that the Slayer was forced backwards against the armrest of the sofa. As she tried to say his name, Maedhros attempted to slide his tongue into her mouth, which freaked her out even more.

“Stop! Stop it!” she said, her voice muffled by his mouth. She tried to turn her head to the side, but the Noldo’s grip on her face constrained her movements. Buffy didn’t want to hurt Maedhros physically, but there was no way she could tolerate such brutish behavior from one who normally conducted himself quite honorably.

“Stop it, Russandol!” she scolded, keeping her jaw clenched closed. Mustering her slayer strength, she pushed him off, flinging him backwards to the other side of the couch. She jumped to her feet, pushing the stray hairs off her face. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Buffy barked, narrowing her angry eyes at her brother-in-law.

Maedhros sat there, breathless. He kept his grey eyes on her. “I… I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” she repeated, a look of disgust on her face. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“You said you loved me,” said the Noldo defensively.

“And I do - as a brother! And quite frankly, I‘m not into the incest thing. That’s what your kiss felt like to me. I find your conduct disgraceful.”

Maedhros face turned beet red. He bowed his head in shame. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well, you did. I’m married to your brother, for Eru’s sake! Get a grip, man!”

The eldest son of Fëanor then began to cry.

Buffy stood there, flabbergasted. She remained glued to her spot watching the weeping Noldo. She felt bad for him; there was no denying that. Even after what he had just done, a part of her wanted to run to his side and comfort him, as he had done for her numerous times in the past. She could only surmise that his actions were triggered by the grief of losing not only Fingon, but also the one place in Middle-earth he had called home.

“I know you’re in pain,” she started, folding her arms across her chest. “And sometimes that pain has a way of manifesting itself in… well, unpleasant or inappropriate ways. Believe me, I know that well enough,” she added with a chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood. “Let’s just forget this ever happened. I don’t hold any ill will toward you, and I hope you can say the same for me… ”

Maedhros raised his head, the tears continued to stream down his face. “How can I feel any enmity toward you when you’ve done nothing but help me and my people?” the elf sniffled. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to us. I’m grateful for your friendship and appreciate your kindness. I mean that sincerely, Luinil.”

“Okay, then,” she said, slapping her hands together. “Pull yourself together, Russandol. Dinner’s getting cold.” She offered the Noldo a quick smile before hastily leaving the study. As she made her way down the corridor, she tried to recall anything she could have possibly done to lead Maedhros on. She couldn’t think of a single thing, but made a mental note to watch her P’s and Q’s while in the Noldo Lord’s presence.

After dinner, the Slayer called a meeting with her councilors in her Great Hall. She reaffirmed her orders concerning where the Noldor were permitted to travel within her kingdom. It was up to her advisors to inform the Captains, and have them remove some of their soldiers to the southern parts of Ossir. She wanted the Rivers Gelion and Ascar under heavy surveillance. Not only did she fear a possible strike against Beren and Lúthien, but she was also concerned about Morgoth’s minions. With nearly all the northern realms destroyed, she knew that the wicked creatures of Angband would become bolder in upcoming days, and right now, she wasn’t ready for another confrontation with Melkor’s forces. Her people needed time to recover from the pain and sorrow of warfare.

“I screwed up by letting so many of our forces go into battle,” she said during the meeting. “We’ve lost a great number of our people, and, unfortunately, you elves don’t procreate like mortals. I don’t see us replenishing our armies any time soon.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Bella,” stated Gúrchim in her defense. “How were you to know that Uldor would turn out to be a traitorous scumbag?”

“Gúrchim’s right,” agreed Orchal. “None of us foresaw what was going to happen. But, I must say, my heart tells me many that survived the battle will find their way here, far from the threat of Morgoth… ”

“Or to Nargothrond,” suggested Nestor. “I’m sure Orodreth will take in some of his kin.”

“Don’t count on that, Nestor,” commented Buffy. “Orodreth has lost his mind, and will kill any that enter his realm - Noldor included. But, Orchal makes a good point. Maybe those that survived the war will find their way here. I don’t care who they are, as long as they’re not Easterlings. I don’t trust them any more. We can’t afford to allow any more spies in our realm.”

“What do you mean by ‘any more spies’?” queried Orchal, narrowing his eyes. “Are you saying there are spies in our midst?”

Her councilors gasped at the prospect of that being true.

“We have four that I know of,” she answered grimly.

“Four?” repeated a shocked Thranduil. “Who are they?”

“Gúrvel, Ovoron, Tincdan and Aeron,” she replied, mentioning one of their own last.

“Aeron?! Aeron is a spy of Morgoth!” shouted the heir to the throne of Ossir. “How can that be? He was fighting the enemy along with us! I saw him.”

“Well, isn’t that part of being a spy, Thranduil?” asked Buffy. “It sure didn’t make him suspicious, did it? Morgoth doesn’t care if he loses some yrch, not when it comes to the bigger picture.”

“How do you know this?” queried Olofin, stunned as everyone else to hear the news.

“It was something I saw when I passed my judgments on those evil Easterlings slain in battle,” the Slayer replied. “The elvish Lords had been conspiring with the people of Uldor the whole time. Apparently, our dear old friends have been Morgoth’s thralls since Dagor Bragollach. Remember when they suddenly came to Himring long after the battle was over?”

Her son nodded his head.

“Well, apparently, they weren’t hiding in Dorthonion as they had claimed; they were in Angband with none other than Melkor Bauglir. That’s how Morgoth learned of our strategies. He fucking knew every move we intended to make in the war. They ratted us out.”

“That’s treason!” barked Orchal in his fury. “That demands a death sentence, Bella! Make no mistake about that.”

Angry rumblings broke out in the room.

“Calm down, everyone,” said Olofin, rising from his seat.

The men spoke even louder, suggesting various methods of painful execution.

The half-elf slammed his fists on the table, silencing the men once and for all. “Enough talk about slaying the traitors!” he declared before turning his gaze to his mother. “Does father know? And my uncles? Do they know about their traitorous kinfolk?”

“No,” Buffy answered. “I haven’t had the chance to talk to them about it. I only found out myself early this morning.”

“Then why are we still sitting here doing nothing?” cried out Gúrchim, his pale face red from rage. “Let us kill them for all to see in case there are others. They may flee our lands if they see what’s coming to them.”

“You don’t mean that, Gúrchim,” said the Slayer, shaking her head.

“Yes, I do. Look how many lives have been lost because of their betrayal! I say they die a slow, painful death. The more excruciating, the better.”

“Wouldn’t that make us just like Morgoth? We’re better than that, Gúrchim. We’re not savages,” said Olofin, disheartened by the Green-elf’s eagerness to execute the traitors.

All eyes turned to Buffy. They recalled the way she had punished traitors in the past, and assumed the same would apply now.

“Then what would you suggest, Fin?” asked Thranduil, disturbed by all that he had heard.

The half-elf glanced from face to face before answering. “I think we should banish them from our lands,” he proposed, unfazed by the looks of shock on the other councilors’ faces.

“That’s asinine!” protested Gúrchim angrily. The Green-elf turned his blazing eyes to the Slayer. “Surely, you don’t agree with this, Bella. Those elves brought about our downfall. They should be punished accordingly.”

The Slayer rubbed her temples. The loud outbursts from her councilors were giving her a headache.

“I don’t think we should do anything until we speak with Káno and his brothers,” she answered with a sigh. “They have a say-so in this matter too.”

Thranduil was chosen to be the one to summon the sons of Fëanor to the council. In the mean time, Olofin had managed to calm down the fuming advisors, a feat for which Buffy was extremely grateful.

Once the sons of Fëanor had joined the others congregated in the Great Hall, Buffy revealed to them that there were traitors in their Households. They were greatly dismayed to learn who they were.

“Alas, I deem that the Doom of Mandos is at work here,” said Maglor sadly. “Kin will turn upon kin, isn’t that what he prophesied?”

“That doesn’t matter,” stated the Slayer. “What matter’s is how we deal with this? If we execute them, then we are surely fulfilling my dear brother’s words.”

Of course, her comment incensed some of her councilors. Arguing broke out once again.

Trying to be democratic, she asked for a vote. A showing of hands would determine the fate of the traitorous elves. Buffy was disappointed to see that most wanted the betrayers executed. Only she, Olofin, Maglor, Maedhros, Orchal and Thranduil were against it.

“Those in favor of execution outnumber those opposed by three votes,” stated Gúrchim, delighted with the outcome.

Buffy bowed her head in defeat, saddened by the results.

“Why are you dismayed by the vote, Bellaseth?” queried Gúrchim in stunned disbelief. “Those elves are responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of people. Come on now, surely they deserve death. You wouldn’t have hesitated in the past to grant death sentences to those that committed such atrocities.”

The Slayer lifted her head, revealing her tear-filled eyes. “I’m not the same woman I once was, Gúrchim,” she said in a pained voice. “I regret what I have done. Don’t you see that. I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes. It was wrong for me to…”

“Yet you are allowing those traitorous Easterlings to be tortured in Folkvang as we speak, are you not?” interrupted Nimrod, who was for the slaying of the elves.

“My job is to judge mankind after they perish. That’s totally different.”

“No, it’s not!” countered Gúrchim angrily. “You’re doing the right thing with Uldor and the rest of his clan. The same should be done to those elves… ”

“But they are thralls!” interjected Olofin. “They were true to us until they were ensnared by the Dark Lord. Who here can contest the might of Morgoth?” he asked, looking at each face of those councilors that demanded retribution. “The Easterlings were swayed by false promises. They deserve what they got, but our kinfolk,” he paused, slowly shaking his head, “they were beguiled by Bauglir. He constrained their will. He controls them. It’s not their fault. That could’ve happened to any one of us, and by the blessings of Eru, be thankful that it hasn’t.”

“Luinil has contested his will,” said Gúrchim defiantly. “She is Morgoth’s bane.”

Buffy laughed. “Are you kidding me? I was his thrall. The only difference is that I was able to successfully break free from his yoke. There’s hope that the same can be true of the others.”

“You were not responsible for the massacre of thousands upon thousands of people,” declared Arachas loudly.

“Are you people out of your freakin’ minds?” she shot back in disgust. “I helped create beastly creatures that, to this day, carry out Morgoth’s will. They’ve killed thousands upon thousands of people. Do you think I don’t feel guilty about that? I’m responsible for unleashing the most nefarious monsters into this world, and that’s something that I have to live with for the rest of my life. I’m not some innocent, righteous Vala Queen. I’m flawed. I’m not perfect. And neither are they. If you think that they deserve death, then I do to. So, if you still feel they should be executed, then I shall be executed along with them.”

The room fell quiet. Many of the councilors sat there with their jaws dropped, shocked by Buffy’s words. None of them wanted to see her dead.

“Well, that puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?” said Orchal with a chuckle. “Let us take another vote then, shall we? All in favor of execution - raise your hands.”

Only Celegorm and Curufin lifted their hands into the air.

“That settles it,” continued Orchal, casting a look of disgust at the two C-brothers. “The foursome will be banished from our lands to live a nomadic life in the wilds of Middle-earth. Sounds just to me,” he nodded.

“Olofin,” started Buffy, turning to her son. “Can you mark them in some way, so that others know of their treachery? I’d hate to see them cause anybody else the same grief that they brought upon us.”

“Of course,” he answered.

The people of Lindon were then summoned to the Great Hall, as all knew that the Blue Lady of Ossir planned to speak about the tragic events that had transpired during the war. The four traitors entered the chamber separately, oblivious to the fact that she, the many Lords of Ossir, and those from the House of Fëanor knew of their part in the treachery to the Union.

Buffy recounted what had happened in the war, telling of the things that had transpired on both the western and eastern fronts. Many wept upon hearing of the tragic events. She saved the exposing of the traitors for last, knowing how angry her people would become. And she was right. The four elves were brought forth from the crowd, trembling in fear, thinking that they would surely die a horrific death for their acts of betrayal. The Slayer then pronounced her judgment, banishing those four elves from ever setting foot in Ossir again. Olofin cast a spell about them, so that any that came across them, merely had to look into their eyes and see them for who they really were - unwitting moles of Morgoth.

The traitorous elves were then escorted out of Lindon Hall amidst the jeers of their kinsmen. They would be taken to the northern borders of Ossir and left to their own devices. In times to come, the foursome would deem that Buffy had given them a sentence worse than death. They would find themselves ostracized from all the good peoples in Middle-earth, vagabonds left to wander the vast lands without hope…


Chapter 93 - RESTLESS

As soon as the condemned elves were escorted out of Lindon Hall, Buffy ordered her maidens to prepare wooden bowls of wine, in keeping with the traditions set by Denethor long ago. It was a Green-elf custom to drink in memory to those slain in battle. The only thing that the Slayer had changed over the years was the substitution of red wine for amber. The rich crimson color reminded her of blood, and seemed more appropriate for honoring the deceased.

Buffy stood on her dais, her eyes scanning the standing room only crowd within the Great Hall. “Let us lift our bowls in memory of those noble men and women who have fallen in battle. They faced death with the utmost bravery, and fought valiantly against the enemy. Our brethren will be dearly missed, but we shall never forget them. Let us drink in honor of their memory,” she continued, lifting her bowl higher. “May Mandos show them mercy, and swiftly free them from his Halls.”

“To our brethren,” said the people before sipping from their bowls.

“Tomorrow we shall celebrate those warriors that survived the battle, for without you, we would not be standing here today. Eru bless each and every one of you,” she added, before downing the rest of her wine.

The commemoration was over quickly, and after what the Slayer deemed to be one of the longest days of her life, she bid her people goodnight. With Maglor in tow, they retreated to their bedchamber, and away from the din of the people still exiting the Great Hall.

“I want to put some more salve on your face,” she said to her husband, as he readied himself for bed. The Noldo was exhausted, and it showed. “As long as we keep your scab moist, it won’t scar.”

“Since when do you have an aversion to scars?” he asked with a yawn, pulling off his garments.

“I don’t,” she replied, taking a seat on the bed. “I actually think they’re kinda sexy. But you have such a handsome face, and seeing that mark will only remind me of how stupid I was for trusting Uldor. And, believe me, the last thing I want to think about is that bastard. May he rot in hell!”

“You reap what you sow, eh?” he answered, as he started to wash his teeth.

“You have no idea. Failo’s gonna have some fun with him and his kinfolk. And I have to say, I’m not sorry about that. Folkvang may be a Blessed Realm, but it’s my Blessed Realm, and I’m not opposed to punishing those who were criminals in life.”

Once Maglor had finished his bedtime ritual, Buffy dabbed some of Istahiro’s ointment on his scab. She then covered it with a clean strip of cloth.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” asked the Noldo, after crawling under the covers.

“Nah, I’m not tired,” she said, tucking in her beloved. “You get some sleep.” She stroked her husband’s hair before giving him a kiss. “Nighty-night, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Not a minute after Maglor’s head hit the pillow; he was fast asleep.

Buffy dimmed the lamp until only a faint glow filled the chamber. She then quietly left the room, returning to her study. She picked up the balled up letter from Osiris and carefully smoothed out the creases as she made her way to her desk. Taking a seat, she re-read the letter again, several times, in fact. She then eased back in her chair, pondering the content.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Osiris could really restore her powers or if it was just some ruse to get her back in the East. Marduk was a pretty vindictive and calculating fellow, and she was unsure whether or not she could trust his son. While she recalled how loyal Nabu had been to her, she wasn’t sure if the same applied to Osiris. One thing she knew for sure was that there was no way on Eru’s green earth that she was about to leave Beleriand, not with the Doom waiting to snatch her beloved the first chance it got.

As a stillness fell over her Halls, she looked at the clock on her desk. It was half past eleven. The Slayer decided that she didn’t want to wait until her obligatory trip to Folkvang to bathe. She’d go ahead and hit the hot springs since most had returned to their homes. Making her way back into her bedchamber, she grabbed her towel, robe, slippers and a cloth sack that contained her toiletries.

She took off her belt, the charms jingled softly as she placed it on the dresser. She sighed in her disappointment over her missing sword charm. It had been lost somewhere on the battlefield.

The guards greeted her in passing, as she made her way to the lifts. It was such a lovely night. The moon was at its fullest, casting the woods of Lindon in a silver light. The fragrance of flowers and freshly cut grass lingered in the air, pleasing her sense of smell to no end. As the lift made its descent from the treetops, the sound of insects, frogs and an occasional hoot from an owl was like music to her ears. It reminded her of how much she had missed Ossir, and despite the sorrow in her heart, she was glad to be home once again.

Buffy was delighted to find the hot springs deserted. After disrobing, she slowly eased into the water, seating herself on a flat rock that jutted out from the wall of the pool. As soon as she had gotten used to the temperature, she submerged her head under the steamy water. She then shampooed her hair and scrubbed her body, washing away the last traces of the battle. Once clean, she could relax. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the stone wall, savoring the tranquility of Lindon at night.

The bubbling hot water combined with the nocturnal sounds had a hypnotic effect on the Slayer. She soon found herself dozing off. Gradually, her bottom began to slide across her slick, rocky seat. Only a few moments later, she disappeared under the water’s surface. Strangling on the water she had inhaled, she instantly awoke. She shot to the surface, coughing the liquid from her lungs.

“I should’ve waited and bathed in Sussrúmnir,” she grumbled to herself, once she had caught her breath. As she climbed out of the spring, the cool night air brushed against her wet skin causing her to shudder. Buffy quickly dried off and slipped into her robe. She wrapped her wet hair in the towel before sliding her feet into her slippers.

“Good evening, Bellaseth,” said a manly voice from behind, startling the Slayer.

She quickly turned, only to see Salmar rising from the steamy pool. His blue-green robes glimmered in the moonlight.

“Salmar,” she said with a frown. “It would’ve been nice if you had showed up a little sooner, before I fell under the water,” she continued, cramming her dirty clothing into the sack containing her toiletries.

“I assure you, you were in no danger,” he replied, stepping out of the spring onto the swathe of grass that surrounded the pool.

“So, what brings you here?” Buffy asked, hoisting the bag over her shoulder. “Oh, don’t tell me - Morgoth’s up to no good,” she said derisively, rolling her eyes.

The Maia walked up to her. “I’ve only come to express my condolences. I hear things went badly with your war. I’m truly sorry.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” She couldn’t help but feel a bit angry at the servant of Ulmo. “It would’ve been nice if you guys would’ve given me a heads up about Uldor, or, for the love of Eru, helped us in battle!”

Salmar studied her for a few moments with his solemn eyes. He stood perfectly still, clasping his hands before him. “The time is not yet upon us when those in the West will aid you in your wars with Melkor. You know that, Bellaseth, for Irmo has told you that long ago.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she replied, annoyed by the Maia’s mere presence.

“Why are you so hostile toward me?” he queried, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve only come to express my sorrow for your loss and to see if my Lord’s Sheath has completely healed your affliction.” He sighed heavily. “Alas, it does not cure a broken heart.”

“Yeah, well, lucky me,” she shot back sarcastically. “It’s been a really long day, Salmar, and needless to say, it hasn’t been a good one. I’m not up for any company. Tell Ulmo I’m grateful for his help, but also let him know it’d be nice if I could actually thank him in person, for once.”

Buffy turned away from the Maia and started back down the path through the wood.

“There are trials before you, Bellaseth,” Salmar called out. “The choices you make - ”

“Don’t tell me about trials!” she spat, pivoting on the spot, and cutting off the Maia mid-sentence. Her green eyes narrowed with contempt. “I’m sick and tired of always being the one that gets screwed over with this trials crap.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the price you pay when you live amongst the Children of Ilúvatar.”

“Pfft!” she sounded. “It’s called living in the real world, Salmar. Tell that to my brethren. Maybe they should try it some time. The Valar could use a reality check, since they choose to live in a false one.” She turned away from the Maia and started down the path once again, adding, “Unlike you and your kin, I’ve got shit to do.”

The Slayer heard a faint plopping sound. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Salmar had gone.

It infuriated her that those in the West had done nothing to help her. Yes, Ulmo provided Istahiro with the cure to her ailment, but it would’ve been nice if the Vala had intervened before she was hit in the face with Morgoth’s magick dust. Despite that, she still resented the Valar and their lack of action against Melkor. They had no concept of time, especially when it came to mankind. The mortals’ time in Eä was relatively short when seen through immortal eyes, and to know that their brief lives were doomed with such heartache and despair made her blood boil even more.

As the lift rose, Salmar’s words brought to mind what Irmo had told her long ago in Folkvang: that one with both elvish and mortal blood would bring about Morgoth’s downfall. There was no doubt in her mind that that someone was none other than Dior. Even though Lúthien was now accounted amongst the kindred of Man, she retained her elvish form, which meant that the blood of Thingol and Melian ran through, not only her veins, but her son’s as well. Not to mention the fact that Beren was the boy’s father, and a direct descendant of the Father of Men - Brolach.

After she had dressed, she returned to her study to await her summons to Sussrúmnir. Picking up the letter from Osiris again, Buffy could’ve kicked herself in the butt for not asking Salmar about the intentions of the Vala Lord in the East. Then again, she wasn’t sure if she could even trust what the Maia had to say, having been unjustly accused of ill doings by him and his kinfolk in the past.

When two o’clock arrived, the Slayer vanished from Lindon Hall, only to reappear in the antechamber of Sussrúmnir. Her Valkyrie chieftains welcomed her as they garbed her in her royal attire. She looked around the massive vestibule, half-expecting to see Sargon. While the Adan was not present, his pet lion, Aslan was.

“Greetings, Maranwë,” said the noble beast.

“Hello, Aslan,” she replied with a quick smile. “Where’s Sargon?”

“He’s in bed, sleeping,” answered the lion. “He had asked that I accompany you to your Hall of Judgment as he was quite exhausted and in much need of rest.”

“Oh.” She paused. A baffled expression came to her face. “If Sargon’s sleeping, then who transported me here?”

“That would be me,” answered Aslan with a chortle.

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Well, you most certainly are the greatest of your kind then,” she chuckled in reply. “But, I’d be honored to have you escort me to my Hall of Judgment.”

Once Vórëa had slipped the lapis lazuli crown on her Mistress’ head, the Slayer and the lion began climbing the stairway.

“Tell me, Aslan,” she said, turning her gaze to the noble beast. “Have you ever heard of a Vala by the name of Osiris? He’s Amarutu Marduk’s son.”

“Hmm, can’t say that I have,” he answered thoughtfully. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a sigh. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter just yet. I have more important things to think about.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Buffy fell quiet. When they reached her Hall, she allowed Aslan to come inside. She took the chalice of wine that Fulla offered her before plunking down on her canopied throne. She stared blankly at the copper ceiling, thinking of the sorrow that had befallen, not only her people, but all those that dwelt in Beleriand.

Aslan sat at the bottom of the dais, watching the Slayer closely with his keen yellow eyes. “What troubles you, my Lady?”

She turned her gaze to the lion. “I’m tired.” Despite how softly she had spoken those two words, the sound of her voice was amplified threefold within the enormous chamber. “I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of my people dying. I’m tired of having the responsibility of trying to keep the balance between good an evil.” She shook her head in frustration. Tightening her grip on the armrests of her chair, she let her head fall against the back of her seat. “I can’t do this any more. I can’t watch my people die in a war we’ll never win. You have no idea how painful it is to see the widows weeping, and the children left fatherless, and in some cases, parentless. I can’t help but think that it’s all my fault.”

“That’s not true, Maranwë,” replied Aslan. “You must not forget that the Doom of the Valar hangs over the Noldor. It is for that reason, and that reason alone, that you lost the battle.”

“They’re a pretty heartless bunch then, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Valar, and their decision to curse all the Noldor… and me. What have I done to incur their wrath?” She didn’t give the lion a chance to answer. “I didn’t ask to be here, or, at least, I don’t recall ever wanting to be here. Yet here I am with a Veil of Concealment placed on me so that I’m blinded to my past. I’ve been stripped of my powers, and thrown to the wolves, so to speak.” She snickered. “My brethren have turned their backs on me once again.” Her face contorted with her anger. “They’re really pissing me off.”

“Not all have turned their backs on you, Luinil,” disputed the lion. “Ulmo has proved his faithfulness more than once. He’s been there for you… ”

“Where was he when Uldor turned on my people? Where was he when the Green-elves, Noldor and Edain were slain from behind? Where was he when I was taken captive?” she queried bitterly. Buffy shook her head in disgust before faintly adding, “It’s not enough. He hasn’t done enough.”

“I can commiserate with you, Maranwë, but you mustn’t lose hope. The time will come when Morgoth will be defeated, when he will fall.”

She locked her eyes on Aslan. “It won’t come soon enough. Not for me, any way.” The Slayer drained the rest of her wine. “I suppose I better get to work. If you don’t mind… ” She paused, motioning toward the double doors with her head.

“Of course,” answered the lion. He bowed before leaving the chamber.

With a wave of her hand, the double doors silently closed behind him.

There were many feys that came before her on that day, too many to her liking. Yet one thing did happen as she sat upon her throne. An image flashed in her mind of a blue, scaly creature with big red eyes: her demonic offspring, Coruon. She now remembered where she had heard the name Osiris before. It was during her brief captivity during Dagor Bragollach.

“You do, however, have an ally amongst one of his young sons. He is called Osiris in the Southlands where he dwells,” she recalled Coruon telling her. “He’s quite an admirer of yours… Consider him a friend in times to come, Ishtar, as he will do your bidding in the East.”

Finally remembering brought a smile to her face. It was nearly driving her crazy not remembering where she had heard Osiris’ name before. Knowing that the son of Marduk was defying his father’s will only pleased Buffy more. She now felt it was safe to correspond with the ‘God of Egypt’.

Even though she had spent over nine hours in Folkvang, only two seconds had elapsed by the time she returned to Lindon Hall. With her sacred duties now completed, she returned to her bedchamber. She climbed into bed, lying beside the sleeping form of her husband. She listened to his rhythmic breathing, hoping that it would lull her to sleep. Unfortunately, it didn’t. After nearly an hour, she still found herself wide-awake.

Not wanting to wake Maglor with her tossing and turning, she crawled out of bed, and began to wander the corridors of her Halls. When she came across the room in which her Mirror was housed, she entered. Turning on a couple of lamps, she noticed that someone had placed the basin back on its pedestal.

The Slayer stood there, with her arms folded across her chest, staring at the Mirror. She was debating whether or not she should attempt to use the mystical device again. Weighing the pros and cons, she decided that it was in her best interest to see what the Water of Ulmo would reveal. Melkor be damned. If she concentrated hard enough, surely she could thwart any attempts the Dark Lord made to seize her, if she even saw him at all. Feeling confident, she filled the basin with the water from the cistern. She waved her hand over the contents of the bowl, causing the water to whirl and wisps of mist to rise from the water’s surface.

The first scene to appear was immediately recognizable to Buffy - the sandy plains of Anfauglith. From a birds-eye view, she could see thousands upon thousands of bodies littering the blood-soaked battlefield. Under a dark sky, yrch were busily dragging the bodies of the slain Elves, Dwarves and Men. Their remains formed a great mound located about twenty miles northwest of the center of Dorthonion and forty miles southwest of the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim. The gigantic pile not only included the remains of the allies, but also their dead horses, armor, shields, and weapons. It was a gruesome display and a testament to Morgoth’s greatest triumph since his return to Beleriand.

That sight stirred Buffy’s heart with emotion. While she was unable to identify any of her loved ones, she could clearly make out the emblems on some of the armor or the color of the cloaks of those that had fallen that denoted the House to which they had once belonged.

In her mind, she gave that great mound the elvish name, Haudh-en-Ndengin. Its translation meant “Hill of the Slain”. Yet, in times to come, she would bestow yet another name on that hill, Haudh-en-Nirnaeth (“the Hill of Tears”). The Slayer would later see in her Mirror, the other causalities of the war - the women, namely the wives and lovers of those that had died in the war. Some of those maidens would find themselves drawn to that great mound by their despair. Weeping, they would throw their bodies onto the massive grave and succumb to their grief.

The image within the basin then changed. This time she saw Húrin, the lord of Dor-lómin, sitting upon a stone seat high atop one of the mountain peaks of Thangorodrim. The menacing form of Morgoth hovered over him, cursing him, his wife, Morwen, and their children. The poor mortal was bound to that place by the will of the Dark Lord alone.

“Sit there and look upon the lands where evil and despair shall come upon those whom you love dearly,” spat Melkor in his fury. His dark eyes bore into the Adan’s. “You dare mock me, and question my power, for I am the Master of Fates in Arda. Therefore, with my eyes, you shall see, and with my ears, you shall hear all that shall befall your kin. Never will you move from this spot until the doom placed upon your kin is bitterly achieved.”

And there Húrin would sit, for over twenty years, neither begging Morgoth for mercy nor asking to be killed despite the horrors that plagued his family, especially his son, Túrin, and his daughter, Nienor.

The picture changed once again. This time she saw Morwen, looking out the window of her halls in Dor-lómin, her eight year old son clinging to her side. The wife of Húrin had one arm wrapped around Túrin while her other hand rested on her belly. Buffy immediately sensed that the woman was pregnant, and indeed, she was, with Nienor.

Outside the glass pane, the Easterlings had invaded their town, wreaking havoc on the surviving Edain who called that place home. The evil Easterlings harassed the old men and enslaved the children, angered that their reward for their treachery was the lands of the Third House opposed to those they coveted most, the lands of the Eldar.

Yet, none of the Easterlings dared to assail Morwen or her Household, for they feared that woman more than any other in that region. For the daughter of Baragund possessed a beauty reminiscent of the Eldar, and because of that, the traitorous men believed that she was in league with the elves and had learned magic spells from the elder Children of Ilúvatar. They named her Witch, but also stayed clear of her and her dwelling.

Some of the evil Easterlings claimed the dead warriors’ women, making them their wives. More disheartening was that, in times to come, the traitorous men would mingle their bloodline with that of the noble Third House.

A look of horror then came to Buffy’s face as she saw many of the evil men brutally gang raping some of the maidens, some as young as Túrin. She slowly backed away from the Mirror, sickened by the sight. When she reached the wall, she sunk to the floor, trembling. Tears streamed down her ashen face, as she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them to her chest. With her stomach twisting into knots, she began rocking, struggling with the images that the Mirror had revealed.

She couldn’t help but think of Salmar’s words of warning regarding the choices and trials that awaited her. Undoubtedly, this was the first one. She sat there, rocking in her distress, trying to figure out what she should do. While to some, it would seem an easy decision, to the Slayer, at that particular point in time, it was anything but.

After carefully preparing for the last battle and failing miserably to achieve a victory, she could only think that if she returned to the north, the same thing would happen again. It only took Morgoth’s armies six days to obliterate the allied forces. Besides, she reasoned, the war had ended only the day before. Her people were weary and suffering from the aftermath of their loss. She had no right to ask them to return to the northlands where the enemy outnumbered them by at least twenty to one. It would be a hopeless battle that would only lead to more deaths. And she couldn’t afford to lose any more people.

To Buffy, there was a greater threat looming closer to home - the sons of Fëanor. With the Union’s failure to regain the Silmarils from Morgoth, she knew it was only a matter of time before the Noldor looked to Thingol again. That was something that she had to prevent from happening, and the only way to do that was to remain in Ossir.

No matter how much she was troubled by the visions, the Slayer could only hope that the Edain would do what so many in history had done - fight their oppressors. From what she could recollect, most races throughout history had been enslaved at one time or another. Yet, at some point, those being oppressed finally did something about it - they revolted. Surely, the Edain would one day find themselves in a similar situation. That’s the way the world worked, wasn’t it?

Drying her eyes, Buffy rose to her feet and made her way back to her bedchamber. Exhaustion had finally set in. She was emotionally and physically spent. As she crawled into bed beside Maglor, she knew that her greatest battle still lay before her, the battle to save the souls of her beloved husband and his brothers. Right now, she could think of nothing else.

She cuddled up to Maglor. Even sleeping, his arms managed to wrap around her, holding her close. She knew that she had made the right decision, never taking into account, that she too, was caught within the nets of the Curse, and that no matter how much she showered her love on the sons of Fëanor, they were all doomed, including herself…


Chapter 94 - SANCTUARY

The delicious aroma of freshly baked apple muffins and freshly brewed coffee roused Buffy from her slumber. She slowly eased upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, darling,” greeted Maglor, who sat beside her on the bed. He offered her a mug of the steamy brew. “Hungry?”

“I am now,” she answered, carefully taking the cup from her beloved. “Those smell heavenly,” she added, eyeing the plate of muffins on the bedside table.

“They taste it as well,” he replied, as he put a couple of the apple cakes on a plate and handed it to her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” answered the Slayer, placing the plate on her lap. She was more interested in her beverage, needing her morning pick-me-up. She blew on the steaming coffee before taking a quick sip. Turning her green eyes to her husband, she asked, “How’s your face feeling?”

Maglor instinctively touched his injured cheek. “The pain’s gone. I’ve already bathed and redressed the wound this morning.”

“In a few days, you won’t know it was ever there.”

Buffy nibbled on a muffin, listening to the rain pounding against the roof of Lindon Hall. Outside, all was grey. It was one of those mornings where she didn’t want to get out of bed.

“Your people are already preparing for tonight’s festivities,” mentioned the Noldo, before taking a bite of his breakfast.

“Good. We’re in dire need of some merriment around here.” She turned her gaze to the nearest window, wishing that it wasn’t so dreary outside. “Ooh, that reminds me, there’s something that I want to discuss with you.”

Maglor raised his brows, not wanting to talk with his mouth full.

“You know how the Green-elves named me Queen when we got back from the East.”

He nodded.

“Well, even though technically I’m ruler by proxy, I’ve accepted the title and the power it holds.”

“The Laiquendi think highly of you, Bella,” replied her husband proudly. “And it’s well deserved. You’ve done great things for these people and this land.”

“They seem to think so too, especially Thranduil, who by all right, should be holding the scepter,” she responded, nibbling on a piece of muffin. “Since he’s not quite ready, I still wield the power. I’ve talked with my councilors about this, and they agree… I’ve decided to appoint you as a Prince of Ossiriand, you know, because you’re my husband and all - you should have a respectable title of some sort,” she smiled.

“Prince of Ossir, huh?” he chuckled, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “I deem that I’ll always be a Prince, but never a King,” he added jokingly.

“I can’t give you such a title. I’m the highest authority here, and I’m not about to let anyone think that a man rules over me!”

“It was said in jest, Bella,” replied Maglor, noticing the cutting tone of her words. “Please don’t take it the wrong way.”

“I know, but still… ” she paused, shrugging her shoulders. “Your comment kinda hit me the wrong way, I guess. I didn’t mean to snap at you… It’s just, you made me think of Melian, you know?” Buffy paused again, turning her gaze toward the northern window. “It really grates me that she lets Thingol call the shots in Doriath when she’s more powerful than he. He’s so proud and willful… I’m afraid that, in the end, his lust for wealth is gonna bring about his downfall,” she added faintly, not realizing that she was speaking her last thought aloud.

As soon as she had spoken those words, she recognized her mistake in doing so. She quickly shifted her eyes back to the Noldo. A shadow had fallen over her beloved, causing his facial expression to change. His eyes narrowed in anger, a twisted scowl graced his otherwise handsome face. Maglor had squeezed the partially eaten muffin in his hand so hard that it oozed out between his fingers, clumps of cake falling onto the bedclothes.

The Slayer bit her lip, cringing at the thought that she had inadvertently mentioned the Silmaril in a roundabout way. Her heart dropped to her stomach, instantly killing her appetite. She had to do something quick to divert her husband’s attention from the Jewel of Fëanor.

“I think you’ve slain your breakfast,” she said jokingly in an attempt to lighten Maglor’s mood. She grabbed her plate and placed it and her coffee on the bedside table. “Here, let me help you.” She took her husband’s muffin covered hand and started licking the tasty pieces from his fingers as provocatively as she could.

The Noldo turned his eyes to his wife. The shadow that seemed to have fallen over him immediately dissipated. A smile came to his face. “Who needs a napkin when I’ve got you?” he chortled.

Buffy smiled in reply, her lips sticky from the glaze on the muffin. She pressed her lips to his, kissing him hungrily. Maglor’s plate fell to the floor and she threw herself on top of her husband, knowing the perfect way to divert her husband’s thoughts from the Silmarils…




By mid-afternoon, the showers that had plagued Lindon all morning finally ceased. To Buffy’s delight, a rainbow arched across the clearing sky. The sight of that only reaffirmed that it was the perfect day to celebrate life. Although the people of Ossir, including herself, were still mourning, the Slayer asked that everyone put aside their grief for one day. No songs of lamentation were to be sung, no weeping in public, and absolutely no talk of losing the war would be allowed. The day was meant to rejoice in those that had made it home, and to welcome the newly arrived Noldor from the House of Fëanor.

The festivities started at suppertime with a huge feast. Ideally, the Slayer would’ve loved to have offered her guests freshly roasted boar, but since it was summertime, and the cooks had less than twenty-four hours to prepare, they had to make due with what they had stored in their larders. Instead, her guests dined on roast beef, ham, and smoked fish, along with a plethora of fresh vegetables that had recently been harvested.

Before they started on dessert, Amrod and Amras arrived from Amon Ereb with a few members of their Household. For the first time in many years, all seven sons of Fëanor were together. While the twins were saddened to hear that Himring had been razed, a part of them was happy to know that their siblings now dwelled closer to their own home.

With all seven brothers present, Buffy felt it was the ideal time to proclaim to her guests Maglor’s newly appointed status within Ossir. When the festivities had moved to her Great Hall, she led her husband to the dais, named him Prince of Ossiriand, and placed on his head a crown of green leaves (the symbol of royalty in Ossir).

Maglor was touched by the gesture for he was the only Noldo granted any power within Ossir. He thanked the Green-elves, telling them how honored he was to be accounted amongst those noble people.

Unbeknownst to Maglor and the Slayer, the two C-brothers scoffed at their elder brother’s appointment, especially his wearing of a crown of leaves upon his head. They mockingly referred to him as a Lord amongst Cretins, something Buffy surely would have banished them from Ossiriand had she overheard. Already, Celegorm and Curufin were working on Caranthir, trying their best to sever his close friendship with their sister-in-law. It was something that would take many years to accomplish, but, in times to come, they would sway not only Caranthir, but also the other brothers into doing the unthinkable.

Orchal and the band graced the attendees with tunes that Buffy had pre-selected, playing a variety of songs, some of elvish origin, some from the End of Days. Over the years, she had had the Green-elves add a horn section to their band, as those instruments could mimic electric guitars more than violins and violas.

No celebration was complete without alcohol, and this one was no exception. The Slayer offered her guests a wide variety of ale, wine and spirits, which everybody partook of, perhaps a bit too much, including Buffy herself. Some time during the night, someone offered her a glass of ‘special’ elvish wine. The Green-elves had earned the reputation for making wines that could actually induce the drinker to behave in certain ways. Buffy normally avoided those types of beverages unless they brought about sleep. However, there were many in attendance, among them, Orchal and Thranduil, that longed to hear their Queen sing, something she hadn’t done since Sargon’s funeral long ago. The latter slipped her a glass of wine that stirred her to sing. Finding herself unable to fight the effects of the alcohol, the Slayer then serenaded her husband, accompanied by Orchal and his band mates:

“Tonight’s the night we’ll make history, honey, you and I
And I’ll take any risk to tie back the hands of time
And stay with you here tonight
I know you feel these are the worst of times
I do believe it’s true
When people lock their doors and hide inside
Rumor has it, it’s the end of paradise
But I know, if the world just passed us by
Baby I know, you wouldn’t have to cry

The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain, some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime
We’ll take the best, forget the rest
And someday we’ll find these are the best of times
These are the best of times

The headlines read these are the worst of times
I do believe it’s true
I feel so helpless like a boat against the tide
I wish the summer winds could bring back paradise
But I know, if the world turned upside down
Baby, I know you’d always be around

The best of times are when I’m alone with you
Some rain, some shine, we’ll make this a world for two
Our memories of yesterday will last a lifetime
We’ll take the best, forget the rest
And someday we’ll find these are the best of times
These are the best of times” *

The elves and mortals burst into applause when Buffy had finished her song. If she hadn’t been so tipsy, she would’ve been embarrassed. She had never considered her vocal skills extraordinary, especially in the company of the likes of Maglor and Orchal, whose melodious voices were superb.

Even though she was asked to sing another song, the Slayer refused. “One song every hundred years is more than enough,” she laughed in reply.

The band then began to play again. This time Maglor graced the guests with his beautiful voice. Orchal asked Buffy to dance with him, which she did. While they danced, she caught a glimpse of Luthor standing alone across the room, a wistful look on his face. She suddenly stopped, causing Orchal to stumble.

“Hey! What are you doing?” asked the slightly inebriated elf.

“Look at Luthor,” she said, craning her neck over the many people dancing around them. She dragged the Green-elf from the dance floor in order to get a better look at the old man. He was staring at something or someone. Following his gaze, she noticed that his eyes were locked on Lalwen, who was talking with Amrod and Amras. “Oh… my… God. Do you see that?” asked the stunned Slayer.

“See what?” asked a perplexed Orchal.

“Luthor’s staring at Lalwen.”

Orchal looked at the Maia. “So. What’s the big deal?”

“Look at the look in his eyes, the look on his face. I think my father figure has the hots for a certain Noldo Princess.”

“I can’t say that I blame him. She is rather attractive,” answered the elf, matter-of-factly.

“But its Luthor,” she answered. Both her face and her voice reflected her disapproval. “He’s old. And he’s not supposed to think about women in that way.”

“Would you prefer that he look at men in that way?” laughed Orchal.

Buffy slapped her friend’s arm. “No!” She paused, and resumed her close observation of the Maia. “Don’t you think it’s… kinda creepy?” she asked, her face wrinkled in disgust.

“Oh, Bella, you’re the Vala of Love, for Eru’s sake,” replied the Green-elf with a roll of his eyes. “Surely, of all people, you can appreciate one’s being smitten by the beauty of another.”

“But its Luthor!” she answered in protest.

“So what! If Luthor has a thing for Lalwen, so be it. I’m sure it’s one-sided, any way.” He grabbed her hands. “Now, come on. Dance with me.”

Orchal pulled Buffy back onto the dance floor, yet her mind was preoccupied by the Maia’s obvious desire for the elf maiden. The thought of her father figure yearning for her best female friend disturbed her greatly. Never, in all the years she had known Luthor, had she seen him look at any one in that way. She found it rather disconcerting. Her thoughts quickly turned to her dance partner, who had ‘accidentally’ stamped on her foot.

The revelry continued throughout the night, even after the Slayer went to Folkvang to carry out her sacred duties. It wasn’t until dawn that the last guest left her Halls.

After sleeping away a great portion of the day, the Slayer took off in her chariot for Tol Galen. She met with Beren and Lúthien, informing them of the events that had transpired in the war and the arrival of not only the Noldor but the sons of Fëanor to Ossir. Beren was greatly dismayed to hear that Celegorm and Curufin were now dwelling in the same lands as he and his wife, but was somewhat relieved when Buffy told him that the Noldor were not permitted to travel south of the Duilwen under penalty of death. She promised to keep both of them safe and that there was no need to worry about the brothers.

Lúthien was happy that the Slayer had taken it upon herself to deliver the news in person. From that day forward, Buffy would check in with the couple at least once every other week. Sometimes she would bring Olofin and Thranduil with her, other times Luthor and Orchal. And sometimes, she came by herself.



Time seemed to fly by as the days turned into weeks. Just as Orchal had predicted, the first of many elves that had survived the battles in the north found their way to Ossir. The first group to arrive was led by Gûrauth and Narudhur, formerly of the House of Fingolfin. Buffy was quite skeptical of those seeking sanctuary in her lands, especially the Noldo Captain and his underling.

“How is it that you survived the onslaught of the battle when the rest of Fingon’s Household perished?” she queried, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Our Lord had sent us on an errand - to Círdan,” answered the weary Captain. “Fingon feared the worst would happen and asked that we deliver an urgent message to his son, Ereinion, who dwells in Barad Nimras with the Shipwright.”

“Hmm,” answered the Slayer, tapping her fingers on the armrest of her wooden throne. “If you speak the truth, then you won’t mind if I take a sampling of your blood to confirm that which you say. That goes for all of you,” she continued, her eyes scanning the many people in her Great Hall, including the women and children. “The thralls of Morgoth have infiltrated our people in the past, and I’m not about to allow that to happen again. Any that refuse will be escorted to the northern borders and left to fend for themselves.”

“We are neither spies nor thralls, my Lady,” answered Gûrauth, speaking on behalf of those fifty-three people that accompanied him. “Many more were in our company but were slain on the journey. Perilous were the roads that brought us here! If you wish to verify that we speak the truth, then do so. We have nothing to hide. We’ve come seeking sanctuary within your lands, knowing that Ulmo protects all that dwell here.”

Buffy turned her gaze to her guards, and with a nod of her head, they proceeded to take a sampling of every individual’s blood. None were exempt, not even the children. The Slayer was not about to leave anything to chance, knowing how unscrupulous Morgoth could be. She wouldn’t put anything past the evil Vala, including the use of children as spies.

After all the blood was collected, Buffy led her guards to the chamber that contained her Mirror. The newly arrived elves waited in her Great Hall, under heavy guard, until she could determined whether or not they spoke the truth. For many hours, she remained locked within that room, carefully studying the lives of the Sindar and Noldor. Yet, in the end, she determined that they all spoke the truth, thus she permitted them to remain in Lindon.

For some time thereafter, the Slayer would employ that same method with all those that came to her lands.

By the time autumn had arrived, Buffy had sent out her doves to act as spies in the northern territories occupied by the enemy. Hearing the high-pitched howls of the wargs on those cool, crisp nights disheartened her. It proved that the minions of Morgoth were treading ever closer to her own borders, giving her cause to worry. However, since the destruction of the Noldorin realms in the north, Ulmo was spending more and more of his time in the Gelion, watching over the Slayer and her people. At times, when the enemy dared to near the River Ascar, the Lord of Waters would blow on the Ulumúri, the music striking fear into the heartless minions of Morgoth, sending them fleeing north.

Very seldom did Buffy look into her Mirror to see what was happening outside her lands. After having witnessed the horrors that had taken place in Dor-lómin, she had no desire to see what crimes Melkor Bauglir was committing. She only used that device to determine whether or not the newly arrived people to her realm were in league with Morgoth.

Most of her time was devoted to matters closer to her heart - her family, especially the sons of Fëanor. She remained resolved to find a way to thwart the Curse that lay upon the brothers, and her obsession to do so was of greater importance than those who truly needed her, for those that dwelled in the north still lived in peril.

The Queen of Ossir did everything in her power to make the sons of Fëanor feel at home, especially the C-brothers. The thought that they might consider joining the twins on Amon Ereb terrified her. She wanted to keep the five brothers in Lindon so that she and her most trusted friends could keep an eye on them. She lavished gifts upon the Noldo Princes, most brought from Folkvang, and sang their praises whenever the opportunity arose.

When the Slayer began to downplay the past deeds of Celegorm and Curufin, an uneasiness crept into the hearts of some in her Household. To those wise few, it was the first visible sign that their Mistress had become entangled in the web of Doom. Unfortunately, none approached the Slayer with their concerns having seen in the past how quickly her temper would flare when her conduct was called into question.

To Buffy, everything seemed to return to normal within her House, and her contentment grew with each passing day. The C-brothers relished the attention she gave them. In return, they treated her with the utmost respect and showed her much kindness and love, for they knew how important it was to earn her trust again.

When, after many months, none of the Slayer’s doves returned bringing news from the north, she grew fearful. It seemed obvious to her that Morgoth’s creatures had captured and most likely killed her holy messengers. She then called upon the falcons in the area, whose language she had learned long ago. She then sent her birds of prey into the wilds, bidding them to bring her tidings from northern Beleriand and to kill any foul creatures that attempted to waylay them.

The first of her falcon messengers returned in the spring of Yr 474, and he brought her good news indeed! Círdan had taken it upon himself to assail Morgoth’s minions along the coast. The Sindar and Noldor of the Falas would make swift landings, attack the enemy, then return to their ships and set sail further north. None of the evil followers of the Dark Lord dare pursue the Faladrim. All feared the water, particularly the sea.

Unfortunately, before the year was out, she would hear dismal news from her winged friends. Morgoth, having grown tired of Círdan’s raids, sent forth a host from Angband that included scores of Balrogs. Marching south, the enemy brought with them the engines they had seized from Barad Sirion during Nirnaeth Arnoediad. They used the war machines that Buffy had built to break through the white gleaming walls that surrounded the two major havens of the Falas - Eglarest and Brithombar.

A horrific battle was fought between the Faladrim and the demonic creatures of Morgoth. Barad Nimras was destroyed and those not slain in the conflict were taken captive. Círdan, by the grace of Ulmo, managed to escape with many from his Household, including young Ereinion. They fled on a number of ships, leaving the only place that most had called home for thousands of years.

Sailing south, they took refuge on the Isle of Balar, which was located nearly one hundred miles southwest of the Mouths of Sirion. In times to come, Círdan would also keep a foothold at the Mouths of Sirion where he would hide many light and swift ships amidst the reed infested waters so that any that wished to escape the evil spreading throughout Beleriand would be free to do so.

Of these things, Buffy told no one. She preferred to keep such distressing news to herself, wisely or unwisely as it may have been. Feeling the burden of guilt on her shoulders, she made her way to the chamber that contained her Mirror. After locking the door behind her, she plunked down on one of the overstuffed chairs and wept. She felt terrible and somewhat responsible for those that had died at the Falas. She couldn’t help but think that her shunning of her slayer duties had brought that all about. For the first time ever, she felt the weariness of her five hundred and seven years of life, that is, her life since being born as Buffy Anne Summers.

Even though it had been eighteen months since the war had ended, she wasn’t about to send her people back into the wilds of Beleriand to battle the creatures of Bauglir. How could she? Her forces were vastly outnumbered by the Dark Lord’s minions. Perhaps, if her powers suddenly returned, and she could re-embody those Green-elves that had died in past battles, she could give Melkor a run for his money. But then again, only those elves of her Household and personal guard that had bound themselves to her were still around, the rest had gone to Mandos.

Am I not entitled to any peace? she thought to herself. Is my entire life supposed to be a constant struggle with the enemy? Don’t I get to enjoy time with my family and friends in the safety of my own lands? She raised her head, the last of her tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. Why can’t someone else do the fighting and leave me be? Why don’t the Valar get off their asses already and oust Melkor from his throne?

She hardened her heart, realizing those at the root of all her problems.

“The Valar!” she uttered with disdain. Buffy dried her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater.

They claim to be the Guardians of Arda, but what the hell have they actually done, besides mourn that which once was, she said bitterly in her mind. They care nothing for the peoples of Middle-earth or me, except, maybe Ulmo! Why should I keep on fighting when they don’t lift a finger to battle the enemy? Maybe it’s high time that I do as they do and hide away in my little kingdom, refusing to aid those that could use my help. Maybe that’s what Eru wants. Didn’t Irmo say that all the peoples of Middle-earth decided which path to tread? Doesn’t the same apply to me? Don’t I have a say in the matter?

Her thoughts turned to Finrod and their many debates regarding pre-destiny versus free will. The Noldo was a big proponent of the latter while Buffy argued the former. She believed that free will was a gift given only to the Children of Ilúvatar and the Dwarves since Irmo had never mentioned that the Ainur were given the same choice.

She stared at the Mirror, contemplating whether or not she should use it to see her future. After sitting there for a long while, she decided not to.



As the years passed swiftly by, the falcons continued to bring her news from outside Ossiriand. Rumor of two mighty warriors known only as the Dragon-helm and the Bow were quickly spreading throughout the lands. It was said that they possessed such skill that they were putting a dent in the Morgoth’s numbers, and that the roads were a bit safer to travel than in years past. That news eased Buffy’s mind, for it seemed that others were picking up her slack, fighting the forces of Darkness when she found herself unable to.

She remained in Ossir, strengthening her bonds of love and friendship with those that mattered most to her. Life was good for the Slayer, or so it seemed, and her family grew closer than ever before. So much so, that she soon gave little heed to anything happening outside of her realm. And by Yr 492, she no longer sent her spies abroad, trusting in the powers of Ulmo to protect her and her people.

In Yr 496, some from Nargothrond came to Ossir, seeking sanctuary in those lands. Buffy was told that a great host sent from Angband had defeated Nargothrond, and that Glaurung, the Great Worm, now resided in the former halls of Finrod Felagund. She learned that the whisperings about the one called the Black Sword, also known as the Dragon-helm, was none other than Túrin, son of Húrin, whose ill-advised counsels had brought about the downfall of Nargothrond. The survivors spoke bitterly about the son of Húrin, as their grief was still heavy from their recent loss.

“Do not hold the one whom you call Mormegil to blame for the fall of Nargothrond,” she said to the Noldor. “The blame lies with Orodreth, who, unlike his brother, chose to fight in the open instead of by stealth.”

“But, my Lady, it was Túrin who advised our King to fight in the open, to build the bridge before our gates, which allowed the enemy to assail us with ease,” countered Aradol.

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” answered Buffy sympathetically. “But what you must understand is that Húrin and his seed have been cursed by Morgoth. You should find pity in your heart for Túrin, and not speak of him with such contempt. Who here has the power to fight such a doom? Who here has the power to contest the will of Morgoth?” she queried to all those present.

“It is said that you do, my Lady. It is said that Bellaseth Dagnir is Morgoth’s Bane,” answered the elf.

Buffy’s chilling laughter echoed within her Great Hall. “Oh, how I wish that were true, but look at me, Aradol. I’m nothing but a shell of my former self. I’m weak, powerless. My people were defeated in a war we long prepared for. Six days,” she continued with a scowl on her face, “six days it took for Morgoth to defeat us. That’s no Bane.” She gulped down the rest of her wine in hope that it would ease the sadness in her heart.

“But what of Glaurung?” shouted a maiden from amidst the newly arrived Noldor. “Would you not pursue that beast to the death?”

The Slayer’s face turned grim. “I’ve decided not to send my people into open war again. We will trust that Ulmo will keep us safe. I have no hope for better days. All I see is darkness as the tendrils of Morgoth creep further south from the pits of Hell.” She shook her head, stifling back her tears. “I’m not your savior. I never was,” she added sadly.

Buffy rose from her throne and turned to her son. “You decide whether or not they stay, Olofin. It’s not my decision to make any more.” She then left the chamber.

A disquiet fell upon her closest friends. Only hours before, Buffy’s mood was cheerful, yet, after those arrived from Nargothrond, it seemed that a shadow had fallen upon their Queen. They had not heard her speak so morosely since her defeat in Sumer long ago. They could only assume that she knew a lot more than she cared to reveal.

For days afterward, the Slayer remained in a melancholy state, refusing to speak with any, including Maglor and Olofin. It was Lalwen that finally got her to break her silence. Buffy confided to the elleth the she had foreseen the fall of Nargothrond in a dream. Not only that, but she also had seen the sacking of Menegroth and the destruction of what had to be Gondolin.

“One by one, all our allies are going to fall,” she said in a faraway voice. “I’ve seen it. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Lalwen grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, shaking her, as though that would bring her dearest friend back to her senses. “You cannot lose hope, Bella. I deem that the time has arrived for you to pick up the blade and return to the battles in the north. That’s where you belong, where we belong.”

“It’s pointless, Lalwen, that’s what you don’t get,” protested Buffy in dismay. “This is a war we can’t win, not without the aid of those in the West. I know that now. I’ve seen it. Our hope lies in Dior. He’s our salvation.” Buffy turned away from the elleth, and walked to her bedroom window, looking up at the star-speckled sky. “Only one born with both the blood of Elf and Man will be able to persuade the Valar to war,” she said softly.

Lalwen’s jaw dropped, stunned that she had never heard that before. She rushed to Buffy’s side. “Why have you never spoken of this before?” asked the woman, studying her friend carefully.

The Slayer shifted her gaze to her companion. “Because we still have a long wait before us.”

“You’ve seen this, seen this in a dream.”

“I’ve seen things, yes,” answered Buffy, looking back at the stars strung above. “But I’ve also heard it from Irmo centuries ago.”

“Then there is yet another great war before us,” said Lalwen in a stunned voice.

“The likes the Eldar and Man have never witnessed to date,” replied the Slayer in a mere whisper. She sighed, facing her friend once again. “Don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. It’s to be our secret. Promise me.”

“I promise, Bella. I won’t tell a soul,” answered the Noldo Princess.

“I believe you,” answered Buffy, smiling for the first time in days. “It feels so good to get that off my chest.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Now, I feel the need to get drunk. Care to join me?”

“Why not?” The two women then left the chamber, arm in arm.



Something strange happened in autumn of that same year. Flurries of snow fell in Ossir for the first time since the Green-elves had taken up residence in those lands long ago. It would mark the beginning of a long cold winter that would last well into the spring of the following year. All the northern regions of Ossir lay blanketed in snow, as far south as the River Brilthor. The northern rivers iced over, save for the Gelion, causing Buffy’s paranoia to grow. She and the Green-elves had witnessed this same change in the weather when they had begun the long trek from Sumer centuries before. This was a demonstration of how great Morgoth’s powers had become. The Eldar would refer to this as the Fell Winter of Yr 496.

When the first of the year rolled around, the Dark Lord decided to test the Slayer’s strength and vigilance. He sent out a legion of yrch to assail her lands, but she was ready. All of the warriors, both Green-elves and Noldor, hid themselves amid the snow-covered branches of the trees, cloaked in white so that they were not easy to spot.

The yrch Captain sent several of his men across the frozen stream to determine whether or not the ice was sturdy enough to cross. When the men crossed, and disappeared into the wood, none of their brethren heard or saw a thing as the enemy fell dead by unseen hands. The yrch then lined up, and started to march across the Ascar. When they were halfway across the frozen stream, Orchal began to sing a song of power taught to him by Ulmo ages before.

The ice cracked beneath the feet of the enemy, breaking apart, so that many went to a watery grave. Yet it did not stop with that. The spell also caused a swell of water to gush forth from the Ascar’s source. All watched in amazement as a wave, nearly sixty feet tall, came rushing down from the shoulders of Ered Luin, swiftly washing away the enemy. The elves remained safe in the treetops as the roaring flow of water spilled over the embankments, drowning the lands on either side of the stream for roughly a half mile. It was an incredible sight to behold, and proved that even though Ulmo could not always be in that region, the magics that he had taught Orchal would protect those that dwelled in the Land of Seven Rivers when the Vala was busy elsewhere.

Morgoth would send no more forces to Ossir after that.



In the spring of Yr 503, Buffy awoke suddenly with a heaviness in her heart. Turning toward her beloved, she saw that Maglor still slept peaceably. Unable to shake that feeling, she crept out of bed, and quietly dressed as the sun began its ascent in the east. Being driven by what she could only construe as some unseen force that she didn’t totally understand at the time, she planned to journey into Western Beleriand, unaware that she herself was an unwitting player in the ending of the tragic events that had happened to the greatest warrior to come out of the House of Bëor.

She summoned Barathalion and Noeriel, who were fast asleep in Thranduil’s room, bidding them to come with her. Taking the lifts to the ground below, a chill swept over her, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. She pulled up the collar on her coat, and put the knitted cap she kept in her pocket over her head, stilling the cold that overcame her.

The lions pleaded with her to tell them where they were going, but the Slayer herself didn’t really know. After she hitched her chariot to the beasts, they took off, heading due west, following the course of the Ascar. They traveled in silence, which was a rarity for the cats. But it seemed that they too had become overwhelmed by the same feeling as their Mistress and instinctively knew the way to go.

When they reached the Sirion, they veered northwest, crossing the Narog, the River Ginglith, and the Woods of Núath. As they flew over the far southwestern peaks of Ered Wethrin, Buffy vaguely recollected that area in times past when she had first learned the art of astral projection. The smell of salt wafted in the air, and she knew then that they were nearing the sea. Things had changed since Buffy was last in that region. Beneath her, she saw the city Turgon had founded upon his arrival in Middle-earth, Vinyamar, located along the coast in the lands that the Noldo Lord had named Nevrast.

Barathalion and Noeriel touched down outside the former Halls of the current King of the Noldor. The entire city was deserted except for some wildlife and birds that had taken refuge in the abandoned dwellings. Over the years, the city had fallen into disrepair. The stone structures seemed to lament their former occupants. Buffy could actually feel it, their longing to be lived in once again, to hear the joyful laughter of the children, to hear the minstrels sing of days of bliss, to feel the love that the Noldor had had for their city in times past. It was a sad place now. Yet the memories of bygone days still lived on in stone, wood and brick.

As the Slayer unhitched the lions, allowing them the freedom to explore, a flock of gulls flew overhead. Their woeful squawking caused her heart to ache with sorrow. With the sun now blazing down upon her, she pulled off her coat and hat, tossing them over the side of her chariot. She paused. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she slowly turned, looking at the mountains that looped around the deserted city.

Feeling her sadness deepen, she climbed the steps leading to the former Halls of Turgon. The weeds that grew between the stones rustled in the breeze as the gulls cries faded in the distance. She glanced up at the doorway at the top of the stairs. One door lay broken on the stone floor. The other, attached by only a single hinge, creaking mournfully with the movement of air.

Buffy made her way across the debris-covered floor, the sound of broken glass crunching beneath her feet. She could hear the wind howling as it forced it way through the cracks in some of the windows. Others, had the glass smashed out, whether by the hand of the enemy or the ravages of weather, she didn’t know.

Even though she had never been to that place before, her feet knew exactly down which corridors to tread. Soon, she found herself on a terrace at the back of the mansion. The blue waters of Belegaer stretched out before her as far as her eyes could see.

She drank in the magnificence of Ulmo’s greatest creation. Unfortunately, the sight of the sea stirred feelings of sadness and loneliness within her. She inhaled deeply, tasting the salt on her tongue. The ocean breeze blew strands of her golden hair loose from its clasp. The stray wisps lashed at her face. She glanced to her south and north, and noticed how the terrain differed. To the south, the lands sloped downward, meeting the sandy shoreline. But to the north, the land rose, forming high cliffs with dark sheer walls against which the waves of the sea broke. She then noticed a lone cloaked figure, leaning on a tall staff, at the edge of the cliff to her north.

Buffy immediately took off toward the stranger, increasing her pace with each step. She knew that that person was the reason behind her sudden need to travel to Turgon’s former kingdom, although she had no idea who it might be.

As she neared the cloaked figure, she could see that it was a man. His clothing was weatherworn and tattered. His filthy wrinkled hands clung to a black, twisted walking stick. He slowly turned, facing Buffy, who slowed her gait, trying to catch her breath.

“I have come,” she said breathlessly to the stranger, stopping beside him.

The man threw back his hood. His long silver matted hair and beard shimmered in the sunlight. The pain of his many years of torment was etched into his aged gaunt face. His grey piercing eyes reminded her of the old man’s forefather, and revealed the anguish that was forced upon him.

“Luinil,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You are here at last, when my time has finally come.”

Buffy’s heart broke as she looked upon the lord of Dor-lómin with tear-filled eyes. “Húrin,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you.” She placed her hands atop his withered ones that continued to clutch his twisted staff.

“I have lived a cursed life, as have my wife and children. The Doom of Morgoth has been fulfilled, and I’ve lost all that I loved. I have nothing left. I am a broken man who was forced to witness the horrors that the Dark Lord inflicted upon my kin,” he said sadly, turning his gaze back to the sea. “He has taken all from me.”

The Slayer didn’t know what to say. She stood there motionless, trying to hold back her tears, which were burning in her eyes.

Húrin cast aside his walking stick, knocking the Slayer’s hands off his own in the process. “It is over,” he said, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff. “Farewell cruel world. Bitter have been my days. Woe has defeated Húrin Thalion at last.”

The mortal made a move to leap off the cliff, but Buffy cried out, “NO!” as threw her body atop his, the force sending them both falling to the ground. “Don’t do this, Húrin. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to end.”

“There’s nothing left of me, Bellaseth. I’m spent,” he moaned in hopelessness.

“That’s no reason to kill yourself! You’re only sixty-three!” she argued.

“Yet I feel at least twice that old.”

Buffy looked into the old man’s pain-riddled eyes. “What has he done to you? Tell me of your woe.”

“It is too dreadful a tale to tell,” he protested, shaking his head with dismay.

“You won’t have to,” she replied, rolling off Húrin. She pulled the old man into a sitting position. Taking a seat across from him, the Slayer crossed her legs and took his hands in her own. “Show me; show me all that has befallen your family.”

Furrowing his brows, he asked, “How?”

“Look into my eyes, but do not break eye contact.” She took a deep breath. “The eyes are the gateway to the soul, at least, that’s what I’ve been told. Show me.”

The mortal locked eyes with the Vala. Both concentrated, and the cursed life of Húrin’s kin unfolded before her eyes:


When Túrin was but a boy, Morwen feared that her son would be enslaved by the evil Easterlings, so she sent her only son to Thingol in hope that the elven King would remember the House of Bëor, and foster her son in the safety of Menegroth. Both Thingol and Melian took the kinsman of Beren in, raising him as though he were their own.

The son of Húrin was taught the lore of the elves, and was treated with great honor and respect. He learned to wield axe, bow, sword and spear from the mightiest of Thingol’s chieftains, especially Beleg, who took the young man under his wing, teaching him all he knew about warfare. When Túrin reached his late teens, he began to fight along the northern fences of Doriath, hunting and killing the yrch that roamed close to the borders of that land.

An unfortunate incident with Saeros, one of Thingol’s councilors, caused the young man to flee the realm of Thingol, fearing that the elven King would punish him unjustly for the mishap that resulted in the elf’s death. Yet there happened to be a witness to the death of the councilor of Doriath. When Thingol heard all she had to say, he deemed that Túrin had been wronged and pardoned the young man.

But it was too late. Joining a band of wandering ruffians, Túrin took to a life of crime, killing any Man, Elf or Orch that happened to cross his and his cohorts’ path.

The Lord of Doriath was grieved that the son of Húrin was driven from the place he had called home, and wished to bring him back. As chance would have it, Beleg arrived from the northern marches, seeking Túrin. When he spoke to Thingol and Melian and learned of what had happened, he asked that he be the one to find the Adan and bring him back. The King gave his leave, and soon afterward, Beleg Strongbow, set off in search of Túrin.

After searching far and wide, Beleg happened to find the outlaw gang. He desperately tried to persuade Túrin to return with him to Doriath, telling him of Thingol’s pardon, but the young man’s pride prevented him from doing so. With a heavy heart, Beleg Cúthalion returned to Menegroth and told Thingol what Túrin had said.

The Lord of Doriath was dismayed by what he heard, for he wished to fulfill his oath to Morwen and protect her only son. It was then that Beleg asked to leave Doriath and to act as a guide and companion to the son of Húrin in hope that he could dissuade him from his life of crime. Thingol agreed to this, and in gratitude, he told Beleg that he could take anything within his vaults or armories that he wished, save Aranrúth, his sword. The march warden chose Anglachel, the sword wrought by the dark-tempered elf, Eöl, long ago from a fallen meteorite.

Now, as fate would have it, Túrin led his band of outlaws to Amon Rûdh, west of the Sirion. They happened to come upon a few dwarves, who fled before the men. After killing one, the victim’s father, who happened to be none other than Mîm, the dwarf that Luthor had banished from the Deeper Well years before, offered to show them the secret way to his dwelling within the caves only if the strangers would spare his life. Since Túrin felt saddened by the death of one of Mîm’s sons, he accepted his offer, not perceiving the wicked heart of dwarf.

When winter came, and food became scarce, Beleg happened to arrive, remembering Túrin’s words at their last meeting. The elf brought with him lembas, which was a gift from Melian, and he gladly shared the elvish way bread with the outlaws. With him, Beleg also brought the heirloom of the House of Hador, the helm that had once belonged to the lord of that house, and gave it to the son of Húrin. The timely arrival of Túrin’s old friend caused the mortal to have a change of heart and he turned away from his life of outlawry. Together, he, Beleg and his companions began to assail the enemy from the secret location of that cave, earning them the names: Dragon-helm and the Bow.

As luck would have it, or by ill fate, Mîm and his surviving son had left the lair to collect berries and roots and were caught by a band of yrch. The dwarf pleaded for the life of himself and his son, and in return, led the enemy to the warriors’ hideout in the caves. There, the men were slain, save for Túrin, who was taken captive, bound in fetters, and led away to Angband. Yet Beleg was not dead, and after the yrch had left, Mîm noticed that, and was of mind to finish the elf off. As he raised the sword, Anglachel, to deliver his deadly blow, Beleg bolted upright and seized the weapon from the dwarf. The Elf Lord struck out at Mîm, but missed, due to his many wounds.

The dwarf wailed in his distress, fleeing the cave as Beleg shouted, “The vengeance of the House of Hador will find you yet!” Trained in the arts of healing, the elf was able to heal himself before he set out in search of the son of Húrin.

With little hope, Beleg picked up the trail of the enemy, and pursued them as they went north through Western Beleriand. Unlike his foes, he went without sleep, closing the gap between them and him. When the Elf Lord came upon an elf sleeping at the feet of a dead tree, he woke him, and asked about the yrch band he was tailing. The elf happened to be Gwindor, who had managed to escape the mines of Angband, and was on his way back to Nargothrond. Beleg pitied the elf, who was now hunched and riddled with age, the result of the thralldom of Melkor Bauglir. He gave the Noldo lembas as he had been living in the wilds for a while. Gwindor then told his kinsman about the great company of yrch that had been through the woods and the tall dark-haired man they held captive.

Beleg convinced the Noldo to aid him in his quest to save Túrin. Since Gwindor was unable to dissuade the Elf Lord, he reluctantly agreed.

At night, they finally came upon the company. All lay sleeping, relying on the wolf sentinels to keep watch. One by one, Beleg slew them all with his skill with the bow. The two elves then crept into the camp and found Túrin in a fitful sleep of weariness, fetters on his feet and hands, and bound to a tree. They cut the binds and quietly carried him out of the camp. They were not able to take him far, only to the thickets a short distance above the dell where the yrch lay sleeping. As a thunderstorm approached, Beleg pulled out Anglachel and began to cut the iron fetters off the young man’s wrists and ankles. Unfortunately, he pricked Túrin’s ankle, rousing the mortal from his sleep.

Thinking that the yrch had decided to resume their torments, the son of Húrin wailed, wrestling in the darkness with his unseen enemy. He grabbed the blade and plunged it into the elf, killing him. Seeing that he was free he stood, as a bolt of lightning flickered above, lighting up the woods. Túrin looked down and saw the fair face of Beleg, lying dead. Horrified by what he had done, he remained still and silent as the yrch awoke with a clamor from the sudden shrieks that pierced the night.

The storm suddenly burst forth its rains, and a great wind came from the west. In their confusion, the yrch believed that those in Valinor had sent the storm to assail them. They looked for Túrin but a little while before hastily setting off toward Angband once more. None realized that their former captive was only yards away, hiding amidst the trees on the slope of those woods.

Gwindor and Túrin remained beside the body of Beleg Cúthalion for the duration of the night. The Noldo decided that he would care for the mortal knowing that that was what Beleg would’ve wanted. The following morning, he asked the son of Húrin to help him bury the Elf Lord of Doriath. In a trancelike state, the Adan helped lay his beloved friend in a shallow grave. They buried his bow beside him, but Gwindor took Anglachel before leading the grief-stricken Adan to Nargothrond.

For many days, Túrin did not speak, but walked in a daze as one without hope or purpose. It wasn’t until they reached the springs of Eithel Ivrin, and the young man drank from those unsullied waters, that he was able to come to terms with his slaying of Beleg and let loose his tears of grief.

The twosome then continued their trek to Nargothrond where they were received by the prayer of Finduilas, for none of Gwindor’s kin recognized him, except for his lover.

Túrin concealed his true identity from all, naming himself Agarwaen, a lone hunter from the woods. His beauty was reminiscent of the Eldar, and the Noldor called him more appropriately, Adanedhel, which meant “Elf-Man”. The smiths’ of Nargothrond re-forged the notched blade, Anglachel for the newly arrived mortal, and he named it Gurthang (“Iron of Death”) in the elvish tongue.

As time passed, the son of Húrin became mighty amongst the Noldor in that hidden realm. He fearlessly fought the enemy that dared enter the plains outside the gates of Nargothrond, and rumor of his approach caused the yrch to flee in terror before the Dragon-helm.

With the roads safer than they were in times past, and Nienor now old enough to travel the dangerous road to Menegroth, Morwen and her daughter set off to join Túrin in Menegroth. Even in Dor-lómin, the legend of the Dragon-helm was heard, and the daughter of Baragund knew that those tales were about her own son.

When they arrived in Doriath and heard that Túrin no longer dwelt there, Morwen and Nienor were dismayed. Yet they remained in Menegroth, where they were held in great honor.



It did not take long for Túrin to become mighty amongst the Noldor in Nargothrond, and after a short time, he had the King’s favor. Since the son of Húrin was a great warrior in his own right, he urged Orodreth to build a great bridge across the Narog so that it would be quicker for the Noldorin armies to march into battle. The Lord of Nargothrond, who was impressed with the valor and skill of the mortal readily agreed, and ordered his people to begin construction right away. The Noldor worked non-stop and completed the bridge within a year.

The elves of the House of Finrod no longer followed the laws set by their Lord long ago, to hunt the enemy by stealth. They now challenged the yrch on the open plains of their realm, giving no thought to the fact that that was the one way to ensure that Morgoth would discover the location of that hidden kingdom.

Indeed, word of the raids by the Nargothrondrim did reach the ears of the Dark Lord, and he now knew that Húrin’s son dwelt there as well. He then sent out a great host, led by Glaurung, to destroy the former Halls of Finrod Felagund and to take all the Noldor captive that they could.

The elves met the yrch and Dragon on the fields of Tumhalad that stretched between the Rivers Narog and Ginglith, and there was fought an awesome battle. Many a valiant elf died, including Orodreth, who cursed Túrin’s name before he died. Morgoth’s armies destroyed nearly all the Noldorin forces in that fight. They then moved on to the Hidden Halls themselves where the evil creatures sacked Nargothrond, taking the surviving Noldor prisoners.

The son of Húrin did surpassing deeds of valor, and when he came upon the Gates of Nargothrond, the enemy had captured nearly all those that dwelt there save those few that were able to flee into the wilds by the secret door. Enraged, Túrin made his way to the terrace where the shackled captives were gathered, slaying all the yrch in his path, but it was not enough.

When he reached the mammoth gates, Glaurung issued forth from the doorway of the Hidden Halls and said, “Hail, son of Húrin. Well met!”

In his fury, the mortal ran toward the Dragon, holding Gurthang aloft. The Great Worm opened his slit-like eyes wide, and Túrin, unaware of the powers of the beast, remained unhindered, and looked back into the eyes of the dreadful creature of Morgoth. Glaurung then cast a spell about the Adan, and feigning pity, told the son of Húrin that both his mother and sister had been enslaved by the evil Easterlings, and that they would surely die if he did not flee to Dor-lómin and save them from their plight.

As the Dragon wove his spell of malice about Túrin, speaking the lies that his Master commanded him to, Finduilas was led from the terrace with the others, crying out for the Adan. Yet the mortal remained motionless, spellbound, unable to come to the aid of the woman who had grown to love him. Glaurung held Túrin’s gaze until all the prisoners had gone. The beast then withdrew his glance, and waited for the son of Húrin to come back to his senses.

Then Túrin attempted to smite the Dragon, no longer daunted by his words, for a while. Glaurung drew up to his full height, preventing the Adan from striking his eyes, and spoke of Morwen and Nienor again. The spells woven about the son of Húrin took hold, and shortly thereafter, he took off to his former home to rescue his mother and sister from the evil Easterlings.

Glaurung laughed at the success of his cunning malice, having accomplished the task that his Lord had assigned to him. He then sent out blasts of fire, withering the green grasses and trees that grew outside the Doors of Felagund. With his monstrous tail, he broke down the bridge, and claimed the treasure of the Noldor as his own.

When Túrin reached his former home and found that Morwen and Nienor had left for Menegroth, he realized too late that the Dragon had duped him. He then set out in search of Finduilas in an attempt to keep his promise to Gwindor to protect her at all costs. On his journey, he encountered the Men of Brethil and asked them if they had any news regarding the captives of Nargothrond, especially the Noldo Princess.

He was told that when the yrch came through that area, the Men of Haleth attempted to assail the enemy and free their prisoners. But in their cruelty, the yrch killed their captives including Finduilas, whom they pinned to a tree with a spear. With her last breath, the elleth uttered, “Tell the Mormegil that Finduilas is here.” Sensing that the elf maiden was of noble birth, the men raised a mound over her body close to the place where she had been killed.

Túrin was grieved to hear that, and asked that the men take him to her grave. There, he fell into the darkest of grief, near death. Upon seeing the Black Sword girded around the son of Húrin’s waist, the Men of Brethil knew who he was, for the rumor of his deeds had even reached them in the depths of the wood. They made a bier for Túrin and carried him back to their village where the Adan was healed by their lord, Brandir.

In time, when he grew hale again, Túrin changed his name yet again, to Turambar, and he ordered the Men of Brethil to forget the other names that he had gone by in the past. He set aside the Black Sword and resumed his fight with the yrch, using bow and spear instead.


In Yr 496, some of those that had survived the sacking of Nargothrond arrived in Doriath seeking sanctuary in Thingol’s lands. Upon hearing that, Morwen grew distraught, fearing for her beloved son. Sharing her concerns with the King and Queen, she was determined to leave Menegroth to search for Túrin. Melian, ever so wisely, cautioned the woman to remain in the Thousand Caves, but the proud daughter of Baragund would hear none of it. Unable to restrain Morwen, Thingol insisted that a small group of elves that included Mablung escort her on her journey. To this, she consented.

Nienor threw a fit when her mother told her she had to remain behind as the trip would be perilous and Morwen did not want to endanger her daughter’s life. But Nienor was as proud and stubborn as those from the line of Bëor were, and refusing to be left behind, she disguised herself as an elven warrior and left Menegroth with the others.

Mablung led the small company on horseback for three days until they reached the outskirts of Nargothrond. Aware that Glaurung was somewhere nearby, he had the women and some guards wait on Amon Ethir, (“the Hill of Spies”), which Finrod had raised long ago about one league from the doors of the Hidden Halls. As stealthily as they could, Mablung and a few scouts left the hill to search the area.

Unbeknownst to them, Glaurung was well aware of their arrival. He slithered out of the Doors of Felagund and into the Narog, causing a reeking vapor to rise over the lands. The foulness blinded Mablung and his companions, forcing them to scatter. The Great Worm then made his way east of the river, much to the dismay of those that remained on Amon Ethir. Upon seeing Glaurung, the guards begged the women to depart, but before they could do anything, a wind picked up, sending the foul mists all around them. The horses became crazed by the Dragon’s breath, and bolted blindly in various directions.

Morwen disappeared and no news of her fate ever reached Menegroth. However, Nienor’s horse reared, sending her flying to the ground, before it took off, galloping towards home. Unhurt, the young woman climbed back up the hill to wait for Mablung. When she reached the apex, Glaurung was already there, his head resting on the hilltop. The Dragon fixed his dark eyes on the woman, and searched her mind with his eyes. When he learned who she was, he set a spell of utter darkness and forgetfulness on her, so that she could remember nothing that had ever befallen her, nor the simplest of tasks, nor her own name. For days afterward, she could neither hear nor see, totally blinded to the world around her. Glaurung then left her alone on the hill, and returned to Nargothrond.

Mablung was dismayed when he returned to the hill and found Nienor in her current state. Taking her by the hand, he led her away from that place. As they made their way back to Doriath, they found three more of their companions. When they neared the western fences of their land, the small company was utterly spent. They laid the maiden down, and all fell fast asleep, heedless of the dangers that still lurked in the wilds of Beleriand.

During the night, a band of yrch came upon the sleeping elves. The shrill cries of the yrch awoke the sleeping companions with a start. Nienor, having suddenly regained both her sight and hearing, was terrified by the demonic creatures. In her terror, she fled the camp as fast as she could, ripping her clothing off as she went. The yrch were quick to pursue the naked maiden, as were her companions. The four elves overtook the yrch, and slew them all so that they could not harm Nienor in flight. Mablung and his companions searched long for the daughter of Húrin, but to no avail. With heavy hearts, they returned to Menegroth without either woman.

Nienor continued running north until she was too exhausted to run more. She cast herself on the ground and slept until the following morning. At dawn, she continued walking north, guided by a doom greater than herself. When she reached the Crossing of Teiglin, she saw the tall trees of Brethil and longed to reach those woods. A terrible thunderstorm came that night, frightening the woman, who had no idea of what was happening. In her despair, she threw herself upon the mound of Finduilas, as the Doom of Morgoth now had her in its grasp.

Hearing rumor of yrch in the area, Túrin Turambar and his company of woodsmen set out to destroy the roaming band. As fate would have it, they came upon the woman, near death, lying upon the mound of Finduilas, as the cold rain beat against her naked flesh. The son of Húrin cast his cloak about the maiden and took her back to their village, Amon Obel in the heart of Brethil.

Nienor, having no memory of her past, looked upon Túrin with great joy. Even though she had lost her voice and could not speak, she refused to be parted from him. The son of Húrin tried to question her, but she could only respond with tears, not knowing how to speak words in response. Therefore, Túrin gave her the name Níniel, which meant “Tear-maiden” in the elvish tongue.

Unfortunately, the young woman had become sick, and she was tended by Brandir, who was lord of Brethil. By autumn, she was healed, and the women of Brethil had taught her to speak, as one would teach an infant. Having regained her voice, Nienor could remember nothing about her life prior to the woodsmen finding her.

Now it came to be that both Brandir and Túrin fell in love with Nienor. But it was Turambar that asked for her hand in marriage. A shadow fell upon the young woman’s heart, and she delayed her answer to the son of Húrin as long as she could.

Brandir, knowing of the curse upon Túrin, counseled Níniel not to wed the son of Húrin, and revealed to her his true name. Yet the maiden did not know anything about Túrin or Húrin, for those names meant nothing to her.

In the Yr 500, Túrin asked Níniel for her hand once again, vowing that if she refused, he would return to the wilds and resume fighting yrch. Despite the shadow on her heart, she gleefully accepted his proposal and they wed that summer.

By the end of that year, Glaurung had sent a company of yrch to assail the Men of Brethil, but Túrin, keeping his promise to Níniel not to fight in any wars unless their homes were under attack, refused to confront the yrch. The woodsmen criticized Turambar’s lack of action, which prompted the son of Húrin to once again pick up the Black Sword and fight the enemy.

The yrch were utterly destroyed, but the Great Worm now knew that the Mormegil dwelt in Brethil. He therefore designed a new plan.

In spring of Yr 501, Níniel had conceived, bringing great joy to the people of Brethil. Yet that joy was short-lived as rumor had it that Glaurung had departed Nargothrond and was heading north. When Túrin heard the news regarding the Great Worm, he sent out his scouts. All hoped that the Dragon was on his way back to Angband, but when the beast stopped near the western shores of Teiglin, the woodsmen grew fearful, knowing that they would soon be under attack.

Túrin took it upon himself to confront the Dragon, and only two others were willing to accompany him: Dorlas and Hunthor. The three then set off, telling the others to prepare for flight should they fail at their task.

Níniel grew fearful. An overwhelming feeling of dread overcame her, so that she couldn’t remain behind. Brandir counseled against this, and his people turned against him, believing that his unrequited love for the woman was behind his words. Níniel then followed Túrin, escorted by a great company of woodsmen. Brandir was loathe at her parting, and because of his love for her, he grabbed his sword and went after her. Being lame from an injury he had received in his youth, he fell far behind the others.

At late afternoon, Túrin and his companions came upon the sleeping Dragon. As luck would have it, Glaurung lay across Cabed-en-Aras, where the River Teiglin rushed through a deep and narrow gorge. Knowing that the beast would move at night, he proposed that he and his companions leap across the gorge, and climb down the wall of the ravine so that they could attack Glaurung from below.

When night fell, Dorlas fled in shame, terrified of leaping across the deep chasm. Yet Turambar and Hunthor continued on their quest, and successfully jumped to the other side of the gorge. As they began making their way down into the ravine, a large stone became loose, and fell on Hunthor’s head, instantly killing him. But the Dragon was unaware that his doom was upon him, as the rushing water drowned out the sound of the falling rocks.

Túrin mustered his courage and continued alone on his quest to slay the Dragon. When he found himself below the beast, he drew Gurthang and rammed it into the soft flesh of the Great Worm’s belly. The beast let out a horrid cry, thrashing and coiling in pain. He slithered to the other side of the ravine, sending blasts of fire in his agony that withered all the vegetation that grew about that place. The Dragon then fell still with Gurthang still embedded in his body.

Turambar climbed out of the ravine, and leapt across the chasm and looked upon his fallen enemy. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, placed his foot on the belly of his foe, and in mockery of the downed beast cried, “Hail, Worm of Morgoth! Well met again! Die now and let the darkness take you! Now Túrin, son of Húrin, is avenged!”

As he pulled out his blade, the black venomous blood of Glaurung fell on his hand and burned it. The Dragon then opened his eyes and looked upon his bane. The malice in the eyes of the beast was like a powerful blow to the mortal, which sent him falling to the ground in a swoon.

Níniel and the others were terrified by the sounds of the Dragon, and when they came upon the smoldering terrain, they deemed that Glaurung had triumphed over Túrin and his companions. Níniel fell to her knees, unable to move from that spot. There, Brandir found her, and he wished to take her back to his village. He took her by the hand and led her along the path to the Crossings.

When Níniel realized that Brandir was not taking her to Turambar, she fled the lord of Brethil in search of her beloved husband. Running beneath the moonlight, she found her way to Cabed-en-Aras and saw both the Dragon and her beloved lying by the edge of the cliff. No longer fearing the dreaded beast, she ran to Túrin, crying out his name. Seeing the wound on his hand, she bathed it in her tears and wrapped it with a strip of cloth she had torn from her gown. She held Turambar’s head on her lap, planting kisses on his face, begging him to awake. Her voice caused Glaurung to stir and he spoke one last time before he died.

“Hail, Nienor, daughter of Húrin. We meet again ere the end. It gives me great joy that you have found your brother at last. And now you shall know him, a stabber in the dark, treacherous to foes, faithless to friends, and a curse unto his kin, Túrin son of Húrin! But worst of his deeds you feel growing within your belly!”

Glaurung then died, and with that, the veil that had been placed on Nienor was removed, and all the memories of her past life came flooding back to her. Horror-stricken by the Doom of Morgoth, she bid her brother farewell before leaping over the cliff, plunging into the water below.

The only witness to the fell words of the Dragon was Brandir, who stood there in total shock, heartbroken over the fate of Nienor. No longer having a purpose to live, the descendant of Haleth returned to the others and told them all that he had heard, and that Nienor, Túrin and Glaurung were all dead. The people wept.

At that moment, Túrin came walking up, being free from the Dragon’s spell. The woodsmen thought that his spirit had returned and were afraid.

Then Turambar learned of what Brandir had said, and in his wrath, he killed him and fled into the woods like a madman. He then returned to the grave of Finduilas, not knowing whether he should seek his kin in Menegroth or return to the wars and seek death in battle.

As he sat there, Mablung came up with a great company of elves, having heard that Glaurung had come near Doriath’s borders. They were gladdened to see the Adan and told him of the purpose of their errand. Túrin told Mablung that he had already slain the Dragon and the beast was no longer a threat to any. The elves were amazed to hear that, and looked at the mortal in awe and sang his praises.

But Túrin did not care; his only concern was for his kin. He asked Mablung about his mother and sister having heard that they had gone to Menegroth. Thingol’s Chief Captain then told the son of Húrin all that had befallen Morwen and Nienor, and how his sister was stricken by a spell of dumb forgetfulness, and had become lost in the wilds. Túrin then realized that Brandir had spoken the truth and that he had unjustly killed him. In his madness of grief, he cursed Mablung and his errand and fled from the elves, running like the wind. The elves didn’t understand the madness that had overcome the Adan and chased after him. But Túrin outran them.

The son of Húrin returned to Cab-en-Aras, and there he took his life, throwing his body onto the blade of Gurthang. By the time that Mablung and the Grey-elves arrived, it was too late. Túrin lay dead. The Men of Brethil had also come, and all were saddened by the doom of Túrin and Nienor. They made a great mound over Túrin’s body, and burned the remains of Glaurung. A large grey stone was placed on the grave, and the elves carved into it the names of the children of Húrin.

A year later, in Yr 502, when Húrin was finally released from Angband, he was left bitter and angry by the malice of Morgoth, having witnessed all that had befallen his loved ones. He found himself shunned by those that still dwelled in Dor-lómin, so he left in hope that Turgon would not forget their ancient friendship. Yet the son of Galdor had no idea that the enemy was watching him from the shadows, and when he reached the feet of Crissaegrim, the yrch reported to their Master that the son of Fingolfin dwelt somewhere in that area. So Morgoth strengthened his watch in that area, delighted the Húrin was unaware the he was still his unwitting pawn.

Húrin then uttered his discontentment of the Noldo Lord and continued his trek south until he reached Cabed-en-Aras. There, he found Morwen grieving beside the grave of their son. Their reunion was not a joyful one. They sat in silence, clinging to one another, until the daughter of Baragund passed. Húrin buried his wife beside their son, and engraved her name on the stone marker with the sword he carried with him.

He then set off for Nargothrond where Mîm, who now claimed the lordship of those Halls, confronted him outside the Doors of Felagund. Húrin, having seen all that the dwarf had done, killed him, and dwelled in the former Halls of Finrod for a while.

In bitter thought, Húrin remained there until his heart grew so cold and dark that he had one more task to complete before he was done. From the horde of treasure strewn about the Hidden Halls, the Adan claimed one item - the Nauglamír. He then began his journey east. Upon reaching the western fence of Doriath, Húrin was stopped by the marchwarden, Túreb, (who was actually one of Buffy’s Maiar disguised as the Elf Lord). The son of Galdor was then escorted to Menegroth by a company of elves.

Thingol and Melian looked upon the grim-face of Húrin and were pained to see what the many years of captivity had done to the Adan. Yet the son of Galdor had been stewing in his anger for a long time, and bitter were his words to the King of Doriath. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out the Necklace of the Dwarves and threw it at Thingol’s feet.

“Receive this as your fee for the fair keeping of my wife and children,” spat the Adan with contempt.

Thingol restrained his wrath against Húrin’s scornful words. Yet it was the words of Melian that finally broke the spell that Morgoth had placed upon the Adan, freeing the son of Galdor from his thralldom at long last.

Looking into the Maia’s eyes, he saw through the lies of Morgoth, and knew that both the King and Queen had done all they could to harbor his family. He then picked up the necklace and handed it Thingol, saying, “Receive now, Lord, the Necklace of the Dwarves, as a gift from one who has nothing, and as a memorial of Húrin from Dor-lómin. For now my fate is fulfilled, and the purpose of Morgoth achieved. But I am no longer his thrall.”

He then turned away and left the Thousand Caves, coming to Vinyamar, where he and Buffy now sat across from one another…



Buffy shuddered, blinking her eyes several times. The bile within her stomach churned uncomfortably.

“And now you know my story, and have seen with my eyes all that has befallen my kin,” Húrin said sadly, still clutching the hands of the Slayer.

“Morgoth has sunk to a new low,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I grieve for you, Húrin, and I grieve for Túrin and Nienor, especially. I thought what Morgoth had done to me was cruel, but I have to say, it doesn’t come close to what your children had to endure.”

She shuddered again, thinking of how great the curse was that Melkor had put upon the seed of Húrin. He was a lone Vala, yet he was able to do horrific things by his will alone. She couldn’t help but think of what little chance the sons of Fëanor had against the Curse placed upon them by all the Aratar. For the first time, she felt that the Doom upon her loved ones was drawing near. She could feel it. And it terrified her. What chance did she have to thwart the powers of so many Valar when she herself was powerless?

Buffy rose to her feet, and looked to the West. Her heart turned as cold as Húrin’s had when he departed Angband. She was angry. She was angry at Morgoth, but more so at the Valar. How could they just sit by and allow all these horrible things to happen to one who had done everything in his power to do the right thing. She cursed them, saying that they were no better than Morgoth, that they were in league together, and sought to destroy the noble bloodline of Brolach and Sargon.

“Draw out your sword, son of Galdor,” she said in a low voice.

“What?” queried Húrin in his confusion.

“Unsheathe your weapon, my lord,” she answered, still glaring toward the West.

She heard the old man get to his feet. “What for?” he asked, standing behind her.

Buffy turned, and faced Húrin. “I will not let you kill yourself and abide alone in the dark Halls of my brother, never to see the light of day again. Námo does not look kindly upon those that have taken their own lives. He would have you suffer further for doing so. And I won’t have that. You belong in Folkvang with your forefathers, with your father, with your brother. There, you will be accounted amongst the Mightiest of the Mighty, a title bestowed upon so few warriors, but you, son of Galdor, have earned that most prestigious title.”

Húrin pulled his weapon from its sheath. Looking at his blade, he uttered, “And I cannot come unless I die in battle.”

Buffy nodded. “You will fight me, Húrin, and I will best you in our duel. My Valkyries will then come for you and take you to my beautiful Halls, Sussrúmnir, and there I will remake your body, young and whole as it once was, for not even the Valar can hinder my powers in my Blessed Realm. There, your brother waits, and Sargon, my beloved, whom you are descended from.”

“My heart tells me that you will incur the wrath of the Valar by doing this,” said Húrin in dismay.

“I’ve incurred their wrath a long time ago, my friend,” she replied with a snicker. “What more can they do to me that they haven’t already? I love them not. They have forsaken me, as they have forsaken you. Let us forsake them, for once. Do not let them claim the soul of Húrin Thalion, Elf-friend, hero, and mighty warrior of the House of Bëor… The choice is yours.”

Húrin turned his gaze to the West, shielding his eyes from the sinking sun. He remained quiet for several minutes, pondering his decision. At last, he dropped his hand to his side, and looked at the Slayer.

“I will fight you,” he answered, lifting his blade.

“Come, away from the edge. I can’t risk your falling,” she said, grabbing hold of the old man and leading him away from the cliff. As soon as she pulled a sword charm from her belt, it instantly turned into its full size.

And there beside the sea, Buffy and Húrin dueled. The sound of metal clanking against metal rang out against a blood-red sky. When the Slayer saw her opening, she drove her blade deep into the gut of the mortal until she felt it hit his spine. She then thrust her sword deeper, severing his spinal cord, so that the Adan would no longer feel any pain. She pulled out her weapon and the man fell to the ground.

Buffy dropped her sword and ran to Húrin’s side, cradling him in her arms. “Shh,” she said, placing a kiss on his forehead. “It won’t be long, son of Galdor. Sleep. Sleep,” she said softly.

Húrin struggled for breath, as Man’s instincts were inclined to do when one nears death.

The Slayer lifted her gaze and called out, “Vórëa! Feawë! Come now!”

The two Valkyrie chieftains then appeared before their Mistress, and looked at the dying form of Húrin with much sadness.

“You called, my Lady,” said Vórëa.

“You take his fey to Sussrúmnir. Don’t you dare let Námo claim him! Húrin is mine!” she commanded, caressing the Adan’s cheek.

“As you wish, my Lady,” the women responded, waiting for Húrin to take his last breath.

Buffy could feel the warmth of the mortal’s blood seeping into her clothing. When she heard his last breath, she watched as his fey rose from its hröa. Vórëa and Feawë each took one of Húrin’s phantom arms, and vanished, taking the former lord of Dor-lómin to Sussrúmnir where, later that night, his flesh would be made anew.

After they had left, Buffy closed the eyes of Húrin and kissed him one last time. She then lifted him in her arms and walked to the edge of the cliff. Looking at the foamy waters below, she threw the Adan’s lifeless body into the sea.

Content with her actions, she turned and picked up both her and Húrin’s blades. As she reached down to grab his walking stick, she heard the cry of gulls that caused her to look up at the sky. There, circling high above the gulls was Thorondor, Lord of Eagles. The sight of Manwë’s spy angered her more, knowing that he would most likely twist the retelling of all that he had witnessed.

“Curse you, Thorondor!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Fly to your Master in haste and tell him what new ill I’ve done. Curse him and the rest of the Aratar for allowing this shit to happen!” She rose to her feet, brandishing both weapons. “Flee before you taste the metal of my blade, spy of Súlimo!”

The Eagle then soared off in the direction of Valinor, just as Buffy expected.

“God, I hate that bird,” Buffy grumbled, making her way back to her chariot…



*lyrics by Dennis DeYoung

Author’s Note: Snippet’s of dialogue in the Tale of the Children of Húrin belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I’ve only glossed over the story itself, but it is important for the reader to know all the things that happened to Túrin, as he will come back into the story at the end.

Also, I had inadvertently written the wrong name for Thingol’s sword in chapter 88. His sword is called Aranrúth, not Anglachel. I’ve made that correction and apologize for the error.


Chapter 95 - PARTING GIFTS

The lions were horrified when they saw their Mistress, covered in blood, walking up to the chariot.

“Bella, what happened?” cried out Barathalion, his yellow eyes inspecting her crimson-covered garments.

“Just had to take care of some business is all,” she replied, sliding Húrin’s weapon and staff into the compartment along the vehicle’s inner wall. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” She raised her head, meeting Noeriel’s gaze. “That goes for you too,” she added, pulling off her shirt. She reached into the chariot and pulled out a spare tunic that she kept stored in there for such purposes. Pulling it over her head, Buffy continued, “We’re going north, to Brethil. I’ve got some business to tend to there.”

“What kind of business?” queried Barathalion apprehensively.

“Why do you guys have to constantly question me?” asked the Slayer, annoyed by the inquisitiveness of her babies. “I swear; sometimes I wish you two were more like your parents!” She walked to the front of the vehicle and picked the harnesses up from the ground. “Come on, let’s get a move on. We’re losing what little daylight we have left.”

The kitties mumbled their displeasure, but it had no effect on Buffy. Over the years, she had learned to tune out their protests or incessant talking. They reminded her far too much of teenagers.

Once harnessed, they took off, heading due east toward the Forest of Brethil. Along the way, she had the lions stop at Cabed-en-Aras, where she paid her respects to the fallen children of Húrin and to Morwen. From there, they flew on to Brethil, arriving after dark.

Buffy’s sudden appearance unnerved the woodsmen. They deemed that she had come too late. But she wasn’t there to give them any aid or counsel. She came for the Dragon-helm of Hador. The new lord of Amon Obel was loathe to part with it, yet, who was he to deny the Vala Queen? The Slayer added the helm to her now growing collection of war relics, a collection she would become more passionate about as the years passed.

Much to the lions’ dismay, they did not turn south toward home, as they had hoped. Instead, their Mistress had them continue their journey northeast.

“Where are we going now?” whined Noeriel.

“We’re going to Taur-nu-Fuin to search for Beleg’s grave.”

“What?!” exclaimed the lioness. “But that is now a place of great evil.”

“Are you losing your nerve, my pet?” the Slayer laughed. “I thought lions were fearless beasts! Don’t tell me you’ve lost your courage and now fear the yrch.”

“It’s not the yrch I fear. It’s the Necromancer,” she answered half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to worry about him. He won’t lay a finger on you. I promise,” assured Buffy to both of her lions.

The search for Beleg’s grave turned out to be no easy task. It was very much like the old adage: to find a needle in a haystack. It had been many years since her dear friend had met his demise, and even with her heightened eyesight, it proved to be most difficult to find his grave in the darkness of the woods.

The lions were perturbed when their Mistress said that she wanted to wait until sunrise before continuing her search. They saw no point in finding the burial place of the Elf Lord, regardless of Buffy’s love for him. Yet the Slayer was driven to discover its whereabouts, as much as she was to find Húrin. While she didn’t understand why she had that overwhelming desire to do so, the feeling would not abate until she saw it through to the end.

Much to Buffy’s chagrin, as they sat waiting in the woods, it began to rain. And it wasn’t one of those gentle spring showers either. Far from. It was one of those cold, torrential downpours that soaked one to the core. Only minutes later, her clothing was drenched, and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her kitties tried to keep her warm by curling up on either side of her, but their efforts did little to ease her discomfort. Even changing her garments in Folkvang later that night didn’t help. As soon as she returned, her dry clothes became again saturated by the rains.

At dusk, they began their search along the slopes of what was formerly known as Dorthonion. The Slayer found herself bitching and moaning along with the lions. She was literally crawling on hands and knees, pushing away the leaves, sticks and earth that seemed to want to stick to her like glue.

“Over here, Bella!” shouted Barathalion some hours later. “I think I’ve found what you’ve been searching for.”

“Thank Ilúvatar!” she uttered, getting to her feet. Buffy wiped the dirt from her hands on her filthy, damp breeches as she made her way to the lion. There, in a thicket of brambles, lay many scattered bones. Apparently, wargs had found Beleg’s body and dug it up. Visible teeth marks on some of the larger pieces only provided confirmation. The thought that her dear friend’s remains had been gnawed on by Morgoth’s wolves broke her heart.

She and the lions searched all the area for every bone fragment they could find, determined to re-bury all that they found in a much deeper hole. As she ran her hands across the ground’s surface, one of them came upon something solid. Feeling a pang of dread, she grabbed hold of the dark-colored object, said a quick prayer, and then pulled on it. To her surprise, she had unearthed Belthronding, the great bow of her late friend. She sat back on her folded legs, wiping the weapon clean, amazed that it was still intact.

She then placed it to the side, and resumed her search to find all of the elf’s bones. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, Buffy conceded that they had found all they were going to find. She sat back, holding the bow with care, as the lions began to dig a deep hole in which to put Beleg’s bones. She wished they had found his skull, but that seemed to be missing. When Barathalion and Noeriel had finished their labor, she carefully laid the bones in the ground and said a blessing over them. She then helped her kitties bury them, getting even dirtier in the process.

Not having slept since leaving Lindon, Buffy was exhausted. Her back and knees ached. She was filthy, stinky and her clothing remained damp.

The lions felt that they had accomplished their mission at last, but it was not so. As soon as they were hitched to the chariot, they continued north, and out of the wood. Before them lay the sandy plains of Anfauglith, but to the northwest, stood the Mound of the Slain, now covered with thick green grass. It was a remarkable sight, and looked as a great emerald amidst the desolate wasteland.

“Surely, you’re not about to pluck every weapon from that hill,” said Barathalion, somewhat sarcastically.

“No,” replied Buffy softly, staring sadly at the mound. Thousands upon thousands lay buried there, and even from miles away, she could see that it was enormous. The hill represented her most bitter of defeats, and the loss of so many that she had dearly loved.

“Can we go home now?” asked Noeriel, none too anxious to fly any nearer to Angband than she had to.

“No,” answered her Mistress. “Take me to Haudh-en-Ndengin.”

“I knew it! You are going to make us dig out all those weapons,” complained the lion.

“Be quiet, Barathalion. I’m not in the mood for your cheek.”

Indeed the Slayer’s mood had become glum when she set eyes upon that mound. Yet, just as before, she felt compelled to continue north for some reason that would soon become clear.

From the air, they could see legions of yrch and other beastly creatures coming and going from Morgoth’s realm. Many of them saw her flying in her chariot above, but none dare assail her or shout words of ridicule, as they normally took pleasure in doing.

Buffy had the lions land on the summit of the hill. Her kitties nervously looked around below, fearing that Morgoth or his minions would attack at any minute.

“I don’t like this,” said an uneasy Noeriel, sniffing the air.

“Why are we here, Bella?” asked Barathalion, turning his gaze toward his Mistress.

“I don’t know,” the Slayer replied, before stepping off the chariot. She moved in front of her babies, staring at the menacing peaks of Thangorodrim. The mountains never stopped spewing their black smokes, and dark clouds lingered over all the land. As she stood there, unmoving, the whisperings between the lions grew fainter and fainter, until she no longer heard them at all. Even the afternoon breeze seemed to still. Buffy’s eyes became heavy. She struggled to keep them open, but to no avail.

I’ve heard you curse those in the West, and that is good, said the voice of Morgoth, his face suddenly appearing in her mind. He was sitting on his throne, wearing his iron crown, minus one Silmaril. It brings me great joy that you have finally realized that they care nothing about you, that they are the true enemy.

The Slayer remained fixed to the spot, unable to move, yet her breathing quickened at the sight of Melkor Bauglir. Was he the one that had brought her here? Was he behind her sudden need to travel throughout Beleriand collecting the weapons of her dead friends? And why? Why did she have that overwhelming urge to do so?

Upon hearing the change in their Mistress’ breathing, the lions called her name repeatedly, nudging her with their heads in an attempt to break the spell they knew she had fallen under.

I see that you’ve found Húrin, and killed him. Well done, Melisse. Well done, indeed, he cackled. As each day passes, you become more like me.

I’m nothing like you, she shot back defiantly in her mind.

No? he replied, raising his brows in question. You curse our brethren, threaten the spy of Súlimo with violence, and steal the fey of one whom your brother wished to claim. Yes, my dear, you are becoming more like me. In time, you will see this.

Buffy made no response to his comments.

What did you think of my little curse on Húrin’s children? he continued with a snigger. Brings new meaning to the words ‘brotherly love’, does it not?

You’re sick, she replied in disgust.

No, I’m the Lord of Arda, and those that dare mock me will suffer the consequences, just like the dear old son of Galdor. Melkor’s face contorted in rage. Who is he to defy my will? he spat. He is naught but a lowly mortal. The expression on his face then softened, his lips curling into a wicked grin. Oh, Melisse, I wish you could have seen the look on Húrin’s face when his daughter finally succumbed to her brother’s carnal desire. I will cherish that memory forever, for it will haunt the Adan for all of time.

Once again, she did not answer. She watched as Morgoth rose from his throne, limping slowly across his massive, dimly lit hall. With his blackened hands clasped behind his back, he stopped before the portrait of her that hung on one of the walls.

I will take out all your allies, my love, he continued, his eyes studying the canvas. With no friends left to run to, we shall then be reunited. And you will sit beside me and watch as I kill those from your House, including your children. He turned, so that Buffy now could see his face. What kind of Lord would I be if I did not punish you for breaking your word, for breaking the Covenant? What would my men think? He smiled. But that does not change my feelings for you, my beloved, for I do love you.

You don’t know a thing about love, she hissed.

Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Melisse, Melkor answered, smiling more broadly. You are the one thing in this world that I truly love, and the time is drawing near when we will finally be together. He let out a heavy sigh. Alas, that time is not yet upon us. He paused, his eyes searching the very depths of Buffy’s soul. Cherish what little time you have with the Elf, for that will soon be coming to an end. He will break your heart, but fear not! I will mend it, as only I can do.

I’ll never leave Káno, she answered firmly.

We shall see, Melisse. I will sit back and watch the Doom of the Valar run its course. Then we will be together… forever.

Never!

Morgoth laughed, a chilling sort of laugh that sent a chill throughout every fiber of her being. Not until his laughter ceased did the coldness subside.

My men have a gift for you, my love. The sword that you lost in battle longs to return to its Mistress. I would expect you to take better care of my gifts to you, he chastised, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. Who am I to withhold something that I had made especially for you? Take it, my beloved, and soon you will join me in Angband, and together we will wreak havoc on this world as is destined. Farewell.

Buffy gasped. Her eyes darted open, as her senses jolted awake.

The lions were still calling her by her various names and mouthing her hands with their teeth, in their attempt to rouse her from Morgoth’s spell.

She shook her head. “I’m okay, babies, I’m okay,” she breathed heavily, stroking their heads with either hand.

“Thank Eru!” they said in unison, licking her hands affectionately.

“My Lady,” shouted a gravelly voice from below. “My Lord has asked that I bring you this gift.”

The Slayer shifted her gaze below. An orch band stood near the mound’s base, a foot or so away from where the green grasses met the sandy terrain. At the forefront, stood one that held aloft the sword she lost during Nirnaeth Arnoediad. She automatically placed her hand on the belt where the blade had once dangled in charm form. She yearned to have it in her possession again.

“Don’t go, Bella. It’s a trap!” whispered Barathalion.

“Brother is right,” said Noeriel in agreement. “The Dark Lord has sent his minions to seize you. They’ll take you back to the Dark Lands.”

“No, they won’t,” answered Buffy, starting down the hill. “Stay here.”

“NO!” shouted the lions together, attempting to block her path with their massive forms.

Buffy was so fixated on the blade that she tripped over the cats, and tumbled down the side of the mound. As she rolled to the bottom, her body painfully collided with some of the shields and weapon handles that protruded from the hillside. She was left slightly dazed when she finally came to a halt just shy of the sandy plains. Her body ached all over. As her eyes focused, she noticed numerous yrch standing over her.

The Orch Captain attempted to lend her a hand, but the Slayer inched backwards, cradling her left elbow, which was hurt in the fall. The orch chieftain dare not step on the grass, none of them did. She slowly rose to her feet.

All the yrch then fell onto bended knee, bowing their heads in reverence to their Master’s beloved.

Still on bended knee, the Orch Captain offered the hilt of her sword. “Take this, Blessed Inanna, as a token of my Lord’s love for you.”

The Slayer massaged her throbbing elbow, her eyes scanning the eighty-some-odd yrch that stood immediately before her. Watching for any sudden movements from the enemy, she slowly moved closer, reaching for the hilt of her weapon with her right hand.

Just then, the lions came swooping down from the sky, having each chewed through the other’s leather harness in order to free themselves. Barathalion let out a god-awful roar before snapping his jaws shut on the Orch Captain’s head. The sword fell from the goblin’s grasp as he was lifted off the ground for a moment or two until the lion’s clenched jaw severed his head from his body. When the headless, twitching corpse fell onto his brethren, they jumped to their feet in a frenzy, screaming for vengeance against the flying beasts.

“Oh, shit!” groaned Buffy, quickly snatching her weapon from the ground, livid that her babies had taken it upon themselves to stir up trouble needlessly.

“Hurry, Bella! Hurry!” shouted the lioness, landing behind her Mistress on the soft green grass.

Many yrch had armed their bows, ready to take out Barathalion for the unprovoked killing of their Captain.

“Shit!” the Slayer cursed again, swinging her sword at those nearest to her that had their weapons aimed at the lion. “Go, Noeriel!” she commanded. “Get to the top of the hill! Now!”

“But… ”

“NOW! GOD DAMN IT!” she shouted, cleaving off the arms of two yrch with a single wave of her blade.

Arrows whished from the bows and crossbows of the enemy, most aimed at Barathalion, who was flying maybe thirty or forty feet above the goblins’ heads.

With so many yrch, it was impossible for Buffy to prevent all from shooting at her beloved cat. She ended up pulling an axe charm off her belt, wielding two weapons simultaneously in hope that she’d be able to take out more of the enemy.

Noeriel, thankfully, had done as her Mistress had ordered. She had flown back to the summit of the mound, shouting for her brother.

A loud yelp from overhead indicated that Barathalion had been hit by a flying projectile. The yrch roared in celebration at one of their comrades having successfully hit their target. They clashed their weapons against their shields, shouting with delight.

The sound of her baby’s cry set Buffy’s heart aflame. Her arms moved in a whirlwind of motion, striking all within reach. Every time her axe collided with an enemy, her elbow throbbed even more. If not for her sudden adrenaline rush she would’ve been in tears from the pain. Yet she sought to slay the one responsible for injuring her lion. Her heart ached not knowing whether Barathalion had safely escaped or if he lay on the sandy plains, near death.

Suddenly, the yrch scattered. The Slayer didn’t know if that was brought about by some unspoken command of Morgoth that she did not hear, or by the sight of many of their brethren lying dead or near dead, on the sand. The goblin responsible for injuring her kitty attempted to flee. As he ran toward Angband, she threw her axe with all her might, screaming in pain as she did so. The axe turned end over end before striking the creature in the back, cleaving through the armor beneath his tattered coat.

Her eyes scanned the carnage around her, but she saw no sign of Barathalion. She ran to the fallen orch and pried her weapon from his body. Turning, Buffy now faced the mound. Much to her relief, she saw that the lion had joined his sister on the summit. She placed the axe back onto her belt as she made her way back up the mound, still carrying her sword.

When she reached the top, she dropped down beside the lion, inspecting the wound he had received. The arrow of the enemy was sticking out from his body, having entered above his shoulder. While it was easy for her to remove, her greatest concern was whether or not the barb was poisoned. She sniffed it, even licked it, yet she was unable to determine conclusively if it was toxic.

To be on the safe side, she sliced her hand with her blade, and allowed her own blood to spill onto the wound of the lion to counter the effects of the poison, if it was indeed present. Much to her dismay, when she licked her hand to heal the cut, it didn’t work as it had when she had collected the blood from Beren and Lúthien years before. Cursing, she resumed her treatment of Barathalion after rubbing some dirt into her self-inflicted gash to stop the flow of blood.

“Why didn’t you guys listen to me?” she asked, tearing a strip of cloth from the soiled shirt that she had retrieved from her chariot.

“The enemy would’ve attacked you, Bella,” groaned Barathalion, who, despite his injury, seemed to be doing well.

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?” inquired Noeriel, cocking her head. “How do you know the enemy was not setting you up?”

“Because Morgoth told me,” she answered, tying the cloth strip tightly around the lion’s wound.

“He told you. When?” she queried, looking intently at her Mistress.

“Before I went rolling down the hill,” replied Buffy, lifting her gaze to the lioness. “Another thing that wouldn’t have happened had you done as I ordered.” She shifted her eyes back to the wounded lion. “How does that feel? Can you get up?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he said, unsteadily getting to his feet. After standing for a minute or so, Barathalion appeared okay.

Buffy then checked her elbow, which was badly bruised and swollen. She cursed at her misfortune. “Now, what the hell are we gonna do?” she queried, looking dishearteningly at the chewed up harnesses.

The kitties attempted to offer suggestions, but the Slayer snapped, “Shut up, the both of you! If you would’ve listened to me, none of this would’ve happened.” She cradled her elbow, nervously rocking back and forth, pondering what she was going to do next.

The lions stepped away, allowing their Mistress her space. They now felt badly about their disobedience.

Buffy knew that Barathalion was unfit to fly the long distance home. He would have to ride in the chariot. But she was unsure if Noeriel could pull the vehicle all alone, especially with the extra weight of her brother.

She picked up the harness, cursing again. She examined the broken leather straps, wishing that she had the necessary tools to ensure that newly tied knots would not come undone as they traveled. With her elbow throbbing in protest, she began to tie the pieces together, as best she could.

She called Noeriel over and had her bite down on one end, so that the Slayer could pull on the other with her good arm, thus tightening the multiple knots she had tied. She tested the strength of the harness several times. She attached the tethers to Noeriel, hoping beyond anything, that they would endure long enough to make it back to Ossir.

“Do you think that you can handle hauling the both of us?” Buffy asked the lioness, less than certain about her own handy work.

“I think so.”

“Can you answer with a bit more conviction? You don’t sound so confident.”

“Yes, my Lady. I am sure that I can pull both you and Barathalion in the chariot,” answered Noeriel in her most dignified voice. “I am the noble daughter of Kit and Kat, and have the strength of ten of my kind.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s get a move on then.” She helped the lion onto the chariot, his massive body taking up nearly all the space within the vehicle. She then squeezed in between him and the wall of the chariot. Undoubtedly, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable trip home.

Noeriel started to run along the top of the hill. As soon as she left the hard surface, they dropped several feet, mid-air, causing Buffy to whimper in panic. However, with a grunt of effort, the lioness was able to correct the vehicle, and ascended into the air, and out of range of the weapons of the enemy.

The Slayer then lectured the beasts on the dangers of defying her commands, a tirade that would last long into the night. As she spoke, she made a sling from the remnants of her dirty shirt to help protect her elbow from hitting the walls of the chariot and the body of Barathalion.

Noeriel traveled the safest route possible, in order to avoid flying over Ered Gorgoroth, the Mountains of Terror, which would’ve been the quickest way to go. Instead, they journeyed through Western Beleriand, following nearly the same path that they had taken to Taur-nu-Fuin.

The trip was hard on the lioness. There was no possible way that she could make it to Lindon in one night. When they were above Taleth Dirnen, Buffy informed her kitties that they would stop and rest at Nargothrond. Already, her legs were numb from being crammed within the chariot, and the thought of moving freely about seemed heavenly to the Slayer.

When Noeriel landed on the terrace outside the Doors of Felagund, she collapsed onto the stone floor from utter exhaustion. As soon as Barathalion had freed himself from the chariot, he wobbled over to his sister and lay down beside her, grooming her affectionately.

Buffy stumbled out of the cart and sat on its edge, massaging her legs with her one good hand. Once the blood flow had returned to her stiff limbs, she grabbed a packet of lembas and nibbled on the elvish way bread as she walked to the river, looking at the broken pieces of the bridge in the stream below. The full moon bathed everything in its silver light. Turning, she looked upon the gates of Nargothrond, eager to enter its empty Halls.

Upon entering the tomb-like dwelling, she lit a torch to help guide her through the former home of Finrod. Numerous bats had taken up residence within the ominous vacant structure. They swooped down upon the Slayer, then fled into the night, as she made her way down the various passageways.

Buffy let out a long, shrill whistle of amazement when she saw the vast treasure of the Noldor scattered upon the floor throughout the Great Hall. She strolled through the trove, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The jewels wrought in Valinor bedazzled her eyes in the flickering firelight, awakening a desire to possess it all. There was no way she could leave all those fabulous valuables behind for the enemy to take. Surely, Finrod would prefer that she take it, rather than Morgoth.

Buffy then summoned her Valkyrie chieftains. She ordered them to take everything back to Sussrúmnir to preserve the memory of Finrod Felagund and the Noldor that had once dwelt in the fair Halls of Nargothrond…


Chapter 96 - DEAD THINGS

When the chariot made its descent in Lindon the following morning, many elves began to congregate along the clearing that Buffy always used as a runway of sorts. They were surprised to see that only the lioness was pulling the vehicle and feared that something terrible had happened to Barathalion. Their suspicions were confirmed when the chariot landed, and they saw that both their Mistress and the lion had been injured.

Dozens of anxious faces closed in around her, inquiring about what had happened. The Slayer was none too eager to discuss her misadventures, as she was more concerned with Barathalion’s well-being. She would feel much better after Nestor had given the lion a clean bill of health. She handed the possibly poisoned dart to Arachas, and asked that he escort her kitty to the Healing Chambers.

As one of the elves unharnessed Noeriel from the vehicle, Buffy instructed Nimrod and Gúrchim to gather the sword and staff of Húrin, the Dragon-helm of Hador, and the bow of Beleg Cúthalion. Their keen elvish eyes immediately recognized most of those objects, which led to even more questions, something for which she was not in the mood.

The Slayer was able to stall her inquirers by promising to share the tale later. At that point, she was most eager to bathe, eat a hot meal, and take a nice long nap in the comfort of her own bed. She wasn’t worried the slightest about her elbow, as her councilors were. She knew that her injury would most likely mend itself by the end of the day any way. Already, it was turning from black, blue and purple to yellow, which was a telling sign that the healing process had begun.

When Gúrchim pulled a dried piece of goblin guts from her hair, Buffy determined that a bath was called for, pronto. She would not return to her Halls first.

“You guys take that stuff to my rooms. And ask Meldis to bring me toiletries and clothing to the hot springs, please.” She sniffed her body. “Oh God, I stink! I smell like orch!” she added with a scowl, taking off down the path that would take her to the steamy pools.

Once she arrived at her favorite hot spring, she saw that many maidens were already bathing there. Seeing their injured Queen, the women were quick to offer their assistance. They helped her undress, wash, and then clothed her in the garments that Meldis had brought. That alone, made the Slayer feel a million times better.

By the time she made it to Lindon Hall, lunchtime was fast approaching. She decided to wait and eat with her Household. Outside the kitchen, Nestor ran into her and insisted that he take a look at her arm.

“How’s Barathalion?” she asked as the healer examined her elbow.

“He’s fine. Fortunately, the arrow was not poisoned.” Nestor squeezed on the joint, causing her to wince at the pain. “I take it that hurts.”

“Ya think?” she said with a grimace.

“At least it’s not broken. But I think you should keep it in a sling until it fully heals so you don’t risk injuring it further.”

“Fine, fine,” she answered, pulling free from his grasp. Her elbow hurt more now than it had before. “Just hurry up. It’s almost time for lunch and I’m famished.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. Come on.” Nestor led her to his Healing Chambers where he made a sling out of the same beautiful, blue material that matched the dress she was wearing.

Before he had finished tying the sling, the bells rang out throughout Lindon Hall, indicating that the midday meal was ready. They then left to join the rest of the Household, both eager to fill their bellies.

The Slayer couldn’t help but notice six empty seats at her table, as well as many more at the others. She felt her heart drop, beads of sweat formed on her face.

“Where’s Káno, and his brothers?” she asked, turning to Orchal, who sat nearest to her.

“They went to Amon Ereb to visit the twins,” answered the Green-elf, before shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Her face paled.

“Do not fret, Bella,” said the Elf Lord, watching, as the color drained from her face. “Olofin went with them.”

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. Yet, for a moment, she couldn’t help but think the worst.

As Orchal whispered that the sons of Fëanor had departed the same morning that she had left, his voice became drowned out by her own thoughts.

After witnessing the malice of Morgoth, she knew that it was only a matter of time before the Oath reared its ugly head, triggering the brothers to seek the Jewel that Thingol had in his keeping. That thought alone made her sick to her stomach.

Learning that Olofin had gone off with them offered her some comfort though. She knew that there was no way that the Noldor would do any evil in the presence of one so righteous. Moreover, there was no way on Eru’s green earth that they’d be able to persuade her son to attack anyone for a Silmaril, even if it happened to be wrought by the hands of his grandfather.

Buffy rose, and left the table, unable to eat a thing. She retreated to her private rooms. There, in her main sitting room, she saw the items that she had brought back from her travels laid out on one of the tables. She poured herself a glass of wine before settling onto one of the couches, thinking about all Melkor had said and all he had done in recent years.

It was true. He was successfully taking out all her allies - only Doriath and Gondolin still stood. While Melian had woven the Girdle around her lands, she was still only a Maia, Morgoth, a Vala. His powers were at least twice as great as hers, and he could take her out if he so chose. It was only a matter of time. And Turgon. Well, after seeing Húrin’s woeful life, she knew that the Adan had unknowingly shown the Dark Lord the general vicinity of the Noldo King’s Hidden Kingdom. It too would fall. She could feel it. And she was not the only one.

Ulmo, the Slayer’s greatest ally, saw it too. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he had sent a mortal messenger to Gondolin to persuade Turgon to take up arms against Morgoth: Tuor, son of Huor, brother of Húrin. But, Turgon was from the proud line of Finwë, and trusted that Gondolin would remain hidden from the eye of the enemy, and refused to heed the mortal’s counsel.

The wheel of fate was in motion. While Buffy believed that Dior was destined to be the savior of the peoples of Middle-earth, she was wrong. As decreed by Turgon, any that happened upon his Hidden Kingdom would have to reside there until the End. And there Tuor still dwelt. But what she didn’t know was that the Adan had fallen in love with Idril, Turgon’s daughter, and they had wed only a few months before. Come the following spring, she would give birth to a son, Eärendil, who indeed would be the true savior of all that resided in Beleriand, for he had the blood of both the Eldar and Man running through his veins.

The longer the Slayer sat there, the more somber her mood became. She could picture the End in her mind - the final battle between Morgoth and herself. Good versus evil, as it were, or was it? Had she become evil? Was sitting in Ossir avoiding the conflicts outside her lands evil? Was she indeed becoming more like Melkor Bauglir? Was her cursing of the Valar evidence of that?

Buffy felt more confused than ever. She came to hate those in the West for doing the same thing she was now doing - nothing.

It was not long afterwards when all the councilors of Ossir filed into her chambers, asking that she share the tale of her journey and how she came to possess the various war implements, especially Belthronding. Their Mistress then told them all that had happened whilst she was away, sparing no details.

Luthor was most troubled by what he called the ‘mind rape’ of Morgoth. Since losing her powers, Buffy never did any of the exercises to protect her mind from those that wished to invade her thoughts nor did she practice the art of telepathy, a gift given, not only to the Ainur, but also to the elder Children of Ilúvatar. At the Maia’s insistence, they resumed their mental workouts later that day, after she had a nap.

With Maglor gone, and as the days began to slowly pass by, the Slayer couldn’t help but think that the sons of Fëanor and their Noldo companions were plotting an attack against Thingol. Even though Olofin was with them, she knew in her heart that her son was not in their company twenty-four hours a day. As her paranoia grew, she sent out doves to Amon Ereb to keep an eye on the Noldor. Not only that, but she sent a messenger to Melian in Menegroth to warn the Queen of Doriath of her fears.

Less than forty-eight hours after her messenger was sent to Menegroth, one of Melian’s nightingales returned with the Maia’s reply.

“The Lady of Doriath sends her greetings to the Blue Lady of Ossiriand,” squeaked the bird, who had perched herself on Buffy’s finger. “She regrets how badly your last meeting with Elu Thingol went, and has not forgotten your ancient friendship or your kindness in harboring her beloved Lúthien. At this, my Lady is most humbly grateful.” The bird bowed low before continuing. “Alas, she knows that Doriath’s doom is fast approaching and has desperately tried to counsel her Lord into surrendering the Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor, yet the King has become overly proud and trusts in his own wisdom over the Queen’s. He covets that Jewel more than any other thing of beauty within his vast Halls. As of now, the Naugrim are in the deep smithies of Menegroth, busy in their labors of setting the Silmaril into the Nauglamír, which had come to Thingol from Húrin, lord of Dor-lómin.

“Fear not, Maranwë Luinil, for the Girdle of Enchantment is still in place. Should the sons of Fëanor come to Doriath seeking injury against the King, they will not be able to enter our lands unless aided by a greater power than Melian herself.

“The Queen appreciates your concern, but things are already set in motion that cannot be undone. Take heed, Queen of Ossir that ill tidings shall one day come to you, leaving you bereft of joy. Trust in Ulmo, for the Lord of Waters loves you greatly and will not let Melkor Bauglir assail your lands. Speak no more words of condemnation against your brethren in the West for they will come through in the end.

“Farewell and may the blessings of Eru Ilúvatar be with you.”

The Slayer dismissed the messenger, but Melian’s ominous words did little to make her feel better. At least, she didn’t have to worry about her friends in Doriath knowing that the Girdle was still in place, and the sons of Fëanor did not possess that magics to overthrow it.



Only a week later, the sons of Fëanor returned to Lindon. The cool demeanor of all the brothers, including her beloved, made Buffy feel uneasy. It wasn’t until that night, when she and Maglor had gone to bed that she learned why.

“My brothers and I are angered that you sent your doves to spy on us whilst we visited our kin in Amon Ereb,” the Noldo said heatedly from his seat on the bed. “Since when is it forbidden for the Noldor to travel outside of Ossir, or did you pass some new law in our absence decreeing so?”

“I did no such thing,” she answered, aghast by the suggestion.

“Yet you would see to it that we are kept under your ever-watchful eye, or lock us away in a cage like some untamed beast!”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” queried the Slayer, appalled that her husband was sounding more like Celegorm and Curufin than himself.

“You obviously don’t trust me, Bellaseth,” he retorted. “If you did, you wouldn’t have sent your spies to keep watch of me and my brothers.”

“The doves weren’t spying!” she said defensively.

“Then why did you send them?” he queried, narrowing his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, that you guys were still there.” The Slayer felt her cheeks flushing. She wasn’t telling a real lie, just distorting the truth a bit. “You didn’t leave me a note or anything. I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Oh, I see. Because you’re known for doing the same for me every time you run off,” he shot back.

“I was called away on an important errand… ”

“Ah, yes, slayer duty, I take it,” Maglor answered with a sneer. “I find it interesting that you couldn’t take a moment or two to inform me of your unexpected journey but you expect me to check in with you at every turn. It doesn’t work that way, Bella,” he continued with a shake of his head. “You can’t have it both ways.”

Her jaw dropped. She was stunned by the dramatic change in her husband’s behavior. “I wasn’t afforded the time! For Eru’s sake, I saved Húrin from plunging to his death in the nick of time… ”

“What do you mean you saved Húrin?” he inquired, softening his tone.

Buffy then relayed all that had transpired on her trip into Western Beleriand. His ire waned as she spoke of the horrors that Morgoth had inflicted on Túrin and Nienor. Once she had finished, his mood was rather somber, just like hers.

“Now maybe you have a better understanding as to why I’m so frightened. Not only for you, but our family,” she said with trepidation. “After seeing what Morgoth’s curse had done, I’m terrified… terrified of what the Doom of Mandos will do to… ” Her words faltered in her throat, as her eyes welled with tears. The aching in her heart was too great to complete that sentence.

Maglor sat there; shocked by all that she had told him. Even he had to agree that things looked bleak for him and his brothers. If Morgoth’s will was able to do all those horrific things to Húrin and his children, the Noldo dreaded the thought of what lay ahead for him and his kinfolk.

“I’m sorry I spoke so harshly to you,” the Noldo said softly. His grey eyes conveyed his regret. “I had no idea that Húrin was held captive in Angband, and that his children’s lives were filled with such woe.” He shook his head, dismayed by the fate of the mortal’s kin.

The Slayer took her husband’s hands in hers, stroking his smooth skin with her fingers. She looked at him with what remnant of hope she had left. “I swear, Káno, if I had my powers, I wouldn’t hesitate to march to Angband and fight Morgoth one-on-one for the Silmarils. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

She struggled to choke back her tears.

“But I can’t save you. You have to save yourself. Renounce your claim to the Silmarils!” she pleaded, looking desperately into her husband’s eyes. “That’s the only way. Think of our son, of us. We’ve sacrificed so much to be together, Káno. Please, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me, do it for me and Olofin.” Buffy broke down, crying.

Maglor pulled his wife into his arms, trying his best to comfort her.

She wailed in agony, clinging to the Noldo as though he was about to leave her forever.

He felt her anguish, and through her sobs, Buffy continued to beg him to relinquish his claim to the Silmarils.

“I love you, Káno. I love you so much. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever. Please! Please do this for me,” she wept.

Maglor was desperate to soothe his ailing wife. “Alright, Bellaseth,” he finally said. “I will relinquish my claim.”

Buffy pulled out of the embrace, tears streaming down her face. “Really?” she sniffled.

“Yes, really,” he answered half-heartedly. The Noldo gave her a weak smile.

“Thank you, Káno,” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “This means so much to me. I love you. And I do trust you.”

While the Slayer believed his words, Maglor did not really mean them. He was only pacifying her, saying what he had to in order to calm her down. How could he rescind the Oath he had sworn when he was already caught in the nets of Doom?

For the first time since meeting with Húrin, Buffy felt as though a great weight had lifted off her shoulders. Peace had returned to her Household… for a while.



In the spring of Yr 504, Thingol sat in the deep smithies of Menegroth, anxiously watching as the dwarves of Nogrod completed the finishing touches to the Nauglamír. For over a year, the Lord of Doriath had spent much of his time in that place, overseeing the merging of the two greatest artifacts ever wrought by Elf and Dwarf into a whole new magnificent creation. Thingol had always hated keeping the Jewel of Fëanor locked away in his vaults, and was quite eager to wear the newly crafted Nauglamír at all times.

The dwarves, at long last, had finished their masterpiece, and all in the room marveled at the beauty of that newly wrought creation. The Silmaril hung from the center of the bejeweled necklace. Its white, holy light shone brilliantly, illuminating the numerous gemstones of the Nauglamír so that its radiance was a rainbow of colors, each separate yet blended.

Thingol could no longer restrain his desire. He reached for the necklace, eager to clasp it about his neck, but the dwarf craftsman that clutched it in his hand refused to yield it to the King. For the dwarves lust for the Silmaril was great and they felt that something of such great splendor should remain with them always and forever.

“By what right does the Elven-King of Doriath have to claim the necklace made by our forefathers for Finrod Felagund,” declared the greedy dwarf chieftain. “It only came to you because the mortal Húrin stole it from the treasures of Nargothrond. Since Felagund is dead, this necklace shall return to the sons of those that wrought it!”

The scores of Naugrim gathered in the smithies grumbled in approval, their gruff voices angering Thingol.

Though the Lord of Doriath was proud, he was also wise, and saw that the dwarves were using the Nauglamír as the pretext for them to claim the Silmaril.

Thingol’s face contorted with his rage. “How dare you uncouth race ask anything from me, the Lord of Beleriand, who lived long before your stunted fathers awoke in their dark halls,” he said derisively. He stood proud and tall before them. “For years uncounted Elu Thingol has paid your people well for their labors. Your fathers and forefathers would be grieved to see that you’ve allowed your greed to overcome you… you wretched scoundrels!”

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of gold coins, and tossed them onto the worktable. He snatched the Nauglamír from the dwarf’s hand, adding, “Take your fee for your labors and leave my Halls at once! You are hereby banished from Doriath forever!”

The words of Thingol incensed the Naugrim, and the Doom of the Silmaril awakened once again. The dwarves suddenly attacked Thingol from all sides, killing him in the deeps of Menegroth.

The Naugrim then took the Silmaril and fled the Thousand Caves, running east through Region. But news of Thingol’s death quickly spread throughout the woods, and the elves of Doriath pursued to the death nearly every dwarf that had taken part in the killing of their Lord.

Only two dwarves had escaped. They fled back to their Halls telling their Lord that Thingol had refused to pay them for their labors and had ordered them killed. All the mighty Lords of Nogrod were wroth. They pulled at their beards, howling in agony at losing some of their beloved kin and greatest artificers. Once they had calmed down, they began to plot their revenge against the Grey-elves of Doriath…



The grief of those in Menegroth was great, but no one suffered more than Melian. She sat beside her husband, whose body lay upon a blue-draped marble slab in the Great Hall. Tears spilled from her red and puffy eyes as she clung to his left hand, recalling how they had fallen in love ages before in the woods of Nan Elmoth. So great was the Queen’s sorrow that she withdrew her powers, releasing the Girdle, so that all of Doriath now lay open to the enemy.

For days on end, she remained by Thingol’s vacant hröa, refusing to speak to any save Mablung. She waited impatiently for the elves to finish construction of the marble sarcophagus that would house, not only the King’s body, but hers as well. Melian’s time in Middle-earth was rapidly reaching its end. She knew that she would find no peace or joy in Menegroth without her beloved. Her pain was too great and she would only find healing in the gardens of Lórien in Valinor.

When all was ready, she told Mablung to send word to Beren and Lúthien as swiftly as he could. The Queen then laid herself beside her husband, clutching his hand in her own, and succumbed to her grief.

In tears, Mablung unclasped the Nauglamír from his Lord’s neck and locked it in the vaults as Melian had instructed. He then sent a messenger to Ossiriand, holding the scepter until the heir of Elu Thingol could claim what was rightfully his.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Nimros arrived in Lindon, meeting first with Buffy, in private. The elf told her what had happened in Menegroth, which brought the Slayer to tears. She couldn’t believe that the dwarves of Nogrod, her friends and allies, would do such a thing. Yet her shock quickly turned to anger. So infuriated was she by their actions that she immediately named them enemy and refused to have any more dealings with those from that city.

Buffy planned to accompany Nimros to Tol Galen, but before they left, she shared the news of Thingol and Melian’s demise with only a chosen few from her House. Under her direct command, no one was to let any of the Noldor know about what had taken place in Doriath, especially the sons of Fëanor.

Concealing her grief, she informed Maglor that she was going to visit Beren and Lúthien and would be back in a day or two. Since that was something she had done on a regular basis, the Noldo didn’t question her.

As the lion-drawn vehicle flew the Slayer and Nimros speedily toward Tol Galen, a great host from Nogrod was already nearing Doriath’s borders, prepared to assail Menegroth and seize all its treasures to compensate for the loss of their kindred. With the Girdle no longer in place, the dwarves entered that land unhindered. So fierce-looking were they and so great their numbers that the marchwardens fled before them in despair.

The Naugrim crossed the bridge, and with their sharp axes, hewed their way into Menegroth, killing all that stood in their way. Driven by their need for vengeance and their lust for the Silmaril, they fought a brutal battle with the Grey-elves, spilling the blood of many a noble elf in the vast passageways and halls.

Mablung and those of the King’s personal guard attempted to impede the dwarves from descending deeper into the Halls, but to no avail. The Chief Captain and Regent of Doriath called for his men to retreat to the lower levels. They took off running down the stairways and passageways, battling the Naugrim along the way. They made their last stand outside the doors to the treasuries, where the Silmaril was locked away.

The wrath of the dwarves was stirred to new heights, knowing that the prize beyond all prizes lay on the other side of the doors that their forefathers helped construct.

The elves fought valiantly, but they were greatly outnumbered. One by one they fell until only Mablung was left standing, a lone elf, defending the Jewel that had cost the lives of so many of his kin. The black stone floor was slick with the blood of elf and dwarf, and as Mablung swung his blade, taking out a foe, he slipped on the slick surface and lost his balance. One of the dwarves screamed in triumph, now having the perfect opportunity to take out the last of Thingol’s guards. His axe smote Mablung in the gut, cutting through his armor and flesh.

In the shadows of the passageway, no one noticed a cloaked figure hiding in an alcove, intently watching every move that Mablung had made.

The Chief Captain of Doriath’s green eyes widened. He let out a low groan, as his mouth fell open. The dwarf pulled out his weapon, gladdened by his deed. Mablung fell to the floor, clutching his stomach, his blood pooling beneath him.

The dwarves then broke through the doors, stealing everything of value. The Lord of Nogrod claimed the coveted Nauglamír as his own, clasping the bejeweled necklace around his neck…



While Buffy was in route to Tol Galen, a flock of nightingales from Doriath caught up with the chariot mid-air. They informed her of the dwarves’ attack on Menegroth and of the battle now taking place there. She was shocked to hear those grim tidings and it only added to her grief. But at the same time, it inflamed her wrath, and she wanted to make the dwarves of Nogrod pay dearly for their crimes.

Once the chariot had landed, the Green-elves immediately noticed that something was amiss by the look on their Mistress’ face. They could tell that she had been crying. The elves informed her that Beren and Lúthien were in the garden out back with their kin.

Buffy led Nimros through Lindecoa to the rear garden. There, Beren and Lúthien sat with Dior, his wife, Nimloth (whom he had married several years before), their twin grandsons, Eluréd and Elurín, and Elwing, their granddaughter.

One of the hardest things that the Slayer ever had to do was tell Lúthien about the death of her beloved parents and the dwarves attack on Menegroth. Great was her sorrow, and that of her family. It brought Buffy to tears yet again.

For a long while, they all sat there, grief-stricken.

Beren then rose to his feet and said, “We will not let the Naugrim get away with this. If we leave now we’ll be able to accost them and reclaim the Jewel that we suffered through many perils to gain.”

That’s all the Slayer needed to hear. She asked that Nimros remain on Tol Galen since she didn’t have enough room on the chariot to bring them all back to Lindon. She led Beren and Dior to the armories of Lindecoa and garbed them for battle. They then climbed aboard the chariot and made their way back to northern Ossir.

It was late at night when they finally landed. Buffy immediately sent out her falcons to scout out Eastern Beleriand to mark the dwarves’ location. Trying to be as discreet as possible, so that none of the Noldor would know what was going on; she gave the order for her armies to quietly prepare for battle.

Instead of meeting with her councilors in the city, they gathered at a small glade within the woods, devising their plan of attack. The chieftains sat in a circle upon the grass while others stood behind them, leaning over as they studied the map laid out before them by the light of a few lamps.

“The Naugrim are gonna take the Dwarf-road to their Halls,” the Slayer began, following that roadway on the map with her finger. “They have no other choice but to cross Sarn Athrad, and that’s where we’ll wait for them. We’ll position our forces throughout the woods along the eastern riverbank and south of the road, both on the ground and in the trees.” She glanced up at Beren. “I don’t want them to see us coming. We’ll ambush their asses! They won’t know what the hell hit ‘em until it’s too late. There’s no doubt in my mind that they won’t expect an attack from us. Right now, they think we’re their allies.” She shook her head in disgust. “Stupid bastards!”

“Sounds like an ideal plan to me,” he answered, ready for battle.

“I take it we’ll position the archers at the forefront,” remarked Dior, studying the map closely.

“Yep. I want all men armed with bows and swords or whatever weapon they prefer. But at the onset, we’ll use bows to take out as many as we can before we get into hand-to-hand combat, which will happen,” she replied to the mortal. “Battles are not won by stealth alone. It’s a great way to start, but we’re gonna end up fighting face to face.”

At twenty-nine, this would be Dior’s first battle, and Buffy was glad to be a part of it.

Now, it so happened that in the darkness of the woods that surrounded that dell, many Enyd happened to be there, listening to the Green-elves strategizing. Fangorn himself came forth asking what would prompt the elves to fight the dwarves.

Buffy then told the Onod of the murder of Thingol in Menegroth, the death of Melian, and the battle that the Naugrim were waging against the Grey-elves that dwelt there.

Fangorn was dismayed to learn of the King and Queen’s death as he thought highly of the both of them and had always enjoyed walking through the fair woods of Doriath in times past. His loathing for the Naugrim increased. He had always hated how they had butchered the forests east of Ered Luin, giving no thought to replanting.

He then summoned his fellow Enyd from the forest. It was the quickest council that the Onodrim ever had, for they were notorious for debating matters of great concern for months or years on end. Yet, this one time, all thirty-seven Enyd that happened to be in the immediate vicinity, came to an agreement within the span of fifteen minutes. If the Green-elves planned to make war with the dwarves for the slaying of the Thingol and his folk, then the Onodrim would aid them.

The Slayer was floored by the hasty decision of Fangorn and his kin. She readily accepted their assistance. She decided to position the Enyd at the feet of Ered Luin, along either side of the Dwarf-road so that the Onodrim could take out any fleeing dwarves that happened to make it past the elves. Fangorn agreed and immediately set out with the Enyd in his company. He would end up summoning more of his kin along the way so that there would be over one hundred of them waiting at the base of the Blue Mountains.

When night settled upon Lindon, and most had gone to bed, companies of Green-elves secretly departed the city, making their way to their appointed positions.

The first of the falcon scouts returned after Buffy’s quick trip to Folkvang, alerting her and the Captains that the dwarves were approaching Estolad, due south of Nan Elmoth. The Slayer then sent the birds back out. She ordered them to keep watch, and notify her if any broke off from the main host.

As the darkness of morning wore on, Buffy found herself becoming increasingly restless. No matter what she did to distract herself, the feeling would not subside. She felt an inexplicable need to go to Menegroth as quickly as she could. Confident that Beren and her armies could handle the dwarves, she took off in her chariot shortly before dawn.

The Slayer was still flying across the plains of Eastern Beleriand, as the Naugrim approached the bridge that crossed the Gelion. Their host was less than when they had departed their Halls, and all walked hunched, carrying huge, heavy sacks laden with the spoils of their victory.

The elves remained still, concealed within the wood, watching as the dwarves made their way across Sarn Athrad. They waited for Beren to give the signal, which the mortal gave once half the Naugrim had reached the other side of the Gelion.

Arrows came whizzing out of the trees, many striking the most vulnerable parts of their targets. The dwarves wailed in their surprise, and were forced to drop their burdens to reach for their axes. The elven-trumpets rang out, as even more shafts zoomed from the wood.

In their confusion, the dwarf host began to scatter.

The Naugrim were deeply dismayed when they suddenly heard the cry of “For Elu Thingol” from their attackers. Beren and Dior led the charge along with Ossir’s Captains. They sprang from the forest, assailing the enemy with swords, axes and spears.

Most of the Naugrim stood their ground, willing to fight to keep their plunder, but others fled up the road to the waiting Enyd. Not one dwarf would return to their fair Halls within the mountains.

A fierce battle was fought, and Beren himself dueled with the Lord of Nogrod. Having marched throughout the night, the Dwarf Lord was tired, and the mortal was able to sweep him off his feet. He fell to the ground, landing on his face. When he rolled over, the Adan thrust his blade into his chest. Blood spurt from the wound, spraying the Nauglamír with the crimson life force of the dwarf. Knowing that his death was eminent, and with his dying breath, the Dwarf Lord uttered a curse of damnation on any that claimed the treasure of Doriath as his own.

Beren let his weapon fall to the ground. He unclasped the Nauglamír that hung from the dwarf’s neck and held it before his eyes. Blood dripped from the gold chain, numerous gemstones and the Silmaril, which still shone brightly despite being covered in scarlet. The son of Barahir was amazed by the beauty of the necklace. Yet, seeing the Silmaril again after so many years brought to mind all the torments he and his beloved had gone through to obtain the Jewel of Fëanor.

He looked around, noticing that the battle had reached its end. Beren climbed down the slope to the river and washed the blood from the necklace. He intended to give it to Lúthien once he returned home.

None kept the treasures of Doriath, fearing the curse of the Lord of Nogrod. All the many beautiful things that Thingol had had made and collected over the years were tossed into the River Ascar. The dwarves had taken everything from gold goblets and sconces to a vast variety of jewelry and anything else of value that was kept in the treasuries or housed within the Thousand Caves. Beneath the sunlight, the riverbed glowed in golden-red, thus the Green-elves renamed that stream, Rathlóriel, “the Golden-bed”.



Buffy’s heart beat wildly within her chest as she came upon the carnage outside the gates to Menegroth. The elves were busily removing the dead from within the Halls: the elves, in preparation for burial, the dwarves, for burning. The lions zipped through the opened doors and down the numerous passageways, knowing exactly which way to go even though they had never entered the Halls of Thingol before. So many lay dead in pools of blood, both elf and dwarf. The Naugrim had shown no mercy, even killing women and children. It was tragic, and painful for her to see.

When they reached the passageway leading to the treasuries, the Slayer cried out in anguish as she noticed Mablung lying amongst the dead. The lions landed in the only spot they could - on top of dead dwarves. Buffy leapt off the chariot, slipping and sliding along the stone floor, slick with the blood from many. She carefully stepped over the bodies of those that she considered friends, tears streaming down her face at the loss of so many.

She fell to her knees when she reached her ex-lover’s side. Buffy pulled the blood-soaked elf into her arms, bawling uncontrollably. She lovingly stroked his long blood-spattered silver hair with a trembling hand, her face pressed against his cold skin. Her sobbing echoed throughout the deeps of Menegroth, causing a few Grey-elves to investigate.

None dared intrude on the Slayer. They remembered all too well the history between her and the former Chief Captain of Doriath. They slipped back into the shadows, allowing her some privacy.

Buffy sat there, in a pool of blood, crying until she literally had no more tears to shed. She leaned against the stone wall, still clinging to her former lover, musing over how different things would have been if she had never left Mablung. Despite the many years since they had been together, he still had a place in her heart. She still loved him, and always would. She treasured their time together, even if it seemed like another life time ago.

“He never stopped loving you,” a voice rang out from down the corridor.

The Slayer lifted her head, turning toward the sound. Standing between the lions, stood a mournful Celeborn. He was still dressed in his battle regalia, his deep grey eyes filled with great sorrow.

“Celeborn,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “We found out too late. I would’ve come sooner had I known.” She leaned her head against that of her dead lover’s, no longer looking at the Elf Lord. She could hear him coming closer, his footfalls splashing in the puddles of blood. When he came to a stop beside her, she softly asked, “Is it wrong for me to wonder if I made the wrong choice, if I married the wrong man?”

He squatted next to her. “No,” he answered solemnly. “I deem that grief makes us question the choices we’ve made. Death shows us truly how short life can be, even if one is immortal.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead, that they’re all dead.”

“Galadhon is dead,” revealed Celeborn, his voice breaking as he spoke. “So are Elmo and Galathil.”

The dwarves had killed all of his family that had dwelt in Menegroth. His only surviving kin in Middle-earth was Nimloth, and her children.

Buffy turned her bleary eyes to the Elf Lord. A single tear escaped from his eye, splattering into the pool of blood on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a blood-covered hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry… I know it’s no consolation, but my people, my people will slay them all. They were already positioned for battle when I left. Even the Enyd said they’d help. None of those dwarves will ever return to their Halls again.”

“They deserve a fate worse than death!” he said bitterly. Celeborn rubbed his eyes before sadly adding, “All this needless death over the Silmaril. I wish the Jewel of Fëanor had never come to Thingol. It is a cursed thing.”

“Tell me about it,” Buffy replied, placing her head against Mablung’s again. “I hate to say it, but my heart tells me that as long as the Silmaril is floating around Middle-earth, there will be more needless deaths.”

“Where is it now, the Jewel?”

“I don’t know,” she answered dismally. “My guess is that Beren will get it back.”

“And what of the sons of Fëanor and their Oath? I hear that they now dwell with you in Ossiriand,” Celeborn said, voicing his concern.

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. “I told the brothers that I’d kill them personally if they laid a finger on Beren and Lúthien.” The Slayer locked her eyes on the elf. “Even my husband.”

They fell quiet for a few moments.

“Maybe you did choose wrongly,” said Celegorm, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” answered Buffy, her mind spinning with so many thoughts.

“I’m speaking of your choice of husband.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied somberly.

“Let me help you, Bellaseth,” offered Celegorm, reaching for Mablung. “We’ll bury Mablung together.”

The Slayer tightened her hold on the dead elf. “No!” she said, shaking her head defiantly. “I want to do it myself.” She looked into the vacant green eyes of her dead ex-lover. “I owe him that.”

“Alright,” nodded Celeborn. “I’m sure that Mablung would’ve wanted that.”

All Buffy asked for was a shovel and a blanket, a green blanket to match Mablung’s eyes. She was given what she asked before she left Menegroth, and flew to the Forest of Region with the dead elf in her arms. She had the lions land behind the mansion that the dwarves of Belegost had built for her and Mablung long ago.

Nimloth had told her that her ex-lover had refused to live there after they had broken up and gave the house to Thingol and Melian, who used it as a retreat. She felt it appropriate that he was buried there, in a place that held many happy memories.

She wrapped Mablung in the blanket and laid his body beneath an elm tree. She began digging the hole, unaided by the lions. Buffy wanted to do it herself. The sun was sinking in the west when she finally completed her task. She broke off a slab of stone from the back patio to use as a marker for the former Chief Captain of Doriath. She engraved his name on it with a dagger from her belt before setting the stone upright at the head of the grave.

The exhausted Slayer than climbed onto her chariot and the lions took off for Ossir. She would never set foot in Doriath again.



Darkness settled about the Forest of Region and all lay quiet. From the dense forest, a lone, cloaked figure emerged, and slowly walked to the freshly dug grave. They stopped at the foot of the mound, their head bowed in silence. They stood there, unmoving, for a long while, waiting, waiting for something.

The earth began to stir, as a hand emerged, then an arm, the torn green cloth dangling from the appendage. The figure remained still, watching as Mablung pried himself from the grave. Dazed and confused, he looked up at the figure that stood over him.

“Mablung,” said the cloaked figure with a feminine voice. Slowly, she pulled the hood back, revealing long golden hair that framed her pale face.

Mablung rubbed the dirt from his eyes, thinking the woman was an illusion.

“Randiel?” he finally said, his face a mask of disbelief.

“I’ve come, my love,” said the vampire-maiden, offering the Elf Lord her hand. He took it and she pulled him to his feet. She touched his face with her hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying, my Lord, so I came back, I came back and gave you a second chance at life.”

Mablung was still shocked, and confused. “What… what am I?” he asked, pulling up his shirt only to see that his deadly wound had healed.

“You are a creature of the night, like me,” answered Randiel with a smile. “Our time has come at long last, my beloved.”

Mablung felt dizzy. He grabbed onto the woman to steady himself. “You mean I’m a vampire.”

“Indeed, my love.” She helped hold him upright. “You’re weak, and must feed. I will show you a whole new world, my beloved, a world that we shall soon rule.”

Randiel linked her arm with Mablung, leading him into the wood where she held an elf captive for her beloved to feed upon. After he had drained Nellas, the Elf-maiden, Randiel took him by the hand and led him east, beyond the Blue Mountains…


Chapter 97 - SELFLESS

Buffy was mistaken to think that she could keep the death of Thingol and the war with the dwarves from the Noldor. Word of the battle had spread through the woods of Ossiriand like wildlife, reaching the ears of the sons of Fëanor before the conflict had even ended. She learned of this as soon as the chariot touched down, filling her heart with dread. She believed that there would be a wrathful confrontation with the brothers. The opportunity to seize the Silmaril had presented itself, and the Slayer had given no thought of taking it from the Naugrim or Beren.

With her heart heavy with grief, and questioning her life’s decisions, she wearily made her way to Lindon Hall accompanied by Orchal, Thranduil and Olofin. She shared the horrors of the sacking of Menegroth with them, telling of the deaths of nearly all of Thingol’s kin. Orchal sobbed upon hearing that, having been on friendly terms with those elves for ages.

Much to her surprise, the sons of Fëanor and those from their respective Households were supportive, offering their condolences as soon as she entered her Halls. Though her last meeting with Thingol was virulent, that, in no way, changed her feelings for the late Lord of Beleriand or those that she had come to love during her stay in Doriath long ago. And, it seemed that the Noldor understood that, particularly, the brothers. Their kind and loving words alleviated not only her fears but also her doubt. She no longer questioned her choice of husband, and felt foolish for having done so.

The following morning, after a good night’s sleep, Buffy was ready to get down to business. She sent both Olofin and Orchal to Nogrod, to inform the dwarves that, at her command, the Green-elves had retaliated against their kin for the attack on Menegroth, and that all were killed in battle and their loot disposed of. She vowed to take down Ered Luin and destroy their fair Halls if any dare enter Beleriand again. Ossiriand would no longer provide any foodstuffs or barter with the dwarves of that realm. Her venomous message was not lost on the new Lord of those people, who showed no remorse for the actions of his kinfolk.

A few days later, she made the trip to Tol Galen to meet with Beren and Lúthien. She felt that both Lúthien and Nimloth especially, needed to hear what had happened in Doriath. When she met with them, she was baffled to see the powers of the Silmaril already at work. The Nauglamír, which graced Lúthien’s neck, enhanced the beauty of that isle. The colors of the vegetation, the flowers and trees, intensified, bringing about a magnificence that nearly matched that of Folkvang. She was amazed by the magics contained within the Jewel, for it had not produced the same results in the bowels of Hell, Angband.

It was during that visit that Dior mentioned that he was considering his move to Menegroth with his family. He was Thingol’s heir and felt that he should pick up the scepter of his grandsire and rule the remnant of the Grey-elves that remained there, leaderless. But, as for now, he wished to remain in Ossir with his family, as the Blessed Light of the Silmaril seemed to help lessen the aching in their hearts.

Come the following year, 505, Dior would succeed to the throne, becoming Lord of Doriath.

In the meantime, Buffy’s family helped her through her grief, doing all they could to cheer her up. She was so grateful for the brothers’ compassion in her time of distress that she would no longer send her ‘spies’ to follow them on their journeys outside of Ossiriand. None of the Noldor spoke of the Silmaril, at least, not in her presence, or that of her people. Her trust and faith in them had been renewed, bringing hope that brighter days lie ahead.

Before the year was out, she received a most unexpected visitor - Melchizedek. He was one of Buffy’s Maiar who had taken on the form of Túreb after that elf had died by the death beam of Humbaba. They met in private with only a handful of Buffy’s councilors.

“With the deaths of Thingol and Melian, what would you have us do? Should I have my men come here to Ossir, return to Folkvang, or do you have some other errand for us?” asked the Maia.

Ever since the deaths of Thingol and Melian, her thoughts often turned to times past, especially her early days in Doriath. Seeing that flaming red hair reminded her of how much she missed her beloved friend, the former marchwarden of Western Doriath.

“Dior will soon leave for Doriath,” she answered slowly. “It would make me feel better if you and your men remained there still, now that the Girdle is gone.”

“Of course,” Melchizedek responded with a nod. “I deem we are needed there more than ever.”

“How are things in your parts?” queried Gúrchim with concern. “Is the enemy moving as freely as we’ve heard?”

“Unfortunately,” replied the grim-faced Maia. “But none have entered Doriath as of yet. The yrch tend to avoid our territory for so few who approach ever make it back to their Master.”

“How’s Sador?” inquired the Slayer, abruptly changing the subject.

“He is well,” answered Melchizedek. “He has become quite proficient with all weapons and can hardly be restrained when the enemy nears our borders.” The Maia smiled. “He sends his greetings and well-wishes, by the way.”

“Tell him the same for me,” she replied, thinking fondly of the elf. “I miss him.”

“I will relay your message. Is there anything else you ask of me?” The Maia was ready to return to his duties in Doriath.

Buffy thought for a moment. “Not that I can think of. Keep me apprised of the goings-on in your region. If Morgoth’s gonna send any armies my way, I wanna know about it beforehand.”

“As you wish,” Melchizedek nodded. He then took his leave, returning to his station in Doriath.



Time seemed to roll by rather swiftly but uneventfully. The Slayer took great pleasure in her home life, which seemed to get better with every passing day. Over the next few years, more and more elves and mortals found their way to her lands, seeking sanctuary within the safety of the Land of Seven Rivers. Once they had passed Olofin’s ‘test’, they were permitted to call Ossir home, under the condition that they contribute their talents, whatever they may be, to society as a whole.

Yes, things looked brighter for the Vala Queen. She had found herself experiencing such peace and joy that she came to believe that nothing could disrupt her happy life. She had no idea that one of her greatest trials was about to present itself, and that her choices would affect all of Middle-earth.

In the autumn of Yr 509, Buffy was sleeping soundly beside Maglor when she felt someone gently shaking her.

“Huh?” she mumbled, half-asleep.

A hand covered her mouth. She let out a muffled cry, reaching for the intruder.

“Shh,” sounded Orchal softly in her ear, slowly removing his hand.

Maglor stirred in his sleep, smacking his lips. He rolled from his side onto his back, but remained sleeping.

Buffy tried to compose herself. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest by being awaken so. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of the room, although narrowed in annoyance. She fixed her gaze on the shadowy form of the Elf Lord.

The Green-elf pressed his finger to his lips, motioning soundlessly for her to come with him.

The Slayer carefully climbed out of bed, not too happy that Orchal was the one to enter her bedchamber. While she had no qualms about his doing so when Maglor was away, it was understood that only Olofin and Thranduil were permitted to enter when he was home. For some reason, her husband did not like the idea of her dear friend entering their inner sanctum, especially in the middle of the night.

As she slid her feet into her slippers, Orchal wrapped her robe over her shoulders. He then took her hand and led her out of the room, using care not to wake the sleeping Noldo. When they reached the dimly lit, adjoining sitting room, she couldn’t help but notice the paleness of the elf’s face, and the redness of his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, struggling to slide her arms into the sleeves of her robe.

“Not now,” he replied, helping her put on her dressing gown.

All was relatively quiet, except for the floorboards that happened to creak in certain spots, as they made their way down the corridor. They went down the stairway and down another corridor, until they reached her favorite interior chamber of Lindon Hall, her study.

“What’s going on?” She watched as a frazzled Orchal dashed to each window, closing the drapes even though it was still dark outside. Her concern grew as he grabbed a quilt that hung over the back of one of the couches, rolled it up, and pushed it against the crack at the bottom of the doors leading to the hallway.

“Sit, Bella,” he instructed, briskly walking behind her desk.

She did as he had asked, growing anxious by the gravity of his tone.

With her back facing the elf, she heard one of the drawers open, then close. Orchal then took a seat beside her, clutching a small blue sack in his hand. He reached into the bag and pulled out a wooden coffer, and placed it in her hands.

“What’s this?” she queried, unnerved by the elf’s caginess.

“Open it,” he said, shifting his gaze from her to the box.

“You’re scaring me, Orchal,” said Buffy, nervously eyeing the small chest. “Don’t tell me there’s something horrific in here!”

“Just open it!” he said, chewing on his bottom lip like Luthor always did when worried or nervous.

She placed the wooden coffer on her lap and slowly lifted the lid. Immediately, a rainbow of bedazzling light flooded the otherwise dimly lit chamber. She gasped in surprise, her heart racing. She could actually feel the blood pumping through her veins as she beheld the beauty of the Jewel of Fëanor set within the Nauglamír.

“He’s dead then,” she said solemnly, her eyes fixed on the Silmaril.

“Yes,” Orchal sniffled. “Beren passed away late last night. I was told that he couldn’t bear living without his beloved Lúthien.” His wife had died a couple of weeks earlier.

“Who knows about this?” she asked, turning her fretful eyes to her silver-haired friend. Her stomach was twisting into knots in fear that the news of his passing had already spread through Ossir.

“Only those that dwell on Tol Galen, and me… and, well, now you.” The Green-elf locked his eyes on the Slayer. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. She shifted her eyes back to the magnificent necklace. “I need some wine. Yes wine,” she continued, never expecting to have been wakened at that hour with such a frightful dilemma. “My body’s trembling all over, and it’s not from any draft either.”

Orchal immediately leapt to his feet, and over to the sideboard. He grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses before returning to his seat. He popped the cork and then poured the crimson fluid into their cups, his own hand shaking as much as hers.

“Here you go, Bella,” the elf said, handing her a glass.

She swigged it down in a couple of gulps before motioning for him to refill it.

“Oh, God, Orchal,” Buffy moaned with uncertainty, hating the position that she now found herself in. “I can’t believe this has come to me.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” answered the Green-elf. “You are the Queen of these lands, and it is for you to decide the Nauglamír’s fate.”

“Thanks, thanks a lot,” she replied sardonically.

“Should I have taken it upon myself to decide?” asked Orchal, his brows raised in question.

The Slayer fixed her gaze on the Green-elf. “And what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Probably the same thing that you’re doing now: drinking, and pondering what the best course of action would be. I understand how difficult this must be for you. You hold in your hands what so many have died for - both Elven-kind and Mankind.”

They both turned their eyes back to the bejeweled necklace.

“It does amaze me that this, this so-called Blessed Jewel, has brought about so much death,” she said, agreeing with her dear friend’s assessment. “I think Finrod was right: it’s cursed, just like its maker.”

“I don’t believe that,” replied Orchal with a shake of his head. “I think it’s the evil that one’s willing to do in order to claim it that stirs any curse that may lie upon the Silmaril. Lúthien was unaffected by the malice that it had roused in those before her. In fact, the radiance of her beauty was enhanced by the Jewel of Fëanor.”

“And you don’t think the Silmaril hastened her death?” asked Buffy, looking at the Green-elf. “Forty-three years is not much time, even for a mortal. The Silmaril was made in immortal lands, by immortal hands, and I think that it belongs to an immortal race.” She looked back at the necklace. “Yes,” she continued softly, nodding her head. “I think it lessened her life span… Unless…” she paused, not completing her thought aloud.

“What?” queried Orchal, somewhat anxiously. “Unless what?”

She narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Unless the Valar decreed that she not be granted a long life.” She let out a snort of disgust. “I wouldn’t run that past them. They’re not as holy as the Eldar make them out to be. I think they’re cruel and devious, the whole lot of them.”

“Perhaps,” sighed the Green-elf, “although I do not believe that Ulmo is in league with them. He’s helped us whereas the others have not.”

“I guess,” she shrugged before taking a drink of wine.

“Maybe… if you put the necklace on… it would enlighten you to the choice that should be made,” Orchal suggested hesitantly.

Morgoth’s image immediately flashed in her mind. His once fair-skinned hands blackened by the mere touch of the Silmarils. Buffy recalled only too clearly the pain that he suffered by doing so.

“Are you crazy?” she shot back, her eyes wide with shock. “Uh-uh! No way! Not gonna happen!”

“Why?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Why? You have to ask me why?” she said in shocked disbelief.

“Do you really fear that your hand will turn black if you touch the Jewel?” inquired the Green-elf, rather incredulously.

Buffy paused for a moment. She then shoved the box in front of Orchal. “You touch it.”

“No, thank you,” he answered firmly, pushing the coffer away.

“Why not?” she asked, amused by his reaction.

He didn’t have to answer. They both feared the same thing, that as the result of their past deeds, their hands would turn black if they touched the Jewel that had been hallowed by Varda after its making. They chuckled uneasily, despite the severity of the situation.

“There’s more in the bag,” said Orchal, eager to turn their attention away from the Nauglamír for a few minutes.

“Oh,” she answered, snapping the lid closed. The Slayer was most grateful that she didn’t have to make an immediate decision regarding the Silmaril.

The Green-elf reached into the sack and pulled out the Cross of Brolach. “We’ve got this,” he said, handing it to her, “and this.” He then pulled out the ring of Felagund, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let me see that.” Buffy traded with him, giving him the Cross and taking the ring. She examined it closely, more closely than she ever had before. The silver band was embossed with two serpents with emerald eyes, one devouring the other, and supporting a crown of golden flowers.

Her thoughts instantly turned to Finrod. Oh, how she missed the Noldo Lord! She fingered his ring, hoping that the wisdom of its creator would pass onto her, making her decision easier. It didn’t.

She sunk back into the cushion of the couch, groaning at her indecisiveness.

“I know this is most difficult.”

“You have no idea.” She leaned her head on the elf’s shoulder, still nervously fiddling with the ring.

Orchal wrapped an arm around her, resting his chin on her head. They sat there in silence for a long while, the only sound: the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall.

The Elf Lord finally spoke. “Should we inform the other councilors and… ”

“Oh God, no!” she said with a jerk, her head colliding with his jaw, causing the poor elf to bite his tongue.

He winced.

“Sorry,” Buffy apologized, the top of her head stinging from the impact with the elf’s chin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” answered Orchal, still grimacing from the pain.

The Slayer rose to her feet, one hand still clutching the ring, the other rubbing the top of her head. She let out a mournful whimper, and began to pace the floor. She hated the fact that she had to decide the fate of the Nauglamír.

The Elf Lord watched his stressed-out Queen with grief-stricken eyes. He hated to be the one responsible for putting her in this position. But, what else was he supposed to do? Was he to send the Silmaril to Dior since he was the true heir of Beren or Lúthien, or did their claim become forfeit upon their deaths? If that was the case, then perhaps, the Jewel should be returned to the sons of Fëanor. It was stolen from them after all.

Orchal knew Buffy well enough to know that she was thinking the same thing as he, only the situation was worse for her. She was married to a son of Fëanor, and Melian was part of her House in the times preceding Eä. Not to mention the fact that she was responsible for bringing the Edain to Beleriand, and there was an unspoken loyalty that bound her with those people. The outcome of her decision would not bode well for one of the parties, and the Green-elf could honestly admit that he had no idea what she’d decide. It was the most peculiar predicament she could find herself in - choosing between two branches of her family.

“You’re making me dizzy!” he finally said, rubbing his eyes. “Why don’t you come and sit with me?”

“I can’t,” she replied, casting a quick glance at him. Buffy was doing her best to conceal her bleary eyes from her friend. The enormity of the situation was too much. She’d rather deal with warfare or internal intrigues than this. That was something she could easily handle, but this, was nothing of the sort.

Before she knew it, Orchal stood before her. “Stop!” He placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging her tense muscles. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, no longer able to restrain her tears.

The Elf Lord embraced her, stroking her back sympathetically. “Shh, it’s alright. We’ll figure this out together. I’m here for you. I won’t let you face this alone.”

Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around Orchal and wept. The ring of Felagund fell from her hand. It hit the floor with a ping, rolled across the wooden floor, and stopped when it reached the edge of the rug.

The Green-elf held her until she was able to pull herself together. The continuous ticking of the clock indicated that they were wasting precious time. It would not be long now before those in Lindon Hall awoke. After she picked up the ring, they both sat back down, debating the matter once more.

“Why don’t we take a ship to Belegaer and throw the damn thing in the sea?” said Orchal in his frustration. “That way no one will have it, and I won’t have to watch you suffer over this any more.”

Buffy sat there, with her legs pulled to her chest, rocking back and forth. “I don’t think so,” she sighed, staring at the opened coffer and the Nauglamír yet again.

“What does your heart tell you to do?”

“My heart,” she started, “my heart says to give the Nauglamír to Káno.” She chuckled half-heartedly at the thought. “Can you imagine how pleased he and his brothers would be? The only Vala Queen that didn’t curse them ends up delivering a Silmaril to them. I’d be their hero. Even the C-brothers would worship the ground I walk on.”

“Then do that!” said the Green-elf with an air of finality in his voice.

The smile quickly faded from Buffy’s face. That was merely a fleeting notion.

“But, my mind says give it to Dior. I don’t know much about wisdom - that doesn’t appear to be my greatest trait, but that’s what my conscience says to do. It says that’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re a walking contradiction, aren’t you?” chuckled Orchal, shaking his head at her indecisiveness.

“Yeah, I suppose,” she chortled half-heartedly. “I wish this was simply a matter of doing the right thing. I can see things from both perspectives, you know, from my husband and his brother’s point and that of Dior.” She glanced at the elf. “It sucks that the Silmarils were stolen from Fëanor. But, I just can’t help but think that this one, the one right there,” she pointed to the box, “has to go to Dior. As much as I hate to say it, this Silmaril along with the Nauglamír is rightfully his. His parents fought for the Jewel, they pried it from Morgoth’s crown, so it should pass on to their heir.”

“Is that your decision?” Orchal asked, doubtful whether or not she had actually reached a conclusion.

Buffy nodded. “Yeah.” Her face contorted in doubt. “Do you think it’s the right one?”

“Yes,” he replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

“No one can ever know that I was behind this, Orchal. Promise me, promise me you’ll never tell anyone. Not Nestor, not Thranduil, not Olofin. And especially not Káno! He’d leave me for sure if he found out.”

“I promise, Bella. I’ll never tell a soul. It will be our secret.”

She snapped the lid of the box closed. “Take this to Dior.” Buffy handed him the wooden coffer. “But, I’m gonna hold on to these,” she added, placing the Cross of Brolach and ring of Felagund into the blue sack. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t part with these right now.”

“You do what you need to,” replied Orchal.

“Take my chariot. I don’t want anyone to go with you and I can’t risk your traveling alone. The world’s a perilous place now.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll see you when I return.”

They rose to their feet.

“Thanks, Orchal. This really means a lot to me.”

“What are friends for?”

Orchal then left the room, as she put the bag back in her desk drawer. Buffy felt a bit of regret over her decision, but knew, in the end, she had made the right choice. Only time would prove whether or not her judgment was folly.


Chapter 98 - AWAKENING

Upon Orchal’s return, he and Buffy sat together in private, debating what their next move should be. There was no way that they could keep Beren’s death secret forever. Inevitably, word would spread of his demise, reaching the Noldor in northern Ossiriand. Their dilemma was what they should say about the Silmaril. She could only hope that Dior would keep it under heavy guard in Menegroth or, better yet, lock it away in the vaults so that the sons of Fëanor would not learn that it was now in his possession.

After many hours, they decided to go with the story that the Jewel of Fëanor had been buried in the tomb that housed the remains of Beren and Lúthien. As per the son of Barahir’s request, the grave was unmarked and its location known by only two Green-elves who, after the burial, departed Ossir, thus taking the exact location of the tomb with them.

“Do you think they’ll buy that?” asked the Slayer, looking skeptically at Orchal.

“We’ve been here for hours, Bella,” the silver-haired elf said with a weary sigh. “I can think of no better story, unless we say it was thrown into the sea.”

Buffy nervously twirled her hair with her finger, unsure of which story would sound more plausible to the Noldor, especially the sons of Fëanor. Her main objective was to keep them away from Dior. She didn’t want any more to die because of the unnatural lust that that Jewel seemed to arouse in people or because of the Oath.

“Do you think the sea story’s better?” she queried, fixing her doubt-filled eyes on her friend.

“I think either one will work,” he slowly replied. “But, if you’re right in your belief that the brothers will search southern Ossiriand for their buried treasure, that will keep them preoccupied for some time. But then again, the Noldor cannot search the deeps of the sea, so perhaps that’s the better story.”

“My only concern,” started the Slayer, “is that that will lead them to wander outside our lands. That need to travel and explore is an inherent trait in the Noldor. If we can keep them here, even for a few years, we might be able to come up with something better.” She groaned in frustration, hating the thought that she and Orchal were sitting there trying to come up with a believable lie. Unfortunately, she felt that they had no other choice.

In the end, they went with the burial story.

A couple of weeks later, she made the announcement of Beren’s death to those in Lindon. While she did not volunteer the information about the Silmaril, it was the first thing that Curufin had asked when he learned of the Adan’s death. She then told him and the others that Beren’s last request was that the Jewel of Fëanor be buried in the tomb with him and his wife.

The Noldor seemed to believe her story, although there were a few amongst them that doubted her words.

In an attempt to keep the Noldor away from the northern borders of Ossir, she then announced that she wished to return to Tol Galen with her family and Household. She expected her husband’s kinfolk to come as well.

With winter fast approaching, she had her people ready Lindecoa in anticipation of their arrival. She wanted to show the sons of Fëanor the same courtesy that she had shown the doomed lovers. She instructed the Green-elves to remove all the personal belongings of Beren and Lúthien from her Halls, and place them in storage. They were then told to bring back everything that the brothers had given Buffy over the centuries, putting these items back in their exact locations as they had been prior to the arrival of the reborn mortals.

As Yr 509 drew to an end, Buffy, her family including both her Household and that of Maglor and his kin set sail in many ships from Lindon for Tol Galen. There was an air of excitement about the trip for various reasons to various people. The Noldor were eager to begin their search while the Slayer was ecstatic about the return to her glorious Halls on the small isle. She had missed the creature comforts of Lindecoa that Lindon Hall just didn’t offer, such as running hot and cold water and flushing toilets. Oh, how she missed toilets! Living in the treetops meant that one was subjected to the use of chamber pots, and no matter how elaborately made, they were a primitive device that she had tired of long ago.

They reached their destination on New Year’s Eve, which gave yet another reason for the elves to celebrate. A great feast was held upon their arrival. The festivities would continue throughout the day, not ending until dawn the following morning.

Unbeknownst to the Slayer, not all the Noldor had made the voyage to Tol Galen. Several from Celegorm’s Household had questioned the ‘nonsense’ regarding the Silmaril. They believed that there was no way that Beren would have had the Jewel of Fëanor kept in a tomb, but instead that he would have passed it on to his only surviving heir, Dior. While the others sailed down the Gelion, the Noldo Lords from Celegorm’s House began the journey to Doriath, in search of any rumor that the Silmaril was housed in Menegroth, as they presumed.

As Buffy re-acclimated herself to her surroundings and introduced Lalwen to the beauty of Lindecoa, the sons of Fëanor began their search of the isle, looking for any earth that had recently been disturbed.

Celegorm had only shared his skepticism with Curufin. They both decided that it was in their best interest not to share their suspicions with their brothers until Celegorm’s men came back. Once they had undeniable proof that their sister-in-law had lied, then Maedhros, Maglor and Caranthir would be more apt to act against Dior. In the meantime, they would amuse their siblings by searching Tol Galen for the grave of Beren and Lúthien, a task they both deemed pointless.

Only a few weeks into the New Year, the Noldor of Celegorm’s House returned to Tol Galen. They met with their kin in the woods by the Adurant, and confirmed what both Celegorm and Curufin had suspected.

“You were right, my Lords,” said the Noldo spy to the two C-brothers. “Word has it that the Silmaril is indeed in Menegroth, and that Dior wears it at all times.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Celegorm, clenching his fists tightly. “I knew that bitch was lying!”

“Better yet, brother,” started Curufin, a wide grin spreading across his face, “we now have ammunition against Muinthel! Surely, our brothers cannot defend her now that we know with certainty that she has lied… ”

“No, no, no,” countered Celegorm with a wave of his hand. “We keep her out of this! We do not need any confrontation with Dagnir. We’re on her turf, and her people outnumber the Noldor. We need to be cunning, my brother.” A malicious grin came to his face. “I deem the time has arrived for the Noldor to go on a hunting trip. We will reclaim the Silmaril and kill any that dare hinder us, including Bellaseth.”

“But she’s a Vala! She cannot be killed by us!” protested Curufin.

“Then that’s more reason for us to keep things quiet. She cannot learn of what we’re planning. Let us find our brothers and prepare for our raid,” he continued, grabbing hold of his brother and heading back to the home that they shared.

The two C-brothers then returned to their dwelling, which was located a short distance from Lindecoa. All but three of their kin that had just returned from Doriath accompanied them. The others were sent to summon their siblings to an important and private council.

When Maedhros, Maglor and Caranthir arrived, they were told what Celegorm had suspected all along: that the Queen of Ossir had deceived them all, including her own husband. Caranthir, feeling betrayed by Buffy, immediately turned against her, speaking scornfully about his sister-in-law. Yet, both Maedhros and Maglor were reluctant to turn on the Slayer, who had demonstrated her loyalty, love, and kindness to them over the years. Not to mention that both loved her dearly, although the eldest son kept his affections for her concealed from everybody else.

“Loyalty?!” spat Celegorm, his eyes narrowed in contempt. “She’s shown no loyalty to the sons of Fëanor! The Silmaril passed through her lands, with her knowledge I deem, and into that of the enemy. She vowed to help us reclaim the heirloom of our House, yet she betrayed us - especially you, Maglor. Your wife is nothing but a traitor!”

Maglor sat there, dazed. He loved his wife and wanted to renounce his claim to the Silmaril, but he saw that his brothers were going to make that most difficult. He attempted to reason with the C-brothers, but Celegorm wasn’t having any of that.

“We swore an Oath,” began Celegorm again, “to do whatever we have to in order to regain the Silmarils. We vowed that none would stand in our way, including a Vala. Now the greatest of our treasures is in Menegroth, on display by one who has no right to wear it around his neck. It belongs to us! It’s why we came to Middle-earth. How can you not want to rally our people to take back that which was stolen from us?”

“Bella said that she would kill us if we harmed any in Doriath,” said Maglor softly. “You know Dior won’t hand over the Silmaril. This will only lead to more bloodshed.”

“As long as it’s theirs, who cares?” chimed in Curufin. “Let the Dark Elves die! They’re nothing but thieves!”

“Besides, Maglor,” interjected Caranthir, “Dagnir had said not to lay a hand on Thingol, Beren and Lúthien. She said nothing about Dior.”

“Was she to name all the elves of Doriath, Caranthir?” questioned Maglor angrily. “There’s no doubt in my mind that the same applies to the heir of Thingol. She wouldn’t want to see any harm come to any from that House, and I for one, do not want to cause my wife any more anguish!”

“So you would choose the love of a Vala over the love of your father, over your own flesh and blood!” said Celegorm with disdain. “Need I remind you that the woman you purportedly love has shared Morgoth’s bed on numerous occasions. Has that not caused you anguish, my brother? Does it not cause you distress knowing that she has seduced our most bitter of enemies after you had exchanged wedding vows, after promising undying loyalty and fidelity? She has betrayed you, Maglor, more so than the rest of us. You owe her nothing!”

Maglor was speechless. Celegorm’s words had brought up things that he did not want to think about, things he’d rather not think about.

However, it was Maedhros that spoke up, attempting to defend his sister-in-law’s past actions. “That was a long time ago, Celegorm. We’ve all done things in our past that we wish we could undo.”

“And who’s to say that she wishes to undo anything? My heart tells me that there’s a bond between Bellaseth and the Dark Lord that cannot be broken. Maglor is merely another plaything to help pass the time. He is no different from all the other lovers she’s had. He may have fathered a child with her, but he isn’t the only one.” Celegorm paused, smiling wryly. “Didn’t you say, Russandol that her diaries mentioned a prophecy about her procreating with a lord of Men? We all know that that mortal was not Bëor, her beloved lover. So it seems to me that yet another lover will find his way into the bed of Maglor’s faithless wife!”

Maedhros looked sympathetically at Maglor, who resembled a wounded animal. He had turned his downcast eyes to the floor, his bottom lip trembling from his younger brother’s hurtful words.

“What we must remember,” began Caranthir in a calmer tone than Celegorm, “is that we swore to uphold our Oath. Only ill will come to us if we do not see it to the end. The time has come for us to put aside our feelings for those who have no understanding of our loss, and regain what is rightfully ours.” He walked over to Maglor, squatting before his older brother. “I understand that you love Bellaseth, but our Oath comes before all, including her and Olofin. The Oath cannot be broken no matter how hard you resist, it’s a living thing, and we must fulfill it, Maglor. We must do this together. After everything that has happened and will happen, all we have is each other. And having the Silmaril once again will only ease our grief. Your loyalty is to us, and no one else.”

Bringing up the prophecy was a smart move on Curufin’s part. The effect of those words was already working on Maglor. That the C-brother’s could see. The second son of Fëanor lifted his head. He sat stiffly, staring fixatedly at the wall. Gradually, his grey eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips so tightly together that they were nearly white from lack of blood flow. He went from wounded animal to one who has been wronged, who has been injured by the treachery of one whom he loved.

That painful reminder of his wife’s past deeds caused Maglor’s misgivings to wane. Knowing that she would inevitably betray their wedding vows again made him reconsider his position. She would not aid him and his brothers as she had so fervently claimed.

The C-brothers continued their verbal assault on Buffy knowing how important it was to show her betrayal of their House, not only in the past, but also in the present.

“Do you think that the Laiquendi took it upon themselves to take the Silmaril to Menegroth?” said Celegorm, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Nay,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Bellaseth knew! The cretins came to her, their Queen, seeking her counsel, and she betrayed us. Her loyalty is not to the House of Fëanor, but to the Dark Lord and the Dark Elves. I expect she was the one that fabricated the story about the Silmaril being buried with those wretched mortals.”

“How can you speak so ill of her when she has welcomed us into her lands, providing us a home when ours was destroyed?” countered Maedhros in one last desperate attempt to defend the Slayer.

“By having us live in bird houses!” answered Caranthir with disdain. “Pfft! It is a strange breed of Elf that chooses to live in treetops!”

“And why were our homes destroyed, Russandol?” spoke up Curufin in a bitter voice. “Because the Dark Lord longs to have his lover back, that’s why! She is the reason for our losses, for our woe. I would not put it past her to be conspiring with Morgoth, even now. Do not forget what she did in the East! She still seeks to dominate all in Middle-earth, that is why the Valar have no love for her. The only thing she has done differently is to change her approach, so that none can see her true purpose. She was the instigator of our taking the battle to Morgoth, which only resulted in the death of many a noble and valiant Elf.”

After hours of Buffy bashing, the brothers had all unanimously agreed: they would seek to recover the Silmaril from Dior. Yet they had to be calculating so that the Slayer and the Green-elves could not learn of their designs. Since the death of Beren, the ban to travel throughout Ossir had been lifted, and the sons of Fëanor proposed that they’d set out in groups over the next couple of weeks so that none would grow suspicious. They planned to meet at Amon Ereb, where they would strengthen their numbers by adding the people of Amrod and Amras to join in their scheme.

Under the pretext of hunting, a favorite past time of the Green-elves, the Noldor began to depart Tol Galen for the northern parts of Ossir. They left in parties of twenty so that none suspected anything out of the ordinary. The Noldor sailed to Lindon before resuming their journey on horseback, leaving Ossir for the twins’ home nearby. Even Orchal no longer paid them any mind, trusting that the Noldor had believed the story that he and Buffy had devised.

The five brothers were the last to depart the isle. They choose a day when they knew the Slayer would be preoccupied with her maidens - the start of their weeklong beauty regimen, which had become a monthly ritual in times past with the Ladies of her House. The women would immerse themselves in spa-like treatments, ranging from mud baths to massages in an isolated place by the falls of Lanthir Lamath, far from the halls of Lindecoa.

None questioned the brothers, not even in Lindon, and they too, journeyed to Amon Ereb, joining the rest of their kinfolk.

Once there, Maglor stood upon the hilltop, looking at the fair lands of Ossir to the southeast. As the cold winds whipped around him, he thought of the blissful days in the woods with his wife. Despite the malicious utterances of his younger brothers, his heart ached for Buffy. His brothers were able to stir him to wrath, but now that he was finally acting on it, a couple of weeks later, he found himself full of regret, none too eager to assail the heir of Thingol.

Returning to the Halls of Amrod and Amras, he spoke a moving speech to his kin, seeking to end the needless violence that the Silmaril seemed to awaken in all that named it in desire. His younger brothers grew wroth as he spoke, fearing that Maglor would change the hearts of the Noldor that had already assembled there.

Maglor begged that they send a messenger to Dior first, in an attempt to avoid injury, not only to the Grey-elves, but to their own kindred as well.

A heated argument broke out, many calling out the second son of Fëanor for his cowardice.

Maedhros, who as Lord of that House had the final say-so, settled the quarrel. He did as Maglor had suggested, sending messengers to Menegroth commanding Dior to surrender the Silmaril or face the wrath of the seven sons of Fëanor.

A couple of messengers immediately left for Doriath, riding nonstop at great speed. When they were brought before Dior and spoke the demands made by the sons of Fëanor, the heir of Thingol refused to answer the brothers. The son of Beren and Lúthien had grown overly proud as his forefather, and because of his lineage, deemed himself to be the Lord of Men and Elves. He foolishly gave no thought to how perilous his situation truly was. Instead, he relished in the beauty of the Thousand Caves, having become complacent like Thingol had before him.

When the sons of Fëanor heard from their messengers, they were enraged by the arrogance of Dior and his refusal to answer their demands. Celegorm delivered such a speech that even Maglor conceded that an attack on Menegroth seemed justified.

Not wanting to waste any more time, they gathered all those from their Household and set out for Doriath, planning to assail the Thousand Caves in the middle of the night.

Dior, unlike Thingol, gave no heed to any impending threats to his realm. While he possessed the beauty of his kin, enhanced by his wearing of the Nauglamír, he unfortunately, lacked the intelligence of a true ruler. The marchwardens that had once been stationed along the borders of Doriath had been summoned to Menegroth, to protect their Lord within his massive fortress. Only those under the command of Túreb (Melchizedek) remained at their posts, defending the western marches of Doriath, as ordered by Buffy. This left no defense as the hosts of Fëanor entered the Forest of Region from the south.

The Noldorin armies broke up into smaller groups, so that their numbers would not draw the attention of those that still dwelt in the woods south of Menegroth. They would all assemble at the bridge before storming the gates of the Thousand Caves, enmasse.

The Noldor continued to move north, under the cover of darkness, killing any elf they encountered, in fear that he or she would alert the Grey-elves of their impending doom.

Neither the frigid northern winds nor the swirling snowflakes deterred those from the House of Fëanor, as the ire inflamed within their hearts drove them onward. Those of their kin that reached the outskirts of Menegroth first, stealthily approached the caves’ entrance, and used their proficiency with the bow to strike down the gatekeepers. This allowed the Noldor the opportunity to enter Menegroth unhindered, and without any alarm being raised until it was too late.

It was three o’clock in the morning when the armies converged at the stone bridge. The Noldor threw open the doors, and with the sons of Fëanor at the forefront, rushed into Menegroth. The horrified Sindar sounded their trumpets upon the onslaught. The chilling notes echoed throughout the numerous passageways of the Thousand Caves, waking all from their peaceful slumber.

The shrill cries of the Noldor soon drowned out the horns, as they hacked down every elf that they came across. So unexpected was the attack that many of the Sinda guards were slain before they realized what was happening, none imagining that those of their own kindred would ever raise a blade against them.

The sudden turbulence jolted both Dior and Nimloth awake. Not a second had passed when his personal guards began to beat against their bedchamber door.

“The sons of Fëanor are attacking, my Lord!” cried Nimros in a state of panic.

“No,” whimpered a frightened Nimloth. “This can’t be.”

“Get the children,” barked Dior, frantically leaping from the bed and pulling on his breeches. “Flee, my dear! Take the children and flee!”

His distraught wife ran to his side. “I will not leave without you,” she sobbed, clutching her husband. “Come with us. Come with us, my beloved.”

The shouts of the Noldor were drawing near, as they made their way deeper and deeper into the caverns. The sounds of metal upon metal reverberated throughout the Halls, chilling Dior to the core.

“There’s no time, Nimloth. Go!”

Dior opened his bedroom door, and many of his personal guards entered the room in a frenzy. One of his servants quickly attired his Lord in his battle gear while Nimloth stood in the corner, weeping in her despair. Before unsheathing his blade, Dior unclasped the Nauglamír and gave it to his wife.

“Please, Nimloth. Take the Silmaril and the children and go! If I escape, I will find you.”

“Where shall we go, my Lord?” she cried. “Ossir is no longer safe.”

“There is still many of your kin in Beleriand. Go where you must. I will find you. But you must, go. NOW!”

Nimloth threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him for the last time.

Dior then hurried from the chamber accompanied by most of his guard. Some stayed with Nimloth, to aid in her escape. The woman, who was nearly beside herself, then gathered her three young children, who wept in their confusion, too young to comprehend what was happening.

Of all the sons of Fëanor, Celegorm was most determined that he would be the one to regain the Silmaril. Knowing the floor plan of Menegroth well from studying the layout in both Nargothrond and Lindon Hall, he led the elves from his House together with Curufin and Caranthir, toward Dior’s private rooms.

After rounding one of the corners, he saw the King of Doriath accompanied by his guard. There, the Noldor and the Sindar clashed, not far from the where Nimloth and his children were being ushered down the opposite end of the corridor in a desperate attempt to escape.

A look of hatred came to Celegorm’s face as he lifted his blade, charging at Dior with an unbridled fury. He knew that the Silmaril was nearly in his grasp. The Sindar tried to defend their Lord, forming a circle around him. Celegorm and his brothers delivered deadly blow after deadly blow to those guards nearest themselves.

Dior, who was no coward, pushed his way through his men, eager to duel with any son of Fëanor, but especially Celegorm or Curufin. After seeing the hurt done to his people, he wished to avenge their deaths, as well as the past torments that the brothers had inflicted on his parents years before he was born.

He and Celegorm then came face-to-face, fiercely fighting in a battle to the death. The action was nonstop, and despite having slain many elves on his way to Dior’s rooms, it seemed as though the Noldo’s strength had been renewed by the sight of Dior.

Seeing this, one of the fallen Sinda grabbed hold of Celegorm’s leg, causing the Noldo to stumble. That move allowed Dior the opportunity to drive his sword into the chest of the third son of Fëanor. Celegorm’s painful cry drew the attention of Curufin, who was busy fighting his own foe. Upon seeing his older brother fall to the stone floor, the madness of grief overtook the elf.

With a shout of grief, he came upon Dior from behind, cleaving the King’s head from his body with a single blow. The Grey-elves wailed in shock as the blood from the severed neck of their Lord spurted over them like some gory fountain.

As Curufin let out a roar of triumph, Nimros, infuriated by the beheading of his Lord, delivered a deadly strike to the son of Fëanor, sending his body crashing to the floor, next to his dead brother.

Nimloth had immediately sensed the sudden death of her husband even though she had not witnessed it. Only one corridor separated her from him. She let out an ear-piercing shriek, tossing the Silmaril to the floor. In her anguish, she snatched a sword from one of her guardsmen and took off down the passageway toward the fray. She did not notice that her two young sons had wrestled free from their guards, hurrying after their mother into the heart of the conflict.

Celeborn, Galadriel and some of their kin suddenly appeared on the scene, stepping out of one of the secret passageways. They had been battling the Noldor on one of the upper levels, and knowing that Dior was in peril, came by the quickest means possible.

Galadriel picked up a squalling Elwing, who now had the Nauglamír draped around her neck, holding the girl tightly in her arms.

The guards quickly apprised the group of what had just happened.

“Take her and go,” said the son of Galathil. “I’ll get Nimloth and the boys.”

“Be safe, Celeborn. The sons of Fëanor will show no mercy when it comes to the Jewel of their father,” warned Galadriel, horrified that she was witnessing yet another attack on the Teleri by the Noldor.

“I will,” answered the Sinda, tightening his grip on the hilt of his blood-streaked blade.

The secret panel opened, revealing a spiral stairway. Galadriel, Elwing and the handful of guards that accompanied the girl began climbing the steps, disappearing from sight after the first bend.

Celeborn shut the door before making his way toward the ruckus with his men. When they rounded the corner, they beheld the Noldor battling their kin. The five remaining sons of Fëanor had rallied together, each fighting their opponents within the crowded and gloomy passageway.

Bodies, some grotesquely mutilated, littered the corridor. Agonizing moans came from those that lay dying on the blood-covered floor, expecting each breath to be their last. The stench of death lingered in the air. Blood was everywhere, on the walls, on the pillars, but mostly on the stone floor. Crimson rivulets flowed from beneath the bodies of those that had been slain, covering nearly the entire surface of the passageway with the slick life force of the elves.

As the Elf Lord joined the fray, he noticed the unmoving form of Nimloth on the bloodied floor, her eyes wide and vacant. In a grisly display, the severed head of Dior had been placed next to her face. Celeborn tried to fight his way through the throng, but could make no headway. His eyes searched desperately for the sons of Dior, but he could not see them.

In the midst of the chaos, Eluréd and Elurín were taken captive by two men from Celegorm’s House. They proposed to use the twins as a bargaining chip, sparing their lives for the return of the Silmaril.

Celeborn was then blindsided by Caranthir, who knew that the silver-haired elf was a kinsman of Dior. The Sinda quickly recovered, combating the Noldo with the ferocity of those from the House of Thingol. Recalling the slaying of his kinfolk at Alqualondë renewed the strength of Celeborn, who could now see fatigue overcoming the son of Fëanor.

Caranthir found himself with his back against the wall. Knowing how dire his situation was, he shouted for his brothers’ assistance, but the din drowned out the sound of his voice. The Noldo became desperate. As he swung his blade at Celeborn, the Sinda blocked it with his own, using his sheer strength to hold the sword downward. Caranthir then reached out and grabbed a handful of the Celeborn’s silver hair, pulling it with all his might. Celeborn grimaced from the pain, but continued to force the Noldo’s blade down. Since Caranthir had only one hand on the hilt of his weapon, the Sinda delivered a head butt, which momentarily stunned the Noldo. It gave Celeborn that split second he needed to gain the upper hand.

“This is for my kin,” he snarled, thrusting his blade into the gut of the fourth son of Fëanor.

Caranthir gasped, both with surprise and the sudden jolt of pain that coursed through his body.

“Curse you,” he sputtered, blood oozing from his mouth. “Curse you… and your kin.”

Celeborn leaned in closer, twisting the blade inside the Noldo’s body. “You’ll never get the Silmaril,” he hissed, before withdrawing his weapon from Caranthir’s body.

The son of Fëanor fell to the floor. He would die from that wound.

The Sinda Lord turned his attention back to the skirmishes that surrounded him. He watched as more of his kin fell. Feeling that he had no other choice, he called for a retreat. The Grey-elves would not be able to withstand the Noldor much longer, as their wrath and lust for the Silmaril seemed insatiable.

Those able, escaped by any means they could. Celeborn led many through the secret door down the adjoining corridor. He would eventually meet up with Galadriel, Elwing and their small guard in the Forest of Region. From there, Ulmo would guide them to the Mouths of Sirion, where they would form a haven for those escaping the horrors in the north.

While the sons of Fëanor had the victory, it had come at a great price. All three C-brothers lay dead, and after a thorough search of Menegroth, they were unable to find the Silmaril.

“All has been for naught,” said a teary-eyed Maglor, clutching the body of Caranthir in his arms. He looked sadly upon the carnage in the passageway, regretting that he had taken part in it. “I knew things would go badly for us. I just knew it.”

Maedhros picked up Curufin’s corpse, holding him in his arms. “We had no other choice, Maglor. We had no other choice.” He sniffed back his tears, grieved that they had lost three of their brothers. “Come. Let’s give our brothers a proper burial.”

Maglor picked up Caranthir, throwing him over his shoulder, as Amrod and Amras heaved Celegorm’s body from the floor.

Outside the gates, they met up with the surviving Noldor. In their sorrow, the four sons of Fëanor laid the C-brothers to rest under the towering beech trees beside the River Esgalduin. All from their Households were grieved by their loss.

“What of the others, my Lord?” asked one from Maedhros’ Household of the eldest brother.

The copper-headed elf turned his gaze to the entrance of Menegroth as the greyness of morning settled upon the land. “Menegroth shall be their tomb,” he replied with a sigh. He turned his attention back to the Noldor, scanning the crowd for the two small boys that had been taken captive. “Where are the sons of Dior?”

One from Celegorm’s House came forth. “We left them in the woods, my Lord.”

“You did what?!” exclaimed Maedhros, aghast at the thought.

“What was the point in keeping them?” queried the elf, stunned by his Lord’s reaction. “The Silmaril is gone. We had no use for them.”

“They are but children!” rebuked the eldest son of Fëanor. He turned to his brothers. “We must find them. They will die if left in this cold too long.”

The sons of Fëanor and the mightiest Lords of their Household then began the search for Eluréd and Elurín. Maedhros was horrified that his kin could do something so cruel as abandoning those small children in the freezing weather. He held himself to blame for the travesty, something that would haunt him for the remainder of his life.

The Noldor searched in vain, for fate decreed that they would not find Eluréd and Elurín.

However, the twin sons of Dior were not lost, as their whimpering cries had drawn the attention of a passing group of Enyd, led by none other than Thônel, who at one time had been the sentinel of the Deeper Well. Finding the youngsters huddled together in an attempt to keep warm, the Onod took them in her spindly arms, wrapping them in some moss she was given by one of her brethren.

As the Onodrim began to hasten south, the boys told them what had happened in Menegroth. The Enyd were greatly dismayed to hear of the attack, but knew exactly where to take the youngsters.

Thônel let out a high-pitched whistle. Only a few moments later, a flock of doves appeared, fluttering before the Onod.

“Hmm, messengers of Luinil,” she began. “Tell your Mistress that… hmm, the sons of Fëanor have been making mischief in Doriath… hmm, and that I will be bringing her the orphaned sons of Dior. Hmm. Fly in haste, birds of Luinil. Fly in haste.”

“Right away,” cooed the Lord of the Doves, before disappearing through the trees.



When Buffy and her maidens returned to Lindecoa, she immediately noticed that nearly all the Noldor had left Tol Galen. An ominous feeling overwhelmed her, a feeling that she could not quell, even though she was told the Noldor had just gone hunting for wild game.

As the doves were soaring to Ossir, the Slayer boarded her chariot, hastening to Lindon, fearing that the brothers had learned of her deception. The doves could not fly nearly as fast as they wished so when they encountered a group of falcons in flight, they shared their message with them, knowing they could get to Buffy more quickly.

It was mid-afternoon when the Slayer reached Lindon Hall. She immediately called a council, asking if any had news of the whereabouts of the Noldor. When she heard that they had left Ossiriand, she suspected that her worst fears had come true. Moments later, the falcons arrived. To her dismay, her suspicions had been confirmed but she was too late. The Oath had reawakened, and the people of Dior were already being terrorized by Maglor and his kin.

Weeping, she said, “Ready our armies. We march to Doriath and will aid Dior. We have no other choice but to fight the Noldor.”

Her councilors grieved along with her, knowing how difficult a decision that was for her to make. Orchal and Nestor tried to comfort her, but there was nothing they could do or say to make things better. No one could possibly understand what she was going through, how painful it was for her to choose to honor her ancient friendship with the House of Thingol over her love for those of the House of Fëanor.

As her Captains sounded their trumpets, marshaling the warriors of Ossir, Buffy fell to her knees, wailing in distress that she had been unable to prevent the raid. Those that she loved dearly had betrayed her, and that betrayal was tearing her apart. She didn’t know if any had survived, including her beloved husband. The only thing she knew for sure was that Dior was dead, and so was Nimloth.

Through her tears, she turned her gaze toward the northern window, knowing now that Morgoth would achieve his goal - the annihilation of all in Beleriand. The savior of Middle-earth had been killed by the hands of her husband’s own people.

Even though she knew that Eluréd and Elurín were on their way to Lindon, it did not ease her grief. Those that had tried to comfort her, she rebuffed.

In her despair, she said, “It’s no use,” and called off the mobilization of her armies.

Still crying hysterically, Buffy ran to her private rooms, garbing herself for travel. She intended to meet the Enyd at Sarn Athrad, the bridge that crossed the River Gelion. After grabbing sweaters and furs for the children, she was stopped by Orchal outside her rooms.

“Let me come with you,” the Green-elf pleaded, tears streaming down his face at his dear friend’s new torment.

“It’s over, Orchal,” she sobbed in her madness of grief. “Everything… everything that I’ve ever wanted has been ripped from me. It’s my fault. I let this happen. I’ve got no other choice,” she babbled, nearly incoherently.

“The Hell you say!” answered the Elf Lord, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. “We’ll get through this. But I won’t let you do this alone. You need me, Bella! You need me more than ever before.”

“Don’t you see - we’re doomed! We’re doomed unless I go back. That’s the only way,” she continued, shaking her head, tears pouring down her glistening face.

Orchal slapped Buffy across the face as hard as he could.

Her breath died in her throat as she stared at the elf in shocked disbelief. The stinging of her cheek left her momentarily stunned.

“I love you, Bella! And I’m here for you! I won’t let you throw your life away! You will not go back to him! You’ll have to kill me first!” he shouted through his tears.

Buffy started to tremble all over, breathing heavily. “Get out of my way, Orchal,” she said threateningly in a raspy voice.

“No! I’m going with you. I won’t let you do anything foolish. We’re in this together. We’ll make it through this. I promise.” He pulled her tightly into his arms, as her legs buckled beneath her. Orchal lifted the Slayer in his arms, ordering Nestor to pick up the garments that had fallen to the floor. “I’m taking Bella to get the sons of Dior. Don’t let any know what we’re doing. If word leaks out, I will personally kill those responsible.”

The Slayer protested weakly, but Orchal would hear none of it. He would take charge of the situation and help his friend through her ordeal.

By the time they finally took to the air, the Green-elf could see that the sons of Fëanor had not only broken Buffy’s heart, but also her spirit. He feared that she would continue to languish to the point of no return, bringing with it, his greatest fear…


Chapter 99 - PANGS

The Slayer did not speak on the journey. She was numb, numb from the bitter cold winds that rushed against that part of her face uncovered by her scarf, and numb from the Kinslaying that she was unable to prevent. Her world was crashing down around her, the ground falling out from beneath her feet. She was plummeting into that deep abyss called despair, and saw no hope of ever finding her way out. Her mind was spinning with so many thoughts that she couldn’t clearly focus on any of them.

Despite her objections, she was grateful that Orchal was with her. He was right. She needed him more than ever before. He was her rock, her anchor. Feeling the Green-elf’s arms wrapped around her, his body pressed closely against hers, brought her a certain amount of comfort. Her gloved hands clung to his, as her bleary eyes scanned the lands below.

They did not wait at the bridge as Buffy had intended. Orchal thought it best that they continue their flight until they came across the Enyd. He felt that it was imperative that they retrieve the twins and return to Ossir as quickly as possible.

When they finally landed on the rocky plains beside the Onodrim, Thônel lowered the twins to the ground.

Eluréd and Elurín then came running toward Buffy, crying, “Bella! Bella!” The moss draped around the boys’ bodies flew off as they jumped into her outstretched arms, hugging her tightly. Even though they had just been through the most horrific experience of their young lives, they were gladdened to see her again. They knew that she’d keep them safe.

Orchal pulled sweaters over the boys’ heads before he and the Slayer wrapped them in furs, trying to warm them as much as they could. As the Green-elf led the boys to the chariot, giving them each a mouthful of miruvóre to suppress their chills, Buffy spoke briefly with the Enyd, thanking them for bringing the orphaned children to her.

She then climbed back onto the chariot and they began the trip back to Tol Galen. Every now and then, the Slayer would look over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of her beloved crossing the plains. Even though he had been a participant in the attack at Menegroth, she still loved him. Love was not something that she could turn off and on at will, and not knowing whether he was dead or alive was driving her mad.

The sun had already risen in the morning sky by the time they arrived at Tol Galen. None on the isle knew about what had transpired in Doriath, although a few had a feeling that something tragic had taken place, among them Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Lalwen. When they saw the young sons of Dior being ushered into Lindecoa, their suspicions were confirmed.

Buffy took the boys straight to the kitchen, which was always the warmest place in her Halls. She wanted them fed, bathed and then put to bed. The twins were disappointed that she didn’t stay with them. After barking out her orders, she returned to her private rooms, emotionally drained.

She poured herself a tall glass of spirits before taking a seat before the fireplace. It was times like these when she would often turn to Maglor for support and advice, and now that he was gone, she found herself sinking into a deeper depression. Staring at the flickering flames of the fire, she tried to convince herself to not dwell on what had happened. It wasn’t doing her any good to do so. No matter how difficult, the Slayer had to focus on the here and the now. She’d have to approach each day, hell, each hour, one step at a time.

Eluréd and Elurín were her immediate concern as their well-being had been entrusted to her. Under different circumstances, she would’ve enjoyed the thought of rearing the boys into manhood. But, as it stood, she felt that she was unfit to care for them. How could she be a responsible parental figure when she had lost all hope? She just didn’t have it in her to nurture the boys in the manner in which they deserved.

Though she loved them, it grieved her to admit that the twins’ presence would be a constant reminder of what Maglor and his kinfolk had done. And, right now, she couldn’t deal with that. As much as she loathed the idea, she decided that it was in not only their best interest, but hers as well, to send Eluréd and Elurín away. Far away from the evil in Beleriand. But where?

Her first thought was Folkvang, but the mortal blood in them would prevent them from entering her Blessed Realm, unless they died in battle. Since they were only ten years old, there was no way on Eru’s green earth that she could kill them. They weren’t Húrin. So, that eliminated that notion.

Buffy then thought about sending them to Dvalin at the Deeper Well, but once again, one must be immortal to pass through the gateway lest they die a fiery death. She even considered sending them to Amdír in Lindórinand, but quickly put the kibosh on that idea as well.

As she mulled over the few remaining possibilities, she heard a few quick knocks on the chamber door before it swung open. Turning toward the entryway, she watched Orchal, Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Lalwen come filing into her sitting room. By the forlorn looks on their faces, she knew that Orchal had told them what had happened in Menegroth. She turned back toward the fire, downing the remnants of her drink.

Olofin and Thranduil bolted to either side of her, throwing their arms around her. They had moved so quickly and unexpectedly, that the Slayer was forced backward onto the sofa, the empty glass slipping from her grasp, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Through their tears, they both spoke so fast that Buffy could barely discern what either was saying. While she understood their pain and sorrow, she could barely breathe. They had thrown themselves onto her so that the weight of their bodies was nearly suffocating her.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, tapping the both of them on their backs until they shifted their positions.

“Oh, Nana,” wept Olofin, pulling himself off his mother. “I can’t believe Adar and the Noldor did it. I just can’t believe it!”

“What can we do for you, Bella?” cried Thranduil, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Buffy calmed both of her boys down as Luthor and Lalwen sat opposite from one another before the fire. Orchal stood on the hearth with his arms folded across his chest. All studied Buffy with their concerned and grief-stricken eyes.

“I say we could all use a good stiff drink,” said Orchal, picking Buffy’s glass up from the floor. He then busied himself by making drinks for everyone in spite of the early hour.

After Orchal had handed everyone a glass of spirits, the conversation turned to the Kinslaying.

The Slayer lifted her hand, motioning for her son to stop. She wasn’t ready to discuss it. “Not now, Olofin,” she said in a pained voice. “I’ve got something to deal with that requires my immediate attention.” She took a swig of her drink. For the first time since arriving back at her Halls, she felt something other than numbness - a tingling sensation in her body. The alcohol was beginning to take effect. It was the first thing that she had truly felt aside from sorrow in the last several hours. She stared at the contents of her drink, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger. She could feel the eyes of her companions boring into her. With a heavy sigh, she softly added, “The twins can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” asked Thranduil, slightly taken aback by her statement.

“Because… because seeing them will be a constant reminder of… of what happened.” Her voice broke as she spoke. She took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the tears forming in her eyes.

Olofin rubbed her back sympathetically. “They don’t have to stay in Lindecoa, Nana. There are many dwellings throughout… ”

His mother cut his words short. “I don’t want them here - in Ossiriand,” she interjected morosely. “I can’t care for them. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“You don’t have to, Bella,” said Thranduil. “There’s many an elf that would love to raise the children of Dior and Nimloth… ”

“I said I don’t want them here,” she said, firmer in tone. “They need to get out of Beleriand. They need to go somewhere safe.”

“What about Folkvang?” suggested Lalwen hopefully. “Surely, that’s the safest place.”

Buffy lifted her head, meeting the elleth’s gaze. “They’ve got mortal blood in them. They can’t go unless they die in battle.”

“Oh,” she answered dejectedly, slumping in her chair.

“And they can’t go to the Deeper Well either,” she added, shifting her gaze to Luthor.

“Wait a minute,” chimed in Thranduil, his face wrinkled in confusion. “Why can’t they go to Folkvang? I understand that they have mortal blood in them, but they also possess the blood of the Eldar and Ainur as well. Surely, that’s enough to allow them entry into your Blessed Realm.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Buffy answered, turning her woeful gaze to the elf. “I know you don’t know much about genetics. Hell, I’m not an expert either, but there are basic principles at work here. When an elf procreates with a mortal, their offspring will inherit the characteristics of the weaker race. Just because Nimloth was an elf, doesn’t mean her children are. They are mortal, like their father.”

“But the blood of Lúthien… ” argued Thranduil, still confused by her words.

“That doesn’t matter, little man,” she said with a somber shake of her head. “Look at Olofin.” The Slayer quickly glanced at her son, sitting on the other side of her. “Olofin resembles an elf even though I’m a Vala. You’d think that since I possess greater powers than his father that he’d automatically be accounted amongst my kindred, but he isn’t. He’s half elf, half Vala, but in regards to his essence, the core of his being - he’s an elf.”

“So, even if you were to have a child with a mortal, your child would be… mortal? He wouldn’t have the gift of immortality,” queried a perplexed Thranduil.

“That’s right. The child will always take the characteristics of the weaker race. Always!” She paused for a moment. “Well, unless someone that possesses great magics changes that. Mortals can be gifted with immortality by one who has the power to do so. And unfortunately, I haven’t had that ability for a long time.”

“But what of Luthor?” he asked, turning his grey eyes to the old man. “You’re a Maia. Your powers are greater than Elven-kind. Can’t you gift the twins with immortality?”

“I’m afraid not, Thranduil,” answered Luthor with a sigh. “That gift is only given to the Valar, not the Maiar. Don’t you think Melian would’ve woven a spell about Thingol if she had had that power?”

“Oh, I never thought of that,” said the frowning Green-elf. He looked at Buffy. “Do you really think that Eluréd and Elurín are in danger?”

“We’re all in danger,” she answered grim-faced. “As long as Morgoth gets to call the shots - we’re all screwed. I have to get the boys somewhere safe, somewhere out of Beleriand. And I don’t want them to be alone.” She turned her gaze to Luthor. “They need to be loved and nurtured by someone that I trust. Someone who’ll teach them right from wrong, someone whose wisdom will help them survive in this world, someone who is experienced… ”

“Why are you looking at me as you speak?” interrupted Luthor, shifting uneasily in his chair. “Surely, you don’t expect me to raise the twins.”

“Well, not just you.” Buffy turned her eyes to Lalwen, who quickly diverted her gaze, looking at the dancing flames of the fire. The elleth’s cheeks flushed. “I think you and Lalwen would make perfect foster parents.”

“Luthor and Lalwen?” snorted Thranduil in amusement. “Where would you get an idea like that?” His eyes darted from the elleth to the Maia before quickly adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” replied Luthor without missing a beat.

“I think you’re behind the times, Thranduil,” said Orchal with a chuckle.

“What would make you suggest such a thing, Bella?” the Maia asked, trying to remain composed despite that fact that her comment had left him somewhat flustered.

“I’m not blind, Luthor,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t think I’ve seen you and Lalwen making goo-goo eyes at each other. I’m the Vala of Love for Eru’s sake! God only knows what you two do when I’m not around.”

“Luthor and Lalwen?!” exclaimed Thranduil, his eyes, wide with surprise, darted from the Maia to the elleth. “You mean… that you two… you two… are lovers!” His jaw dropped as the realization of his own words sunk in. The poor Green-elf had been totally oblivious to the pair’s love for one another, even though it had happened right under his own nose.

“Shush, Thranduil,” scolded the Slayer. She turned her attention back to the old man and the elf-maiden. “Listen, you two don’t have to keep your romance secret any more. I know you’ve been doing that for my sake, but really, I’m okay with it, despite what you may have heard from a certain someone.” She cast a quick glance at Orchal, who feigned innocence. “But it would really mean a lot to me if you’d do me this huge favor. I’m not asking you to go forever, just… for a while, until I figure things out,” she added, looking imploringly at the couple.

“What do you mean by ‘figure things out’?” queried Lalwen, scrutinizing Buffy very closely.

The Slayer took a long drink, preferring not to elaborate on her ‘figure things out’ statement. She kept her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. “I’d rather not say, right now,” she finally replied, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “Just trust me on this. That’s all I can say.”

All fell quiet within the chamber. The only sound was an occasional pop from the roaring fire.

“If it’s that important to you, Bella, then we’ll do it,” said Lalwen, breaking the silence. “But where are we to take the twins? My kin are now scattered, and I don’t rightly know where to take them.”

Buffy looked gratefully at her friend, giving her a warm smile. “I’ve got that covered.” She turned her eyes to Luthor and uttered one word, “Hírilost.”

She never thought her response would create such an uproar with her loved ones. Yet it did, with everyone except for Lalwen, the only one that had never set foot in Mesopotamia. The Slayer sat back, listening to the men folk rant and rave. She drained her glass, feeling her face growing hotter.

“Shut up!” she exclaimed, silencing the men. “None here but me was exiled from Sumer. Marduk won’t do shit to you. He doesn’t even know about Hírilost. It’s way north of his lands.”

“How do you know that?” asked Luthor, his tone revealing his skepticism.

“Because I’ve been corresponding with one of his sons,” she revealed. All the occupants in the room were stunned by her declaration, except Orchal. Buffy hadn’t shared that bit of information with any except for a handful of her councilors, including Orchal. “Marduk spends most of his time at his temple in his newly founded city-state, Babylon, just west of Kish. He never travels north of there… And it’s like I said, he has no beef with you, only me.”

“I don’t like this, Nana,” said Olofin with concern, shaking his head. “Mesopotamia is a place of evil. There’s something unwholesome about that land.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that you were writing to one of Marduk’s sons? How do you know he can be trusted? He could be setting a trap!” rattled off Luthor, none too pleased at her suggestion about returning to the East.

“I trust him as much as I trusted Nabu,” she answered, her voice resolute. “Nabu died saving me, and Osiris would do the same. I don’t doubt that for one minute.”

The old man continued to look at her with doubt-filled eyes.

“There’s no where else, Luthor,” Buffy moaned in her desperation. “It’s safe. It’s the safest place in Middle-earth. It’s the only place. I swear, no harm will come to you guys. I’ll swear on my life.”

Once again, everyone fell silent. Luthor had leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. The Slayer stared at him, knowing that, ultimately, the decision rested with the Maia, not Lalwen.

After several minutes, he asked with a sigh, “How long? How long do you want us to stay in Sumer?” He never opened his eyes or moved any other part of his body except for his mouth.

“No more than fifteen years.”

“Why fifteen years?”

“Because that’s when Eluréd and Elurín will turn twenty-five.”

“And what is the significance of that?”

“I don’t know, Luthor,” she whined, tiring of the Maia’s incessant questioning. “I just need some time. If you won’t do it - just say so… ”

“No, we’ll do it,” interjected Lalwen, shooting Luthor her don’t-you-dare-rebuke-my-words kind of look. She gave Buffy a quick smile. “When do you want us to go, Bella?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Alright, we can do that,” answered the elleth with a nod.

“You do realize that it will more than likely take us fifteen years to reach Hírilost on foot, Bellaseth,” said Luthor as calmly as he could. He was annoyed with the Slayer, and it showed. But, he also understood that she was struggling with her current predicament and decided it was best not to provoke her any further.

“Not if you take the chariot.”

Relieved that her immediate dilemma had been settled, Buffy was overcome with the weariness of her emotionally draining morning. Excusing herself, she went into her bedchamber, changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. Within a matter of minutes, she fell into a deep sleep, not waking until well into the night.



It was a little after eleven when she awoke. Buffy’s sorrow at the loss of her beloved Maglor returned full force. Once again, she turned to the bottle, hoping that it would help to ease her pain. Having gone all day without eating a bite, she got drunk relatively quickly.

As the Slayer lay sprawled on the couch in one of her sitting rooms, mulling over the slaughter at Menegroth, her anguish soon turned to anger. The act of her husband’s betrayal had finally sunk in, pissing her off. He didn’t keep his promises, so there was no point in keeping hers either.

When two o’clock arrived, Buffy vanished from the sofa, only to reappear outstretched on the floor of Sussrúmnir a moment later. With the Vala Queen chuckling at her abrupt disappearance, the Valkyrie chieftains helped her to her feet.

“Oh, Maranwë, you’ve been drinking!” said Rainë, crinkling her nose at the sourness of her Mistress’ breath.

“I’m drunk!” proclaimed the Slayer proudly, slurring her speech.

The Valkyries attempted to garb their Mistress in her royal attire, but she pushed them away.

“No!” she protested, wobbling on her feet. “There will be no judgments today.” She shifted her bloodshot eyes to the spiral stairway. “I’m gonna go see my honey.” Buffy then staggered up the stairs leading to the thirteenth floor. When she reached the first landing, she stumbled over her own feet, and fell to the marble floor. Laughing at her own clumsiness, she crawled to the nearest banister and pulled herself upright. Remembering that her magics still worked in Folkvang, she mumbled, “I can be so dense sometimes,” before teleporting herself to her bedchamber.

She reappeared at the foot of the oversized lapis lazuli bed that Sargon had had made for them long ago. The Adan lay on the bed, engrossed in his reading of one of her journals.

“Hello, lover,” she said seductively in greeting.

Sargon cast a quick glance over the top of the book, not wanting to lose his place in his reading. He did a double take when he noticed that Buffy stood there, naked. Her gown now lay on the floor at her feet.

“Luinil!” he said in surprise, placing the book to the side. “Er, what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” she asked, crawling across the bed toward her mortal lover.

The Adan was momentarily speechless. He hadn’t seen her behave in that way for a number of years and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. That is, until he smelled the aroma of alcohol emanating from her.

“You reek of sour mash,” he finally said as she climbed on top of him.

“It’s not the first time,” she chortled, hovering above his face. “So, you wanna do it?”

“It?” he repeated, still stunned by the Slayer’s demeanor.

“You know what I mean?” she answered coquettishly before planting wet kisses on his neck.

“Luinil?”

“Hmm,” she sounded, now nibbling on his ear.

“What’s wrong?” Sargon asked. He knew that there had to be some underlying reason for her behavior.

Buffy lifted her head, looking into the grey eyes of her lover. “Is it wrong for me to love you?” she queried, slightly irritated that the Adan wouldn’t keep quiet and let her do her thing. “Isn’t this what you want?”

She attempted to resume her kisses, but Sargon grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The Slayer closed her eyes, refusing to allow her lover to scrutinize her with those penetrating eyes of his.

“Look at me, Luinil.”

She kept her eyes tightly closed.

“Do you not love me enough to tell me what troubles you? Am I unworthy of knowing the truth behind your sudden desire for me?”

Buffy opened her eyes, and softly said, “It doesn’t matter any more.”

Sargon looked keenly into her green eyes, perceiving her latest misfortune. “Alas, it is what I thought,” he sighed. “Kanafinwë is behind this latest woe.”

“It’s over, Sargon,” she revealed, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “Káno betrayed me. He lied to me.”

A pained expression came to the Adan’s face. His sad grey eyes continued to search hers. “And I take it that you wish to retaliate against his act of betrayal with one of your own. You wish to use me as a means of getting back at him.”

Her lover’s words stung, for they were true. She attempted to dispute his comments nevertheless.

Sargon placed his hands on the Slayer’s shoulders, and slid her body off his. He got out of bed, retrieved her gown from the floor, and handed it back to her.

“Get dressed, Bella,” he said, the pain in his voice apparent.

“What?” She was flabbergasted by his actions. He had always wanted her and Buffy couldn’t understand why he was rejecting her.

The Adan pulled the gown over her head before turning away. He walked across the chamber, stopping in front of the bejeweled portrait of the Vala Queen that he had commissioned during his first life as the king of Sumer and Akkad. He tearfully looked at the magnificent life-like image, wishing that Buffy would hurriedly dress and ease his temptation. A part of him wanted her desperately, was anxious to take her right then and there, but there would be dire consequences if he did so. That much Sargon knew.

“Don’t you get it? My marriage is over,” conceded the Slayer. “Káno’s gone, Sargon. It’s over.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he answered, still staring at the glittering image on the wall. “But my heart tells me otherwise.” The Adan turned, facing his lover. “You will take Maglor back.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. Unable to speak, she slowly shook her head.

“You will, my beloved,” he replied sadly. “I do not deny that I long for you. You’re right about that.” He slowly made his way back to the bed, speaking with each step he took. “Yet, you choose to come to me besotted with spirits, seeking to hurt Kanafinwë as he hurt you. Once you sober up, regaining your senses, you’ll see the error of your actions, and, as a result, I will be the one punished. Is it fair, that in the end, I will suffer from the misdeeds of your husband?”

The Slayer sat there in stunned disbelief. She found it unfathomable that she’d take Maglor back after his betrayal. But what was even more disturbing was Sargon’s uncanny ability to see through her façade.

When the Adan reached the side of the bed where she sat, he crouched before her. “I love you, Luinil. I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you in the days of my youth. I’ve come to accept that I will be second in your heart, that Kanafinwë will always come first. Your love for the Elf is stronger than what you feel for me.”

She attempted to protest, but Sargon placed a finger to her lips, stilling her words. He cupped her cheek, gently caressing her soft skin.

“He will beg your forgiveness, and, because of your love for him, you will gladly accept it,” he continued, his eyes welling with tears. “You will never leave him. Not over this, or what’s to come. This is but the first betrayal on his part. Your love for the Noldo will blind you to the misdeeds brought about by the Oath.” A tear escaped the Adan’s eye. “The Elf will end up leaving you once he truly understands the pain and misery he’s caused. He will wander the world alone in his despair, regretting all the sorrow that the Oath has brought upon his kin, especially you, my beloved.”

“He’ll betray me again,” she said in a wounded voice, tears now streaming down her face.

“I’m afraid so. Sadly, the Oath is stronger than his love for you. It cannot be undone by any, not even you.” The Adan looked at her with woeful eyes. “My dear Bella… you will cleave to him out of love and out of hope.”

“I have no hope left,” she cried. “Everything… and everyone is being ripped from me, one by one. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so dark. My world… is so dark and full of such pain.”

“The Noldo will renew your hope, my love,” he said reassuringly. “As much as it pains me to say it, he’s good for you. He helps you understand the true meaning of tolerance and forgiveness.”

“How can I be tolerant or forgive him and the Noldor when they killed Dior. Dior, Sargon! He was our salvation. Our only hope. Morgoth will run amok even more and now the Valar won’t help us. Dior was the only one born from the union of Man and Elf. The only one that could get the Valar to aid us in our wars,” she sobbed, in near hysterics.

“No!” countered the Adan insistently, taking her hands in his. He took a seat beside Buffy on the bed. “He’s not the only one, Luinil!”

“He’s… he’s not,” she sniffled, facing Sargon with a look of confusion on her face.

“No, he’s not. I’ve spoken much with Huor. He’s been blessed with the gift of foresight, and has seen many things. Good things. His son, Tuor, has wed Idril Celebrindal, Turgon’s daughter, and they have a son, Luinil. A son! Eärendil is his name. He will become a mighty mariner and will be exalted by the Valar. They will set him in the highs of Ilmen as a star, a star that Man will one day name unto you.”

The Slayer sat there, dumbstruck by the Adan’s words.

“See, hope is not lost. Things will get better. There is a light at the end of that tunnel.” Sargon wrapped an arm around his lover, holding her close, speaking reassuringly to her.

Buffy’s mind was reeling from everything that the Adan had told her. She sat quietly, listening to his words of comfort, attempting to stifle her tears.

When she finally spoke, she faintly asked, “How will I know?” She lifted her head from his shoulder, looking into the mortal’s eyes. “How will I know when it’s over between me and Káno?”

Sargon traced the trail of her tears with his finger. “You will know, my love, when you cry tears of gold.”

“What?” she queried, confused by what the Adan had just said.

“You will shed tears of gold when Maglor finally leaves you.”

“How… how do you know that?”

“I’ve seen it in my dreams.”

Her glassy eyes widened, as numerous questions came to her mind.

“I do not know when that will be, Luinil,” he continued, perceiving her thoughts. Sargon wiped her tears away. “I have not seen all that’s to come, only some. Know that I will be here for you, to comfort you in your time of sorrow. I will never leave you.”

Buffy placed her head back on the Adan’s shoulder, her mind racing from everything that she had learned. Unfortunately, her head started to spin, and all the alcohol she had consumed churned uncomfortably in her stomach. Only a second later, she vomited all over the marble floor.

Sargon, always the trooper, took care of her. As he put her in a bath, he summoned for a couple of servants to clean up the mess. After bathing the Valië, he put her to bed and cast a spell of sleep upon her, a sleep that would ease her suffering upon awakening.

Little did the mortal know that he was an unwitting player in Ilúvatar’s master plan. Sargon’s prophetic words about the Slayer’s marriage would lead to her reconciling with her husband sooner then anticipated. It was decreed by the Allfather that the time had not yet arrived for his beloved daughter’s relationship with the Elf to end, for she was to play an important role in things to come. Unbeknownst to Buffy, she would be responsible for changing the course of history, especially for the Edain.



And it came to be that several days after she had had that conversation with Sargon, the Noldor returned to Ossiriand. They had foolishly assumed that the Green-elves did not know of their attack on Menegroth. Going against the counsel of Amrod and Amras (who deemed that Buffy knew of the Kinslaying), Maglor refused to remain on Amon Ereb with his twin brothers. The Noldo was full of remorse and sought to return to his wife and son. Maedhros had reluctantly agreed. Their remaining Households, including those of the deceased C-brothers, accompanied the two sons of Fëanor back to the Land of Seven Rivers.

To their horror, they were stopped by Tarlanc and his men at the northern borders. They were told that they were to be brought before the Queen in Lindon Hall, to face her judgment for the sins they had committed in Menegroth. Some of the Noldor grew fearful, too terrified to face the Slayer’s wrath, and fled back to Amon Ereb. However, most continued on the trek to Lindon Hall, even though they did not know what to expect.

All the Noldor, except for Maglor, were ushered into the Great Hall. He was taken to the study where Buffy waited. When the son of Fëanor entered the chamber, he saw his wife sitting behind her desk, busily scrawling her signature on several documents.

Buffy lifted her head. When she fixed her gaze on her husband, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest. Her palms instantly became wet with sweat.

Maglor remained motionless for a few moments, his grey eyes glistening with sorrow and regret.

The Slayer threw down her quill and rose to her feet. Her eyes never left the Noldo.

The son of Fëanor slowly crossed the room, and stood before his wife. He then dropped to his knees, and in tears, told of his misdeeds brought about by the Oath and the unrelenting provocation of Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir. He begged Buffy to forgive him, to give him another chance, as he had done her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing.

Seeing Maglor in such a state stirred the Slayer to pity. She was finally beginning to understand the words of Sargon and the words that she herself had said long ago: that love can drive one to do things unfathomable. The thought of facing another day without her beloved husband, sickened her. She needed him. She wanted him. She loved him more than life itself.

Buffy wrapped her arms around the Noldo’s neck, and pressed her face against the top of his head.

“I forgive you, Káno,” she sniffled. “I’ll always forgive you.”

And indeed, in the days and years to come, the Slayer would prove that the power of love would lead her to do things unfathomable. The following day, she would sign a decree, banning all in Ossir from speaking ill of the Noldor and of the Kinslaying.

However, she refused to ease the suffering of Maedhros and Maglor in regards to the twin sons of Dior. She never told them that they were brought to her, and that they dwelled in safety with Luthor and Lalwen outside of Beleriand. She hoped that would make them think should the Oath awaken again. With her knowledge of Eärendil, her hope for the future had been renewed. In spite of Sargon’s words, she became more determined to thwart the Curse that was upon her loved ones, even if that meant she’d have to appeal to the Valar themselves…


Chapter 100 - THAT VISION-THING

The Slayer resumed her daily activities, doing her best to act as though nothing had ever happened. She convinced herself that Celegorm and Curufin were to blame for the Kinslaying, as both Maglor and Maedhros had told her that the two C-brothers had incited the others to violence. While she grieved over the brothers’ passing, she felt that they had received their comeuppance for instigating the Noldor to battle the Sindar at Menegroth.

As the weeks turned into months, Buffy found herself haunted by something that Morgoth had told her long ago: that a relationship built on a foundation of lies was doomed to crumble into nothingness. Even though he had made that statement in regards to her relationship with Mablung, she couldn’t help but think that the same thing applied to her marriage. She was keeping things from Maglor. She was lying to him. She wondered if she was dooming their marriage by doing so, or, since her intentions were honorable, her lies were justified. She tended to believe the latter.

Buffy did everything she could to put those thoughts out of her mind. She trained with a renewed vigor, exercising both her body and mind. She began using her Mirror more frequently, determined to see what was happening outside of her realm. Morgoth’s minions had the run of Beleriand, pursuing Elf and Man with an unquenchable thirst for blood. Those people that could, fled to Ossir, seeking the Slayer’s protection from the menacing creatures of Melkor Bauglir.

Much to her surprise, Buffy had found the location of the survivors from Menegroth. She was relieved to see that Elwing was amongst them. The Grey-elves had retreated to the Mouths of Sirion, where they were aided by the people of Círdan in the building of a new settlement there. She didn’t share that revelation with any, save Orchal, as they now knew the location of the Silmaril, and dare not speak of it to anyone.

By the time that summer of Yr 510 had arrived, she had also discovered the whereabouts of Gondolin. To her dismay, she also saw many yrch searching the lands around Echoriath, the mountain chain that surrounded Turgon’s city. Fearing that the enemy would learn the location of the Hidden Kingdom, the Slayer sent a letter, via one of her falcons, to the Noldo King, imploring him to tighten his watches along the mountain passes.

Unfortunately, Turgon would never receive her message. Maeglin, his nephew, would intercept the letter, and destroy it. The elf, against the laws of his uncle, often traveled in secret outside of that realm, mining for metals, and had been captured by yrch a few weeks before. He was taken before Morgoth’s throne in Angband. Maeglin’s will faltered under the intense, scrutinizing eyes of Melkor Bauglir, causing the Enemy to see the elf’s deepest and darkest desires. As the Dark Lord had done with the evil Easterlings, he had lured Maeglin into betraying the location of Gondolin with false promises that the elf would become the ruler of that land, and would have the hand of his first cousin, Idril, whom the elf lusted after greatly.

Buffy would not learn of these things until much later, but Morgoth was already planning the destruction of the last, great Noldorin realm in Beleriand. His attack would come on Midsummer’s Day of that same year, when the Slayer had left her lands for several days to attend the funeral of her dear old friend, Dringion, the Dwarf Lord of Belegost.

Morgoth’s Balrogs, Dragons, yrch and wolves descended upon the city just before dawn. Those that dwelled within the Hidden Kingdom had gathered on the city’s walls in anticipation of the rising sun, for that day marked the festival, Gates of Summer, and the elves would sing their songs at the sun’s rising. However, the first light that they had seen had not come from the east as expected, but from the north, as the fires of the Balrogs’ bodies illuminated the darkness that surrounded them.

The sudden attack brought terror to the masses, having believed that Gondolin would never be discovered by the enemy. There was much chaos as the demons of Morgoth invaded the city. Some elves tried to escape by the tunnel that led to the city’s main gates, but the Dark Lord’s minions were already there and killed all those that attempted to flee that way.

Turgon’s armies had rallied together, in an attempt to assail the enemy, but to no avail. So great were the number of their foes that there was no way they could defeat them. Many of the greatest and most valiant Noldor perished in their attempt to defend the mirror image of Tirion in Eldamar.

Maeglin, and those loyal to him, aided Morgoth from within, cutting down all those elves that attempted to prevent the Noldo from seizing Idril, whom he prized nearly as much as the lordship of Gondolin. But the elf would get his just rewards for his betrayal. He met his grisly demise when a wrathful Tuor threw him over a precipice.

Idril, having feared that something like that would one day happen, had had a secret tunnel built through the mountains as a means of escape. She and Tuor gathered those elves that they could, and led them to the secret passageway, which only a few had known about. The elleth attempted to persuade her father to come, but Turgon refused to desert his people and beloved city. The Noldo King would die before the doors to his citadel.

Not many escaped. But, thankfully, Tuor, Idril and Eärendil were amongst those that had. With the help of Manwë’s Eagles, and the power of Ulmo, they were able to flee with their kinsmen to the Mouths of Sirion, where they joined the survivors of Menegroth and the Falas.

When Buffy came back from Belegost and saw these events play out in her Mirror, she was terrified. With Gondolin gone, that left only Ossir and Angband standing. She increased the watches on her northern and western borders, fearing that Ossiriand’s doom was fast approaching.

Though she was preparing for the worst, Morgoth did not intend to wage war on his beloved. He believed that by annihilating the threat of Gondolin, he had defeated a great enemy. In times past, after he had been set free from Mandos, every time Melkor had passed by Turgon in Valinor, he felt that his doom would one day come from the Noldo in some way. Now that Turgon had been taken care of, he began to devise a new scheme for his beloved Melisse, a scheme that would ultimately lead to the Valar turning against her, just as they had him.

The Slayer’s uneasiness grew as the months turned into years and Morgoth still made no threats of war. She understood how calculating the Vala could be, and the words of Ulmo sprung to mind more frequently than ever before: Expect the unexpected. She therefore increased the watches along all of Ossir’s borders including the southern portion of her realm where the threat of war was slim to none. There was no way that she was going to make the same mistakes that the Noldor had in the past by becoming less vigilant as their kingdom’s flourished and their people prospered. If she let her guard down, even for a moment, Melkor would strike, ending her dynasty in Beleriand. After working for centuries to create what she considered a great utopia, she wasn’t about to become lax or complacent as the other elvish Lords had.



When fourteen years had passed since Buffy had sent Eluréd and Elurín away, she began to experience what she called ‘bizarre’ dreams. In actuality, they were visions. Visions that would ultimately help the twin sons of Dior gain their immortal status. The dreams centered on Two Trees, but not the Two Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin. These Trees were different. They emitted no light but each bore an edible fruit. The land in which they were located was indiscernible to her, as the visions were hazy at best. The Slayer had no idea where to begin her search for those Two Trees, and hoped that eventually her dreams would reveal the exact location.

That time finally arrived in the summer of Yr 525. She was lounging in one of the gardens of Lindecoa with Maglor, who was serenading her with one of his beautiful love songs. His lyrics conjured images of their first meeting in the dreamscape long ago when Buffy had first became enamored of the Noldo. As she lay there, in a dream-like state, the pictures from her memories began to blend into something altogether different. Before long, the entire landscape changed in her mind’s eye to something that she remembered quite well.

Her eyes darted open. “I know where I need to go!” she gasped in surprise.

Maglor stopped strumming his harp. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his brows furrowed in question.

“The Trees, those Two Trees I’ve been dreaming about,” she smiled, turning toward her husband. “I know where they are.”

“Where?”

“Sumer. They’re in Sumer.”

A worried look came to the Noldo’s face. “You can’t go to Sumer! If Marduk finds out… ”

“He won’t know,” she interrupted. “I’ll sneak in.”

“How in Eru’s name are you going to sneak into Sumer?” he queried, unnerved at the prospect of his wife’s departure. “You do not have the ability to disguise yourself as you once had. You cannot change your form at will.”

“I won’t need to. It’s not like I’m gonna be entering his temple or anything. The place I’m talking about is far from civilization, or at least on the outskirts, if I remember correctly.”

“Bella, it’s been hundreds of years since you departed Mesopotamia. Things change over time,” Maglor argued. “And I don’t see the point in finding these Trees. What purpose do they serve any way?”

Buffy fell quiet, pondering the Noldo’s question. Her gut told her that those Trees were of great importance although she didn’t know exactly why or to what extent. Deep down, she knew they had something to do with Eluréd and Elurín. For years, she had been praying to Ilúvatar for guidance and believed that the visions were an answer to her prayers. She was desperate to gift the sons of Dior with immortality, and felt that perhaps the fruit of those Trees, if eaten, might bestow everlasting life upon one. Though unsure, she was compelled to see for herself whether or not her theory was correct.

“I have to go,” she finally said, rising to her feet.

Maglor leapt to his feet, grabbing his wife by the arm. “What would drive you to return to the lands forbidden to you? No good will come of it, I deem.”

The Slayer still had not told her husband that the Enyd had rescued Eluréd and Elurín from certain death, and wasn’t about to reveal that they were her motivation to return to the lands from which she was exiled.

“I have to do what I have to do,” she answered, firmer in tone.

The Noldo could see the look of resolve in his wife’s eyes. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to dissuade her. He feared that if she went back to Mesopotamia, she’d fall victim to her past transgressions.

“Let me come with you then,” he said, looking pleadingly at Buffy.

“I have to go alone. It’s something that I have to do… alone.” She gave Maglor a reassuring smile. “I won’t be gone long. Promise.” The Slayer planted a kiss on his lips. “I’ll be alright. Don’t worry.”

“How can I not worry when you’re intent on entering the lands of the enemy?”

“Oh, honey, don’t underestimate my stealthiness,” she answered lightheartedly. Buffy linked her arm with the Noldo’s and began to guide him back to the castle. “Stealthy is my middle name.”

Once inside, Maglor, displeased that she was leaving so suddenly, watched as his wife quickly gathered the things she’d need for the journey. He couldn’t help but feel that she was walking into a trap. He believed that Morgoth and Marduk were in cahoots, that they were sending her the visions that were taking her away from him. Nothing frightened him more than the thought of Buffy entering enemy territory without the aid of any army or the powers of the Valar. The Noldo desperately tried to convince his wife to take Olofin with her since he possessed magics that could help her against any possible attack, but, once again, the Slayer refused.

She was relieved when she finally took to the air in her lion drawn chariot some thirty minutes later. Buffy was nervously excited about returning to Sumer. She only wished that she could see her children, Anno and Mirë, but feared that she’d be discovered if she dared set foot in Eridu. Besides, she wasn’t going that deep into her former lands. She would be far northwest of the capital city of Sumer.

Along the way, the Slayer stopped at the Deeper Well, visiting with Dvalin and the other dwarves for a while. She was amazed to see the progress they had made on the pit since her last visit. From where she stood on the platform, she couldn’t see the light from the lamps of the workers in the depths of the hole. Hundreds upon hundreds of sarcophagi protruded from the walls as far down as she could see. She found it mind-blowing to see that so many foes had perished in the wars in Middle-earth.

Buffy remained with the dwarves until she was summoned to Folkvang in the wee hours of the following morning. She was delighted to learn from Sargon that she was on the right path, that her journey into the East was Eru’s will. The Adan was so excited about her mission that he offered to teleport his lover to her destination so that none could witness her arrival into Marduk’s realm.

The Slayer gladly accepted his offer. However, before she was willing to leave, she asked that Vórëa accompany her lions to Hirílost. She didn’t want her kitties to make the journey alone, especially since they had never been to that part of Middle-earth.

One second, the Vala Queen was standing within her Halls, Sussrúmnir, the next, she found herself standing on a plateau at the edge of the great cedar forest in Sumer. Her eyes scanned the familiar terrain, which glowed in orange from the early morning sun. A crisp breeze blew from the southeast, carrying with it an earthy scent. She could see that it had rained hours earlier.

Walking across the spongy ground, she stopped at the edge of the ravine, the site of one of many battles that had been fought by her people in the past. She recalled the tragic death of Túreb and the mutilation of Sador on that fateful day so long ago. As her eyes welled with tears at the memory, the hair on the nape of Buffy’s neck suddenly stood on end. She sensed that she was no longer alone.

Slowly, she turned. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size as she beheld the Demon Lord, Humbaba, in the flesh.

“Hail, Ishtar,” he said in the Sumerian tongue, bowing his overly large head. “It is a great honor to meet you at last, face to face.”

The shock of seeing the demonic creature of the forest left her momentarily speechless. The Slayer quickly snapped her jaw shut, trying to act as though she didn’t find his appearance strange and repulsive.

“So, so you must be Humbaba,” she answered, once she had found her voice. Her disbelieving eyes surveyed the monster’s frightening form.

“That, I am,” he replied, slightly hurt that the Vala Queen appeared disgusted by his appearance.

Humbaba must have been from a race of giants or something since he stood at least ten feet tall. Oddly enough, he reminded Buffy of a robot. She thought it must have been because of his metallic silver colored flesh. He was broadly built and his long, thick arms hung at his sides, well past his knees. But it was his face that she found most creepy, or, more accurately, his eye, since he had only one. It was the reason why his head was overly large, as the eye was about the size of a football. Adding to the creepiness factor was the fact that the eye constantly changed color, from brown to green, to yellow to red.

She shifted her gaze, uncomfortable with being in the presence of what the Slayer believed was none other than a living and breathing Cyclops. She looked at the mammoth cedars beyond him, realizing at that moment that if Humbaba’s eye turned blue, that killer death beam of his would strike her dead as it had so many others before.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the creature continued. “I have much to show you. I deem that you’ll be quite pleased with what you see.”

Humbaba started toward the wood, but Buffy remained frozen to the spot, her mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. She was reluctant to follow one whom she considered an enemy, to follow him into the heart of his realm, and began to question Ilúvatar’s judgment. Even though Sargon had told her she was on the right path, she couldn’t believe that the Allfather would use such a creature as an instrument in his designs. The Cyclops had killed Túreb, her beloved friend! And Sador had his arm blown off because of Humbaba! How could she willingly follow one who had killed those so righteous and pure at heart? For God’s sake, the Demon Lord had even shot at her and Úrion as they fled in the chariot! No, she wasn’t eager to follow him, not by a long shot.

The Demon Lord must have sensed her apprehension. He stopped in his tracks, but didn’t face her. “No harm will come to you, Ishtar,” he began, speaking in his most reassuring voice. “You know that you’re meant to be here, that you were destined to return to my lands. You said so yourself long ago. Do you not remember your words to me? The gift you gave to me? The instructions you spoke in regards to the two silver beams?” Humbaba slowly turned, facing the Slayer. “The war is over. At least, between your people and mine. I am your ally, Ishtar, not your enemy. We all have our part to play in Eru’s designs, and ours is great. Come,” he said, motioning her to follow. “Come! See the transformation that has brought you here for I deem that you will be most pleased when you do.”

Buffy’s eyes scanned the wood, hoping that she’d catch a glimpse of the Two Trees. Yet, deep down, she knew that they could not be seen from where she stood. After taking a deep breath, she followed the Demon Lord, disappearing into the thickness of the forest.

The deeper they walked into the wood, the calmer she became. The heaviness that normally lay about the land was gone and in its place were peace and tranquility. Numerous birds of all kinds chirped merrily, flying from the branches of the cedars, accompanying the unlikely pair on their journey.

After walking for hours, they stopped and rested in a small clearing. Some of Humbaba’s acolytes came forth from the shadow of the woods, bringing with them food and drink. Those beings looked nothing like their Master and somewhat resembled mortals save for the bluish silver color of their skin. They sang in their lovely harmonious voices as Buffy and the Demon Lord ate.

Shortly after eating, the Slayer and Humbaba resumed their trek. Her uneasiness at the Cyclops’ appearance abated after talking much with him. He spoke of his past hostilities with not only Morgoth but with Illyria and Marduk as well. He also mentioned Set, one of Marduk’s sons, whom he loathed greatly although he didn’t go into any details as to why.

It was mid-afternoon when they finally reached a great stone wall. Humbaba told her that his people had quarried the stone from Orocarni (which could clearly be seen to the west), and erected the wall as a means of defense.

“Already whispers of this place have reached those that dwell to our east, from the utter north to the utter south,” he explained as they walked along the wall toward the main gates. “The magics contained within these walls lure many from all races to seek its secrets. None have yet found their way here, though we’ve killed many that have attempted to do so. You shall be the first, aside from my people, to lay eyes on what we consider sacred and holy.”

Buffy shielded her eyes as she looked up at the top of the wall. For the first time since entering the forest, she saw many other creatures like her companion, Cyclops’, standing atop the bulwark, watching for possible intruders from both the woods and air.

When they reached the gates, the Slayer gasped at the sight. The massive doors were wrought from copper, at least, its facing was. Embossed on each door, in adamant, was an enormous Holy Cross. The sun’s rays reflecting against the surface bedazzled her eyes with a reddish-white light. On either side stood a tower of lapis lazuli. A lion and a lioness, both covered in gold, sat on the roof of each structure.

The Slayer’s eyes glistened with tears. A smile came to her face. She couldn’t help but notice that the symbols that adorned the entry into that land represented her, her and Eru Ilúvatar, that is. She was moved beyond words.

“Do you know this place?” asked the Demon Lord, watching her intently as the gates slowly swung open. “Do you know its name?”

She shook her head.

“Think. Think hard,” he said encouragingly, waiting with bated breath for her to utter the name of that holy place.

Buffy stared at the landscape that lay beyond the gates. “Edin,” she whispered as the name suddenly came to her mind.

“That’s right,” answered a beaming Humbaba, proud that she knew the name. “And do you know what it means?”

She turned her gaze to the Cyclops. “‘The Abode of the Righteous Ones,’” she answered softly.

“Indeed,” he replied, stepping forward to the entryway. Humbaba held his arms aloft. “Welcome, my dear Lady, to your new home in Mesopotamia.” The demon faced her, smiling. “This is where you will make preparations for your war with Marduk - the Righteous versus the Wicked! A new day will dawn when evil is destroyed from these regions, where those whose blood is untainted shall rise and prevail over those that have disgraced Eru Ilúvatar.” He slowly walked toward Buffy. “Your time will come again, Ishtar. You will soon return to these parts and reclaim your throne, ousting Marduk from his. The lordship of these lands will be yours once again.”

Hearing those words from Humbaba’s mouth caused the smile to fade from the Slayer’s face. She vividly recalled her abuse of power in the past and feared that it would happen again. No, she didn’t want that power, but she chose not tell that to the Cyclops.

“Take me to the Two Trees. I want to see them for myself,” she ordered, beginning to comprehend where she really was.

“Right this way, my Lady,” he said, motioning for her to pass through the gates, “and I shall take you to the most splendid garden in all of Middle-earth.”

A carriage attached to a couple of oxen waited for them just inside the wall. They climbed into the vehicle before it began to move along through a vast green field. Wildlife of all kinds could be seen grazing or running amidst the rich grasses. Though Humbaba and his people toiled in building the wall, they themselves did not dwell in Edin nor had they cultivated the lands. Everything was in its natural unadulterated state.

The Demon Lord explained that after he had planted the two silver beams of the cross to Buffy’s specifications, the terrain within his forest had begun to change.

As he continued to drone on, things became somewhat clearer to the Slayer. She now understood that she was on her way to the Garden of Eden, and that she would soon set eyes upon the legendary Trees: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life. Buffy couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought that she was the one responsible for their existence, that she had helped bring them into being.

However, she was also confused. While she was by no means a Biblical scholar, she couldn’t help but wonder about the story of Adam and Eve. If there was any story from the Bible that she was quite familiar with, it was that one, from the Book of Genesis. The thing was - Man already existed! So, how could it be that the first mortal man dwelled in Edin? Confounding her even more was the fact that she recalled that Eve was made from the rib of Adam, a feat that seemed highly improbable, if not impossible, to her.

In time, Buffy would gain a greater knowledge of not only that mythological story, but many others as well. She was destined to become a major player in the events that would soon take place, marking her place in the annals of history. Yet, the Evil Ones would do their damnedest to alter the true account, the legends of old, out of fear of womankind’s rise to power. Only those with “eyes to see, and ears to hear” would be able to discern truth from fiction.

Long before they actually set eyes upon the Two Trees, they could smell the sweet fragrance of the fruit wafting in the air. When the vehicle came to a halt, Humbaba helped his companion out. She stood beside the Cyclops, staring at the illustrious Two Trees.

“Hmm,” sounded the Slayer, folding her arms across her chest.

“Is something wrong?” asked Humbaba, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“No, not really,” she replied, puzzled by what she saw. “I always thought that the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil bore apples.” Buffy shifted her green eyes to the Demon Lord. “That’s how mankind had always depicted it.” She shrugged. “I guess they missed the mark on this one.”

“I see that you know the name of that Tree,” said the Demon Lord, turning his eye toward the Tree further from where they stood. “And the other… ”

“… Is the Tree of Life,” she nodded. “Yeah, I get it now. I know of this place.”

The Slayer walked up to the closest Tree, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She ran her hand along the bark of the Tree, which was smooth and silver, just like the Cross from which it sprang. Above her, clusters of purple fruit hung from branches covered in green oval-shaped leaves. The fruit most closely resembled plums, but grew in bunches like grapes.

She turned her gaze to the other Tree, as she was most interested in that one. The Tree of Life was the reason for her visit. As she walked over to that Tree, she could see that it was quite different from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Growing amid the golden red leaves was a fruit that most closely resembled a banana but definitely was not. The fruit grew in clusters, just like the other, yet its fragrance was not as sweet.

Reaching for the lowest limb, Buffy broke off a bunch of the golden-brown colored fruit and inspected it closely. Unlike a banana, the fruit had a skin similar to that of the other tree; the flesh yielded to her touch. She brought the fruit to her nose and inhaled deeply. It emitted a scent similar to honey.

“This is the answer to my prayers,” she said softly, shifting her eyes to the Cyclops. “For years I’ve been searching for a way to gift others with immortality and this is it.” She glanced back at the fruit cradled in her arms. “This is what I’ve been searching for.”

“Then you have not yet regained your powers,” said Humbaba, cocking his overly large head to the side.

“How do you know about that?” she queried uneasily, staring into the now green eye of the Demon Lord.

“I know many things, Ishtar, many things that may be advantageous to you in the future,” he nodded. “I can see that you still do not wholly understand the powers that lie within you. You, my Lady, possess powers so great that those of your kindred fear what you’re capable of… ”

“I have no powers,” Buffy interjected weakly. “Marduk stripped them from me before I was forced into exile… ”

“Yet the day will come when one from the race of the Valar will restore your powers!” declared Humbaba with certainty. He placed one of his silver hands on her shoulder. “Strength comes in many forms and you should not underestimate those abilities that you still possess.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she snapped. “I don’t have any powers! I’m weak. I’m a shell of my former self.”

“Your prowess in battle is legendary,” countered the Cyclops. “I can feel the strength within your body even now. You may be small, but you are strong. You do not need magics to defeat the enemy, only strength and wisdom.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got that whole death ray thingy working for you,” she replied, staring into his now monstrous yellow eye.

“True, but that is my greatest defense. I would trade the power of my eye for your strength if given the chance. The peoples in this world gravitate toward you, Ishtar. They love you. They’d die for you.” Humbaba pulled his hand away. A sad look came to his hideous face. “Alas, none save for my people feel that way about me. I am a monster, a creature condemned to live in solitude for my bodily form instills fear into those that look upon me.”

Buffy shifted her feet uncomfortably, turning her gaze toward Orocarni looming in the background. “The sun’s going down,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Then we should be on our way,” answered the Cyclops. “Let us return to my lands and I will see to it that you are fed before you depart.”

They walked back to the carriage, and left the uninhabited city of Edin. The Slayer was taken to the secret dwelling place of Humbaba and his people. The entrance was similar to that of the Deeper Well, as one had to pass through a mystical barrier of a trunk of a hollowed out cedar. At the request of the Demon Lord, she would never speak of that place or the things that she saw. She remained there until Sargon brought her back to Folkvang the following morning.

“Ah, I see that you have the fruit from the Tree of Life,” said the smiling Adan upon her arrival at Sussrúmnir.

“Yep,” she replied, allowing Sargon to steer her up the stairway. “Am I supposed to let Eluréd and Elurín eat this or what?”

“It would be best to make a drink from the juice.”

Once they had reached Buffy’s private rooms, her lover grabbed a bowl, a towel, a metal pick, and a ewer. They sat on the floor on either side of the coffee table. With her elbows propped on the tabletop, she watched with great interest as Sargon pulled one of the banana-looking fruit from the cluster. He carefully stuck the metal pick into one end, piercing the golden-brown flesh. Immediately, the strong scent of honey permeated the chamber.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she laughed as she watched Sargon ‘stroke’ the juice from the fruit.

“The juice can only be extracted in the same manner as one handling an udder of a cu or goat,” he replied with a wry smile as the amber fluid splattered into the bowl.

“Like an udder?” chortled the Slayer in her amusement. “Sorry, honey, but that looks more like giving a hand job.” Shaking her head, she added, “Let me show you that it can be done another way.” She pulled a dagger charm from her belt before grabbing a piece of fruit from the table top. “See, all you have to do is slice it thus…” Buffy paused as she struggled in her efforts to break the skin with the tip of her blade. Though the fruit yielded to the touch, the skin appeared quite tough. She pushed down on the blade with all her might. Instead of tearing through the flesh of the fruit, the blade slid off, slicing the palm of her hand at the base of her thumb. Cursing, she dropped both her dagger and the fruit as blood squirted from her wound. She pressed her good hand against the gash in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

“Ooh, let me see,” Sargon winced, reaching for her injured hand.

“Stupid phallic-shaped fruit,” grumbled the Slayer in disdain as her lover ran his tongue over the incision, healing it instantly.

“There, all better,” he smiled.

Grabbing the towel, Buffy began wiping the blood from her now healed hand. She watched as Sargon resumed stroking the juice from the fruit. “I guess it’s safe to say that Ilúvatar has a sense of humor. I’ve never seen any type of fruit that has to be stroked like that.”

“The fruit from the Tree of Life is masculine in design whereas the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil is feminine… ”

“Oh, I see how it is,” she interjected disapprovingly. “You men folk have to associate evil with women even though men are nearly always the culprits of the wickedest of deeds.”

“Ah, but it’s the seed of man that brings forth life,” countered the Adan with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Without the egg from a woman you have nothing. We carry life. We bring it forth. Not man!”

“Don’t get so upset over this, Bella. It is what it is. Rejoice that you have what you’ve been searching for - a juice that will give the drinker immortality.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she sighed, tossing the towel back onto the table.

“Come on and help me here. We’ll get done faster,” said Sargon, motioning to the fruit on the table with his head. “I daresay that you’re probably better at this than I!”

With a shake of her head, Buffy helped the Adan extract the juice from the rest of the fruit. From that day forward, she would refer to the Tree of Life as the ‘Penis Tree’, and once she had seen the inside of the plum-like fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, she would refer to that as the ‘Vagina Tree’. It would be a running joke within her Household, yet the terminology would one day find its way to mankind, who would record those terms in clay tablets during the Second Age.

When they had collected all the juice into the bowl, Sargon carefully poured it into the ewer. The time had now arrived for Buffy to give the drink to the twin sons of Dior.

Shortly thereafter, the Adan teleported her to Hirílost.

The dwarves on guard duty were shocked by the Slayer’s sudden arrival at her fortress in northern Sumer. It had been over three hundred years since she last set foot in her Halls, and none of the Naugrim had ever seen the Vala Queen in the flesh before. They recognized her by the various portraits and statues that graced the many chambers of Hirílost. The descendents of Noegyth Nibin greeted her in proper dwarvish fashion, excited by the arrival of the one that had delivered their forefathers from evil.

Despite the early hour, Buffy was most eager to see Eluréd and Elurín. She asked the dwarves to wake the young men as well as Luthor and Lalwen. As the Naugrim obediently followed orders, she made her way to her Great Hall.

Upon entering that chamber, she climbed the steps of the dais to her throne. She placed the ewer on the small table beside her chair before sinking into the blue cushioned seat. The Slayer glanced around the dimly lit chamber, noticing that nothing had changed in the many years since she had last been there.

Unable to sit still, she took the chalice of wine that the dwarf, Lintz, offered her before ambling around the room, admiring the various pieces of artwork that illustrated her past triumphs. She was about to question Lintz about one of the paintings when she heard the sound of hurried footfalls in the corridor outside the chamber.

She turned toward the doorway, watching in anticipation, until both Eluréd and Elurín came rushing into view. They came to a halt just inside the room, breathing heavily from their sprint through the castle. Buffy’s lips curled into a smile as she beheld the sons of Dior, who had now reached what she considered to be the pinnacle of manhood.

As the twins approached her, she could see that they had inherited the physique of their mortal forefathers, but their faces, especially the eyes, revealed their kinship with the Eldar. They were beautiful in a manly way.

Unlike the last time the Slayer had seen the sons of Dior, they did not run into her arms. When they reached her, the young men fell onto bended knee, following the protocol instilled in them by both Luthor and Lalwen.

“Greetings, Luinil,” they said in unison.

Buffy thrust her empty chalice into Lintz’s chest, her gaze never leaving the young men kneeling before her.

“Look at you,” she said softly, gently lifting each young man’s chin with either hand. “You’ve grown into such handsome men.” Her eyes darted from Eluréd and Elurín. “I have come as I had promised and have brought a gift beyond all gifts.” She kissed both men on the forehead before bidding them to rise.

The twins slowly rose to their feet, towering over the much smaller form of the Slayer.

“Today you shall become more like your foremother, Lúthien,” she continued, linking her arms with the sons of Dior. She steered them toward the dais, as she instructed Lintz to bring two more chalices. “Eru has seen to it that I’m able to bestow the gift of immortality on the both of you.”

“Then your powers have been restored,” said Elurín excitedly.

“No, not yet… ”

“Bella!” shouted Lalwen upon entering the Great Hall with Luthor. Many dwarves accompanied them, anxious to see the Mistress whom they served.

“Hey Lalwen. Luthor,” replied Buffy, happy to see her old friends again.

After exchanging hugs and greetings, the Slayer explained to the others about the Two Trees in Edin, and how that the juice from the Tree of Life would give the drinker everlasting life.

“Drinking this,” began Buffy, as she filled the chalices with the golden liquid, “will make you both more like the Ainur. You’ll never grow old and no sickness will ever afflict you. You’ll be able to travel the roads to all mystical realms within Eä, including Valinor, if that’s your desire.” She handed Eluréd and Elurín a chalice of the juice that she would later name, ambrosia, the nectar of the Ainur.

The twins clanked their cups together before downing the mystical beverage. The only observable change that overcame the young men was a momentary glimmer in their eyes. Other than that, Eluréd and Elurín admitted that they didn’t feel any different.

That monumental occasion called for a celebration. The Naugrim prepared a feast in which everybody that dwelled within Hirílost partook, despite the early hour.

Luthor, Lalwen and the twins questioned Buffy about Humbaba, Edin and the Two Trees repeatedly. By the time that afternoon had rolled around, Eluréd and Elurín had managed to convince her that they wished to consume the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, feeling that it was their destiny to eat from both Trees.

Once the Slayer was summoned to Folkvang early the following morning, she had Sargon bring the sons of Dior as well. After tending to her sacred duties as the Fëantári, she had her mortal lover transport her and the twins back to the cedar forest of Humbaba.

When they arrived, the Cyclops was already waiting at the edge of the wood. That only confirmed that it was the twins’ destiny to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Humbaba then led the trio to the Garden.

Instead of extracting the juice from the plum-like fruit, Eluréd and Elurín ate it straight from the Tree. They devoured all of the purple-colored flesh except for the pit, which disintegrated to dust once the fruit was eaten.

Only moments later, a frightening change overcame both young men. The blood had drained from their fair faces. Their pupils had dilated, so much so that their irises were no longer visible. The twins’ bodies began to convulse as they fell to the ground, flailing wildly, screaming in torment.

“What the hell’s going on? What’s happening to them?” asked a frantic Buffy, wrapping her arms tightly around Eluréd’s thrashing body in an attempt to restrain him.

“Eating from the Tree of Knowledge is giving them visions of the upcoming struggles between Good and Evil,” answered Humbaba, who held Elurín in a bear hug.

“Why didn’t you warn… AHH!” The Slayer’s words were cut off as Eluréd delivered a powerful head butt, causing her to see stars. The young man managed to writhe free from her grasp, and struck Humbaba with a devastating roundhouse kick that sent both the Demon Lord and his twin crashing backward onto the hard earth. Yet the Cyclops kept his hold on Elurín, who let out an ear-piercing shriek that brought many other Cyclops’ scrambling into the Garden.

Eluréd fell to his knees, his black eyes rolling backward, revealing only the whites of his eyes. With either hand, he grabbed his dark hair and began pulling it out by the handfuls.

“WE’RE GOING TO DIE! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” he screamed in anguish.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed a panicking Buffy. She ran to the young man, grabbing hold of his wrists and squeezing so hard that he was forced to let go of his dark locks. “Feawë! Rainë! Laurië! Alcari!” she screamed at the top of her lungs in desperate need of her Valkyrie chieftains’ assistance.

A second later, the four Valkyries appeared and helped subdue the twin sons of Dior. Immediately, the women and Buffy were transported back to Sussrúmnir with Eluréd and Elurín who continued to wail and writhe in agony. Accompanied by Sargon, they hurriedly carried the sons of Dior to the Healing Wing, hoping that Istahiro could somehow ease the twins’ torments.

The chief healer of Folkvang had each young man strapped into a bed to prevent them from injuring themselves further. He gave them a sedative that merely calmed them down, but did not put them to sleep. They lay there, half-dazed, turning their heads from side to side, mumbling incoherently.

Sargon did his best to assure the Slayer that she was not to blame for the twins’ suffering, that what they were experiencing was a direct result from having eaten from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and that their affliction would be short-lived. While his words brought her little comfort, she refused to leave the sons of Dior’s side until the effects wore off.

Buffy kept a bedside vigil, praying to Eru to ease the young men’s suffering. She couldn’t understand why Ilúvatar would want any to experience such horrific visions that would drive one to the brink of madness. If the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil had such an effect on all who ate that fruit, she believed it would be better to just cut the damn thing down to prevent any future incidents.

After seven days, Eluréd and Elurín suddenly snapped out of it, regaining control of their senses. Neither recalled any of the visions that they had ‘seen’, but both felt an inexplicable need to go to Sumer in order to see how much mankind had declined in the years since the Slayer’s exile.

Buffy was reluctant to send the twins into Marduk’s domain, fearing that the Renegade Vala would discover that Eluréd and Elurín were acting as her emissaries. She turned to Sargon for advice since the sons of Dior were descendants of his bloodline. The Adan suggested holding a council amongst the Mightiest of the Mighty, allowing Barahir and his kindred a voice in the final decision.

It was decided by the Edain to give the young men a series of tests to see how great their actual abilities were. They would be tested on strength, stealth, and their skill with various weapons. The twins would be sent on a number of missions within Folkvang and would have to confront a series of obstacles.

There was no way that the Slayer was going to return to Middle-earth while the trials were underway. Much to Sargon’s delight, she remained in Folkvang, constantly by his side, just like old times. The Adan relished their time together so much that he allowed time to flow outside that Blessed Realm without his interference. Spending every moment with Buffy again only increased his eagerness for the First Age to end, so that he could become first in her heart.

After six months, Eluréd and Elurín had completed all tasks assigned to them. Satisfied with their prowess, the Slayer allowed Sargon to transport them to Sumer, where the twins would collect valuable intel that would be beneficial to Buffy in times to come.

Once the sons of Dior had departed, she asked her lover to transport her back home to Tol Galen. The Adan was grieved at heart to send her back, having enjoyed their many months together. Adding to his misery, he also knew that his beloved would be quite angry with him upon her return, since he had defied her standing orders. Not only had he not altered time in Middle-earth, but he was also sending her to Lindon, not Tol Galen.

Sargon had made the judgment call that it was important for the Slayer to learn that not only had Eluréd and Elurín experienced visions over the past few months (based on Folkvang time), but so had many in Beleriand. Though those elves that dwelled in the western regions of Middle-earth had not ‘seen’ the same things as the sons of Dior, Ulmo had shown them many scenes from the impending battle, which had sent them into a frenzy, preparing for the inevitable.

Needless to say, Buffy was both surprised and confused when she found herself standing in Lindon Hall instead of Lindecoa. When she ran into Orchal and learned that she had been gone for four years, she was irate, to say the least.

“That doesn’t matter,” said the Green-elf, cutting short her diatribe at Sargon. He linked his arm with hers, leading her out of Lindon Hall. “Much has happened since your departure, Bella,” he continued, speaking hurriedly, as they descended the steps of the mansion.

When they reached the bottom of the steps, as she lifted her gaze, she gasped. All the trees except for the ones that supported their city were gone…


Chapter 101 - DEEP DOWN

A dumbstruck Buffy felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She remained motionless, her green eyes surveying the scenery before her. Lindon looked completely different without the beautiful majestic trees that had made their lands famous. She knew how much the Green-elves loved the trees of Ossir, and could not imagine what would possess them to hack down their woods.

“I know that you’re shocked. I see it on your face,” began Orchal, staring at the Slayer.

“Ya think?” she managed to mutter, still bowled over by the nakedness of the forest.

“I can’t explain it… not in words, that is,” continued the Green-elf, struggling to explain what had happened. His grey eyes scanned the emptiness that stretched out before them. “Those of us from the kindred of the Teleri had this… this compelling need… to build… ”

“Build?” repeated the Slayer, turning her bewildered gaze to the Green-elf. “What the hell are you talking about? Build what?”

Instead of directly answering her, Orchal strolled to the edge of the main boardwalk, leaving Buffy behind. He placed his hands on the railing and looked below. “Ships,” he answered in a faint voice.

“What?” she half-laughed. “We have plenty of ships.” She headed to her friend’s side, thinking that he and the other elves must have celebrated in the manner of the old ways of Sumer by smoking too much hul-gil. “What the hell do we need more ships for?” When she reached Orchal’s side and looked below, she let out a soft cry. “Oh… my… God,” she said slowly. Shocked, she leaned over the railing with her jaw agape.

Hundreds of feet below, she saw both the Eldar and Edain working feverishly, constructing the largest ships that she had ever set eyes upon in all Middle-earth. The frames of the vessels were so mammoth that there was no river in all of Beleriand on which they could sail. The hulls alone on those boats would be at least four stories high upon completion. Thirteen of them filled the areas where the land had been raped of all vegetation.

“What? Huh?” The Slayer could not find the words to convey her thoughts. She wanted to bop the Green-elf on the head for wasting Ossir’s most treasured resources on ships that were obviously built for the sea, not the rivers within their lands. Moreover, Belegaer was leagues and leagues away! Ossir didn’t possess any type of device that could transport vessels of that size to the ocean. Buffy couldn’t even think of any possible way to hoist them from the earth, or even fathom how much each boat would weigh once finished.

“We had to,” said Orchal softly, watching the workers below. “We had to build.”

The Slayer locked her eyes on the Green-elf, studying him carefully. His face was a mask of sadness and confusion. It was obvious to her that he didn’t wholly understand why they had to build those vessels. His eyes revealed his sincerity and need to complete the task that he felt was assigned to him and his kindred.

“Oh, Orchal,” she sighed, leaning her head against his arm. “What does this all mean?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I wish I knew. All I can tell you, Bella, is that we must complete this task. I know in my heart that it’s important, though I really don’t know why.”

“Have you spoken with Ulmo?” Buffy asked, still reeling from the shock of all that she was seeing.

“No. I’ve tried, but he does not answer my summons.”

“Hmm,” she sounded with a thoughtful expression on her face. After a momentary pause, she snorted. “First, I find out that a Penis Tree grants immortality and now my people are building sea-faring ships that we can’t even get to the sea!” The Slayer stood upright, tightly gripping the railing of the boardwalk. She watched the workers below with her narrowed eyes. “Something big is gonna happen. I don’t know what it is, but it’s coming.” She turned and headed for the stairs to Lindon Hall.

“Penis Tree?” queried a flummoxed Orchal. He shifted his gaze to the Slayer. “Oh, don’t you dare leave without telling me this tale of yours!” He chased after her. “What the hell is a Penis Tree?”

Laughing, Buffy led Orchal to her favorite porch overlooking the Gelion. There, she spoke to him and a few of the other Green-elf councilors about all that had happened on her journey. They were intrigued by her newfound alliance with Humbaba, but especially by the Two Trees in the Garden of Edin. They debated whether Eluréd’s prophetic words of doom were connected to the sudden compulsion of the Teleri to build their ships. The Slayer believed there was only one way to find out, but she’d need to return to Lindecoa and search her Mirror for possible answers.

Since Barathalion and Noeriel were back on Tol Galen with Luthor and Lalwen, Buffy was forced to take one of Ossir’s regular-sized ships to the isle.

It was nearly seven o’ clock when her boat glided next to the docks of Lindecoa. Most of her Household was enjoying their evening meal, save those on sentry duty. As the Slayer made her way to her Halls, she was relieved to see that Tol Galen remained untouched by the axmen that had hewn the trees in Lindon.

Upon entering her southern fortress, she motioned to the guards to keep her return quiet. She immediately made a beeline up the stairs and to the chamber that contained her Mirror.

Once the basin was full with the water of Ulmo, she placed her hands on either side of the bowl, anxious to see what images would appear. To her surprise, she saw the western marches of Doriath. Just like the Green-elves, the Grey Elves too were constructing massive ships, under the direction of Melchizedek (still disguised as Túreb). Buffy was stunned, unable to comprehend what possessed the Teleri to build those mighty vessels.

A part of her was jealous that she had not received the same visions as they. Yet, a voice in her head, her conscience perhaps, said, ‘But you received visions of the Two Trees of Edin, visions that will have a greater meaning in times to come!’

Buffy stepped away from the Mirror, confused more than ever. She needed to mull things over. She poured herself a glass of red wine and sat in the one of the two chairs in the sparsely furnished chamber. She wondered about the significance of the ships, and what purpose they could possibly serve considering they were being constructed so far inland.

She sat on the edge of her seat, bent over the glass of wine that she clutched with both hands, swirling the contents as she mused things over. A cold chill suddenly ran through her body. The glass slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, shattering into many pieces. As a stream of red wine flowed across the floor, in her mind’s eye, she could see a gigantic red wave crashing onto a desert. It was the same vision she had experienced on numerous occasions. The same vision that Bór had told her about at their first meeting.

“Are they connected?” she said aloud, her voice echoing within the near-empty chamber. The Slayer couldn’t help but think that the ships that the Teleri were building had something to do with that blood red wave that had plagued her dreams for centuries. However, she was still confused. Middle-earth was not a desolate wasteland. Only the plains south of Angband came close to resembling the desert-like setting in the vision, but there were no dunes or sea bordering those parts. Other than Haudh-en-Ndengin, the lands were flat, sandy, but flat.

Leaping from her seat, she quickly went back to the Mirror, tracking crimson colored footprints across the floor in the process. Buffy looked back into the basin, focusing her energies on Anfauglith, desperate to see if the terrain had changed since the last time she had been there. Indeed, there were now some dunes in that area, but not exactly like her vision. And for the love of Eru, she had no idea how the sea came into play! To the north, were the mighty peaks of the Iron Mountains, to the west, The Mountains of Shadow, and to the east, The Blue Mountains.

She turned her gaze to the pool of wine on the floor, trying to decipher the meaning of the red wave. “Is it symbolic?” she queried aloud.

Is it symbolic? Is it symbolic? Is it symbolic?

The sound of her voice bounced eerily against the walls of the room, almost in challenge, or perhaps, mockery.

Buffy began to pace. A tingling sensation coursed through her body. She knew that her last comment was significant. The time had finally arrived for her to interpret the vision that had haunted her for years. The dream had to be symbolic.

Red, she thought to herself. What does the color ‘red’ denote? She nervously bit her bottom lip as she came to a stop at one of the windows. Blood… Life… Love… Strength… Danger… Passion… Rage…

She leaned her head against the cool glass of the windowpane, looking at the beautiful garden in bloom below. War is coming and it’s gonna be a bad one, she concluded. A bloodbath. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, her temple started to throb at the onrush of blood. But, what of the boats? How do they come into play if the tidal wave thingy is symbolic?

The Slayer lifted her head, rubbing her temples in hope of easing the pain. Turning, she looked at the mess on the floor. She decided to clean it up before she slid and cut herself on the shards of glass. Once finished, she curled up in the chair, wondering if she was in the ballpark of figuring out her dream. As the room became darker and darker, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming that same dream over and over until she was summoned to Folkvang at two o’ clock the following morning.

Sargon was surprised that his lover hadn’t given him a verbal thrashing upon her arrival.

Buffy was so preoccupied with making sense of the vision that she had forgotten all about the Adan allowing four years to pass in Beleriand while she was away. She was desperate to make sense of the vision and had high hopes that Sargon would help her with that.

Unfortunately, she got the annoying response, “Eru shows me only what He wants me to see. I’m sorry, Bella. I can be of no help to you.”

Frustrated, the Slayer carried out her sacred duties before being sent back to Lindecoa, only a second after she had departed.

Feeling somewhat drained, she plodded down the corridors to her bedchamber. After completing her nighttime ritual, she crawled into bed next to her husband.

Before her head hit the pillow, the lamp suddenly came on, illuminating Maglor’s handsome face in the silver light of the moonstone.

“You’re finally home,” said the Noldo, greeting her with a warm smile.

“Yeah, finally,” she yawned.

The Elf Lord studied her for a moment, noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Are you alright? Did things go ill on your journey? Did you find the Two Trees? Did Marduk discover… ”

“Whoa, Káno,” she interjected, motioning him to stop. “Too many questions, too quickly. First and foremost,” she paused as she pulled Maglor into an embrace, giving him a quick kiss. “I’m okay, just tired,” she continued, the tone of her voice revealed her weariness. “Everything went well. Took a bit longer than expected, and I apologize for that.”

“I’ve come to understand that your slayer duties come first, at times,” he replied in earnest. “I’m just gladdened that you made it home, safe and sound.”

“Well, I don’t know about the sound part, but things went off without a hitch, mostly,” she shrugged, feeling her cheeks warming at her deceptiveness. “I did what I needed to.”

“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” asked the Noldo, noticing the flushed color of her face.

“Not tonight. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“Alright then. We can talk about your trip in the morning.”

“Thanks, Káno,” she answered as Maglor turned off the lamp.

Buffy snuggled up to the Noldo, pushing aside the feelings of guilt at lying to her beloved. She was convinced that she was doing the right thing. Her husband had to suffer the consequences of his actions at Menegroth, plain and simple. He could never learn that Eluréd and Elurín still lived, and that she herself had given them the gift of immortality.

The following morning, the Slayer awoke to find that Maglor had brought breakfast to their private rooms. It wasn’t their usual fare of pastries and coffee, but a smorgasbord of victuals that made her mouth water once she caught a whiff of the delicious aroma.

“Your stomach was rumbling in your sleep and I knew you’d be ravenous upon waking,” informed her husband as he seated his wife at the table in the adjoining sitting room.

“You know me so well,” she replied, piling her plate high with eggs, bacon, cantaloupe, strawberries and toast. “I’m starving.”

The Noldo poured her a steaming cup of coffee. “Are you up for discussing your journey into Sumer?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she answered, shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “I found the Two Trees. There in a place called Edin, at the foot of Orocarni.”

“You’ve been gone for four years, Luinil,” continued her husband, watching her over the steamy cup he clutched in his hands. “Surely you have more to tell than that.”

“No, not really,” responded Buffy nonchalantly, gorging on her breakfast.

Maglor took a sip of his coffee knowing that his wife was keeping something from him. His thoughts immediately turned to Bëor, her former lover, whom he believed dwelled in Sussrúmnir. He couldn’t help but think that they had begun their affair again. The Elf Lord noticed that she had become rather distant in the past decade, seemingly preoccupied by something… or someone.

“Have you and Bëor resumed your affair?” blurted out the Noldo, scrutinizing his wife’s reaction.

The Slayer choked on her toast. Coughing, she said, “What?”

“Have you and Bëor resumed your affair?” he repeated in an eerily calm voice.

“Are you out of your mind?” she answered heatedly, angered that Maglor would suggest such a thing.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he continued in the same tone. “Are you and Bëor, or should I say, Sargon, having an affair?”

“No! We’re not,” she replied, dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “And I resent the accusation!” Her narrowed eyes bore into the elf’s, revealing that she was telling the truth.

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” he asked dejectedly, placing his steamy mug onto the table. “You’ve been gone for years and refuse to tell me a thing. I can only assume the worst.”

“For your information, I’ve spent most of my time with Humbaba,” she replied, having rehearsed that lie in her mind numerous times knowing damn well she’d have to give some account of the events that had taken place during her absence.

“The demon?” he queried, arching his brow in doubt.

“Yes, the demon,” she answered, checking her ire. “Morgoth isn’t the only Big Bad out there, Káno. There are others beside him and Marduk that are up to no good. Things are happening here, and in the East too. Right now, I’m focusing all my attention here, knowing that something big is about to happen. For Eru’s sake - my people are building colossal ships that we can’t navigate on the waters of Ossir!”

Noticing the sadness in Maglor’s eyes, Buffy reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “I’m sorry if you feel that I’m leaving you in the dark. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to argue. My journey was business-related. Nothing more. But there are things that I can’t tell any. I have to keep my word. If I can’t do that, then what do I have?”

“But Humbaba is an enemy and should be treated as such,” he replied, regretting his previous outburst.

“Sometimes,” she started hesitantly, “sometimes people, or in this case, demons, can change.” The Slayer searched her husband’s eyes. “I believe people can change. There are times when we have to look beyond the evil that one does, and see the goodness that’s in their heart.”

“Like me?” he said, turning his downcast eyes to her hand that rested on his own.

“Yes, like you.” Buffy pulled her hand away and made her way around the table to her husband’s side. She gently lifted his chin, locking eyes with the Noldo. “I love you, Káno. I love you in spite of the things that you’ve done. Though it still grieves me knowing what you and your brothers did in Menegroth, I forgive you. The Oath is something that I can’t undo. I know that now. But your actions, no matter how heinous, haven’t stopped me from loving you. Maybe that’s wrong of me, one of my shortcomings. I don’t know. But know that I’d never do anything deliberately to hurt you. I’ve made mistakes and I’m trying to atone for them. I can’t change the past. Let’s just put all this nonsense behind us, and live for today, ‘cause for all we know, there might be no tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” replied the Noldo, placing his hands on her waist. “It’s just that you’ve seemed so distant lately and I only assumed… ”

“War’s coming, Káno. I think that’s obvious.” She turned her head to the west. “The tidal wave of doom is coming and I don’t know if we’ll survive it.” A pained expression came to her face. She softly added, “I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his concern over her last words apparent.

She then spoke of the dream that she had had for years.

The Noldo was quite familiar with the vision. His wife had not only told him about it before, but he had also read about it in her diaries while in Nargothrond.

Buffy’s greatest concern was that she was always floating dead on the blood-red sea, which made her think that she would not survive the upcoming battle.

“But you’re always revived,” countered the Elf Lord. “Someone always resuscitates you.” He moved his hands to her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You cannot die, Bella. You always come back. It’s what you do.”

“Unless I’m killed by another Vala,” she replied weakly. “There’s no coming back from that.”

Maglor looked deeply into the Slayer’s eyes. “I don’t think Morgoth wants you dead. He’s had ample opportunity in the past. As much as it pains me to say it - he loves you and does not want any harm to come to you.”

“Who says I’m talking about Morgoth?” She pulled free from her husband’s grasp and returned to her seat.

The Noldo stood there, speechless for a few moments. He then faced Buffy and said, “Marduk could have killed you, but he didn’t either.”

“Who says I’m talking about Marduk?”

The elf rushed to her side. Kneeling beside her, he asked, “What is it you know? What have you seen in that mind of yours?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed, lifting her gaze from her plate. “Let’s just forget about it. We’ll let the chips fall where they may.”

Maglor gently took hold of her face, forcing her to make eye contact with him. “If you’re in danger, we need to know. We need to figure things out before anything bad can happen.”

“I’m always in danger. Even now.” Seeing the worry in his grey eyes, she knew that she had to alleviate his fears. The Slayer gave her husband a reassuring smile. She placed her hand atop his that cupped her cheek. “What we must keep in mind is that Ilúvatar’s on my side. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “I was alive and kicking in the Fourth Age, so maybe I’m overreacting with this whole dream thingy. I’m sure I’ll make it through this.”

Her words brought some comfort to the Noldo, for what she had said was true. She was alive during the End of Days. It was during the Fourth Age that she had been sent back to their present time. While Maglor found the whole time traveling phenomenon baffling, he believed in his heart that it was something that he wasn’t meant to understand. It was something that only his beloved was to experience. No one else.

“C’mon and eat. Breakfast is getting cold,” continued Buffy, before digging into her food once again.

From that day forward, Maglor could see that his wife had become more like her old self again. As time began to swiftly pass, they spent all their time together. Sometimes they remained on Tol Galen, other times they went to Lindon to check on the progress of the ships.

In the first week of Yr 535, the Eldar and Edain had completed the massive vessels. It was at that time that the Slayer mused to her councilors, “Maybe we’re supposed to collect two of every animal.” No one understood her comment, but she found it slightly amusing. Buffy was beginning to think that maybe the roaring tidal wave in her dream wasn’t necessarily symbolic. Perhaps it was partially symbolic. She came to believe that some type of flood would come, just like the one Noah had experienced in his day.

Nevertheless, the Slayer found herself happy and content in those days, having no idea that her world would soon turn upside down. While she still kept reinforcements along Ossir’s borders, she gave little thought to things happening outside her realm.



At the Mouth of Sirion, the elves now mingled with a few mortals that had sought refuge there. They too had built great sea-faring ships, among them, Eärrámë (Tuor’s ship) and Vingilot (Eärendil’s ship). Tuor had left Middle-earth with Idril in the Yr 533 in search of the Blessed Realm. Unlike those that had set out before them, they passed through the Shadowy Seas where the enchantments of the Valar lay and reached the shores of Valinor two years later. Tuor was the first mortal to set foot in Aman, and Manwë Súlimo would gift the Adan with everlasting life so that he could remain in the Undying Lands with his beloved wife.

Eärendil became Lord of those people after his father had departed. Five years before, at the age of twenty-six, he had wed Elwing, Dior’s daughter, who bore him twin sons, Elrond and Elros in the spring of Yr 531. Yet, during the winter of Yr 535, his discontent for Middle-earth had grown, and the half-elf had become determined to find, not only his parents, but also the silver shores of Valinor.

It was shortly after Eärendil’s departure from the Havens that Maedhros learned that Elwing had survived the onslaught at Menegroth and had the Silmaril in her possession. After consulting with Maglor, they both decided to forego their Oath out of their love for Buffy. After the last Kinslaying, the elder sons of Fëanor had felt remorseful for their evil deeds and vowed not to cause the Slayer any more grief. They had rescinded their Oath, yet they would soon discover that that was easier said than done.

When those Noldor that were determined to reclaim the Jewel of Fëanor saw that Maedhros and Maglor refused to act on the news, they went to Amon Ereb and spoke with Amrod and Amras in hope that the youngest brothers would encourage their elder siblings to seek what they had come to Middle-earth for.

During the torrential rains of winter, the twin sons of Fëanor arrived in Lindon, concealing the true purpose of their visit from their sister-in-law. The brothers came during a time of celebration and used that as the reason for their unexpected arrival.

Buffy had no idea that the twins were there attempting to rekindle the Oath in Maedhros and Maglor. Amrod and Amras would find that it was not to be an easy task, but they were determined to remain in Ossir until they had convinced their brothers that they had no choice in the matter, that the Oath was a living thing that had to be fulfilled.

Changes soon overcame both Maedhros and Maglor, as both began to experience dreams in which their father demanded that they fulfill their Oath and reclaim the Silmaril. In fact, all sons of Fëanor were experiencing the dream, but none told their siblings of their nightly torments.

“You would have my death be in vain, Kanafinwë Makalaurë,” spoke the phantom image of Fëanor in the Noldo’s dreams. “You would put the love of a Vala before that of your own father, your own flesh and blood. All the Valar are an enemy to our kindred, including your wife! Already, she has allowed my Silmaril to pass through her hands to that of the enemy. She will do so yet again, my son! My Jewel will heal your aching heart and bring such bliss to you and our people. Fulfill the Oath! For only by doing so can you forestall the Doom that awaits you otherwise.”

Night after night, Maglor awoke in a cold sweat. Though Buffy tried to get him to talk about what she believed to be nightmares, the elf would lie, saying that he had seen images of a great battle instead.

His dreams prompted the Slayer to have her people practice drills throughout the day, despite the pounding rains. Some in her armies complained about training during the storms that inundated Ossir during the winter months.

“Battle does not cease because of the weather,” she said to her troops during one of those torrential downpours. She paraded before the men and women who stood in formation, unflinching even with the frigid showers taking place. “We must be ready to fight at all times, in all types of conditions. We must acclimate ourselves to the changes of the terrain and use it to our advantage or else we can admit defeat and go home to our warm houses.” She stood in ankle deep mud, staring at her warriors. “War is coming, my friends. Those ships behind you are a testament to that. Those not prepared will die.” Her eyes scanned the drenched people. Their faces remained emotionless. “If you can’t take a little rain, then get the hell out of here. I have no use for whiners.”

None quit her armed forces. But many were relieved when the warmer, dryer season of spring arrived a couple of months later.

While Buffy trained her armies, the sons of Fëanor’s torments grew to insurmountable levels, now plaguing their waking thoughts.

At the onset of autumn, Maedhros, as the Lord of the House of Fëanor, had yielded to the will of those from his Household and sent messengers to the Havens of Sirion. His envoys spoke of friendship, particularly between the House of Luinil and the House of Thingol, and demanded that the Silmaril be returned to the surviving sons of Fëanor.

Elwing and her people, primarily the survivors of Gondolin and Doriath, believed that it was the Silmaril that had helped to heal their pain and sorrow. They held to the belief that all the blessings on their Houses and their ships could be attributed to having the Jewel of Fëanor in their possession.

Acting as Regent until her husband’s return, she sent back word that she would not surrender the Silmaril, especially in her Lord’s absence.

A few days later, the Noldorin messengers arrived back at Lindon, informing the Lords of the House of Fëanor of Elwing’s response.

“Now is the time to act,” encouraged Amras in his speech to his brothers. “We need to strike the Havens whilst Eärendil is away. We could not ask for better timing.”

In spite of the goading of Amras and his twin, both Maedhros and Maglor were reluctant to attack the elves at the Havens.

Maglor countered the words of Amras in a rousing speech of his own, making many a Noldo ashamed at the thought of defying Buffy’s wishes and betraying her friendship. The second son of Fëanor’s words were so profound that even Amrod and Amras felt badly and spoke no more of the Oath… for a while. However, they felt that they needed to remain in Ossir and by the side of their eldest brothers.

Before the year ended, Buffy and her Household, together with the sons of Fëanor, returned to Tol Galen. After spending nearly a year in Lindon, she was ready to look upon the beautiful thick woods on the isle. She was ready for what was coming, and so were her people. It was only a matter of waiting, waiting for Morgoth to make his next move.

Shortly after the New Year, the brothers proposed that the Slayer go on a hunting trip with them in the region between the Rivers Adurant and Duilwen. Since it was custom to hunt with bows and arrows, Buffy thought it would be great practice to hunt deer or boar.

Hunting was not fun, by any means. Most of one’s time was spent hiding in the brush or up in a tree, waiting hours upon hours for game to come down one of the nearby trails. The cold rains didn’t add to the enjoyment, and after a couple of days, Buffy returned to Lindecoa, leaving the sons of Fëanor to their own devices.

Amrod and Amras took advantage of the situation by broaching the subject of retrieving the Silmaril from Elwing. This time, they managed to convince their elder brothers to act.

Since the Slayer knew that the brothers were hunting nearby, she didn’t give it another thought when they were gone for a couple of weeks. That was typical of most hunting trips and gave her no cause for alarm.



Those from the House of Fëanor stealthily approached the village in the middle of the night, just as they had done at Menegroth. The heavy fog that had settled upon the lands concealed their arrival.

It wasn’t until the intruders neared the heart of town that the sentries sounded their trumpets, alerting their kindred that lay sleeping in their beds.

The suddenness of the raid forced many of the Sirion elves to bolt from their homes, some still in their nightclothes, carrying whatever weapon lie closest to their beds. Others, at least had the wits about them to garb themselves in some type of mail or armor before dashing into the mayhem taking place in the streets outside of the Halls of Eärendil. Many of the women and children fled into the frigid, cold night, afraid that the wrathful brothers and their accomplices would murder them.

Amrod and Amras led the onslaught, hewing all down that stood between them and the doors to the house wherein the Silmaril lay. Yet something happened amongst some of the Noldor from the House of Fëanor. As they battled their kindred on behalf of the brothers, a few of them suddenly became overwhelmed with shame and guilt. In their mind’s eye, they envisioned a horror-struck Buffy shaking her golden head disapprovingly, tears streaming from her mournful eyes. Repenting on the spot, they then fought with the elves from the Havens, slaying those from the House of Fëanor.

A frantic Elwing made the painful decision to flee her home with the Jewel of Fëanor around her neck, leaving behind her young twin sons. She waded into the frigidly cold sea, determined to escape from the Noldor that were slaughtering her people. She’d swim until the strength left her, drowning in the same waters that her husband’s ship was sailing upon.

As fatigue and hyperthermia overcame Elwing, she felt herself sinking beneath the water, knowing that death was imminent. She was unaware that Ulmo was close by and had been watching. He would, by no means, let the maiden perish. Using his magics, he turned her into a great white bird and invigorated her weary limbs. In this form, she shot out of the sea. The blazing white light of the Silmaril cut through the mists that hung over the ocean as Elwing instinctively flew west…



“NO!” cried out Buffy in her anguish, knocking the basin off its pedestal. The shrill sound of her voice pierced the silent corridors of Lindecoa, waking many from their peaceful slumber. She couldn’t believe that Maglor and his brothers had deceived her yet again, that they were currently at the Havens, spilling innocent blood. Witnessing such unwarranted carnage opened the floodgate of negative emotions: anger, pain, disgust, shock, sadness, and worst of all, betrayal. Her husband had sworn to her that he had revoked his claim to the Silmaril, that their family was more important to him than that damned Jewel of his father’s. She now saw that that was all lies, lies said to pacify his gullible bride.

The Slayer collapsed to the floor, sobbing, as many from her Household came rushing into the chamber, alarmed by the shrieking cries of their Queen.

Olofin, the first to enter the chamber, skidded to a halt beside his mother. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her into his arms, trying his best to console her. The half-elf repeatedly questioned her, desperate to find out the reason for her grief, but her response was indiscernible.

Luthor, Lalwen, Thranduil and the lions were amongst those that continued to flood into room. They immediately surveyed the scene and noticed the overturned basin on the floor.

The old man crouched down beside Olofin and Buffy. The creases in his tired face deepened as he looked upon one whom he loved so dearly in such despair. “What happened, Bella? What did you see?” It took everything the Maia had to conceal the panic in his voice.

Barely able to catch her breath, she could only blubber the words, “Káno… massacre… Sirion.”

Those three simple words were enough for the elves to understand their meaning. Many gasped in shock. Some turned away, covering their faces with their hands, not wanting the Slayer to seek the looks of appall on their dazed faces.

Olofin broke down, devastated to learn that his father had participated in yet another Kinslaying. His head fell on his mother’s shoulder as the tears gushed from his green eyes.

Luthor took charge of the situation, ordering everyone out of the chamber except those closest to Buffy and her son. He felt that this was a very personal matter and that only those accounted as immediate family should remain to help the pair deal with their grief.

The whole ordeal saddened the Maia; however, he had to be strong for his loved ones. It didn’t help that Lalwen, Thranduil and the lions were bawling also. All loved and thought highly of Maglor and his brothers. Hearing that the Oath had reared its ugly head once again meant that a black cloud now hovered over Ossir.

When the Slayer had shed her last tear, nearly an hour later, she was able to share with the others what she had seen in more detail. Feeling numb and speaking coolly, she told them how Sargon had suggested that she look in her Mirror once she returned to Lindecoa. The Adan did not prepare her for what she would soon see - the House of Fëanor attacking those at the Havens, killing their kinfolk with wild abandon. Her voice broke several times in the telling, and it was only with the aid of a couple of glasses of spirits that she made her final pronouncement at the end of her tale.

“This time it’s over,” she declared morosely to the others. Her long face was flush from the alcohol, her eyes glassy and swollen from crying. She turned her misty-eyes to Olofin. “I can’t be with your father any more. I can’t deal with this any more. It’s… it’s too much.”

Choking back his tears, the half-elf took her hand in his, stroking it affectionately. “You have to do what you have to do, Nana. Yet, I know that this doesn’t change your feelings for Adar. You love him still.”

“But I can’t deal with this bloodshed any more. It’s one thing to fight the enemy, it’s another to cruelly kill those undeserving. How can I just sit by and ignore this? I’ve already forgiven him once. I can’t do it again. His actions are deplorable - you know that, Olofin. I can’t forgive him for this. I just can’t.”

“I will support you in your decision, mother - whatever it happens to be,” he replied, sadly looking into Buffy’s eyes.

“We all will,” chimed in a depressed Thranduil. “We’re here for you, Bella. We always will be.”

An emotionally drained Buffy was ready for bed. Olofin and Thranduil escorted her to her private rooms as Luthor and Lalwen lingered behind in the chamber.

When the room had emptied, Lalwen turned to her lover and said, “Her tears were not golden as Sargon had foretold. She’ll forgive my nephew for the Kinslaying once again.”

“I know, my dear, I know,” sighed the old man. “I now fear that her love for Maglor will bring about a most certain doom.”

“What is it you speak of, my love?” asked the worried elleth. “If some new misfortune awaits Bella, surely she should know.”

“Let us see what happens,” he continued, clutching her hand with his. “If there’s one thing about Luinil that I know for certain - she can thwart fate like no other. It’s late. Let’s go back to bed. We’ll see things more clearly in the morning.”

The two left the chamber, unsure of what tomorrow would bring…


Chapter 102 - OFFSPRING

By the following morning, word had spread throughout the small isle regarding the Kinslaying that had taken place earlier that morning. The Slayer entered a state of mourning, grieving over those that had died needlessly, as well as the end of her marriage. Her entire world was crumbling around her, making her feel dead inside. No one could possibly understand what she was going through, and for that reason, she remained sequestered in her rooms, refusing to speak with any except a select few.

Many in her Household grew fearful. The timing of the sons of Fëanor’s betrayal could not have come at a worse time. With the threat of war looming on the horizon, none knew how their Queen would react if Morgoth chose that moment to engage Ossir in battle. To the Green-elves, it almost seemed as if the Dark Lord had planned the Kinslaying, having the foresight to know that it would probably push their Mistress over the brink of despair.

Buffy had sent word to Orchal, requesting that he come to Lindecoa immediately. In times past, the Green-elf had always made her feel better, and she needed him badly. Even though she had confided in Lalwen a great deal, she could still talk more easily to her old friend than anyone else in all of Middle-earth.

The lion-drawn chariot had speeded Orchal’s journey. He arrived later that afternoon to find the Slayer an emotional wreck. Orchal was grieved to see her in such a state and vowed to do whatever he had to in order to bring her out of her funk.

He pulled a disheveled-looking Buffy from her bed, and led her to the comfortable cushions he had neatly arranged by the fireplace. After grabbing a bottle of her favorite elvish wine (from Yr 73), and a couple of goblets, he sat across from his friend, determined to mend her broken heart.

“Here you go,” Orchal said, handing her a drink.

The Slayer forced herself to give the elf a small smile in gratitude before shifting her bleary eyes to the crackling fire. She sipped the amber beverage every now and again, but didn’t speak.

“I hate seeing you this way,” began the Elf Lord, his sadness etched on his handsome face. “What can I do to help?”

Buffy slowly turned her head, facing Orchal once again. She searched his grey eyes with her own, communicating without uttering a single word.

The Elf Lord knew what she wanted, what she needed. “I don’t know,” he said apprehensively, not wanting to open a Pandora’s box.

She looked pleadingly at him, but still spoke not one word.

The Green-elf let out a submissive sigh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a green pouch.

The Slayer’s eyes darted to the bag. She licked her lips in anticipation, watching as Orchal pulled out the contents, placing the items carefully on the marble hearth.

“I swear, you better not tell anyone that I’m doing this.” He glanced up at his friend, as his hands busily worked on completing his task. “If Luthor finds out, he’ll have my head for sure.”

“It’ll be our secret. Promise.” With her finger, she drew a cross over her heart in a gesture of good faith.

A few seconds later, a soft sizzling sound emitted from the bowl, as the Green-elf took a draw on the pipe. He handed the wooden device to the Slayer while holding the smoke in his lungs.

It had been centuries since Buffy had last had any hul-gil. She knew nothing would make her feel better than smoking the brownish-colored globules. She choked on her first hit, her lungs not accustomed to what they considered toxic. Yet the second drag was smoother, and she was able to hold the smoke in her lungs without hacking. They smoked five bowls before they put the drug aside.

The hul-gil had put Buffy into the blissful state that she longed for. The tension in her muscles lifted, allowing her body to relax rather quickly. She shifted her position and lay on her stomach, finding that position more comfortable than sitting cross-legged. She was thankful that her mind was no longer racing with so many thoughts, that she could now focus on one thing at a time.

“So, what are you going to do?” asked Orchal, as he stretched out onto his side. He carefully scrutinized his companion, eager to hear her response.

“What else can I do?” she replied, taking a sip of her wine. “Káno and I are through.”

“Really?” queried the Green-elf, arching his brow in doubt.

The Slayer pouted in reply, slightly disappointed that Orchal didn’t believe her.

“Need I remind you that you’ve said that before,” he continued, his tone now matching his countenance. “Besides, we all know what Sargon said. Your tears have not yet turned to gold, Bella. Your relationship with Maglor will not end until then.”

“Sargon’s full of shit,” she countered with a roll of her eyes. “He’s speaking figuratively, not literally.”

“Are you sure about that? His comments sound like they were meant to be taken literally.”

“C’mon, Orchal,” the Slayer snickered incredulously. “Who the hell cries tears of gold? It’s impossible!”

“You said the same thing about Kit and Kat! That lions don’t fly.” He mockingly rubbed his chin as in deep thought. “Hmm, and I do believe that their offspring can talk as well. Who would’ve thought that possible?” The amusement left his eyes as a serious look came to his face. “Anything is possible, Bella. You should know that by now.”

“I just don’t see what Káno could do to make me forgive him,” she answered with a frown. “If he dare comes back to Ossir, I’m telling him it’s over. Make no mistake about that, my friend!”

And, indeed, Maglor and his kin would return to Ossir, only a few days later. At Buffy’s request, Nestor had immediately sent word from Lindon when the Noldor entered the northern borders of their land. She wasn’t about to banish the kin slayers from her realm, especially the father of her son. She only wanted to make it clear to her husband that their marriage was over and that he could no longer dwell within her Halls on Tol Galen or in Lindon.

After receiving the news, the Slayer began rehearsing the diatribe she planned to unleash on Maglor. There was no way that the Noldo could talk his way out of what was coming to him, especially since she had witnessed the brutality of him and his people firsthand.

All in her Household were forbidden to speak of the Kinslaying. She didn’t want any of the Noldor to know that she had seen what they had done. Buffy planned to blindside her husband.

When many hours had passed, she made her way up the winding staircase of her tower where she watched for the ship carrying the Noldor. With a pipe in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, she stared out the western window, watching the Adurant for any sign of the boat.

Her rather calm demeanor diminished the moment she caught a glimpse of the vessel sailing upon the river. The Slayer’s heart pounded frantically. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, neck and palms despite the chill of the tower. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady her nerves. She kept reminding herself that her husband was a killer, a monster that had terrorized innocent people.

Once she had regained her composure, she opened her eyes. Buffy let out a startled gasp. The boat was no longer cruising up the river, but had reached the docks. She couldn’t believe how quickly the vessel had traveled against the current. When she had last looked, the ship was still leagues away. Now, she could see the Noldor disembarking.

Cursing, she flew down the stairway, taking several steps at a time. She blamed the hul-gil for distorting her perception of time.

With her heart racing, she stomped down the empty corridors of Lindecoa. None of her people wanted to witness the confrontation and they had hidden themselves in various chambers throughout the castle.

The diatribe she had practiced earlier came rushing to her mind, increasing her anger. As she passed by her Great Hall, she knew that she was ready to deal with Maglor, once and for all. She hardened her heart. Grim-faced, she continued to march down the corridor with her fists balled at her sides. She was ready. She was determined.

Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. Buffy could feel the blood draining from her face.

Maglor had rounded the corner, holding two small boys in his arms. His face was a mask of both regret and hope.

The twin children clung to him, marveling at the many tapestries, paintings and statues that graced the hallway.

The mere sight of the boys caused the Slayer’s wrath to melt away. Her heart went out to them, knowing without a doubt that they were the offspring of Eärendil and Elwing. She could clearly see the features of their noble forebears on their young, fair faces.

Maglor stopped in front of his wife. It was obvious to him that she knew what had transpired. “I couldn’t leave them behind, Luinil.” His solemn eyes looked from one boy to the other. “I couldn’t leave them.”

One of the boys reached out with his little hand and touched Buffy’s cheek. “Are you really a Valië?” he asked, wide-eyed.

The Slayer couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s inquisitiveness. “So they tell me,” she replied, taking the boy’s small hand from her face, caressing it gently with her fingers. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Elros,” he answered. Then, shifting his gaze to his twin, he added, “And that’s my younger brother, Elrond.”

“Hail, Luinil,” said Elrond in greeting.

“Hello, Elrond,” she smiled.

“I told the boys that Lindecoa will now be their home, that we’ll see to it that they are raised in proper elvish fashion,” explained Maglor, knowing that the twins’ presence had averted the verbal assault he would have gotten otherwise.

Buffy scowled at her husband. She understood what he was doing. This scheme of his would only delay the inevitable!

Elros then reached out, wanting the Slayer to hold him. She grabbed him before he could fall out of the Noldo’s arms.

“I’m hungry,” he declared, seemingly unfazed by all that had happened.

“Well then, we better get you fed,” answered the Slayer, holding the half-elf in her arms. She glared at Maglor for a moment, discreetly mouthing the word, ‘Bastard’, before taking off down the corridor to the nearest kitchen. Her husband, still carrying Elrond, followed behind.

Buffy sat at the table in the kitchen with the twin sons of Eärendil, and Maglor, watching the boys closely. She was amazed that the boys did not appear traumatized by the Kinslaying. As they ate, the youngsters spoke of their home in Avernien, the region where they dwelt west of the Mouths of Sirion, and of their father’s love of the sea. For a couple of four year olds, they were quite articulate. However, as Elrond was quick to point out, they would be turning five in four months time.

Not once did the Slayer mention the horrific events that had happened at the Havens. She felt that it was inappropriate to mention such a thing so quickly after meeting the twins. Yet the boys seemed to know that their fates were now sundered from their parents, that they would not see them again for ‘a long, long time’. Knowing that they were aware of that fact, made her heart ache with sorrow. She knew right then and there that it was her responsibility to rear the boys herself, to shelter them, to foster them into manhood. This time, she would not send them away as she had their uncles. Elros and Elrond’s fate would be somewhat different from their kindred in the East. With the unraveling of time, they would find that they had important roles to play in Arda that would impact those people that lived in western Middle-earth.

When they had finished eating, Buffy insisted that the boys get a bath. They would soon become familiar with the phrase; ‘cleanliness is next to godliness,’ which the Slayer touted to all newcomers unfamiliar with her Household’s daily bathing regimen.

Buffy intended to have a couple of her maidens tend to the boys, but Elros and Elrond refused to let Maglor leave their sight. She was stunned that the twins had become so attached to the Noldo, and knew that that would be problematic in her attempts to sever ties with her husband.

Caving in to the boys’ wishes, she and Maglor bathed the children themselves. Such a simple task brought to mind the many times when she and the Noldo had done the same thing with Olofin long ago.

At bedtime, Elros and Elrond once again refused to be parted from the Elf Lord. They wanted to sleep in the same bed as the Slayer and her husband. Buffy was beginning to wonder if the Noldo had put the boys up to this, as she had never gotten the opportunity to speak with him alone. Yet, she gave in to the twins, allowing them to sleep in their bed. She and Maglor lay down with them. She figured that once the boys had fallen asleep, she could finally talk to her husband about his betrayal. Unfortunately, she too fell asleep, not waking until she was summoned to Folkvang early the following morning.

However, upon her return to Lindecoa, she was able to confront her husband over his misdeeds at Avernien. As the twins lay sleeping, Buffy shook the Noldo awake, motioning him to follow.

A feeling of dread overcame Maglor, knowing that he had only managed to put off the inevitable for a while. He was careful to climb out of bed without waking the boys. Reluctantly, he followed his wife to the adjoining sitting room.

Buffy plopped down on one of the couches. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“I’d rather sit here, if you don’t mind,” replied the Noldo, plunking down on the sofa beside her.

Re-shifting her position, she folded both her arms and legs, leaning against the arm of the couch. She narrowed her eyes at her husband.

Before she could speak, Maglor started his plea.

“I know that there are no words that I can say to… ”

“Then what’s the point in trying to explain yourself?” she hissed, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“I feel that I have to, that I have to make you understand… ”

“There is nothing you can possibly say to justify your actions. Nothing!” she spat venomously.

“Will you please hear me out? I have shown you the same courtesy in the past.”

“Fine,” she replied in a stern huff.

“I know that you feel that I have betrayed you - please don’t interrupt,” he said when he saw Buffy’s mouth open. “Let me finish.”

She snapped her jaw shut, pressing her lips tightly together.

Maglor began again, trying a different approach this time. “You were not ignorant of the Oath that I took along with my brothers and father in Tirion, Bella. You’ve seen it. We’ve watched it together long ago in that Mirror of yours. I cannot tell you how many times that I wished I could go back and change that fateful day. I was caught up in the frenzy of my father’s madness, I suppose.”

He paused, shifting his gaze to his lap. “You do not know what it was like being a son of Fëanor, the demands my father put on us and our need to seek his approval, to live up to his expectations. I had always been closest to my mother, Nerdanel, and I inherited many of her traits. My father did not look at this with scorn until their estrangement, when she left him because he had grown overly proud and refused to heed her counsel, which was ever wise.”

He raised his head, looking at Buffy with his doleful grey eyes. “I was not a master craftsman like Curufin, nor a great warrior like Russandol, both of whom possessed such great skill in their crafts that my father held them in high esteem. Celegorm most closely resembled him, both in looks and mood, and was adored for that reason. Amrod and Amras, they were much like me - cast aside in my father’s heart, the same as I was, for we weren’t as gifted in his favorite arts as he… ”

Maglor had never told Buffy those things before, and she couldn’t help but interject, “But your voice, Káno, your voice is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “Yet to Fëanor, my voice, and skill for creating melodies were of no value to my labor in the forges. It did not increase the strength in my limbs, or my skill in wielding a weapon. My father considered it a flawed quality, a weakness, to express my deepest feelings in music and the words that sprung from heart.”

The pain in the Noldo’s voice caused the Slayer to soften her expression. Her heart ached for him, having never realized the power his father had had over him or the fact that Fëanor looked at his musical gifts in a derogatory manner.

“When Morgoth killed Finwë and stole my father’s greatest treasure,” he resumed woefully, “the madness of grief took hold of my father like nothing I had ever seen before. He sought retribution for the horrific deeds that Morgoth had inflicted upon our House, and turned to the Valar for help. Yet, they had never experienced the kind of sorrow that had befallen Finwë and his descendants. They had never experienced the grief of losing a loved one. My father dearly loved Finwë, more so because Míriel had passed on when he was but a boy. His father was his world. None could imagine what he was going through, the pain, the anguish of having lost both parents.”

Tears filled Maglor’s eyes. “And when the Valar failed to act swiftly enough, it enraged my father.” A scowl came to his handsome face. His tone quickly changed to one of resentment as he added, “They had the power to release Finwë from Mandos, to make him whole again. They could have done that in the blink of an eye.” The Noldo paused, and took a deep breath in an attempt to suppress the hostility of his words.

He dismally shook his head. “Yet, they were too grief-stricken over the loss of Yavanna’s creations, the Two Trees, than they were for the death of one of the Eldar Kings, who happened to be one of the mightiest Elves that had ever walked this earth.

“As we rode to Tirion my father’s grief at losing Finwë turned to anger. He was now, by all rights, King of the Noldor and was determined to seek revenge against Morgoth, for he knew the only way to heal, not only his pain, but that of his people, was to take back the Silmarils that had been stolen from him.”

Maglor’s voice began to crack. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. “I was there, Bella. I was there when Finwë died in Formenos. When Morgoth came upon our house, I fled. I fled in fear, terrified by the Mightiest of the Valar. I didn’t have the will to stand up to him, as my father had and Finwë after him.

“My father blamed us, his sons, for Finwë’s death,” he said weakly, turning his head away as yet another tear ran down his sad face. “He said that our cowardice was the reason his beloved father had died.

“That is why we so eagerly swore the Oath at Tirion, to appease our father, to no longer have him look upon us in shame, with contempt. I did not realize how terrible a thing I had done,” he went on, shifting his eyes to his wife, “until I met you.”

Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on Maglor, especially his quivering bottom lip. She thought back long ago to that day when they had shared the secrets in their pasts, when she had sprinkled his blood into the water in her Mirror. From what she remembered, she never saw Fëanor accuse his sons of his father’s death.

“Why have you never told me any of this before?” she asked, unsure whether to be sympathetic or suspicious of the Noldo’s latest revelation.

The Noldo wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “Our marriage has never been in jeopardy as it is now. I know that I defied you, that I broke my word. But, the Oath, the Oath is greater than I am. I’ve tried to revoke my claim to the Silmarils, but I find myself bound to the Oath. No matter how hard I try, I cannot break it. It keeps pulling me back in. I am ensnared by its powers, and Ilúvatar Himself will see to it that it gets me ere the end. That is how it’s destined to be. That is the Doom that has been placed upon me and my kin.”

“Was it your idea to attack the Havens?” she asked point-blank.

“No,” he answered solemnly, with a shake of his head. “It was Amras and Amrod. They brought it up and harassed Russandol and me until we agreed.”

“You’ve killed innocent people, Káno! How am I supposed to take that? I can’t keep looking the other way. For Eru’s sake - you killed Elwing and brought her children to my Halls… ”

“Elwing is not dead,” insisted Maglor. “She fled into the sea, with the Silmaril.”

Buffy fell quiet for a few minutes. She didn’t see Elwing’s escape in her Mirror. After witnessing her husband and the rest of his House slaughtering the elves, in her ire, she knocked the basin to the floor, and didn’t see how things had ended. When she saw the children of Eärendil, she could only assume the worst, that the sons of Fëanor had killed their parents as they had done to Dior and Nimloth in Menegroth.

She broke the silence that had fallen between them by saying, “That doesn’t change what you’ve done. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep for- ”

“But, it’s over, Bella,” he interjected, frantically grabbing hold of her hands. He looked at her with beseeching eyes. “The Silmaril is long gone. It is not here for the retaking. The only Silmarils in Middle-earth are the ones that Morgoth has, and with so few of us left, we’ll never get them back. Most of my people are dead. It’s over. I swear! Do not throw away what we have. Though I understand that I’m undeserving of your love and your forgiveness, I beg you to give me another chance. I cannot see a future without you. I don’t want to see a future without you, and Olofin. Please, Luinil. Do not throw away what we have. I beg of you - find it in your heart to give me one last chance. Please. That’s all I ask.”

Maglor buried his face in her hands and broke down, crying.

Feeling the warmth of her husband’s tears on her cool skin only added to the Slayer’s inner turmoil. A part of her was desperate to forgive him, and believed that love could conquer all. But what kind of message would that send to her people - that killing each other is okay, as long as there’s some type of curse on one’s head to justify it?

While she felt that there was no excuse for the House of Fëanor’s actions, she couldn’t help but think about what Maglor had said about the inaction of the Valar upon learning of Finwë’s death. How would things have changed if they had immediately remade the Noldo King’s hröa instead of sulking over the death of the Two Trees? If it had been up to Buffy, she would have immediately restored Finwë’s bodily form.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt that the Valar were the ones responsible for the pandemonium that had taken place in Aman. They had released Melkor from Mandos, and failing to keep a close eye on him, the evil Vala was able to plant the seeds of dissension within the proud House of Finwë. He was then able to water those seeds with the blood he spilt in Formenos. The Valar proved their ineptness by failing to capture Morgoth and allowing him to flee to Middle-earth where he continued to wreak havoc on the goodly people that dwelt there, including Buffy herself.

If only they had done their jobs correctly, acting as the Guardians of Eä, the tragic events that had taken place in the Blessed Realm and Middle-earth would never have happened, or so the Slayer believed.

She had to wonder if it was really Maglor’s fault that he had sworn the Oath at Tirion. Was it not predicated by the failure of the Valar to act in a timely fashion upon Finwë’s death? Had they not allowed Fëanor’s anguish to fester, turning to unbridled rage?

Buffy felt her own contempt for the Valar growing. Perhaps she was looking for a reason to deepen her loathing of her brethren in the West, and it seemed that Maglor’s plea was just the trick. Instead of placing the blame on him and his kin, the ones truly responsible for the Kinslayings, she took it back further, to the Valar, believing that they were the ones behind everybody’s woe.

She now looked at Maglor with empathy. She slowly pulled her hands free and gently lifted the Noldo’s chin, gazing into his teary red eyes. “Weep no more, my love,” Buffy whispered, drying his face with her fingertips. “I forgive you, Káno.” She gave him a warm smile. “I can never let you go.”

And so it was that the Slayer forgave the son of Fëanor, together with his kinfolk, for their participation in the second Kinslaying in Middle-earth. She would later verify Maglor’s words regarding Elwing, seeing that the half-elf had indeed escaped the Havens in bird form.

What Buffy didn’t know was that the daughter of Dior had encountered Eärendil aboard his ship, sailing toward his home in Middle-earth. Elwing, still in bird-form and with the Silmaril draped around her neck, collapsed from exhaustion on the deck of Vingilot. Eärendil looked on in amazement as her mystical form melted away, revealing his sleeping wife.

Together, they set sail for Valinor. The light of the Silmaril would aid them in passing through the Shadowy Seas. It would take them a year to reach the silver shores of Aman. Alone, Eärendil would entreat with the Valar to help those good people that still dwelt in Beleriand, subjected to the evildoings of Melkor Bauglir. The son of Tuor would fulfill his destiny that was foretold long ago by rallying the Valar to wage war against Morgoth in Middle-earth.

He would also be the first half-elf given the choice to choose to remain a mortal or become immortal like his elvish mother. Eärendil would choose an immortal life, and Elwing after him. However, in his choosing immortality, he was forbidden to ever set foot on Middle-earth again.

In the meantime, Buffy and Maglor were enjoying their role as foster parents to Elros and Elrond. They lavished their love on the children, treating them as little princes. Each member of the Household was eager to impart their own knowledge on the twins. The boys thrived, quickly adjusting to their new surroundings.



In the spring of Yr 539, Lindecoa hosted the wedding of Nestor and his long-time love, Gilwen. They exchanged their vows at night under a blanket of stars. It was a joyful time for the Eldar and Edain for it seemed that weddings had become a rarity during those troubled times. Although Morgoth did not assail Ossir, his minions still roamed freely throughout Beleriand, unaware that their doom was nearing.

During the spring of Yr 540, Nestor sent word from Lindon that his bride was expecting. Buffy was so excited by the news that she and her Household returned to the city in the trees to help the couple in any way they could.

Twelve months later, Gilwen gave birth to her first child, a son.

The happy couple’s dearest friends congregated around the exhausted elleth’s bed, celebrating that joyful event.

“We named him after you, Luinil,” said a beaming Nestor, cradling the infant in his arms. “Bellason.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” replied the Slayer, slightly taken aback. She gently stroked the baby’s nearly bald head.

“You’ve had such an impact on our lives. How could we not?” proclaimed the healer happily.

“Well, I’m flattered,” she answered, her cheeks flushing slightly. “He’s so cute. Can I hold him?”

“Of course.” As Nestor carefully shifted Bellason in Buffy’s arms, he cooed, “This is your namesake, my son - Bellaseth Dagnir. She is a Vala and Queen of our people.”

“He’s so light!” she chuckled softly, holding the beautiful infant. “I’m so used to carrying Elros and Elrond. He feels like a feather in... ” The word’s died on her lips, her face went pale, as a very distinctive horn blast echoed throughout the land, a horn blast that caused the earth to tremble, a horn blast recognized by all…


Chapter 103 - HELL BOUND

“Shit!” Buffy fumed, carefully handing baby Bellason back to Nestor. With her heart thumping madly in her chest, she gave another quick word of congratulations to the new parents before storming out of the room. “I don’t want Oromë in my lands,” she said sharply to those following behind her quick-moving form. She turned to Orchal. “Take my chariot and go to the ford. You let that son-of-a-bitch know that if he sets foot in Ossir, that he and I will throw down. I’m not playing games. Go!”

The Green-elf nodded dutifully before tearing down the corridor and out of sight.

“Do you think he’s come for me and Russandol?” asked Maglor, his face a mask of dread.

“I doubt it,” she replied, hurriedly marching down the hallway with her entourage. “But let’s not take any chances. Take the boys and the rest of your Household and get back to Tol Galen. Stay there! I’ll deal with whatever shit’s going on here.”

“I’m sorry, Luinil. I didn’t mean… ”

“Just go, Káno! And Hurry!” she ordered, failing to conceal the exasperation in her voice.

The Noldo took off in the opposite direction, taking Elros and Elrond with him.

Turning to Gúrchim, she barked, “Summon the rest of the councilors. I’m holding an emergency meeting and want all available Lords and Ladies present.”

As Gúrchim peeled off from the group, descending the stairs, the others climbed the steps to the next floor.

“Do you think Oromë’s arrival marks the beginning of the war that we’ve long prepared for?” queried Nimrod, who had taken Gúrchim’s place beside the Slayer.

“Maybe.” She reconsidered her response for a moment. “Probably,” Buffy added, correcting herself. “We’ll know more once Orchal returns.”

Those few still walking with their Queen entered the main Council Chamber, where they would wait for the rest of the advisors. After pouring herself a glass of wine, the Slayer took a seat in the green wing-backed chair at the head of the table.

Her thoughts went back four years, to Yr 537, when the elves had pointed out the new star set within the heights of Ilmen. The Eldar, ever the perceptive stargazers, believed it was the Silmaril that glimmered in the evening sky. Both Maedhros and Maglor had confirmed that it was indeed the Jewel of Fëanor shining high above.

A confused Buffy sought confirmation from Sargon in Sussrúmnir the following morning. The Adan would only say that she needed to remember the words that Tuor had said to Turgon during Nirnaeth Arnoediad:

“…from you and me a new star will rise.”

Her mortal lover would tell her no more, leaving the Slayer to reach her own conclusions.

She had surmised that Elwing must have met up with Eärendil while he was at sea. Possessing the Jewel that the Valar covet so dearly, they had to have been granted passage through the Shadow Seas to Valinor. All signs indicated that Eärendil was the one about whom Irmo had spoken, the true Savior of Middle-earth, the one that would convince the Valar to wage war against Morgoth.

Buffy had shared those thoughts with her Household. They then looked upon the Silmaril in a new light, naming it Gil-Estel, the ‘Star of High Hope’. All waited impatiently for any sign of those coming from the West. Yet they had never come. And, unfortunately, the Slayer’s Mirror hadn’t revealed anything to suggest that the armies of Valinor were on their way to Middle-earth.

What Buffy found most disturbing was that the Valar had had the audacity to send Oromë to the shores of Beleriand! The gall! How dare they send the murderer of her firstborn child into her domain! Her bitterness and resentment for those in the West that had decided amongst themselves to end Illyria’s life was not something that she had forgotten. No, time does not heal all wounds.

Just thinking about Oromë brought a scowl to her face. She could feel the heat emanating from her flesh as her blood pressure began to rise. As she took a sip of her wine, she heard another blast from Valaróma. The deep, tremorous note startled her. She flinched, thus spilling the crimson beverage on her white shirt.

Cursing, she blotted the liquid the best that she could with the handkerchief that Thranduil had offered her. That gave her yet another reason to look upon Oromë in scorn. Even from afar, he managed to screw with her.

Even though not all of her councilors were present, Buffy decided to start the meeting. Over the years, she had allowed representatives from the various Houses of both the Eldar and Edain to have a voice in Ossir’s government. As the discussion turned to the impending war, Gúrauth, formerly from the House of Fingolfin, mentioned his uneasiness about fighting beside those in the West.

“I am reluctant to join forces with those that have cursed us,” he said with trepidation. “Should any of the Noldor perish in battle, we will surely be locked away in Mandos for many long years, unable to return to the land of our birth. I loathe the idea of having my kinfolk march to battle.”

“Not to mention the fact that some of us are guilty of the deeds at Aqualondë,” added Narudhur gravely. “I deem that whether we aid the Valar in battle or not, we will still be forced to appear in the Ring of Doom, to be judged by the Powers.”

“I’m not gonna force anyone to fight,” declared the Slayer. “Under the circumstances, I’ve had those from the House of Fëanor return to Tol Galen. I’m not going to allow the Valar to take any of my people by force. If they even attempt it, they’ll have to go through me.”

“And me,” chimed in Olofin.

“And me,” piped in Thranduil, puffing out his chest.

“You can count me in as well,” added Lalwen with a nod.

“And me,” said Luthor.

Buffy smiled. “You’ve got friends here, guys,” she proudly proclaimed to the Noldor. “I think it’s best that your kindred stay behind in Ossir. Enough of the Noldor have died in the wars with Morgoth. We don’t need to add to those numbers.”

Just then, Arachas came running into the room, out of breath from his sprint through Lindon Hall.

“Bella,” he panted. “Orchal’s on his way up to the city with Eönwë, the herald of Manwë Súlimo.”

“And Oromë?” she queried distastefully, narrowing her eyes at her mention of the Vala’s name.

“He is not in their company. Only Eönwë has passed the borders of our land.”

“Alright,” replied the Slayer, rising from her seat. “Have him brought to my Great Hall.”

She hurried from the chamber, returning to her bedroom in order to change her wine-stained top. While she wasn’t out to impress the Maia, she sure didn’t want to wear soiled clothing at their first meeting. First impressions were important, and lasted a lifetime.

She swung open the doors to one of her closets, searching for something appropriate to wear. Once she had pulled off her shirt, she heard someone, a manly someone, clearing his throat behind her. Holding her top to her naked chest, she spun around and saw Maedhros standing within her inner sanctum.

“Jesus Christ, Russandol! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said, rattled by his sudden appearance. Buffy held her shirt even tighter against her chest. “What the hell are you doing here? You were supposed to return to Tol Galen with your kin.”

“I had to speak with you first, Muinthel,” he said, taking a step closer.

She took a step back. “What for?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. The Noldo definitely had something on his mind. She could see it on his troubled face.

“It’s about the war, the war that will soon take place.”

“Turn around,” she ordered, snatching a shirt from a hanger in the closet.

Maedhros did as ordered. While his back was turned, the Slayer slipped on a red and gold top.

“Okay,” she said, tossing her dirty garment to the floor. “What’s this about?”

The Noldo faced his sister-in-law and locked his mournful grey eyes on her. “My heart tells me that this battle will be great, that it will end Morgoth’s reign.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” Buffy answered as she grabbed a brush from the dressing table and ran it through her long hair. “It’d be a glorious day to see Morgoth go down once and for all.”

“Which begs me to ask you, Muinthel,” he said, restlessly shifting on his feet. “Should Morgoth be captured, or even better, killed, will you… will you bring the last two Silmarils from his iron crown to Maglor and me?”

The Slayer stopped what she was doing, fixing her green eyes on the Noldo. She could see that it was difficult for him to ask her such a question, yet she could also see a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. The brothers had done everything in their power to retrieve what had been stolen from them. With every attempt, they had failed miserably, and brought themselves one step closer to their Doom. Now that Amras and Amrod were dead, (having died at the Havens), the burden to fulfill the Oath fell on Maedhros and Maglor, the only surviving sons of Fëanor.

“I know you must think us undeserving,” he continued when Buffy did not immediately answer. “But I’m afraid that the utter Darkness will claim me and Maglor if we do not regain the heirlooms of our House.”

“I wish Fëanor had never made those damned Silmarils,” she moaned, pushing her hair behind her ear. “They’ve done nothing but awaken the lust of some and bring death to others.”

“Yet the Oath is still there, waiting to claim us if we fail to recover the Jewels of our father.”

The Slayer was ready to put an end to the whole Oath business. “Okay, Russandol,” she sighed heavily. “If Morgoth goes down like you think, I’ll bring you and Káno the Silmarils. But, I’m only gonna say this once,” she went on, waving the hairbrush threateningly in his face. “Get your ass back to Lindecoa and stay there! I don’t need to worry about you guys starting any shit with those from the West. Right now, I have to focus my energies elsewhere, and I don’t need the House of Fëanor distracting me from doing what needs to be done.”

“Thank you, Muinthel,” Maedhros answered, smiling gratefully. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.” His smile broadened. “Once you defeat Morgoth in battle, things will get better, for all of us.” He stepped forward and gave Buffy an awkward hug. The Noldo leaned down to kiss her. Buffy made a point to turn her face at the last minute, forcing his lips to brush against her cheek.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said, tossing her brush back onto the table. “And so do you.” She swiftly left the room, mumbling, “Men” under her breath. She could still feel the heat of Maedhros lips on the skin of her cheek.

When she reached her Great Hall, she was told that Orchal and Eönwë had just entered Lindon Hall. Before Buffy took her seat on her throne, Meldis, her favorite handmaiden, slipped the crown of luinil flowers on her head and handed her the scepter of Denethor, keeping with the traditions of the Green-elves. The Slayer then took her place on her elaborately carved wooden chair.

Her eyes scanned the three dozen or so faces in the room as the fingers of her right hand nervously tapped the arm of her seat. To her left and right sat many of her councilors, their seats arranged in a semi-circle at the bottom of the dais. A pathway through the chairs ran from the main doors to her throne where an empty chair had been placed for Eönwë. The occupants were silent, waiting with nervous anticipation for the arrival of Manwë’s emissary.

There was a knock on the massive double doors. The guards that flanked the entryway opened them, revealing, first Arachas, who announced the arrival of Eönwë, as was elvish protocol, before more guards, together with Orchal and Eönwë, entered the Great Hall.

The Slayer ceased tapping her fingers as she fixed her gaze on the Maia. He was beautiful as all the Ainur were that had not been corrupted by Morgoth. He was very tall with light brown wavy hair that hung to his shoulders. He was well-built, muscular, his face ruggedly handsome. His piecing blue eyes matched the garments under his coat of mail.

“Hail, Maranwë Luinil,” he said in greeting, bowing before her throne.

That gesture alone scored the Maia some points with Buffy. She had anticipated that he would not show her the respect and courtesy that she rightly deserved.

“Eönwë,” she replied with a nod of her head, motioning to the vacant seat at the bottom of the dais. “Welcome to Ossiriand and to Lindon Hall.” She turned to Meldis and gave another slight nod of her head.

The handmaiden quickly poured two goblets of wine. She brought one to her Queen, and the other to their guest.

The Slayer raised her cup. “Let us drink in friendship,” she said, wanting to keep things amicable between herself and the representative of Manwë.

“To friendship,” replied the Maia, lifting his goblet.

She watched Eönwë over the rim of her cup as they both took a sip of one of Ossir’s finest wines. “I take it that the purpose of your visit is to seek our aid in your war with Morgoth,” she said after swallowing the delectable beverage.

A surprised look came to Eönwë’s face. A moment later, his lips curled into a smile. He chuckled. “So the rumor is true - that the Vala of Love and War is not one to beat around the bush.” He cocked his brow, scrutinizing the small woman before him. “You are very much like your brother, Námo. Do you know that?”

“So I’ve heard,” she sighed in reply.

The Maia scanned the many people within the chamber. “You’ve done quite well for yourself during your short time in Beleriand. You have built a strong following, I see.”

“United we stand, divided we fall,” she remarked, not elaborating any further.

Eönwë’s gaze went back to the Vala Queen. “When we reached these shores, the Eldar fled into hiding at the sound of our trumpets,” he continued in a bewildered voice. “Do the Elves fear us now? Do they not see that we are here to put an end to Melkor’s lordship? Did the peoples of Endórë not notice the Silmaril in the heavens, put there as a sign that we were coming?”

“We did see Gil-Estel, as we call it. I guess we expected you to come sooner rather then later.” Buffy wasn’t too keen on the Maia’s mentioning of the Silmaril. That was a sensitive subject with her. She had no desire to speak of the Jewels, the sons of Fëanor, or the Kinslayings.

“It does take time to prepare for war, Luinil. I’m sure you’re well aware of that,” came his reply. “We answered Eärendil’s prayer, to pardon the Noldor and to aid those that still dwell here in Beleriand.”

“The tendrils of evil stretch much further than Beleriand, Eönwë. There are more evil creatures in Middle-earth than you can shake a stick at!”

“I do not doubt your words,” he answered. “Yet I was sent here at the behest of my Lord and his kindred to oust Melkor from his throne. It is not my task to rid the world of evil. If I may be so bold - that is your assignment.”

“My assignment, as you call it,” she answered bitterly, “is to maintain the balance of good and evil… ”

“Therefore you understand that I am not in the position to contest the will of those in the East, only to Beleriand was I sent,” he interjected as calmly as he could. “My Lady,” he began again, in that same tranquil tone. “I understand that evil lurks throughout the world, but for now, can we start with the elimination of our greatest threat? We cannot do that alone. We need your help. We need your forces. You know that is why I have come. The Eldar have gone into hiding and the Edain that we’ve come across refuse to march under any banner save yours.”

“Those of the Three Houses have the utmost love and loyalty for you, and we are in need of their strength. We’ve been told that most now dwell in Ossiriand under your command. Will you not help us? Will you not strengthen our numbers so that we can end Melkor’s reign?”

The Maia kept his blue eyes on the Slayer, eager to hear her response.

“Ossir is a democracy, Eönwë. We’ll put your query to a vote,” she answered before looking to her councilors. “There you have it, my good people. Do we aid those in the West? A show of hands is all I need.”

Olofin’s hand was the first to shoot up. One by one, every hand went up.

“And there you have it,” she nodded to the herald of Manwë. She shifted her eyes back to her councilors. “Rally the troops. We march to war.”

Before Buffy would depart her lands, she wished to return to Tol Galen. She put her Captains in charge of her hosts of Green-elves and Men and ordered them not to wait for her return. She would first take her chariot to the small isle, then catch up with her troops on their way to northern Beleriand. She appointed Olofin to be General of her armies in her absence.

Not long afterward, she was aboard her chariot, soaring above her lands to her Halls in the southern part of her realm. She reached Lindecoa before the ships of Noldor that had left Lindon earlier that day. There was no way she was going to go off to war without saying good-bye to her husband and loved ones.

She went to her private rooms and changed into her mithril suit of armor minus the mask that was taken from her by Uldor during Nirnaeth Arnoediad. She slipped on a pair of black leather breeches over that, as well as the red and gold top that she had put on hours earlier. The Slayer did not pack much else. The Green-elves in Lindon would see to it that all the things she needed would be loaded onto carts for the trip to northern Beleriand.

Since most of Tol Galen had been deserted by the people that normally dwelt there, Buffy took advantage of that by visiting the burial place of Beren and Lúthien. Even though she knew their feys had long gone to Mandos, she sat between their unmarked graves and spoke of all the things that had taken place over the years. When she spoke of Eönwë and the upcoming war, her tone grew fearful. She had begun to think that the Valar were merely using her for her armies, and that as soon as the war was over, they’d turn on her, to punish her for her actions in the East. While Eönwë had never suggested such a thing, an ominous feeling had crept into her heart as she flew to the small isle. There was no doubt that that feeling was some type of warning, but, unfortunately, she didn’t know exactly what it portended.

The Slayer remained in that secluded garden until Barathalion and Noeriel flew back at dusk, informing her that the ships had finally arrived. She immediately climbed onto the chariot and had her lions take her back to Lindecoa.

Once home, she would stay and eat her evening meal in private with Maglor, Maedhros, Elros and Elrond. It was not a cheerful dinner by any means. The men remained morose, hardly eating a thing, knowing that Buffy would be gone for many years.

When it was time for her to leave, the boys began to cry. That broke the Slayer’s heart, as she had grown as close to the twins as they had to her. She treated and loved them as though they were her own. And now, having to leave them behind tore her apart. She did her best to be strong but found herself weeping with them, holding them tightly in her arms, not wanting to let them go.

“Don’t go yet, Bella!” said a tearful Elros before bolting across the vestibule and up the spiral staircase. The half-elf returned several minutes later, out of breath, and clutching something in his hand. He took Buffy’s arm and clasped the bracelet around her wrist that he and Elrond had given her a few months before on her birthday. “I want you to wear this, even in battle,” he panted. “That way, whenever you look at it, you will not forget me and Elrond, for we won’t forget you.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, caressing his flushed, tear-streaked cheek. “I’ll never forget you and Elrond.” She pulled both boys into a bear hug. “I love you both. You’ll always be in my thoughts. Always! Don’t you ever forget that.” She pulled out of the embrace, looking lovingly at each boy. “You’re my little men. You look after Káno for me, okay?”

“We will,” they replied in unison.

“It’s time for me to go.”

The boys started to cry again.

“I won’t be gone forever… just for a while,” she said reassuringly. She glanced up at Maedhros.

“We’ll take care of them, Muinthel. You have nothing to worry about.” He draped his arms around the twins’ shoulders as Buffy and Maglor exited Lindecoa, hand in hand.

Bidding farewell to her husband was more painful than she thought it would be. For several minutes, they softly spoke loving words, clinging to each other, neither wanting to let the other go.

“Are you sure you do not want to take the Trident?” Maglor asked, pushing the stray hairs off his wife’s face. “It could come in handy.”

“That’s a doomsday weapon. I won’t need it.” The only weapon she was taking was her belt.

“Be safe. Watch your back. Keep an eye on Olofin. See to it he does not do anything too perilous.” The Noldo forced himself to smile. “He’s very much like his mother - he lives for danger.”

“I think it’s more like danger lives for us,” corrected Buffy lightheartedly. She glanced up at the darkening sky. “I really need to get a move on. It’s getting late.”

“I love you, Bella.” He tenderly caressed her cheek.

“I love you too. This shouldn’t take long. I mean, we got the Valar fighting on our side.” She shrugged. “Surely, the war won’t last that long.”

“That remains to be seen. I will pray for Ilúvatar to keep you and your people safe. Be careful! That’s all I ask. I want you to come back to me in one piece.”

“I will. Promise.” With that, she gave him a kiss. Maglor walked her to the chariot, watching as she climbed on board.

Buffy looked up at the topmost steps that led to the main doors of Lindecoa. There stood the twins with Maedhros. She gave them a quick wave as the lions jolted the chariot forward. Moments later, she took to the air. The Slayer kept her eyes on her loved ones until they resembled tiny dots in the distance. She then turned, leaning against the front panel of the vehicle, fiddling with the bracelet that dangled from her left wrist, as the darkness engulfed her.

She caught up with her people late that night in Estolad, a few leagues north of the Dwarf-road. Olofin decided to follow the route most familiar to the Green-elves, approaching Anfauglith through Eastern Beleriand, by passing through what was formerly Maglor’s Gap. They had decided that the best place to set up the allied forces’ encampment was in Lothlann between Dorthonion and Ered Luin.

Eönwë had gone back to Western Beleriand where his forces waited. With the aid of Olofin’s map, he would lead the hosts from Valinor across Nan Dungortheb and through the Pass of Aglon where they would join Ossir’s armies on the plains north of the March of Maedhros.

It took days to unite all the troops on Lothlann. Buffy and was quite surprised to learn that only two of the Valar had come to Middle-earth: Oromë and Tulkas. Accompanying them, were ten thousand Maiar and ninety thousand Elves of the Vanyar and Noldor kindreds. The only Teleri that had left the Blessed Realm were the ones that sailed the ships that brought the others to Beleriand. They refused to set foot in Endor, unwilling to aid the others in battle, as their wounds from the Kinslaying at Aqualondë had not yet healed.

The Slayer’s armies numbered fifty-seven thousand, five hundred. Of those good people, seventy-five hundred were Green-elves, and fifty thousand were Edain. Though her numbers were slim in comparison to those out of the West, her elven warriors were seasoned combat veterans, having fought in more wars than all those from Aman combined. While her mortal warriors had never fought in any battles before, they had long prepared for this day since childhood, and had become masters in weaponry.

Now, something that those in the West found strange was that Olofin had allowed the wives, lovers and pre-teen children of the mortals to stay within the encampment. Perhaps it was his gift of foresight that prompted him to do so or the fact that back in Ossir his mother had encouraged Men to procreate in order to increase their numbers. None truly knew the answer, but in years to come, many babies would be born on the plains of Lothlann, a first during any time of war.

When all was ready, and the encampment was set up, all the Generals, Captains and Chieftains convened under the blanket of dark clouds that issued forth from Thangorodrim to discuss their strategy. For the first time, Buffy set eyes upon the mightiest warriors from Valinor.

Tulkas was the first she had met. He was nothing like she’d pictured in her mind. For one reputed to be the strongest of the Valar, he sure didn’t look the part! He was tall and slender and did not possess the same type of physique as Eönwë, who resembled more a warrior than the Vala did. His golden hair was pulled into a braid that ran halfway down his back. Beneath his well-trimmed facial hair was a ruddy face accentuated by twinkling blue eyes. He was jovial by nature, and laughed in delight as he hugged Buffy in greeting.

Unbeknownst to her, they had a great friendship that went back to the time before the world was wrought. She would one day learn that Ilúvatar had first asked her to enter Eä ages ago to aid her brethren in their early conflicts with Melkor. Unwilling to descend into the world to contest the will of her lover, Tulkas, out of his love for the Valië, volunteered to take her place, allowing her to dwell in the Timeless Halls a bit longer.

When Tulkas embraced the Slayer, she couldn’t help but think of the names that Morgoth had called the Vala in times past. His two favorites were ‘Nitwit’ and the ‘Witless Wonder’. She chuckled to herself as she remembered that, but then quickly chastised herself for thinking such thoughts about one who was so eager to rid the world of the Dark Lord.

After Tulkas, Eönwë introduced her to Oromë. He appeared more youthful than his brother-in-arms. His bodily form was more like Eönwë’s. His hair was golden and flowed past his shoulders in gentle waves. He was of fair face and had bedazzling green eyes, the same as his mother. Smiling, he approached Buffy with outstretched arms.

She scowled at the Vala and turned away, refusing to speak with the killer of her firstborn child.

Oromë was hurt by her reproachful manner. His eyes shifted to Luthor, who shook his head in response to the Vala Lord’s unspoken question. Sighing heavily, Oromë backed away, knowing that the Slayer had not forgiven him for the death of Illyria.

Eönwë felt the tension emanating from Buffy and was quick to avert any possible confrontation between her and Oromë.

“Here is someone that has longed to meet you, Luinil,” he said hastily, motioning for a golden-headed elf to step forward. “This is Arafinwë, Lord of the Noldor in Aman.”

Buffy gasped. She quickly looked to Lalwen, who stared at her younger brother with tear-filled eyes.

The Noldo first approached the Slayer. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head in reverence.

“No, no, no, no,” she said emphatically, pulling the elf upright. “You never have to bow down to me. We’re family, Finarfin,” she added with a smile.

“One should always follow protocol, family or not,” he replied, slightly taken aback by her lack of propriety.

“Not with me,” she laughed, waving for Lalwen to come forward. “I’ve gotta say: you’ve raised some remarkable children, especially Finrod. He was a great friend, and I miss him dearly.”

“I appreciate your kind words. Findaráto Ingoldo has… ” His words were cut off when Lalwen threw her arms around her brother’s neck. After more than half a century apart, the son and daughter of Finwë and Indis were finally reunited. Everyone backed away, allowing Finarfin and Lalwen a few moments of private time.

After all introductions were made, and the strategies finalized, the troops began the march to the Gates of Hell - Thangorodrim.

There was a ominous silence outside of Angband. Eönwë, having command over the hosts from Valinor, then called for his men to sound their trumpets. The terrible melody reverberated throughout the region, shaking all the lands of Beleriand, even to the very depths of Hell itself.

Buffy’s armies, together with those Noldor under Finarfin’s command, and many of the Maiar, formed the eastern flank of the forces while the Vanyar and the rest from Valinor formed the western. They waited, in all their glory, for Melkor Bauglir to answer their challenge.

Morgoth recognized the horn of Oromë, and grew fearful when he heard its music reverberating throughout his Halls. While he knew that the hosts from Valinor had come at last, he would not give up without a fight, and what a fight he would give them! He would first unleash his yrch, whose numbers had grown great over the years, to take out as many of the enemy as they could. If that failed to do the trick, as he suspected, he would then let loose his more nefarious creatures, the Balrogs and some of his children that he and Buffy had created together. Melkor’s most potent beasts he would save for the last, the creatures he deemed would bring him victory in the end.

The gates of Thangorodrim then slowly opened. The rhythmic beating of drums echoed across the sandy plains as the yrch began to march through the gates. Many rode upon snarling wargs, doing their best to keep the beasts reined in until it was time to attack.

None truly comprehended just how many yrch Morgoth had been breeding in the pits of Hell. For it seemed to the allies that the goblins’ numbers were incalculable. With the repeating cadence of doom, doom, doom, the enemy kept marching out, forming their lines opposite that of the allied hosts.

“I’m growing tired of waiting,” groaned Orchal, eager to assail the enemy. “Why must we wait for the enemy to get in formation? Let’s have at it already!”

“You’re a man after my own heart,” chortled Buffy, patting Rocco on the neck. She quickly glanced to her left and right. “What do you say, guys? Should we go ahead and pummel Morgoth’s walking, talking turds?”

Those in the Slayer’s cavalry voiced their agreement. It had been a long time since they had killed anything other than wild game, and seeing all those yrch marching amidst a cloud of dust made them anxious to engage them in battle.

A smile came to Buffy’s face. While Eönwë had a say-so over the western hosts, he held no sway over the eastern.

Olofin tapped his mother on the shoulder and handed her her helm, insisting that she wear something to protect her head.

She reluctantly took it, sliding on the helmet that Thingol had had made for her centuries ago. She then pulled a sword charm from her belt. Instantly it turned into a full-sized weapon. She turned to Orchal on her right.

“Ready?”

The Green-elf unsheathed his blade. “I was born ready,” he chuckled in reply.

“Well, then, let’s kill us some yrch.” She grabbed a handful of Rocco’s mane, holding it tightly. “Let’s go, boy!”

The horse neighed in reply before bolting forth from the frontline. The rest of Ossir’s cavalry followed suit, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. The elven and mortal archers that had remained behind armed their bows, sending a hail of arrows over their kinsmen’s heads and into the vanguard of the enemy. The shields of the enemy blocked most of the arrows. The clanking sound of metal upon metal rang out across the plains like the sound of multiple metallic blasts. Only of few squeals of pain were heard.

“What… what are they doing?” stammered Eönwë in disbelief upon seeing the eastern cavalry riding forth before his giving of the signal. “That’s not part of the plan!”

“Luinil is unpredictable,” laughed Tulkas, amused by the whole situation. “I like that!” He then took off, running as fast as any horse in Middle-earth could.

“Damn it!” cursed Eönwë, wishing that the Slayer had kept to their agreed upon strategy. He then gave the order for his men to sound their trumpets, signaling Oromë and the cavalry forward.

The Vala Lord galloped across Anfauglith atop his beloved steed, Nahar, whose coat shone with a silver light beneath the dark clouds of Morgoth. Fire sparked from beneath the horse’s golden hooves as they pounded against the sandy plains. Following behind were many of the Maiar, some from Oromë’s own Household, some from his kindred in the West.

The allies’ shouts of attack pierced the dimness of day, their fair voices sounding harmonious compared to the guttural howls of the enemy. The allies’ eyes shone with unbridled wrath, especially those out of the West. As they neared the frontlines of yrch, the goblins grew terrified, knowing now that their Master had sent them out to meet their most certain deaths.

Yet, there were brave Captains amongst the goblin hosts that yelled to their comrades to charge the allied forces, to face the enemy head-on. For the fate that awaited them if they failed to comply with Melkor Bauglir’s demands would be far worse than anything that the Elves, Men or Ainur would inflict upon them.

Many of the yrch Captains lashed their leather whips at their underlings, an act that sent them rushing forward to meet the oncoming allies. Only seconds later, the cavalry clashed with the goblins, spilling the first blood in the battle that would be named the War of Wrath in after days.

The blades of those from the West shone with fire as they easily cleaved through the iron armor of the enemy. The swords wrought by Aulë and his kin killed one with a single stroke, causing their bodies to wither in flame. On the other hand, the weapons wrought by the Noldor that the armies from Ossir wielded, shone with a blue light. While they were not nearly as effective as the Valinorean blades, they too could penetrate whatever armor the yrch wore, sending the bodies falling into heaps onto the desert-like plains of Anfauglith.

Buffy and her people hacked away at the yrch with a fierce intensity that had built up in them over the years. This was a battle of retribution for those that had died in all the previous wars.

To her left, she heard the lords of the Edain shouting out the names of their beloved forefathers and kinfolk, “For Barahir! For Húrin! For Hador!” and so forth, as they swung their weapons at the enemy, cleaving many in two with a single blow.

Garbed in the mithril raiment of their parents, the lions were allowed to run free at the onset of the battle. They pursued their much smaller counterparts, the wargs, with a wild abandon for blood. Barathalion and Noeriel possessed much greater weapons than their foes - their teeth, which were like daggers of iron, and able to pierce armor, flesh and bone with a single bite. They ferociously tore limb from limb from both beast and orch, showing neither any mercy.

Unfortunately, it seemed that no matter how many goblins fell, more took their place. The yrch never stopped marching from the Gates of Hell. It appeared that Morgoth was emptying the bowels of Angband, sending every single orch from within his fortress to fight the allied forces. Soon, all the plains would be filled with the Glamhoth, their numbers stretching as far as the elvish eye could see, possibly numbering in the millions.

The battle would not be a short one as the Slayer had originally thought. And much to her dismay, she soon discovered a difference between her people and those from the West.

The hosts from Valinor’s stamina was far greater than that of those that dwelt in Beleriand. The Green-elves, Edain, and even Buffy herself tired out long before the Vanyar, Noldor and Ainur. They required more rest periods than those from the Blessed Realm. Being a Vala by nature, she found it distressing that she was fatigued while both Tulkas and Oromë were still going strong. It made her feel inferior and weak and caused her to lose heart in her slaying abilities.

“Keep in mind, Bella,” counseled Luthor during one of their breaks, “that Valinor is free from evil. Only for a short time were their lands afflicted with the gloom and doom that Morgoth can so easily weave. And with so many Ainur residing there, it was easy enough for the winds of Manwë to clear their lands, making the air wholesome and clean once again. Alas, the same thing cannot be said for Middle-earth, least of all Beleriand. The poisonous fumes of Thangorodrim have traveled far and wide, adversely affecting not only the lands, but the inhabitants as well.”

Buffy sat curled up on the couch in her pavilion, staring glumly at the carpeted floor.

“Don’t think for one second that you are lesser than they,” continued the Maia encouragingly. “You are a great champion, the greatest in all Arda, I deem.”

She lifted her head, meeting Luthor’s gaze. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you love me.”

“No, I’m saying that because I’ve seen you in action. Do not doubt your abilities. You can out-wrestle Tulkas, outhunt Oromë, and outlast Eönwë.” He leaned forward, patting her consolingly on the leg. “Not to mention that you’re much prettier than they are,” Luthor chuckled. “Fret not, Luinil. You surpass all the Ainur in Arda in every respect. And yes, I include myself in that assessment.”

“And what about Melkor? Do you think that I’m stronger than he?”

For a split second, she saw a flicker of doubt in the old man’s eyes. But quickly, Luthor gained controlled of his faculties and answered, “We will discover that soon enough.”

That time would not come soon enough for the Slayer, as the war would last for half a century. Most of those years were spent fighting the endless number of yrch.



One evening, five years later, Buffy returned to her pavilion for some sleep, only to see four familiar faces waiting there for her. Maglor, Maedhros, Elros and Elrond had snuck into the encampment whilst she was on the battlefield, and made themselves at home in her quarters. She was so surprised and happy to see them that she gave no thought of reprimanding her husband for his reckless behavior.

Elros and Elrond, now fifteen, had begged the sons of Fëanor to allow them to come north to fight in the war. They argued that Buffy was the same age when she had started fighting demons, and wanted to follow her example.

“Besides,” contended Elrond, “Huor, our forefather, was younger than us when he went into battle. It is only fitting that we follow in his noble footsteps!”

The Slayer couldn’t argue with that. She permitted the twin sons to fight alongside her people, but ordered Maglor and Maedhros to return to Ossir at once. The sons of Fëanor managed to convince her to let them stay a while longer. Buffy grudgingly took a reprieve from battle for a couple of days, remaining hidden within her pavilion in the company of her loved ones. Her visit with her beloved turned out to be just what she needed. When she returned to battle, she felt invigorated, ready to continue the assault on the legions of yrch that continued to spew out from Angband in record numbers.

The twins fought with Buffy’s personal guard who were more than willing to sacrifice themselves in order to protect the boys if need be. Fortunately, it never came to that, but Elros and Elrond got to experience firsthand the harsh reality of warfare.

Bodies littered the battlefield. The foul smell of decaying flesh lingered in the air. The yrch body count had gotten so extraordinarily high that the allies were forced to drag the rotting corpses into piles, which they then set aflame. Plumes of thick, black, reeking smoke rose from the various mounds scattered across the plains. The smoke burned one’s eyes and throat and there was absolutely no escape from the stench. Yet, after some time, one became accustomed to the offensive odor, so much so that one could happily enjoy a meal despite the putrid smell of death.



In the fall of Yr 581, more than forty years after the war had begun, the first Balrogs emerged on the scene. With them were the evil Easterlings, some of Buffy’s offspring with Morgoth, and still more goblins, whose numbers seemed immeasurable. The fiery fiends were more of a challenge for both the mortals and elves, and it was during this time that the allies began to fall in greater numbers than in all the previous years combined.

Buffy pulled back her mortal and elvish troops, ordering them to fight the Easterlings and yrch instead of the menacing demons of flame. It would be up to the Ainur, for the most part, to assail the Balrogs, which outnumbered them at least twenty to one. The allies attempted to form a line to keep the fiery foes from attacking the Children of Ilúvatar but that proved impossible.

Part of Ossir’s armies returned to the encampment, garbing themselves in the iron armor that the dwarves had made during Nirnaeth Arnoediad. The Elves and Edain had not worn that armor earlier in the battle as it was very heavy and caused one to tire rather quickly. Yet, if one could endure the weight, they could also withstand the flames that emanated from the Balrogs’ bodies.

Tulkas had a field day battling Morgoth’s Maiar of fire. His laughter resounded throughout the plains as he fought the towering creatures with only his bare hands. Their fiery bodies did not burn his flesh as it did many of the others. It was quite an amazing sight to see the Vala grab hold of a flaming leg of his foe, forcing it to stumble backwards and onto the ground. His favorite manner of killing any of Morgoth’s creatures was the same - a snap of the neck.

Since Buffy formed part of the cavalry, she was forced to cooperate with Oromë to effectively destroy the towering creatures of flame.

While Morgoth still had a no-kill policy when it came to his beloved, he was willing to allow her to be injured if it would lead to her capture. Wounds he could heal, and he felt it was imperative to have her brought back to Angband to use as a hostage and shield just in case the need should arise.

The Balrogs employed a simple strategy - separate the Slayer from her brethren. With their greater numbers, it would prove to be a rather easy task. The towering fiends charged the cavalry, lashing at the horses with their fiery whips. That maneuver forced the horses to scatter, including Rocco.

The Maiar of flame then formed a ring around Buffy and her steed. As they started to close in around a galloping Rocco, they struck at both horse and rider with their fiery whips. The horse employed evasive tactics, trying his best to avoid the multiple flaming thongs. The burning straps had no effect on Rocco, but, unfortunately, the same could not be said for his Mistress.

Buffy’s neck proved the most vulnerable place on her body. It was protected neither by her mithril armor nor by her helm. The Balrogs were quick to notice that. They aimed both their whips and the handles of their weapons toward that spot in hope of getting her off her steed so that they could more easily subdue her.

One of the fiery foes made a move to strike the Slayer with his axe handle. As he swung his weapon, one of his comrades, in his eagerness to fell Rocco, bumped into the Balrog, causing the weapon to slip from his grasp. The axe went hurtling through the air, striking Buffy in the side of her neck.

She shrieked at the sudden searing pain, which forced her to drop her sword. Instinctively, she reached for the weapon protruding from the side of her neck. In an instant, Rocco swerved to avoid another fiery thong. Unable to maintain her hold, Buffy went flying off the horse, landing hard on the ground. Not thinking, she removed the axe and felt a torrent of warmth squirt from the wound. The blade had not only cut through the muscles, tendons, and ligaments in her neck, but also her carotid artery. As she clutched her neck with both hands, she realized too late the error in removing the axe.

As a Balrog bent down to snatch her body from the sandy plains, a sudden blast from Valaróma caused the beast to stop dead in its tracks. Looking up, he saw the wrathful form of Oromë breaking through the circle of fiery Maiar. Utterly terrified, all the Balrogs began to scatter at the Vala’s approach.

Buffy lay there, softly whimpering in agony, as the strength began to leave her body. Staring up at the black clouds of Morgoth that hovered above, rapid images of her loved ones flashed before her eyes. She now realized that that foreboding feeling she had felt on her way to Tol Galen years ago was not about the turning on her by the Valar. It was about this moment, her downfall. Her death.

A fair face with golden hair then appeared in her line of vision. “I’m here, Luinil,” said Oromë gravely, dropping to his knees beside the Slayer. “I shall take care of you.”

The Vala grimaced when he pulled her hands away and saw how badly Buffy had been hurt. He pressed one of his hands against the gash as the other reached into the leather pouch that hung from his belt. Oromë continued to speak to her in a soothing voice while two members of his Household kneeled down around her. They gasped at the amount of blood spilling from beneath their Lord’s hand.

Buffy felt cold. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably. She tried to speak, to apologize to Oromë for acting like an ass throughout the war, but she could only make a series of gasping sounds.

“Shh,” the Vala Lord sounded, removing her helm before cradling her head on his lap. He then applied a thick amount of salve to the incision in her neck. “Save your strength, Maranwë.”

One of the Maiar then began to bandage the Slayer’s neck. She could feel the sudden tightening around her throat. Her eyelids became heavy as she felt herself drifting into unconsciousness. The Vala and his Maia companions’ voices sounded muffled, distant. The last thing she heard was the cacophony of battle before blacking out…


Chapter 104 - APOCALYPSE NOWISH

Buffy’s chieftains grew fearful when they received word of her injury. Though she had been incapacitated in past conflicts, such occurrences were few and far between. Her loved ones immediately withdrew from the various skirmishes they were fighting in, desperate to find out just how severely she had been hurt.

They weren’t sure how to react when they learned that she was under Oromë’s care. All knew how much their Queen despised that Vala Lord. Some found it rather insulting that Oromë had taken it upon himself to take her to his tent, and not to the healers of Ossir who had tended to the Slayer’s injuries in the past. Yet who were they to argue with one of the Powers? At any rate, it appeared that the Vala was truly concerned over her well-being and was doing everything in his power to make her whole again.

For two days, Oromë kept Buffy in a comatose state. He hoped that by healing her himself, the friction between them might be ended. It had not solely been his decision to take Illyria out. All the Aratar had voted on the matter. He had merely been chosen to carry out the deed.

Regardless, the Vala kept an ever-watchful eye on the Slayer, refusing to leave her side until the wound had completely healed. He allowed her loved ones to keep a bedside vigil, but limited the number of people within his quarters. Scores of elves and mortals wished to be with their Mistress during her convalescence, but Oromë’s lodgings were not nearly large enough to accommodate them all.

Once the wound had mended, the Vala Lord was ready to awaken Buffy. With a wave of his hand, he lifted the spell that had been placed on her. When she began to stir, he rose from the bed and moved across the room to a shadowy corner. Oromë wanted her to see her loved ones first upon waking, not him.

The Slayer groaned as she stretched her stiff limbs. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw the figures of Olofin, Luthor, Thranduil, Lalwen, Orchal, Elros and Elrond bent over her. She let out a startled gasp, not immediately registering what was going on.

“You gave us quite a scare, Bellaseth,” said Luthor with a warm smile.

He looked tired. The many hours of worry had caused the creases on his face to deepen. He definitely looked his age.

The memory of what had happened flashed in Buffy’s mind. She scooted upright, to a sitting position, as she reached for her neck. She carefully inspected the spot of her injury with her fingers, feeling only the soreness from the wound, but no scab.

“How do you feel?” asked Olofin, looking just as fatigued as the rest of her loved ones.

“Alright, I guess,” she replied, now becoming aware of her surroundings. When she saw the white canvas that formed the roof and walls of the tent, she realized that she was not in her pavilion or in one of the green, blue, or red tents of Ossir. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Oromë’s tent,” answered her son. “It was he that healed you.”

“He hasn’t left your side since you were hurt,” added Luthor, who sat on the edge of the bed to Buffy’s left.

“Oromë?”

The others shifted their bodies so that she could clearly see the Vala standing in the corner, out of the lanterns’ light.

Buffy waved him over.

Luthor moved allowing Oromë to take his place by her side. The Vala stopped next to the bed, but remained standing.

The Slayer reached out and took his hand. “Thank you,” she said, looking kindly upon the Vala. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

Oromë could tell, by the look in her eyes, that there was peace between them at last.

“I did what I could to ease the burden of your suffering,” he said with a nod of his head.

Buffy understood that his comment had a dual meaning. Not only was he referring to her injury, but also to Illyria. He had done what she could not - kill her own daughter. While it still pained her that the Aratar had gone behind her back in warring with her firstborn, she now realized that it was time for her to let go of that anger, to put that whole ordeal behind her. Ilúvatar would answer her prayer, and the day would come when Illyria would rise again. It would be up to her daughter to seek vengeance upon those in the West, not the Slayer.

An awkward silence fell between the two, which made everyone slightly uneasy.

“So, what can we do for you, Bella?” asked Orchal, breaking the silence to everyone’s relief. “Anything you need?”

Buffy turned to the Green-elf. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, imagine that,” he chortled. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.” Orchal turned to the twins. “Elros, Elrond, why don’t you help me. After two days without food, it’ll take an entire cu to sate Luinil’s appetite,” he teasingly added.

“That’s not funny, Elf!” snickered the Slayer. “I may not be at a hundred percent yet, but I can still kick your butt.”

Orchal’s face turned to one of mocked horror, before he left the tent, laughing, accompanied by the twin sons of Eärendil.

The Slayer shook her head as her eyes went to Luthor again. He seemed preoccupied, not his normal self.

“What is it, Luthor?” she queried, taking the cup of water from her son.

The Maia’s eyes shifted from Buffy to Lalwen, and then back to Buffy again. “Your brush with death has got me thinking. What if you had died?” He shook his head gloomily. “You do not have the ability to remake your hröa as you once did.” Tears filled his eyes. “We nearly lost you, Bella, and that’s a feeling that I never wish to experience again.”

“But I’m fine, Luthor,” she said, smiling encouragingly at her father figure. “See!” She moved her head around showing him that she was okay. Of course, the Slayer concealed the minor discomfort she felt in doing so.

“I’m glad that you’ve been healed. Believe me, you had me worried sick!” He paused, fixing his forlorn blue eyes on Buffy. “I guess your injury proves that even one so great can be overcome by creatures deemed weaker… ”

“Has something happened to your eyesight, old man?” she interjected with a baffled chuckle. “Have you not seen the size of a Balrog, much less a horde of them? They’re towering infernos!” The smile left her face, her tone became serious. “All it takes is one split second to be overcome by the enemy. A slow reaction time or… or being blindsided when you’re forced to contend with too many of the enemy. That’s part of the game, part of battle.” Buffy paused, closing her eyes briefly while thinking back to her encounter with the Balrogs. “I didn’t see it coming,” she continued, upon opening her eyes. “I never saw the axe. It happens. Shit happens. That’s part of life.” She shrugged before turning to the son of Yavanna. “I’m just lucky that Oromë was close enough to help me, otherwise, I’d probably be dead.”

“It was not your time, Luinil,” revealed the Vala Lord. “After a few days rest, you’ll be as good as new.”

Something then happened that no one expected. Luthor turned to Lalwen and said, “Let’s get married. Let’s get married right here and now.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped at hearing that!

“What?” answered the stunned elleth with a surprised look on her face.

“I love you, Lalwen. And I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife. Bella’s shown me that even though we are an immortal folk, we can go at any time. Let’s not wait another moment.” He smiled. “What do you say, my love, will you marry me?”

“Of course, I will,” she happily responded, throwing her arms around the Maia’s neck.

“Ha!” exclaimed Thranduil, slapping Olofin on the back. “I win. You owe me five silver pieces, Fin!”

“Huh?” queried the Slayer, her eyes darting from the Green-elf to her son.

“We made a bet,” said Olofin, shaking his head in amazement. “Thranduil said that Luthor and Lalwen would wed before the end of the war. ”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asked Thranduil.

“I’ve very in-tune to my surroundings, Bella,” he boasted. “Not to mention that we elves are born with the gift of foresight.”

Arching an eyebrow, Buffy looked at the Green-elf, who was smugly eyeing happy couple. She picked up one of her pillows and playfully whacked the elf in the head with it. “Did you foresee that too, little man?”

Oromë watched in stunned disbelief as Thranduil dove onto the bed, wrestling with Buffy. It was the most peculiar thing that the Vala had ever seen. But, apparently, such occurrences appeared to be normal within the Slayer’s Household. They carried on like that until Orchal, Elros and Elrond arrived a few minutes later, carrying trays of food for their Queen.

Luthor and Lalwen did, in fact, marry on that cool autumn day in Yr 581. Because of the suddenness of the nuptials, they exchanged no rings, only vows. Finarfin had been summoned from the battlefield and though he was taken aback by the abruptness of the whole affair, he did indeed give his blessings. The Noldo King took the role of Lalwen’s late father, by placing his sister’s hand in Luthor’s, which was elvish custom.

Within a few days, all were back to battling the forces of Morgoth, including Buffy and the newlyweds.

Now, when the Slayer returned to the war, she found that the Balrogs continued to gravitate towards her in great numbers. Fighting side by side with Oromë and his Household did not deter the beasts in the slightest. Their mission was to capture her, and they intended to see it through, even if many of them died in their attempts. Unfortunately, some of those around her were being injured in the process, making Buffy feel horribly guilty.

Unable to take it any longer, she pulled out of the battle, deciding that it would be in everyone’s best interest if she took to the air. While she would have to deal with the flaming thongs of the Balrogs’ whips, it would take some of the pressure off those fighting on the ground.

Knowing that a bow was not the best implement to combat the towering beasts, Buffy decided that she needed a more powerful weapon - her Glove. Therefore, she entrusted her key to Nimrod, who was sent back to Tol Galen in her chariot to retrieve the weapon from her copper trunk.

When the Green-elf returned the following evening, he brought, not only the weapon, but also a letter from Maglor. The letter alone renewed the Slayer’s hope, inciting her to end the war so that she could return to her beloved whom she missed terribly.

She took to the air with Luthor in tow. He blasted away at the Balrogs with his scepter while she used the Glove. Their attacks from above turned out to be advantageous both to those on the ground and to themselves. They were able to divert the beasts’ attention, allowing the Ainur the opportunity to strike down their distracted foes of flame.

The lions soared over the heads of the Balrogs, dodging the fiery thongs that lashed at them from all directions. Barathalion and Noeriel had to do some slick maneuvering to avoid being struck. If not for the leather cuffs that the Slayer had installed into the side panels of the chariot, she and Luthor would’ve fallen out on a number of occasions. There were times when they were nearly upside down, clinging to the sides of the chariot for dear life.

They fought in that manner for several years. It wasn’t until Yr 591 when all those Balrogs that didn’t flee from the battlefield were killed. For the first time in fifty years, the enemy had been annihilated. Every last orch, every Easterling, every Balrog, every warg, every single demonic creature that had been unleashed from Angband had utterly been destroyed.

The allies lifted their voice in song, clashing their weapons against their shields in celebration. Yet none, except a few, knew that this was merely the calm before the next storm. Morgoth, by no means, was ready to admit defeat. While the hosts rested after their apparent victory, the Dark Lord was preparing his final wave of attack.

The Generals and Captains gathered together to discuss the final phase of their strategy. Once their men had rested, they would march to the Gate of Angband and break it down. Once inside, the allies were to break into three separate divisions.

The first division would be charged with the capture of Morgoth. Since Buffy was familiar with the vastness of Angband, she and Tulkas would be responsible for finding and binding Melkor with Angainor, the mystical chain wrought by Aulë. Luthor, who had command of the second division, would be responsible for locating and freeing the slaves imprisoned within the fortress. Eönwë would have command of the third division, whose sole purpose was to hunt and kill the remainder of Morgoth’s forces still hiding within the depths of Hell.



Now it must be told that something strange had happened over the past year that none of the hosts in the north were aware of. All the wild animals and birds that had made Beleriand their home had begun to make an exodus through the pass in Ered Luin. Many of the wandering bands of elves noticed the odd behavior and took it as a sign that something bad would soon be happening. They followed the beasts, departing Beleriand for good.

The migration was not unnoticed by the elves of Ossir, for they too had seen the wildlife leaving their lands by the droves. Nestor, acting as Regent, foresaw that Beleriand’s doom was fast approaching. He ordered the remaining Green-elves, Edain and Noldor to begin stocking their ships with provisions in preparation for what was to come.

By the time the allies had annihilated the hosts of Morgoth in the north, the healer’s anxiety had grown so much that he had ordered all the people to move out of their homes and onto the ships. While there were some that derided Nestor for that, those same people would grovel at his feet in gratitude in the not too distant future. For that Green-elf was ever perceptive and very wise.



The Slayer found herself unable to sleep. A disquiet had crept into her heart and no matter what she did; she couldn’t shake it. She left her pavilion, mounted Rocco, and rode through the encampment to the northern boundary of Dorthonion. She leapt off her steed, climbed mid-way up the slope and sat down, staring at the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim, which continued to belch out black smoke non-stop.

Morgoth was watching. She could feel it. She could feel his icy stare through the thick sheer walls of his fortress. Things were quiet, too quiet. Something big was going to happen but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what that could be. Melkor had something planned, that much she knew.

Those from the West didn’t understand him the way she did. They believed he would not put up any type of a fight when they stormed Angband in the morning. But, Buffy knew better. Eru only knew how many demons still resided within the depths of his Halls. Never in a million years, would she have imagined that Morgoth had been able to breed so many yrch. Had he done the same with his other creatures? Was he going to wait until they entered Angband before unleashing more of his monsters, thus trapping them?

The Slayer didn’t fail to notice that one type of creature had never made an appearance during the war - dragons. Before Glaurung had been killed, he had proved to be the most vicious of Morgoth’s acolytes. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had them lying in wait, ready to ambush them when they least expected it. She had brought that up in the council the previous evening, but Eönwë had been doubtful.

“Melkor’s powers diminish with every spawn he creates,” the Maia had said. “After witnessing the number of yrch that he has brought into being, there is no way that he has the strength to create creatures even more venomous than they. It’s just not possible!”

Still, Buffy had reservations. Eönwë and his kin had not witnessed the past conflicts that those in Beleriand had had with Morgoth. It had been ages since the Ainur had destroyed Utumno, and a lot had changed in that time. She felt that they underestimated him and was of the opinion that Melkor had only grown stronger since he took up residence in Middle-earth. He thrived on reek and decay whereas that same reek and decay caused the goodly people that dwelt in Beleriand to deteriorate, to wane.

Melkor Bauglir was born the mightiest of the Valar and none could truly comprehend what that meant. It had taken all the Aratar and hosts of Ainur to defeat him last time. Could it be done this time with only three Valar and ten thousand Maiar? Was this mission doomed from the start?

“Bella? Bella? Bellaseth?” Luthor repeated Buffy’s name until she snapped out of her reverie.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” she said, once she realized she was no longer alone.

The old man let out a groan as he plopped down onto the slope beside her.

“Where’s Lalwen?”

“Ah, well, my beloved wife is able to sleep when we cannot,” he answered, tightening his cloak around him. He stared straight ahead at Thangorodrim, just like his companion. “So is it your adrenaline that is keeping you awake?”

Buffy shrugged. “I don’t know. I just have this… feeling, a bad feeling.”

“You still believe that the Urulóki are going to play some part in this war?”

She faced the old man. “Do you think I’m crazy for thinking that? I just think Eönwë’s wrong on this.”

“Trust your instincts, Bella,” he answered, meeting her gaze. “I was a little taken aback by how quickly Eönwë dismissed your notion. You’re the Vala of War for Eru’s sake! Those in the West have never seen a dragon, and they have no comprehension of how calculating Melkor can be.”

“I’m glad someone agrees with me,” she replied with a snicker. “So what do we do?”

The Maia turned toward Thangorodrim again. “We do as Ulmo has advised you in the past: Expect the unexpected!”

Buffy kept her eyes locked on Luthor. “Do you think that we should take the chariot tomorrow, or today?” She glanced around at the darkness that surrounded them. “Whatever the hell time of day it is! I can never tell if its day or night!”

“Have you been to Folkvang yet?” A smile came to the Maia’s face, knowing that she had asked a rather idiotic question.

“It’s nice to see that you’re all with the humor,” she answered lightheartedly. “Seems that married life is working out for you.”

The old man chuckled under his breath. “It’s morning, my dear Bellaseth. Around half past four, if you ask me.”

“Hmm,” she sounded, shifting her gaze to the mountains. “You never answered my question.”

“I’m still thinking about that. Let me ponder on that a little while longer before I give my answer.”

After a few minutes, Buffy glanced at Luthor. His eyes were closed and he was chewing his bottom lip. That nervous habit of his was both annoying and endearing at the same time. He always chewed on his lip whenever contemplating something that he deemed significant.

They fell quiet, each reflecting upon his and her own thoughts.

A stillness lay about the land. Though spring had arrived, there was no sweet, gentle breeze that marked its arrival. And in that part of Beleriand, there was no new growth of vegetation that normally accompanied the season. Only thickets of brambles dotted the hillside. The once lovely trees that had made Dorthonion famous were now barren of leaves, their limbs twisted in grotesque shapes from the evil that had resided in those woods for a time.

“Do you feel that?” whispered Luthor, nearly thirty minutes later.

“Feel what?”

“That heaviness on the air… an ominous feeling... ”

“Um, Luthor, that’s Melkor. He’s been watching us. Still is.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” he snapped, out of the blue, leaving the Slayer stunned. “It’s something else.”

“There’s no need to bite my head off. Geez!” she retorted with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s not Melkor,” he mumbled. “It’s something else, something ominous.” The Maia furrowed his brow. A scowl came to his face as he kept repeating under his breath, “It’s something else, something ominous.”

Buffy didn’t say a word, fearing that she and Luthor would end up having a verbal sparring match, which was the last thing she wanted. The old man drifted into quiet contemplation as her eyes scanned Anfauglith for some ‘ominous’ sign. She too felt the heaviness of which Luthor had spoken, but just assumed it had to do with Melkor and the next wave of the battle.

They remained seated there until the sound of the Valinorean horns rang out across the plains, indicating that the hosts would soon march to the Gate of Angband.

As the Slayer and the old man rose to their feet, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry for my earlier outburst. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay, Luthor,” she said, giving him a quick, reassuring smile. “We’ve all been under a lot of stress. Sometimes we just need to blow off a little steam.”

The Maia let out a heavy sigh, turning his gaze back to Thangorodrim once again. His expression turned solemn. “We’ll take the chariot while the others march,” he said in a distant voice. Without giving her a second look, Luthor began to descend the hillside.

Buffy was a little disturbed by the Maia’s demeanor. She stood there for a moment, watching as he marched down the slope. She quickly brushed off his behavior as anxiety of the next phase of the battle. She could relate, since she felt it too.



After a quick breakfast, the armies began the march to Angband. Luthor and Buffy rode in her chariot, circling above, keeping an eye out for any sign of the enemy. When the hosts hit the roadway that led through Thangorodrim itself, the hairs on the Slayer’s neck and arms stood on end.

“Luthor, I don’t like this. Something’s not right.” She turned her fretful eyes to the Maia. “Do you feel it? Do you feel the hairs on you body standing up?”

“I do,” he answered, his eyes scanning the lands below. “But I don’t see anything to give us cause for alarm. Not yet, any way.” Keeping his eyes fixed on the terrain beneath them, he added, “Keep your weapon at the ready, just in case.”

The Slayer nodded, tightening her hold on the Glove, as she resumed surveying the lands outside the Gate. “Expect the unexpected,” she uttered nervously.

On either side of the road were deep, black chasms, their depth un-measurable from so high above. All was silent except for the rhythmic marching feet of the hosts on the stone roadway.

Then she heard it - a faint flapping sound.

“Did you hear that?” she queried anxiously to her companion.

“Hear what?”

“I thought I heard a flapping sound or something.”

They both looked upward, expecting to see Manwë’s Eagles. All they saw was the black canvas of the sky.

“Maybe the Eagles are beyond Thangorodrim,” she continued, eyeing the black towers that stood before her.

“I didn’t hear anything, Bella,” answered Luthor, shifting his gaze below. “If it’s the Eagles, they would be coming from their eyries in the southwest.”

The moment Luthor stopped speaking, she heard it again, a little louder than before.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t here that!” she said, her face wrinkled with worry.

“I did! But it sounded like it came from down there,” the Maia replied, pointing his scepter at the deep chasms below.

“Babies,” Buffy shouted to her cats. “Take us down a bit.”

As the lions descended, both the Slayer and Luthor leaned over the sides of the chariot, looking into the abyss of darkness on either side of the road. The armies continued their march, nearing the Gate.

All of a sudden, massive black shadows lifted from the chasms, the unmistakable flapping sound was now heard by all. Everything happened so fast yet so slow. Blasts of fire hit the hosts, sending them scattering in all directions.

Shouts of “Retreat!” resonated from below, as the hosts fled screaming back down the road. Some, in their confusion, ran in the wrong direction, falling off the edge of the road and into the pits of darkness. Others, their bodies engulfed in flames, ran in circles, as Morgoth unleashed his new breed of dragon for the first time.

“Holy shit, they can fly!” shouted Buffy in fear. “Up, babies! Up!”

The lions swerved upward. Their legs moved feverishly as many of the dragons set their eyes on the chariot and their escaping foes. Luthor sent blast after blast from his scepter, but the hide of the flying beasts was so thick that it had no effect on them whatsoever.

“The scepter’s not powerful enough!” he cried out in dismay.

“We’ve gotta hit their bellies. That’s a dragon’s most vulnerable spot.” She paused. “I think. I hope.”

The Slayer began to mumble the spell to activate the Glove. She raised the weapon over her head as one of the dragons drew closer to the chariot, its dark eyes widened, fixing its gaze on her in an attempt to weave its spell of enchantment.

“Don’t look into its eyes!” she shouted to her companion, doing her best to avoid eye contact with the beast.

A bolt of lightning then shot down from the heavens, charging her weapon. She quickly lowered the Glove, aiming it at the eye of the menacing beast. “BE FREE!” she yelled, sending a bolt directly at the eye of the dragon.

The creature let out a horrible cry of agony. It was halfway between a screech and a roar, the sound nearly deafening. With its tormented cry, it sent a terrific gust of foulness toward them, propelling the chariot off course.

Both Luthor and Buffy screamed in terror, reaching for the built-in cuffs to keep them within the confines of the vehicle.

Fortunately, the dragon was wounded. It dropped down a few hundred feet, allowing the duo a few moments to prepare for the next assault.

“If we can’t reach their bellies, go for the eyes,” she instructed, tightening the leather cuff on her wrist. “It’s the second most vulnerable place on their bodies.”

Luthor nodded in reply. His adrenaline was pumping so fast he could think of no words to say. His concern was mostly for those below who were contesting the dragons in far greater numbers than he and the Slayer.

The lions then screamed, suddenly soaring upward at a ninety-degree angle to avoid the jet of fire that the now one-eyed dragon had sent at them.

“Bitch!” shouted the Slayer, her hip painfully colliding with the wall of the chariot. Once she regained her footing, she glanced out of the back of the chariot, and at the dragon in hot pursuit. She then ordered the lions to loop below the beast so that she and Luthor could get a clean shot at its underside.

Buffy and the Maia spread their legs to the width of the vehicle, placing their feet beneath the metal lip near the floor of the cart on either side, bracing themselves for when the chariot turned upside down. She and Luthor clung on tightly to a panel with one hand, as the lions looped around in a stomach-turning motion, sending her and the Maia below the dragon. Having a clear shot, they both fired their weapons at the belly of the beast. They both hit the creature. A shower of reeking, black blood sprang from the wounds as the dragon bellowed in pain. It sent out one last jet of flame, not even coming close to hitting the speeding chariot, before it began to plummet to the ground. The massive body of the creature rented the earth upon impact, sending up a cloud of dust and rocky debris.

“Another one bites the dust,” quipped Buffy uneasily.

“Another one? That was merely the first!” exclaimed a horrified Luthor.

There were at least one thousand of these winged dragons, and they proved to be the most potent of all of Morgoth’s creatures.

The Ainur on the ground had set up Bubbles around their forces in order to ward off the flames and razor-sharp claws of the beasts. The only problem with that was that the shields were stationary, and could not be moved, keeping them in the midst of enemy territory with the forces locked inside.

Those unfortunate souls not protected within the confines of the Bubbles desperately tried to fight off the dreadful creatures. Many of the flying beasts swooped down upon them, snatching them from the ground before soaring high above the earth. The horrified cries of those men were gut-wrenching, especially when the dragons snapped their jaws shut, their razor sharp teeth penetrating their victims’ bodies like knives through butter. The allies’ mangled, bloodied corpses were then spat out, the pieces raining down onto their brethren below. It was an awful, deplorable sight.

With Buffy and Luthor the only ones able to fly amongst their demonic foes, the pressure to kill the enemy fell mostly to them. That was not to be an easy task, as the dragons could swerve out of harm’s way, and working together, they could send jets of flame at the duo from multiple directions at once.

To combat the enemy attacks, the lions would fall into a nosedive, sometimes successfully escaping the fiery breath of the beasts, other times, getting singed by the flames for a few brief moments.

Since the dragons’ attention seemed mostly focused on the chariot, the troops below were able to rally together. They worked as a cohesive unit, sending volleys of arrows at the beasts from below. They were able to successfully kill several in that manner, using both bows and war machines.

The dragons soon realized their folly at flying within shooting range of the armies. Too many had fallen because they had exposed the most vulnerable part of their bodies to the allies’ weapons. Therefore, they devised a new plan. Most of them landed, attacking the hosts from the ground, making sure their stomachs were unreachable by their foes. The others lured the chariot higher above the ground and out of range of the flying projectiles.

Barathalion and Noeriel had done some excellent maneuvering, speedily weaving through their foes, as the Slayer and Maia sent blast after blast at the bellies of the beasts. With the lions focused on outrunning the dragons and their Mistress’ and the old man’s attention concentrated on battling the enemy, they failed to notice just how high they were now soaring above Anfauglith. None paid attention to the fact that they were in the midst of the thick, black smokes that spewed forth from Thangorodrim, as the fiery breath of the dragons constantly lit up the darkness that consumed them. They were now flying thousands of feet above the earth, nearing the apex of the mountains, unaware that they were heading into a trap set by the enemy.

The dragons’ roars were so loud that Buffy and Luthor failed to notice that the father of those winged beasts had ascended from behind the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim and now perched himself atop the highest peak of those three volcanoes. He was a creature of such great power and size that his form would not fit into the chasms along the roadway or through the Gate that led into Hell itself. Concealed within the gloomy darkness, the Dragon that would soon become known as Ancalagon, waited eagerly for the chariot to near his position. So terrible and dreadful a beast was he that he had no intention of capturing the Slayer or her companion. He was bred for one purpose and one purpose only - to kill. He intended to defy his Master’s order, seeking to kill the Vala of Love and War. He believed that by devouring her flesh he would become even stronger than Melkor Bauglir, his creator, and worthy of becoming Lord of Beleriand.

“Duck!” roared Barathalion, as he and his sister dodged another blast of fire. The flames missed the lions, but engulfed the chariot for a second or two. Both Buffy and Luthor had squatted down within the walls of the chariot, shielding their heads from the jet of fire that shot over the top of the vehicle.

“That was a close call,” said the Maia, as he and the Slayer got back to their feet.

“Head’s up!” she shouted. With her hand trembling from the adrenalin rush, she attempted to train her weapon on the beast flying above.

Luthor followed her gaze, sending a blast out of his scepter and at the belly of the dragon.

The creature groaned and withered in agony, blood spilling from the wound, as it plummeted to the ground, belching out foul, grey smoke instead of fire.

“Good shot!”

“Thanks!” replied the old man with a smile, searching for his next victim.

It was then that they heard a thunderous noise from Thangorodrim. So loud was it that Buffy feared that the volcanoes were about to erupt and spew forth rock and lava.

“Go south!” she ordered the lions, as they zipped around, soaring higher in the opposite direction.

The force in which Ancalagon took to the air was so great that when his clawed feet left the mount, the topmost part of that peak crumbled, sending massive stones falling at great speed, alerting those below that something was amiss.

The Dragon’s enormous, beating wings created a tempest of sorts, sending the chariot off course. No matter how hard the lions tried, they could not fly in the direction in which their were attempting to flee.

“What the hell… ” began the Slayer as she turned around. She lost her voice when she beheld the monstrous form of Ancalagon approaching through the black clouds. No words could describe how absolutely terrified she was when she set eyes upon that beast. That Dragon was the largest living thing that she had ever seen or heard of in all her six hundred and twenty-four years of life. Her bulging eyes surveyed the monster. She couldn’t begin to fathom its size, having nothing to compare it to.

The Dragon almost seemed as though it had once been a part of Thangorodrim itself. That the foul, evil vapors and fires housed within the volcanoes had actually come to life, creating a beast that more closely resembled a flying island than anything else. Its wingspan was so great in size that she could not make out where it ended. His dark eyes shone with the malice of Morgoth, revealing his hungering for flesh and his lust for destruction.

Little did Buffy know that her guess was near the mark.

When Luthor saw the blood rush from her face, he slowly turned to see what had caused her to tremble in fear. A look of utter horror came to the Maia’s face. His breathing quickened, his mouth fell agape. So terrified was he that he unknowingly wet himself, seeing now that their doom was upon them. While the panicking Slayer shouted instructions to the lions, the old man began to utter a prayer of deliverance under his breath.

Barathalion and Noeriel roared in their struggle to escape, but the winds created by the wings of Ancalagon hindered their attempts.

“Nosedive! Nosedive!” yelled the Slayer, locking her feet under the lip of the chariot’s floor.

As the lions plunged toward the ground, Luthor went flying off his feet, having been spellbound by the Dragon.

Buffy quickly wrapped her arm around the old man, preventing his body from whipping in the winds. Unfortunately, she was forced to use her gloved hand to hold his body to hers, as the other was still securely attached to the vehicle with the cuff and could not reach the Maia. She tried to talk to Luthor, to break the spell woven about him, missing the only opportunity for a clear shot at Ancalagon’s belly.

The Dragon then sent forth a burst of flame.

“Turn! Turn! Turn!” Noeriel shouted to her brother.

With a sudden jolt, they pulled out of the nosedive, sending both the Slayer and Maia skidding along the floor of the chariot toward the opened end of the vehicle. Only the straps of leather kept them from falling out. The blast of fire still managed to engulf the chariot.

Wrapping her legs tightly around the Maia, Buffy desperately patted out the fire in Luthor’s beard. All she could smell was singed hair. Apparently, having his facial hair set aflame broke the enchantment put on the old man by the beast.

Fortunately, they were given a momentarily reprieve from Ancalagon’s attack, as the Dragon was momentarily distracted to help his children on the ground. The flying beast sent forth his fiery breath at the allies, as he swooped over the plains, shattering the war machines with his clawed feet.

Both the Slayer and Luthor were able to get back on their feet. They didn’t know exactly what to do next. They could not fight Ancalagon from above, and the thought of encountering the monstrous Dragon again was not the most appealing of thoughts.

“Perhaps we should fly to Valinor and entreat for more forces… ”

“Flee the battle?” queried a stunned Buffy. “We can’t leave.”

“Then what are we to do, Bella? My heart tells me that these devices of ours are not potent enough to destroy that wretched creature. It’s not enough.”

The Slayer grew more fearful, having never seen the Maia so distressed before. They didn’t have much time before Ancalagon would return and she had to come up with a plan quickly.

“Let us go to Aman,” Luthor said pleadingly. “We have no other choice.”

“How long do you think it’ll take us?”

“I cannot rightly say. But we must make haste!”

Buffy then gave the order to the cats to fly west as fast as they could. They were unaware that the Dragon had already begun his ascent and intended to confront them as they fled from Beleriand. The lions were moving their legs so fast that they were a blur of constant motion.

They heard the creature of Morgoth before they saw him. The gusts from his flapping wings sent the chariot zooming backward, to the north. Within the dark haze, they then saw the black monstrous form of Ancalagon, back for the attack. They tried to go left, then right, but the gusts created from the beast were like a whirlwind, sending the vehicle spinning out of control.

“Go up! Go up!” Barathalion shouted, frantically fighting the wind’s force.

The Slayer’s stomach was twisting, her head spinning. The Dragon glided to their west, allowing the lions a chance to ascend higher. As the vehicle jolted upwards, Luthor’s leather cuff snapped, having been frayed by the flames of Ancalagon.

He let out a blood-curdling scream as he went sliding across the floor. Buffy reacted swiftly, snatching the Maia’s wrist before he could fall out of the back. The old man looked at her with such terror that she felt her blood run cold. Half his body was dangling from the chariot.

She grabbed the top panel of the vehicle with her gloved hand, needing some leverage to help heave the Maia back into the chariot.

“Right the vehicle!” she yelled to the lions, struggling to maintain her grip on Luthor.

Barathalion and Noeriel started to correct the chariot, but Ancalagon beat his wings, creating a great whooshing of wind that sent the chariot rocking out of control.

Buffy’s hand slipped. Her grip moved from Luthor’s wrist to his fingers. He looked at her with such fear. His blue eyes widened, glistening with tears. The look of horror on his face would be engraved in her memory for the rest of her life.

“My hand’s slipping, Luthor!” she cried out, as she held back her own tears.

The old man gave a quick glance over his shoulder. The only thing that he could see was the mammoth form of Ancalagon. The beast seemed to be everywhere. He then turned his gaze back to Buffy and said, “Tell… tell Lalwen I love her.”

“NO!” she shouted, desperately trying to pull Luthor forward, her strained muscles aching in her attempt.

She then heard a ripping sound. Turning hastily toward the sound, she saw that her cuff was now breaking apart.

Ancalagon flapped his wings once more, causing the Maia to be sucked from Buffy’s grip. She let out a horrified cry as Luthor fell, the chariot spinning wildly out of control.

The Maia sent blast after blast from his scepter as he plummeted toward the earth, thousands of feet below. The Dragon countered the attack with his own jet of flame, engulfing Luthor. The Maia’s painful cries resounded throughout the dark clouds as the smell of his burning flesh rose upward.

Buffy pulled herself to her feet, clinging to the side panel of the spinning chariot. She watched in terror as Ancalagon’s tail whipped around, striking the Maia, sending his flaming body whizzing through the air toward the sheer side of Thangorodrim. The Slayer tasted the vomit in her mouth as Luthor’s body crashed into the face of the rock wall. The impact was so great that his hröa became imbedded into the side of the mount. Thus died Luthor, the Maia whom Buffy loved as a father figure.

The Slayer had no time to react to Luthor’s death, as Ancalagon immediately sent a jet of flame at the spiraling chariot. The lions cried out “Bella!” in their agony, their bodies now ablaze. The stench of their burning flesh filled Buffy’s nostrils, their woeful cries echoed in her ears. But, she could do nothing as the last blast of Ancalagon’s fiery breath burnt the last shreds of her cuff, instantly snapping it from the vehicle, and sending the Slayer plummeting below…


Chapter 105 - FLOODED

Ancalagon’s serpent-like body encircled his prey. He opened his mouth, which looked like a huge cavern containing teeth that most closely resembled fifty-foot long stalagmites and stalactites. Streams of saliva stretched from the upper teeth to the lower, as the Dragon’s hungering for the flesh of the Vala Queen heightened.

He glanced down at the Slayer, her body speedily heading downward yet still within striking distance. With the strange metallic-looking Glove still on her right hand, she looked upward at her burning pets and the dented vehicle attached to them. He could see the fear in her eyes, the shock and pain of her loss. That alone gladdened his black, sadistic heart. However, he was not finished tormenting her.

With one deep breath, the Dragon sucked the burning bodies of the cats along with the chariot into his enormous mouth. He then snapped his jaw shut, trapping the tiny morsels. For a fleeting moment, he tasted the lions’ charred remains and the copper of the vehicle with his snake-like tongue before swallowing them whole.

He could tell that the flying felines were in fact of the Maia race. But, even so, his powers outstripped theirs threefold, as he was a creature of Morgoth, the mightiest of the Dark Lord’s offspring. His evil essence devoured their feys, utterly destroying them. The lions’ powers transferred to him, making him a bit stronger than he was only moments ago.

Ancalagon flapped his wings. That simple motion sent his quarry racing downward before her body shot upward, much like a yo-yo with an invisible string.

The cold air rushing over Buffy’s body caused her to tremble to near convulsive proportions. She knew that the Dragon was playing with her before choosing his moment to devour her as he had her beloved kitties only seconds earlier. She couldn’t help but think that she was going to die, again. The thought of being eaten by such a creature was not something she ever thought possible in her wildest of dreams.

Alone, thousands and thousands of feet above her allied hosts, she clung to what remnants of hope she had left.

With her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she activated her Glove once again. The Slayer would not give up on her attempts to strike the Dragon down, though she knew the odds were most certainly against her. All she could see was the black, scaly flesh of her foe slithering along the currents created by the movement of his mammoth wings.

She shot at Ancalagon repeatedly. Yet his thick, iron-like hide repelled each bolt of lightning sent from the Glove. As her body fell rapidly toward the earth, she could see that her weapon was having no effect whatsoever on the Dragon.

The beast continued to glide around her. Buffy soon found herself face to face with Ancalagon, his jaw wide open, as he came rushing toward her plummeting form. She desperately tried to shoot at his eye, but with one beat of the Dragon’s wings, the force of the winds made it impossible to steady her aim. She still fired a shot, but missed, hitting a tooth instead. To her amazement, a small piece was broken off. But it was not enough to stop the beast. The foulness of his breath was overwhelming, making her nauseous and clouding her mind. She continued her futile attempts to shoot him down, yet his hide repelled each blast from her Glove.

As the Dragon coasted nearer, the Slayer lost all hope. She clenched her eyes closed in preparation for her inevitable demise. She could feel the heat emanating from Ancalagon. Her body went from cold to hot in an instant, the drastic change in temperature further weakening her mind, body and soul. Her body became limp causing it to spiral out of her control as she continued her descent. She felt herself losing consciousness.

Then she heard it - the unmistakable cry of the Eagles. Before Ancalagon could snap his jaws around the Slayer, the Eagles of Manwë lunged at the Dragon, clawing at his head with talons sharp enough to break the scaly hide of the beast.

The Dragon let out a painful roar, the force of his breath sending Buffy hurtling backward like a speeding bullet instead of plummeting toward the earth below.

Ancalagon was forced to engage this new enemy of his.

The Slayer felt like a rag doll being tossed about. Her head was spinning along with her body, making her feel dizzy and sick. Her eyes still firmly closed, she could hear the Eagles battling with not only Ancalagon, but the other dragons as well. The dreadful shrieks of the enemy rang out beneath the pitch-black sky as the winged creatures of Manwë fought those of Morgoth’s amidst the dark clouds that enveloped the peaks of Thangorodrim.

As the currents that had driven her back to the east began to waver, she could feel her body begin to fall yet again.

Though her eyes remained squinched closed, she suddenly saw a white, blinding light through the folds of her eyelids. A warmth radiated from that Light, and, for a brief moment or two, she thought that Eru Ilúvatar Himself had come, that He had left the Timeless Halls to aid His favorite daughter. In her mind, she envisioned the Allfather catching her in His outstretched arms, saving her from a horrible fate.

However, that proved not to be the case. It was a mere figment of her imagination. Only seconds later, her body crashed into something so hard that she was knocked out cold.

While unconscious, the deaths of Barathalion and Noeriel played over and over in her mind. She saw the blast of flame that Ancalagon had sent forth engulf her babies. Their woeful voices cried out her name in hope that she could somehow save them. She could smell their burning flesh; hear their tormented cries. The experience was so vivid, so real, that it seemed like each time she saw it, she was experiencing that horrific ordeal for the first time.

The pain and sorrow at the loss of her beloved lions was overwhelming. They were not pets. They were like her children, especially since they, like the elves, mortals and dwarves, were able to speak the languages of Middle-earth. The legacy of the flying lions had ended with only the second generation, and Ancalagon was the one to blame.

“Luinil. Luinil,” said a hazy, faraway voice.

As Buffy began to regain consciousness, she could feel a hand gently tapping her face.

“Luinil. Wake up,” continued the voice, speaking softly and soothingly.

Her eyes fluttered open, only to see a bedazzling white light. “Ilúvatar?” she queried hopefully.

“No. It’s Eärendil, son of Tuor.”

Gradually, the Slayer’s eyes came into focus, adjusting to the light of the Silmaril that the half-elf wore on his brow.

Eärendil had her head cradled on his lap, his white fur cloak draped over her body. He gently caressed her cheek as she suddenly became aware of the throbbing at the back of her head.

The torment of the cats’ deaths suddenly came rushing to her mind. She bolted upright, turned, and sitting on her folded legs, faced the half-elf. The madness of grief overtook her. Buffy’s eyes widened as she frantically grabbed hold of the front of his shirt with both hands.

“Eärendil!” she cried out, tears filling her eyes. “He killed my babies! He killed my babies!” As soon as those last words escaped her mouth, the Kinslaying at Avernien suddenly sprang into her mind, making her feel horribly guilt over her husband’s misdeeds. She began to weep. “I did my best, Eärendil; I did my best to fix the situation. Don’t hate me; don’t hate me and Maglor. We did our best.”

Buffy threw her head on the chest of the half-elf and cried, begging for his forgiveness. She then realized that she was experiencing one of those déjà vu moments. And indeed, she was! For in the Yr 245, whilst suffering from the malady, she had, in her madness, shouted those same exact words to her son, Olofin.

“You have done nothing wrong for me to forgive, Luinil,” he said, wrapping his arms around the distraught Valië, attempting to comfort her. “And Maglor, I forgive, for he spared my sons, and loved them as his own. You both did. I know that, and, for that, I am forever grateful.”

“Bless you, Eärendil. Bless you!” The half-elf’s forgiveness meant a lot to her. She felt that burden of guilt lift from her shoulders, and his presence, together with the Silmaril, renewed her hope.

There was much she wanted to say to the son of Tuor, but the ruckus from the Eagles’ battle with the dragons swiftly brought her attention back to the matter at hand - Ancalagon and his children. The winged-worms were the last obstacle to the allied hosts’ achieving a complete victory, and with Buffy being the only Vala in the skies, it was imperative that she do all she could to aid the Eagles.

She wiped her tears away. Her eyes scanned the deck of Vingilot in search of her Glove. When she spotted her weapon lying to the side, she quickly retrieved it, sliding it on her right hand. Rising to her feet, she ordered Eärendil to take his position at the helm of his vessel, as she made her way to the prow of the ship. She was determined to kill all the smaller dragons first, saving Ancalagon for last.

Eärendil was impressed with the Vala Queen’s resilience. He hadn’t expected her to jump back into battle so quickly after such a nasty fall. Her head had collided hard with the thick wooden planks of the deck, and had split open. He watched as she sprinted to the front of his vessel, her golden hair thick with blood.

For the next twenty-four hours, the final battle was fought. Eärendil navigated Vingilot through the currents as Buffy used her Glove to take down many of the smaller dragons. The flying beasts of Morgoth attempted to burn the half-elf’s ship with their fiery breath, but discovered that no fire could damage that vessel. Vingilot had been hallowed by the Valar themselves, making it impervious to any of the elements as the dragons found out much to their dismay.

Those below watched in awe as the battle took place above them. They no longer had to contend with any of the dragons, as Ancalagon had summoned them all to aid him against the emissaries of Manwë Súlimo. The allies rejoiced each time another dragon carcass came crashing to the earth, renting the lands upon impact. Hundreds and hundreds of deep craters covered the plains of Anfauglith. Plumes of grayish-black smoke rose from the graves of the winged-serpents.

Morgoth’s hold on Middle-earth was beginning to wane. With each death of his flying fiends, the air became clearer; the dark clouds that had lingered over the lands for a half a century began to dissipate. And in the last hour of the war, the sun made its first appearance, bringing with it a warmth and radiance that caused the allied hosts to lift their voices in song, knowing that the end was neigh.

Finally, the only Dragon remaining was Ancalagon. While many gashes covered his iron-like hide, that beast was still going strong, having successfully managed to kill several of Thorondor’s kindred. The father of the winged-serpents was at least ten times greater in size than the Eagles, and the Slayer knew that the birds of Manwë were not enough to rid the world of Ancalagon. It would take more than talons and beaks to bring that creature down.

An idea then suddenly came to her on how to defeat that winged-Dragon. Remembering how that single blast from her Glove had broken off a small portion of Ancalagon’s tooth made her realize that his most vulnerable spot was not his belly. It was his mouth. That’s the only reason he still lived. No one, not her or the Eagles were hitting him where it hurt.

Once she had devised her plan, she shared it with Eärendil, who would play an integral role in her scheme.

Immediately, the half-elf navigated the vessel higher, trying to catch up with the fleeing Dragon.

Thorondor and his brethren had prevented the beast from going north, beyond Thangorodrim, where he intended to escape. They continued to dive at the beast, raking their razor-sharp talons across the fleshy parts of his back, forcing Ancalagon south toward the hastily approaching ship.

Buffy didn’t know if Eärendil was able to communicate telepathically with the Eagles or not, but as soon as Vingilot neared the Dragon, the emissaries of Manwë withdrew from battle, circling higher and higher above the ship and out of harm’s way.

When Ancalagon saw the oncoming boat, his ire grew. He was in pain and felt that the Vala of Love was the one to blame. He was ready to end her life, to devour her flesh, and acquire the powers housed within her hröa. The Dragon sent out a blast of fire. The flames licked the wood of the vessel, but the wood did not ignite.

The Slayer had on Eärendil’s white cloak, which protected her from the fires of the beast. Lifting her Gloved hand toward the heavens, she loudly spoke the spell to activate the weapon.

Ancalagon’s wrath grew even more, seeing how his fiery breath had caused no damage to the ship. He opened his mouth wide, intent on eating not only the boat, but the two on board as well.

Buffy saw that the time was ripe for her to make her move. She shouted for Eärendil to join her at the starboard side of the vessel. As the half-elf ran to her side, he removed the Silmaril from his brow, and clutched it tightly in his hand. The Slayer then flung her Glove. It hurled through the air, landing onto the serpent-like tongue of the Dragon. Eärendil then lifted the Silmaril, directing its holy light at the charged Glove within the Ancalagon’s mouth.

The combination of the power contained within the Glove, the Silmaril, and the noxious gases of the Dragon’s breath created a mammoth explosion that blew the creature’s head to smithereens. Vingilot withstood the gusts from the blast, as chunks of the beast’s head rained down upon its deck.

Ancalagon’s enormous form fell from the sky toward the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim. A sunbeam chose that moment to burst through the last of Morgoth’s dark clouds, shining on the Dragon like a spot light.

Those below fled from the plains, running or riding toward Dorthonion as fast as they could, knowing that the impact of the Dragon’s body with the earth would be great.

Ancalagon’s corpse did not hit Anfauglith, but Thangorodrim itself. When his massive body landed on those three mighty peaks, the greatest in all Middle-earth, the mountains crumbled beneath the weight. The sound was deafening. An avalanche of stone and rubble crashed onto the sandy plains, sending up a huge dust cloud that blocked out the sun for several hours. Debris filled the pits where the dragons lay dead, forming tall mounds over their remains.

To many, the destruction of Thangorodrim and the death of Ancalagon the Black meant that the War of Wrath had finally ended. Although, for Buffy, it wouldn’t be over until Morgoth was captured. Then and only then would she consider the war to be over, and name the allied hosts as the victors.

She gave Eärendil a celebratory pat on the back and said, “Why don’t you take us down? It’s time for Morgoth to get his.”

The half-elf’s face became sorrowful. He sighed heavily before replying, “Alas! I am forbidden from setting Vingilot on the lands of Middle-earth. I am now a star and must remain in the skies.”

“That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard!” she exclaimed angrily. “Who the hell told you that?”

“That came from the Lord of Arda himself.” Eärendil could see that the Slayer was wreathing with anger. “It is what I agreed to, Luinil. There is a price to pay for my keeping the Silmaril and being accounted amongst the Eldar.”

“But… but what about Elros and Elrond?” she countered. “Are you not permitted to see your own sons? To speak with them? To see what admirable men that they’ve become?”

Eärendil leaned against the railing of the ship. He looked down at the thousands of people that dotted the landscape and searched in vain for his twin boys. “No,” he answered softly. “I can only hope that I’ll see them again one day.” He took a deep breath, holding back the tears forming in his eyes.

The half-elf still carried the guilt of leaving his young sons behind when he left on Vingilot to search for his parents in Yr 535. He had always assumed that he would return to Avernien and make up for lost time, but unfortunately, that never came to be. The sons of Fëanor had seen to that.

Buffy realized there was nothing she could do to change Eärendil’s fate. She placed her hand atop his. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose a child.”

The half-elf faced the Vala Queen.

“My oldest is dead,” she continued gloomily. “And my twins, they’re currently being held hostage by my archenemy, Amarutu Marduk.”

“But I thought Morgoth was your archenemy,” replied a perplexed Eärendil.

The Slayer turned her gaze to Melkor’s realm below. “I wouldn’t call him that. I really don’t know what I’d call him.” She paused. “He’s truly the first evil that this world has ever seen, that much I know.”

“It is said that he loves you,” the half-elf remarked, watching for her reaction.

She didn’t reply, but continued to stare at the lands beneath them. She appeared lost in her thoughts, perhaps contemplating her next step, the half-elf was not entirely sure. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask the next question.

“Do you love him? Do you love Morgoth Bauglir in return?”

Without hesitation, she answered, “NO!” Her face contorted in rage, as images flashed in her mind of those that had died by Melkor’s hand or by his orders. Staring at the Iron Mountains, she contemptuously added, “He’s a villain whose treachery knows no bounds.” She turned to the half-elf, her eyes narrowing with hate. “He deserves death. Nothing else!”

Buffy then turned her gaze to the place where the Gate now lay buried beneath the ruins of Thangorodrim. The allies would have to clear the broken rocks and debris that blocked the entrance to Angband if they wished to enter by that door. She, on the other hand, knew other ways in which she could gain access to Morgoth’s fortress.

She ordered Eärendil to take his ship north of where Thangorodrim had once stood. Vingilot slowly began its descent, circling lower and lower until it hovered approximately two hundred feet above the ground.

“I cannot go any lower than this, I’m afraid,” informed Eärendil.

Buffy looked over the side of the ship, and nodded her head. “I can make it.” She started to climb over the railing.

“Are you mad?!” The half-elf firmly grabbed hold of her waist, preventing the Slayer from leaping overboard. “You can’t jump that far. You’ll get hurt, or maimed, or worse.” His voice became more distressed as he spoke each possible outcome.

From out of nowhere, Thorondor appeared, gliding toward Vingilot. “Heads up, Dagnir,” he said, swooping down upon Buffy, snatching her from Eärendil’s grip with a taloned claw. The Eagle then made his descent, setting the Vala Queen down amongst the rocky foothills. He then quickly took off, leaving her alone in the vast lands of Morgoth.

As she made her way to one of the secret doors, Eönwë and the others saw from afar that the she was entering Angband alone. Her actions vexed the herald of Manwë.

“Why must she disregard the plans that we’ve agreed to?!” moaned Eönwë in his frustration. “Luinil was not to enter Angband without Tulkas and… ”

“Our plans must change, my friend,” interrupted Oromë. “How are we to follow what we had originally agreed to when Luthor is dead? Bellaseth is doing what she thinks best. Do not underestimate her abilities!”

“Tell me, Oromë, do you think it wise that she has gone into Angband alone? Considering all things in their past, I deem it foolish that Luinil seeks to confront Melkor on her own. My heart tells me only ill will come from it. We can place Veils on the Valië all day long, but that does not change the power that Melkor commands over her. That connection - it’s there! We cannot change that or hide it. And that frightens me.”

“Then I will follow her,” spoke up Tulkas. “You do what you have to, Eönwë, but I will go and help Bella.” The Vala placed the mystical chain, Angainor around his shoulders. He nodded to his brethren before taking off over the rubble of Thangorodrim, running at lightning speed.

After a few minutes of further discussion, Eönwë amended their strategy. With Luthor gone, he’d command the second division and Oromë would lead the third. Some of the Maiar worked on removing the rubble and debris before the Great Door (which still stood), while some climbed over the ruins in search of the doorway that the Slayer had passed through.



When Buffy entered through the secret door, she found the dimly lit passageway nearly deserted. She clutched her sword tighter, alert for any possible attack, as she slowly set off down the corridor. Within the shadowy recesses, she made out the forms of some of Morgoth’s minions, probably yrch by the sound of their gruff whisperings. None stood in her way. All in Angband had expected her to come. Melkor’s servants were told not to hinder his beloved, only those that were to follow.

The Slayer’s eyes searched the tunnel, expecting some creature to drop onto her from above or a group of Balrogs to pop out of one of the chambers as she passed by. But nothing happened. Not one demon attempted to waylay her. In fact, everything seemed unnaturally quiet on that level. The only noise came from the smithies deep below. The continuous clanking of multiple hammers sounded like a unharmonious symphony, each strike a painful note delivered by those prisoners that worked around the clock in the pits of Hell.

The unpleasant melody brought to mind those she had lost over the years. The images of Finrod, her beloved friend whom she missed dearly flashed in her mind, and Fingolfin, the bravest of the Noldor, and the only Elf to face Morgoth one on one. And Húrin, the only mortal that had withstood the malevolent gaze of the Dark Lord, defying his will, and as a result, forced to witness the cruelty and horrors inflicted upon his children.

She experienced a surge of strength and determination upon seeing their faces. Buffy went from a brisk walk to an all out run down the labyrinth of tunnels and stairs leading to Morgoth’s Great Hall. It was up to her to make the Dark Lord pay for all the evil he had wrought on those that had called Middle-earth home. This would be the final showdown between good and evil, Melkor Bauglir versus Maranwë Luinil, in a duel to the death.

The Balrogs stationed outside the double doors to Morgoth’s Great Hall, turned their gaze down the passageway from which they heard the echoing sound of the Slayer’s booted feet pounding against the stone floor. When she rounded the corner, her weapon at the ready, the fiery beasts saw her eyes glinting with such hatred that they fled from their posts. They bolted down the nearest corridor that led deeper into the pits of Angband.

Buffy stopped outside the closed double doors, her chest heaving from both the sprint and the adrenaline rush. She could feel Melkor Bauglir on the other side, eagerly watching her. She kicked one of the doors with such a force that it broke off its hinges and skidded along the floor until it came to a standstill halfway across the chamber.

She fixed her narrowed eyes on Morgoth, who sat on his throne with a wry smile on his face. The light from the two Silmarils blazed from his iron crown illuminating his Great Hall like two spotlights. Having foreseen that the enemy would breach his fortress, the Dark Lord had already garbed himself in armor, prepared for any conflict that might ensue.

“Melisse. I knew you’d come back to me,” he said in greeting, showing not the slightest bit of concern that his bitterest of enemies were presently gaining entry into his Halls high above.

Buffy made no reply. Instead, she placed both hands on the hilt of her sword before charging the Dark Lord.

The smile swiftly left the evil Vala’s face as he watched his beloved rapidly approaching, her face contorted in her wrath. The Dark Lord began to tremble in fear. He had never seen his lover’s eyes ablaze with such fury. A feeling of dread encompassed every fiber of his being. He thought that perhaps he was mistaken and that his beloved Melisse would be the one to take him down, thus bringing an end to his reign of terror.

His eyes quickly darted to Grond, which sat on its pedestal a few feet away. If he moved quickly enough, he could snatch the mace before she reached him.

By the time, he began to rise from his seat; she had already leapt through the air, speedily flying toward Morgoth. Her body collided with his, sending him crashing backward, tumbling over his throne, and onto the stone surface of the dais.

Buffy quickly gained the upper hand, and straddled the evil Vala, who now lay flat on his back. She pinned his arms to his side with her thighs, the metal ridges of his armor digging into her skin. She lifted her sword with both hands preparing to plunge the blade into the Dark Lord’s throat.

Melkor cringed, his eyes tightly closed. He let out a whimpering cry. “No, Melisse! Don’t do it.”

The Slayer brought the blade down, stopping just short of piercing his skin. She sat there, trembling with rage, unable to thrust the weapon into his flesh.

One of Morgoth’s eyes peeked open. He saw his lover’s face glistening with sweat, the contemptuous look on her face replaced with utter confusion. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill him! He opened both eyes, cackling, “I knew it. You can’t kill me, Melisse. Your love for me runs too deep.”

He was right. She couldn’t kill him. Buffy desperately wanted to push down on the blade, but something inside her prevented her from doing so. She didn’t know whether Melkor had bewitched her or if he was right, that deep down she really loved him and couldn’t kill him.

Morgoth’s dark eyes twinkled with self-satisfaction as his derisive laughter echoed within the chamber.

A series of loud, crashing sounds resonating from above diverted the Slayer’s attention upwards for a few moments. The booming sounds caused the entire chamber to shake. The chains hanging from the ceiling rattled. The torture implements attached to them swayed carelessly about, clanking into each other like ghoulish wind chimes.

Melkor’s cutting laughter abruptly stopped, only to be replaced with a pitiful wail. The Slayer had slammed the hilt of the sword onto his nose, breaking it. Black blood streamed from both nostrils, running down either side of his face.

A pleased Buffy placed her weapon back onto her belt. “You’re right, Melkor,” she said in an eerily calm voice. “I can’t kill you. But I can hurt you… a lot.” She then began to pound his face with her mithril covered fist. “This is for Fingolfin.” Bam. “This is for Finrod!” Bam. “This is for Húrin.” Bam. “This is for Turin.” Bam. She went on like that for several long minutes, naming dozens of people that she personally knew that had died as a direct result of the Dark Lord’s actions.

The sound of Tulkas’ laughter echoed down the passageways, indicating that the Ainur had indeed found their way into Angband.

The Slayer knew she didn’t have much time before the others arrived. She stopped pummeling Morgoth, whose monstrous face was bruised, bloody, and swollen. His whimpering cries amused her all the more. The Dark Lord did not have a high tolerance for pain.

Her eyes then went to the Silmarils that adorned his iron crown. She had promised to retrieve them and intended to keep her word to the sons of Fëanor. As she considered how to remove the Jewels from the crown without touching them, several things happened at once.

Tulkas’ shouting rang out throughout the vastness of the Great Hall. Apparently, the Vala had walked into a trap set by the enemy, and could not easily get himself out.

Buffy was about to aid the Vala when she heard the desperate pleas of her offspring, begging for her help. Their voices did not travel throughout the corridors of Angband, but echoed in her head. She could hear them clearly and distinctively. Images of Oromë and his kindred slaying them suddenly flashed in her mind.

“Would you let them die, Melisse?” muttered Morgoth, looking at her with eyes nearly swollen shut. “Would you let those in the West kill those whom we’ve made, our children?”

She remained frozen, listening to the horrific screams in her head.

“For each one that dies, a part of you dies. Your essence gave them life, Melisse. They are a part of you, a part of me. Don’t let them take our children away from us. Save them. Save them, and you save us.”

The sound of Tulkas’ laughter filled the chamber. He was nearly free from the web in which he had been caught.

Buffy’s eyes darted from the Silmarils to the hidden door on the east side of the room. She had to make a choice: recover the Jewels of Fëanor or save her offspring with Morgoth. To her, there was no option. She had to save her offspring for not all were evil. And even those that were, were destined to serve a purpose in this world though she didn’t wholly understand that at the time.

Fearing that she had already wasted too much time, she jumped off Melkor, seized Grond from its pedestal and disappeared through the hidden door. Her motherly instinct had kicked into overdrive and she was determined to protect her offspring by any means possible.

The Dark Lord chuckled under his breath, as he struggled to get to his feet. He was delighted to know that his children would be safe and that their mother would be the one to see to it. That made him hopeful, although that hope would last for the briefest moment.

As Morgoth raised his head, he saw the face of Tulkas standing before him. The Vala of Strength then dove upon the evil Vala, wrestling him to the ground. Following the orders of those in the West, Tulkas removed the Silmarils carefully from the crown before handing them to one of the Maiar from his House. He then beat the iron crown down around Melkor’s neck, much like a collar, before hog-tying him with Angainor. And so ended Melkor Bauglir’s reign in Middle-earth.

While the Slayer hurriedly ran through the tunnels and passageways in search of her offspring, Eönwë had found the prisoners and was releasing them. The Ainur were grieved to see the changes that had come over the thralls through their many years of imprisonment. The once fair elves, mostly Noldor, had become aged, hunched over from toiling endlessly in their labors for the Dark Lord.

Most saw the light of day for the first time in decades and in some cases, centuries. The winds of Manwë blew out of the west, carrying away the stench of the rotting corpses that had not been buried beneath the former peaks of Thangorodrim. The ex-thralls looked upon the world in wonder, as if seeing it for the first time.

Oromë and his men had taken the wrong paths in their search for the remainder of Morgoth’s hosts. The yrch Captains had been ordered to steer the Ainur astray, allowing Sauron the opportunity to lead the survivors through the main tunnel running through Ered Engrin to eastern Middle-earth. Once out of Beleriand, they could escape from either of the two doors located in the mountain chain.

It took some time before Oromë realized that he had been tricked, that he had been trailing yrch, not the more formidable foes that dwelt in Angband. Sniffing the air like one of his beloved hounds, he soon picked up the scent of the fleeing villains, who now had a several mile head start on the Vala and his men. Angered, he ordered his people to go east, following the many tunnels that ran through the Iron Mountains.

Buffy popped out of another secret door and into a pitch-black tunnel. She was tired, and the weight from carrying Grond only exhausted her further. Yet for the life of her, she could not let go of that weapon. She had to keep it with her.

She leaned against the cool, damp stone wall, trying to catch her breath. The only sound she heard was her own labored breathing. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she looked down the dark passageway, wondering which way she should go. When she caught a flicker of light in the distance to her left, she decided to go in that direction. She trudged along the tunnel, occasionally stumbling over her own two feet.

When the Slayer neared the end of the corridor, she could see that it opened into a cavernous chamber. An orangey light emanated from that space and she could hear the voices of many people. Stepping into the chamber, she found what was left of Morgoth’s minions, who were fleeing from Oromë and the other Ainur.

Cries of “Ishtar” and “Mother” echoed throughout that massive domed room as Buffy’s offspring with Melkor pushed their way through the throng of escapees, eager to be at her side. Many had used their powers of telepathy to summon her, believing that she was their last hope, the only one able to save them from some horrible fate at the hands of those from the West.

Her offspring gathered around her, pawing at her, weeping in despair. None wanted to die, not the beautiful ones, nor the monstrous ones. It was at that moment, that the Slayer viewed these creatures as her children. They were no different than Anno and Mirë, who had come into being as a direct result of magics as well. She looked upon them all with love and pity, and wanted no harm to come to any.

Buffy did her best to calm her children, assuring them that she was there to protect them and that she would not let any of the Ainur hurt them. She asked to speak with Sauron whom she could not see amidst the sea of demonic creatures.

Gradually, the servants of Melkor parted, making a pathway for the Slayer to the Necromancer. She followed it, dragging Grond behind her.

For the first time in many years, Buffy came face to face with Sauron.

The Maia attempted to conceal his worry. He knew in his wicked heart that his Master had already been taken into custody by those in the West, and feared the same fate. He was unsure how to react to the Slayer’s presence.

Sauron surveyed her haggard appearance. Her hair was very short. By the looks of it, he believed that it probably had gotten burnt off by Ancalagon’s fiery breath. He didn’t like it. He found it most unbecoming, preferring her hair long and flowing. The Necromancer could see in her eyes that she had fought Melkor but had not killed him, just as his Lord had foreseen. He was more than a little surprised that she had not taken the Jewels of Fëanor, only Grond. He deemed that to be a good thing, a very good thing.

“I need your help, Sauron,” she said, her weariness evident in her voice.

“Imagine that,” he replied, a malevolent grin slowly coming to his face. “And why would I help you, Inanna,” the evil Maia cackled with spite, “when you are surrounded by my armies?” He lifted his arms, motioning to those thousands of beings that had survived the war, thus far.

“Because you’ll all die if we don’t work together. Oromë isn’t after me. He’s after you.” Her eyes scanned the masses as she loudly added, “All of you. Oromë and his men are gonna hunt you down and kill each and every single one of you.” Her eyes went back to Sauron. “But, I don’t want to see that happen.”

“Why do you care what happens to us?” countered the Necromancer with a sneer. “You have sided with them! You have helped bring about Melkor’s downfall.” He took a step closer, towering over the Slayer’s small form. “I could kill you right here and now.”

Buffy slung Grond onto her shoulder.

The Maia’s eyes darted to Morgoth’s favorite weapon.

“And I could do the same to you,” she replied coolly, feeling the burden of the mace’s weight on her shoulder.

Sauron eyed her and the weapon for a few moments before saying, “I’m willing to call a truce if you are in agreement.”

“Fine,” she answered, dropping Grond back to the ground. “Truce.”

“So, what do you propose, Inanna? That we stand here and fight Oromë and his men when they come?”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “He’s out for blood. He seeks to destroy all of Melkor’s minions… his offspring… my offspring. And I can’t let that happen.”

The Necromancer raised his brow in suspicion. “Why this sudden concern for Melkor’s children, or yours, for that matter? You have slain them with glee in the past. What’s changed to make you want to save them?”

“Me,” replied the Slayer. She scanned the crowd standing behind Sauron. “There’s only one way for them to escape Oromë and the Ainur.” She locked her eyes back on the Necromancer. “We’ve got to open the Hellmouth. Use the portal to send them into other dimensions. The Valar can’t find them there. They don’t have the key.”

Sauron’s lips slowly curled into a smile. “I like that plan of yours!”

“You can do it,” said Buffy, nodding her head encouragingly. “You can open the Hellmouth.”

Just then, they heard a loud bang from above causing everyone’s gaze to shift overhead. A couple of chunks of stone broke off from the ceiling. Those nearest to the falling debris jumped aside as the slabs of rock fell to the floor with a crash.

“We don’t have much time. They’re coming,” said the Slayer anxiously.

“I cannot do this alone. You are the key to opening the Hellmouth, Inanna.”

“Me?” she queried incredulously. “How?”

“It’s blood that opens the gateway. Your blood!” informed the Necromancer.

“But… but last time,” began Buffy, thinking back centuries ago when she had traveled through the Hellmouths with Morgoth and Sauron. “Last time you opened the Hellmouth, without my blood.”

“That is where you are wrong, my dear. Do not think that Luthor was the only one interested in experimenting with your life force whilst you dwelt here. I too acquired your blood to conduct my own… experiments… ”

“You experimented with my blood?” she questioned in a shocked tone.

“You’d be amazed to know what I’ve been able to do with it.”

That thought alone sent shivers down Buffy’s spine, but right now, she was more concerned with helping her children escape. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time interrogating the Maia about the things he had down with her blood.

“What do you need for me to do?” she asked half-heartedly.

Sauron took her left hand. He pulled down her mithril glove, exposing her wrist.

The Slayer’s eyes shifted from her arm to the Maia’s face. She watched as he turned into his vampire form. Parting his lips, he revealed his sharp, pointed fangs. Her breathing quickened, knowing what was about to come next. She winced when Sauron sank his teeth deep into the flesh of her arm. The moment his canines broke the skin, Buffy began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. She snatched her arm away before falling forward onto Sauron. She grabbed hold of him in an attempt to steady herself. She couldn’t help but think that his bite was poisonous.

The Necromancer wrapped his arms around the Slayer, holding her upright. “It’s alright. You’ll be fine,” he said soothingly.

“What did you do to me?” she asked in an anxious whisper, feeling the warmth of her blood running down her arm.

“Shh,” he continued, caressing her face with one hand while the other kept her body pressed to his.

Thuringwethil became enraged as she watched her lover holding the Slayer in his arms. He was looking at Buffy in a manner that roused the vampire maiden’s jealousy. She couldn’t help but think that the Vala of Love was somehow weaving a spell of seduction about Sauron, and Thuringwethil wasn’t about to have any of that.

She unsheathed the dagger from her belt, tightly gripping the hilt in her hand. Sneering, the vampire maiden pushed her way through her cohorts toward the woman in her beloved’s arms.

Sauron saw his lover approaching, weapon in hand. Being the opportunist that he was, he wasn’t about to alert the Slayer to the looming threat of Thuringwethil, but instead, was curious to see which woman had luck on her side that day.

Lifting the blade over her head, the deranged-looking woman went in for the kill. Suddenly, out of nowhere appeared Aslan, Sargon’s pet lion. The cat sprang on Thuringwethil, preventing her from harming Buffy before both he and the vampire maiden disappeared in an instant, leaving those that witnessed the unexpected event wondering what had just taken place.

The Slayer never saw what happened, but gave a quick glance over her shoulder when she heard the chorus of gasps from those nearby. She had no idea that Sargon had just saved her life by sending Aslan.

Both the lion and Thuringwethil would not return to Folkvang. They would reappear only a moment later in another dimension, where they’d find themselves vying for the lordship of a land that would become known as Narnia.

As Buffy’s strength and wits returned, she realized that the effects of Sauron’s venomous bite were only temporary.

“We cannot wait any longer, Inanna,” said the Necromancer gravely before turning his attention to his cronies. “Get back. Back!” he shouted.

The Balrogs, yrch, trolls and other demonic creatures backed away as ordered by Sauron. With the Slayer at his side, he uttered the spell to open the Hellmouth. Buffy’s blood streamed from her fresh wounds onto the floor of the chamber, which happened to be the location of one of the four gateways in Angband. It was no mere coincidence that all those beings were lead to that place at that particular time. All were driven by fate and had their part to play in Ilúvatar’s grand scheme of things.

The air just above the ground rippled to life. The pathway now opened, allowing one to travel on the mystical road to other dimensions. There was nearly a stampede into the Hellmouth, as everyone was quite anxious to depart Angband before being found by Oromë and his kinfolk.

Something then happened that no one expected. The ground began to tremble and shake violently. As many continued to leap into the Hellmouth, the ceiling, walls and floor of the chamber began to split apart. A rush of steamy air escaped from a fissure in the floor, the noise of the sudden release of air sounding like a deep, bellowing groan. The crack on the floor widened, forming a crevice that started to devour the room and its occupants. Rocks rained down from the ceiling and walls, killing some, wounding others.

“Shit!” shouted Buffy, dodging the falling stones the best she could.

The vortex, which continued to whirl above the crumbling ground became like a vacuum, and started to suck in those standing nearest.

The Slayer did not want to be amongst them, having no desire to escape to any other dimension.

“Come on,” said Sauron, grabbing her hand and pulling her further away from the gaping hole.

“Wait!” she cried out, pulling the Maia with her so that she could grab Grond from where it sat on the floor.

“We need to go, Inanna!”

Buffy was just able to snatch the weapon before Sauron dragged her away. They fled to the tunnel, the only means of escape other than the Hellmouth. They made it into the passageway just as the chamber caved in behind them, extinguishing the last of their light. The earth continued to shake and rumble with such a force that the Slayer feared that the tunnel would close in around them. There was no doubt in her mind that Angband was being sucked into the Hellmouth.

Sauron felt that they were not traveling fast enough. He changed into his wolf form and ordered Buffy to ride on his back. She climbed atop wolf-Sauron before he hastily took off, fleeing east to the Second Door in the Iron Mountains, outside of Beleriand. Though he felt the burden of Grond, he refused to allow the extra weight to hinder him. The Maia summoned all of his strength and powers to help him run as fast as he could in his effort to keep ahead of the tunnel which was crumbling behind him and the Slayer…



Morgoth was most pleased by the turn of events. Though the enemy had captured him, he rejoiced in knowing that his dethroning would come at a terrible price for the peoples of Middle-earth. Phase one of his plan was going off without a hitch. Melkor had convinced his beloved to save their offspring knowing that she’d want them to escape through the Hellmouth. Little did she know that by opening that gateway, she had triggered all the rest of the Hellmouths in Beleriand to open at the same time. Buffy, with the aid of Morgoth’s faithful servant, Sauron, would be the ones responsible for bringing about the destruction of Beleriand.

Yet Melkor was not the only Vala that had foreseen these things. Both Námo and Ulmo also knew that the destruction of Beleriand was coming. The Lord of Waters was the one that had sent the visions to the Eldar and Edain and had compelled them to build those great ships in preparation for this day. And he and his servants would not just sit idly by while the lands broke asunder, for they had to do whatever they could to save the people of Beleriand.

The Ainur that had entered Angband did find their way out of Morgoth’s fortress before it was sucked beneath the earth. They, along with the peoples of Valinor and Ossiriand fled across the plains of Anfauglith to the plateau of Dorthonion. The lands continued to quake and the hole that had opened beneath Angband continued to grow, gradually devouring the Iron Mountains before the hosts’ very eyes.

As Ered Engrin sank into the pit, the sudden increase in mass forced the aquifer to rise and to spill over the plains of Anfauglith. Unlike the flash floods that other parts of Beleriand had experienced, the waters here gradually rose higher and higher until Dorthonion appeared as a sole island amidst a rising sea.

All of Beleriand was undergoing changes. The nonstop earthquakes caused rivers to change their courses, flooding lands that were once dry. The various mountain chains experienced landslides, collapsing as a result of the continuous tremors deep beneath the ground. In some places, the build up of super heated gases erupting from the earth ignited as they entered the oxygen-rich atmosphere and set off explosions throughout Beleriand. Great fires sprang out of open fissures, setting aflame the nearby woods.

The seas too were affected. To the west, where the Teleri ships were anchored, the waters began to rise and churn. At first the unpredictable tides created by the multiple earthquakes pulled the ships out to sea, despite the elves attempts to remain close to the shore. The ocean became ferocious, tossing their ships wildly about until finally, the entire fleet found themselves riding atop a massive tidal wave, heading back toward the shore. So vast was the roaring wave that those in the ships watched in terror as they soared hundreds of feet over the lands, the surge of water snapping trees like matchsticks, and displacing homes and burying them under the destructive current.

The men aboard those vessels shrieked in horror as they saw the mighty peaks of Ered Wethrin on the horizon. There was no doubt in their minds that their ships would crash into the side of the mountains, killing them all. The Teleri cursed both the Noldor and Morgoth for putting their lives in jeopardy. Oh, how they wished they had remained at home beside the silver shores of Aqualondë!

“Look! Look!” cried out the Captain on the forefront ship.

The men, who had hidden their faces, not wanting to see death approaching, raised their heads, looking straight ahead. Before their eyes, they watched as part of the mountain chain collapsed with a great rumbling, filling the air with an enormous dust cloud. The ships soared through the opening between the mountains as the force of the tidal wave caused even more of the mountain to crumble.

The swell continued to rush forward, not breaking until it reached the lands south of where Gondolin had once stood. The ships nearly capsized when the wave broke, but some of Ulmo’s servants, steadied the boats, sending them lurching forward atop the foamy waters.

The River Sirion had also changed its course, and because of the never-ending earthquake, its waters now flowed south to north instead of the other way around. This body of water met with another carrying the Teleri ships, forcing the vessels north to Dorthonion. The Sea-elves would navigate their boats around that isle, rescuing the people trapped on the lone isle amidst the waters.

Melchizedek and his men had boarded their vessels days before the actual flooding began just like the Green-elves in Ossir. They had felt the tremors deep within the earth in the northern regions of Beleriand before it spread across the lands. They watched as the Sirion widened, its turbulent waters shifting directions. The rising waters carried their vessels over and between the Forests of Brethil and Neldoreth, over Dimbar and Nan Dungortheb. The water rushed over the valley to the southern portion of Dorthonion, where he and his men joined the Teleri of Valinor in their efforts to rescue those trapped on the isle.

In Ossir, the same devastation was occurring just as in the rest of Beleriand. Two Hellmouths lay on that country’s borders: one to the west, the other to the north. The Green-elves watched in absolute amazement as Taur-im-Duinath began to disappear, the entire wood being swallowed up into an abyss before their very eyes.

On the other side of that wood in the Bay of Balar, the elves and few mortals that dwelt on the isle of Balar had boarded their ships when they had begun to experience the turbulent movements deep within the earth. Círdan had foreseen the destruction that was coming and had prepared accordingly. As the swells of the sea grew, the ships of those people were carried on a massive wave over Avernien and Western Beleriand to the north, where they too would aid their kindred trapped on Dorthonion.

The Green-elves were dismayed when the sea came rushing at them from the west. The force of the water picked up their massive vessels and sent them toward Ered Luin. They, just like their kindred from Valinor, assumed that they would be crushed against the mountainside. Yet that was not to be.

The Hellmouth that opened to the north had created a suction that pulled the water and ships in that direction and away from the Blue Mountains. The gush of the sea flowed over the Hellmouth and across the plains, sending those ships out of harms way. Salmar sprang out of the water’s depths informing Nestor and his people to go north and help the others trapped on Dorthonion. The servant of Ulmo then disappeared, and quickly returned to his Master who was waiting for his return at the convergence of the Gelion and Adurant Rivers.

The Lord of Waters had positioned most of his servants along the northern and southern banks of the Adurant, keeping the sea from overtaking that area, which was proving most difficult. It was of the utmost importance that the Vala save Tol Galen and Lindecoa from destruction. He knew in his heart that if Buffy lost her fortress and home in western Middle-earth, that she would depart those lands for the East, never to return again. And that was something that Ulmo did not want, especially since he intended to spare a portion of her lands, so that she’d have no reason to leave.

When Salmar returned, the Vala Lord assigned the Maia the task of holding back the sea from that point. Ulmo then disappeared under the water and traveled up the Adurant with some of his servants.

They approached Tol Galen from all sides, working feverishly on severing the stone anchors that attached the land mass to the riverbed. Once freed, the Maiar used their magics to keep the isle upright, preventing it from overturning and destroying the dwellings on it. They had accomplished the easiest part of their task.

Ulmo then guided Tol Galen down the Adurant toward the wall of seawater at the Gelion. The isle was carefully raised, sent over the towering wall before being pushed northward on the waters surface. When the Lord of Water’s had reached the point where the river Brilthor had once been, the Maiar released their spells along the Adurant, allowing the sea to overtake that river as it had all six others that had made up Ossir in the past. Out of Ulmo’s love for Buffy, he left only the foothills along the Blue Mountains out of the water.

The Lord of Waters servants then joined him, pushing the isle north to where the Dwarf-road once had been located. That stone road now lay submerged under the sea, but it would still be used as a guide for the place where the Vala intended to set up the Slayer’s new homestead.

When they reached the road, the Maiar got in formation, forming a line miles wider than the opening that ran between the mountains. They took on the form of mammoth horses, looking both mighty and terrible. Though their bodily forms were made up of water, they still possessed the strength to break the lands as their Master ordered.

As soon as Ulmo gave the word, the Maiar galloped forward at great speed. The vibrations of their pounding hooves against the seabed could be felt far and wide, even by those on Dorthonion. The horse-shaped Maiar collided with Ered Luin, making the opening wider than it once had been. The stampede went on for more than fifty miles before they turned, running in circles, ripping away at the lands with their mystical bodies until they formed a great gulf.

When the Lord of Waters was happy with what he saw, he and his people then carried Tol Galen on their shoulders. The isle literally had been lifted out of the water and was thrust at the end of that gulf into the rock wall. Ulmo and his servants then labored long and hard, attaching that land to the western shores of Middle-earth, using the stone at the base of the cliffs.

Because of Ulmo’s love for Buffy, Lindecoa was the only dwelling to survive the First Age unscathed. While the other structures that had graced Tol Galen still stood, they were in need of repair. The Vala was most concerned with protecting the blue Halls of his beloved and he had done so with the aid of his people.

At the far eastern point of the gulf, high atop the stone cliffs, sat Lindecoa, the tower of Luinil gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. For that reason, that inlet of water would be named the Gulf of Lune, and the land to the north and south would be called, Forlindon and Harlindon, respectively. And with the completion of the Slayer’s new settlement, the First Age had ended…


Chapter 106 - LONG DAY'S JOURNEY

Ten days later, Buffy and Sauron finally reached the Second Door within the Iron Mountains. Apparently, they were not the only ones to escape by that way. They found the mystical, stone sentry already broken, the mammoth doors ajar, and the silver light of the moon flooding through the opening into the darkened tunnel.

Once they stepped out onto the stone ledge, they felt the cool, fresh air against their skin. With weary eyes, they scanned the lands stretched out before them, glad to be free from the gloomy and dank passageway. To the west, hundreds of miles away, Buffy could clearly make out the Misty Mountains.

“Come, Inanna.” Sauron took her hand and together they climbed down the rocky shoulder.

Since the destruction of Angband, the Slayer and Maia had come to rely on one another. She had provided their sustenance (lembas) until they had run out a few days before, and he had let her ride on his back whilst in wolf form, allowing them to travel much quicker than they would have otherwise.

When they reached the bottom, both collapsed from utter exhaustion. Neither had slept since the opening of the Hellmouth and the thought of sleep was most appealing. Lying side by side, they swiftly dozed off, oblivious to everything around them.

Only a couple of hours later, Sauron awoke. He turned his gaze to his companion. She looked so frail under the moonlight and after days without food and drink, her face appeared pale and gaunt. She had lost a lot of weight during the war and it showed more now than ever. The Necromancer knew that his Master would expect him to care for her, to make her hale again. Though he had always had what he considered a love hate relationship with the Vala Queen, he couldn’t fight the compulsion to take care of her. Changing into wolf form, he disappeared into the fog that had settled about the land, in search of food and a water source.

While Sauron was away, two a.m. came and went, and with it, yet another day passed by that Buffy was not summoned to Folkvang. Ever since her first encounter with the dragons, Sargon had no longer brought her back to Sussrúmnir at the designated time as he had in times past. At first, she thought that strange, but soon found herself so preoccupied with her current predicament that she no longer gave any heed to her sacred duties.

She had no idea that Ilúvatar had intervened in her life yet again. Though all the Ainur were predestined to do certain things at appointed times throughout the ages of the world, the rest of the time was theirs to do as they wished. They did have the gift of free will even though the Slayer believed differently. Every single decision she had made since Ancalagon had been her own, from the opening of the Hellmouth that ultimately lead to the destruction of Beleriand, to her escape with Sauron. Her choices would pave the way for, not only her own future, but those of many others as well.



Buffy was roused from her slumber by the aroma of roasting meat. Her eyes fluttered open only to see a crackling fire over which Sauron was cooking his kill from earlier that morning. She groaned, as she stretched her stiff and aching limbs, slowly shifting to a sitting position.

The Maia gave her a quick glance. “I found water,” he said, grabbing a wooden skewer of charred meat from the fire and handing it to her. “There’s a river not more than a mile or so to our west. Its waters are cold and clean. If you follow the feet of the mountains, you’ll come across it.”

“So you’re not coming?”

Sauron sighed heavily. Turning his gaze to the west, he said, “There’s nothing left for me there. The Valar have taken Melkor prisoner. My home has been destroyed. There is nothing for me to return to.” His dark eyes shifted back to the fire, looking mournfully at the flickering flames.

No one would’ve understood what the Slayer and Necromancer had gone through, how close they’d become over the past week or so. They had come to see each other through different eyes. The hostility and contempt that they normally had for one another was gone, and in its place were understanding and concern.

Buffy could empathize with Sauron. He had lost everything and she understood that, having experienced something similar in Sumer. Perhaps it was for that reason that she encouraged the Maia to come back with her to Beleriand and seek a pardon from the Valar.

“Our agreement centuries ago was that you were to leave me be,” he stated coolly. “Remember when I first helped you and Luthor escape from… ”

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to!” she interjected, cutting his words off mid-sentence. “It’s your choice. Not mine. I’m just saying that the Valar are a forgiving people. They understand how powerful Melkor is, how manipulative. You were good once, Sauron, and from the House of Aulë, no less.” She took his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “When I look in your eyes… I mean really look, I see a good man. He may have been hidden deep inside all these years, but he’s in there nonetheless. You were corrupted by the most powerful Vala of them all, just like me. If you’re repentant, doesn’t that warrant your getting a second chance? Come back with me. Come back with me and seek a pardon from the Valar.”

“They have no forgiveness in their hearts,” he replied with a snigger. “Manwë and his brethren would like nothing more than to lock me in Mandos, or worse.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered with a shake of her head. “I’m no saint, Sauron. But I’ve been forgiven for my sins.”

“And what sins have you committed, Inanna? How many innocents have you killed?”

“It’s my belief that anyone I killed deserved it. But that’s not to say that innocents haven’t died during a time when I had no control of my powers, when I was consumed with madness… ” Her words trailed off as she bitterly recalled her suffering at the hands of Marduk long ago. She let go of the Maia’s hand and turned her doleful eyes to the fire.

“I know that evil’s supposed to exist to give people a choice as to which path they wish to tread down. The time is not yet upon us when it’s eradicated from the world.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, shifting her gaze back to Sauron. “Was it not evil of me to save my children with Melkor? They will live on and do evil. They will kill innocents. Doesn’t that make me guilty of killing them too? Do the deaths of their victims not fall on my shoulders?”

The Maia searched the Slayer’s eyes with his own. He could see that she was troubled by her decision to save her offspring, but had accepted it, including the consequences that went along with that acceptance.

Silence fell between them. No longer able to suppress her hunger, Buffy began to eat. Sauron looked on, watching her intently.

In the end, a repentant Sauron agreed to come back with her.

After she had finished eating, they made their way to the river to their west where they washed up and refilled their water skins. They then set off on what the Slayer believed was the long trek to Beleriand. The Maia once again took his wolf form, allowing Buffy to ride on his back in order to hasten their journey home.

Wolf Sauron ran nearly nonstop, just as he had in the tunnel of the Iron Mountains. Because of his companion’s eagerness to get home, he only allowed himself two 10-minute breaks within a twenty-four hour period. And that was mostly for Buffy, as her legs and body would cramp to the point where she needed to walk off the stiffness.

After traveling two hundred and fifty miles, they came to a vast forest of towering trees. They had arrived at the northern part of Greenwood the Great, the same forest the Slayer had traveled through with the Edain on her way back from Sumer, although much further north on this occasion. The shade of the trees provided the pair with much relief from the heat of day. They had journeyed mostly across open plains thus far and a reprieve from the blazing, hot sun was most welcome.

Midway through the wood, they encountered none other than Rocco. Buffy was ecstatic to see her steed as was the beast to see her. He had been searching for his Mistress since the destruction of Beleriand, knowing that she still lived. From that point on, she rode upon her horse, much to Sauron’s delight. For the Maia no longer had to carry the weight of both the Slayer and Grond on his back. That burden now fell to Rocco.

Sauron traveled in wolf form until they reached the western eaves of Greenwood. With Buffy’s arms, shoulders and back aching from carrying the mace, she asked the Maia if he’d carry it for her. In return, he could join her on Rocco for the rest of the trip; a move that would allow them to travel must faster even than he in wolf form. The Necromancer agreed.

The horse galloped at great speed, knowing that his Mistress longed to return to her Halls.

Buffy noticed the first changes to the landscape when they reached the hilly region of Eriador. In the distance, beyond the mountain chain, she could see thick plumes of smoke rising from several of those fissures that had broken open from the earthquakes that had plagued Beleriand more than two weeks before. The fires within a few still burned fiercely, while others were beginning to smolder. Nonetheless, a haze of grayish-black smoke hovered over the western part of Middle-earth.

Once Rocco had made it to the summit of a rather large mound, the Slayer’s eyes scanned the countryside. Having traveled those parts before, she was expecting to see the gap in the Blue Mountains that led to the Dwarf-road to her west, not the glimmering blue tower of her Halls, Lindecoa.

“What the… ” The words died on her lips as she slid off Rocco’s back. Shocked, she felt the blood drain from her face as she walked a few paces forward, staring at the changes that Middle-earth had undergone.

The terrain had changed more than when Ulmo and his servants had saved Tol Galen from the flood. The aftershocks from the numerous earthquakes had formed a great river. From where she currently stood, her Halls appeared to be located about one hundred and fifty miles to the southwest. If her eyes weren’t deceiving her, Lindecoa looked to be located on the south side of some great gulf, near the mouth of the river, whose waters emptied into that large body of water.

Suddenly, images of the destruction flashed in her mind. The Slayer saw that her opening of the Hellmouth in Angband had set off a chain reaction that had literally wiped nearly all of Beleriand off the map. The reality of the whole situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Her legs became weak before giving out completely. Falling onto her knees, she felt as if her heart had sunk to the pit of her stomach.

When she saw Melkor’s face in her mind’s eye and heard the sinister sound of his laughter, she knew that he was behind it all, that he had set her up by playing on her maternal love for her offspring. He knew she’d have their children flee to other dimensions through the Hellmouth. That’s why he had shown her that means of traveling centuries ago. It had all been in anticipation of the day when she herself would thrust open the gateway, an act that had not only brought about the destruction of Beleriand, but had inevitably killed innumerable innocents unable to escape the drowning lands.

Buffy broke down and wept. Morgoth had duped her yet again.

Within a matter of seconds, Sauron was kneeling before her, holding her tightly in his arms. He had known of his Master’s plan all along and now found himself torn between his allegiance to Melkor and his growing love for the Vala Queen. The Maia spoke words of comfort, assuring her that everything that had happened was Eru’s will, and that she should not worry needlessly about that which could not be undone.

His soothing voice had a calming effect on the Slayer. Since she was a proponent of predestination, she believed Sauron’s words. He dried her tears before they set off again. However, this time, the Maia traveled in wolf form so that none of Buffy’s people would recognize him when they entered her domain. She promised to keep his identity secret until they had met with Eönwë and the others from the West.

Following the stream that sprang from the foot of the hills, they continued on their journey. Thick, grey clouds rolled across the sky, blocking out the sun as it sank behind Ered Luin. The early nightfall was accompanied by a cold, drizzling rain. Lifting her head, the Slayer smiled. She could now make out Eärendil in his ship, Vingilot, hovering above the western part of Middle-earth. The rays of the Silmaril, Gil-Estel, penetrated both the thick rain clouds and the swirling smoke. That sight alone lifted her spirits, something she had desperately needed since she had learned of the destruction of Beleriand.

Many lamps lit up the night as the travelers neared their destination. A city of tents and pavilions stretched across the sparsely wooded area that surrounded the former isle. There lived, until new dwellings could be built, those elves and mortals of Ossir that had survived the war and turbulent changes to Endor.

She took off her cloak and wrapped it around Grond, not wanting any to see that she was bringing back the mace of Morgoth.

Rocco neighed. The high-pitched sound reverberated throughout the region, informing all that their Mistress had finally returned. Only a few seconds later, a trumpet answered. The harmonious notes brought tears to Buffy’s eyes. After fifty years, she was home.

“She’s back! Luinil’s back!” cried out a cloaked figure as the Slayer entered the encampment.

“Hail, Bella Queen!”

“Welcome back, my Lady!”

“Ilúvatar has answered our prayers and brought you safely home!”

The Eldar and Edain continued to shout words of greeting as their Mistress rode toward Lindecoa in the now heavier rain. The smiling Slayer waved back, nodding her head in acknowledgement as she passed her people by. Looking behind her, she saw a drenched wolf Sauron lagging behind.

“C’mon, Wolfie,” she said encouragingly to her new ‘pet’.

When she reached her Halls, Orchal, as always, was the first to welcome her home. “Welcome back, Bella,” said the beaming elf.

Buffy slid off Rocco and sat Grond on the stone drive.

Orchal pulled her into a bear hug. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. We’ve been worried sick,” he continued, holding her tightly in his arms. “It gladdens my heart to see that you’ve finally made it back safe and sound.”

“Can’t… breathe,” she sputtered, tapping the Green-elf on the shoulder.

“Oh. Sorry,” he laughed, easing his hold on her. “What’s this?” His eyes turned to the large item wrapped in Eärendil’s dirty, white cloak.

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, aware of the numerous people gathering around them. “It must remain covered. I want this taken to my vaults. None are to see it.”

The Green-elf snapped his fingers. Tarlanc and Gelir came rushing forward. Orchal ordered the cloak-wrapped object to be taken to the vaults. Tarlanc went to pick it up, but found it too heavy. It took four elves to haul the weapon of Morgoth into Lindecoa.

“Come, now. Let’s get you inside and out of this rain,” continued Orchal, linking his arm with hers. They started up the steps as people continued to rush out of the double doors and down the stone steps.

The Slayer’s eyes scanned the crowd for her loved ones. A few of her maidens reached her side. One of them thrust a large umbrella over Buffy’s head.

“Welcome home, Luinil,” they said in unison.

“Thanks.” She turned to Orchal, a worried look on her face. “How’s Olofin? Káno? How’d we make out in the war and its aftermath?”

“Fine, fine,” answered the elf reassuringly. “Although, Olofin is gone. He left ten days ago in search of you, flying over the lands in falcon form.”

“Oh.” She was sad to learn that her son was gone, but glad that he was alright. “And Káno? How’s he?”

“He’s fine. He’s around here somewhere.” Orchal’s eyes turned to the wet wolf at Buffy’s side. “And who might this be? Where are Barathalion and Noeriel?”

A frown came to the Slayer’s face. “They didn’t make it. Ancalagon… Ancalagon got ‘em,” she answered hesitantly. Her mood instantly became solemn.

The Green-elf hated the fact that he had stirred up her grief. “And who is this… creature?” he asked again in a more lighthearted voice though his expression was one of disgust. He couldn’t imagine why such a foul beast was in his old friend’s company.

She quickly turned her head to Sauron. “This is Wolfie. He helped me escape Angband and has been my friend and constant companion ever since.” She rubbed his wet head. Noticing the look of dismay of Orchal’s face, the Slayer was quick to add, “We’ve been through many trials together. He’s alright, Orchal.”

The Green-elf raised his brow in doubt. He didn’t sound convinced, but he wasn’t about to question her further. “If you say so,” he answered half-heartedly.

As they entered Lindecoa, the joy that Buffy felt was about to come crashing down. While she had made certain assumptions during the war, she was about to discover that what she thought had happened, in reality, had not.

“Bella! Bella!” One voice carried over the others that packed the foyer of her Halls. Lalwen was pushing her way through the throng, anxious to get to the Slayer’s side.

“Lalwen!” Buffy smiled.

“Bella!” said the elleth, nearly out of breath. She grabbed hold of the Slayer’s shoulders, her grey eyes searching her friend’s. “Luthor? Where is my beloved Luthor?”

“Isn’t he here?” she queried, thinking the Maia’s fey would have returned home after his death.

“No! I haven’t seen him since the war. I thought he was with you. What happened? Where’s my beloved, Luinil?” cried out the tearful maiden.

Buffy felt her heart sink, realizing now that she had been wrong about Luthor’s fate. And to make matters worse; she now had to tell his wife and her dear friend that the Maia had died during the war.

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing the elleth by the arm. She pushed her way through the crowd searching for some place where they could speak in private. Wolf Sauron followed, refusing to leave Buffy’s side.

The threesome entered a parlor, shutting out the rest of the Household. The Slayer then sat Lalwen down and told her about the battle with Ancalagon. The maiden wept, having her worst fears confirmed. Unwilling to be consoled, she fled from the room wanting to mourn her husband’s death alone.

Buffy felt sick. She had convinced herself that Luthor had remade his flesh after his death. She was greatly dismayed to learn that he hadn’t returned home. She couldn’t imagine where he could’ve gone.

An idea then came to her. Holding back her own tears, she thought that she could summon Luthor’s spirit into an Orb of Thezula. If the Maia was unable to remake his flesh, she would have Eönwë or Oromë do it instead.

Having decided not to waste any more time and that she needed to put an end to Lalwen’s grief, she ran to the door and threw it open, only to see Maglor, Maedhros, Thranduil, Elros and Elrond standing on the other side. Her heart skipped a beat when she laid eyes upon them. She had missed them all terribly. The sight of her loved ones immediately pushed Lalwen and Luthor out of her mind as they hugged her in greeting. Tears spilled from their eyes as they enjoyed their long overdo reunion.

There was so much that they needed to discuss, so many questions that needed to be answered. Buffy could tell by the look in Maedhros’ eyes that he longed to hear news of the Silmarils and of her promise to return them to him and Maglor. Before the conversation could turn to that topic, Meldis greeted her, telling her that she had prepared a hot bath for her Mistress. That was about the only thing that could take Buffy away from her beloved men folk. It had been over a month since she had last bathed properly.

As she was ushered away, Maglor told her that he would have supper ready in a private dining room where they could continue their reunion away from the rest of the Household. Wolf Sauron followed her and Meldis up the main flight of stairs as the elves sang a resounding rendition of Sweet Madam Blue.

The Slayer gave no thought to Sauron’s being in her bathing chamber with her. He had seen her naked on more than one occasion since their escape. Regardless, she thought she’d have some fun with the Maia. She had ordered her maidens to bathe her pet. When Sauron growled his discontent, Buffy threatened the beast in a low hiss. He reluctantly yielded to her demands.

As they assisted their Mistress with her bath, the elven-maids told her much of what they had experienced during her absence. Upon hearing their revelations, Buffy decided that she wanted many of her captains and chieftains present at dinner. She wanted to hear everything that had happened after she had become separated from her hosts, about their escape in the ships, and the sinking of Beleriand.

Once clean, she slipped into a beautiful blue gown. She carefully placed her crown of luinil flowers on her head before leaving her bedchamber with a now clean, but humiliated wolf Sauron in tow.

When they arrived at the dining hall, the attendees were already seated. The men and women rose from their chairs as their Queen took her place at the head of the table. She ordered her servants to feed her pet raw meat (a favorite of the Maia’s whilst in his beastly form). While her people dined on cooked lamb, the Necromancer ate the same, only raw.

Buffy was told of what had happened during and after the war while she was absent. She learned that those from the West had refused to depart Middle-earth until she was found. Eönwë had known that she still lived, but deemed that she was lost somewhere beneath the rubble of Angband. Ulmo’s servants were searching underwater while the Eagles had been sent to search from the air. The Slayer was surprised that she had neither seen hide nor hair of anyone, including Olofin, whilst on her journey back to the western shores.

Having so many present meant that the sons of Fëanor would not question her about the Silmarils directly. Instead, Maedhros said, “So, Luinil, you have learned what has happened with your people. What tale do you have to tell, for I deem it to be one worthy of telling.”

She then told of what had happened to her in Angband, leaving out pertinent details. She spoke of her confrontation with Melkor but admitted that she was called away to the depths of his Halls to help rescue innocents from the destruction. She made no mention of opening the Hellmouth, saying only that everything began to collapse around her, and if not for Wolfie, she would have been buried beneath the Iron Mountains.

Now, Sauron heard all that she said and was quite shocked that she lied to those whom she professed to love the most. It reaffirmed what his Master had always said: that he and Inanna belong together, that it was their destiny from the very beginning. There was no doubt in the Maia’s mind that her marriage to the Noldo was swiftly reaching the end. He could sense it. In a way, he felt sorry for her. He knew that Melkor had placed a curse on any man whose heart turned toward his beloved Melisse, and that that curse would follow the Slayer throughout her life in Middle-earth, affecting all that decided to court her. But what Sauron felt most badly about, was what that would do to Inanna, the pain that would cause her. While he was confused about these feelings of his, he was powerless to do anything about them. Who was he to contest the will of the mightiest of the Valar?

Several hours later, Buffy excused herself for a few minutes. She hastily made her way to the cooling porch. She summoned all the falcons that she could, asking that they find Olofin and bring him back home. She watched as scores of the birds then took off into the darkness in search of her half-elf son.

Once they had disappeared from sight, her thoughts immediately turned to Luthor. Thinking that his spirit was lost somewhere in Middle-earth, she decided that it was time to help her father figure and bring him home too. She ran back into her Halls, making a beeline for her armories. Wolf Sauron followed, refusing to leave her side, even for a moment.

When she entered the massive chamber, she went straight to the stack of crates that lined one of the stone walls. Popping open one of the nearest boxes, she dug through the straw until her fingers grasped a cool glass orb. Once she had retrieved the mystical device, she took off for her tower.

Sauron flew past her as they climbed up the winding steps of the tower. The closer she got to the top, the heavier and hotter the air became, causing Buffy to become tired. By the time she reached the top, the backs of her calves were throbbing and sweat was running down her face and neck. The circular room was stifling hot even though all the glass panes in the windows had been smashed out from when Ulmo and his servants had moved Tol Galen to the mainland. Apparently, none of the work crews had been in the tower as of yet, to make the necessary repairs as they had in other parts of Lindecoa. The bottles of wine that she kept stored there were shattered too. Shards of glass littered the stone floor. She was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to quench her thirst.

The Slayer wiped the sweat from her face with the bottom of her dress. She then turned to the Maia and said, “You’ll have to wait here,” as she eyed the ladder that would take her to the roof of the structure.

Slowly, she climbed up the rungs, pushing open the trap door when she reached the top. She stepped out onto the wet, slick surface of the tower roof, now wishing that the rain had not stopped. At that height, she was expecting to feel a cool breeze against her damp skin. Instead, the mugginess of the night greeted her. Looking toward the heavens, she could see that the rain clouds had dissipated, allowing the stars of Varda Elbereth to shine brightly amidst a canvas of jet-black sky.

Buffy turned her gaze to the northwest of Middle-earth and there she beheld Gil-Estel still hovering closely above the lands. Seeing Eärendil so close to her home renewed her hope, and made her confident that she would succeed in summoning Luthor’s spirit from wherever the Maia might be.

Holding aloft the Orb of Thezula, she said the incantation to summon his fey, but nothing happened. She tried again, speaking in a louder, more commanding voice. Still, nothing happened. She tried yet again, shouting so loudly that many of those sleeping in Lindecoa and in the encampment below were startled awake. She continued - screaming the spell until her voice became hoarse. With each failed attempt, her hope dwindled more and more.

This can’t be! How could Luthor not come when commanded? Where could he be? she thought before trying once again.

When she started the incantation, again, her voice cracked, revealing her pain, her anguish. Buffy now knew that her father figure was gone from her, that he was where she could not reach him. Tears streamed down her pale, sticky face. She tried to continue with the spell but found it near impossible to utter a single word through her sobs. All she managed to do was mumble incoherently.

Then, from behind, she felt a presence. For a fleeting moment, she hoped that Luthor had returned, that he had somehow heard the desperation in her voice and found his way to her, but that was not to be. A hand gently grasped the outstretched arm in which she held aloft the Orb. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips.

“Enough, Inanna,” said Sauron softly. “It’s over. Luthor is gone.” The Maia couldn’t bear to hear her cries of despair any longer. Once again, he found himself compelled to comfort the Vala Queen, to help ease her sorrow. He had transformed into his human-like form so that he could be there for her. “Shh,” he sounded, pulling her into his arms. “It’ll be alright, Inanna,” he continued speaking soothingly and stroking her golden hair. “Everything will be alright. I promise.”

Buffy buried her face in the Maia’s chest and wept. “He’s gone, Sauron. Luthor’s gone.”

The Necromancer held her tightly, letting her cry until she had no more tears to shed. Aware of the many eyes from below attempting to see what was happening on the roof of the tower, Sauron sunk to the stone floor, holding the Slayer in his arms so that none could see them.

Fearing that members of Buffy’s Household would intrude on this private moment, Sauron, with a wave of his hand, locked the door that led up to the tower. Of course, he was right in doing so, for Maglor and many others were on their way to that door, seeking to comfort the grieving Slayer.

When her sobbing had lessened, he pulled out of the embrace, cupping her face with both of his hands, drying her tears with his fingertips. “Luthor has done what he was supposed to do, Inanna. He was your teacher, your mentor. His role was to make you stronger, to show you who you really are. But now his task is complete. He has fulfilled his errand in Middle-earth…”

“I don’t believe that,” she replied, sniffing back her tears. “He has a wife. Their life was just beginning. He’d never leave Lalwen. Never!”

“His destiny was you. Not the elf-maid,” countered the Necromancer. “His time in Middle-earth is over. He has returned to the West where he’s to face the judgment of the Valar.”

“What?” she queried, feeling her body going numb. “How do you know that?”

“I see things, Inanna,” he answered, tenderly caressing her cheeks with his calloused fingers. “All the Ainur have the gift of foresight. If you open your mind, you will see that as well.”

Buffy fell quiet. Her eyes searched Sauron’s, looking to see if he spoke the truth.

“He must answer for his deeds, both the good and the bad,” he continued in a mere whisper. “Think of him no more. He’s no longer your concern.”

“But I love him. I need him,” she protested, her eyes welling with tears yet again.

“It’s time for you to move on, child. There are others that need you more. There are those here that love you.” He gave her a small smile. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no expert when it comes to love, but, Inanna, I can see that your house is full of such love. These people… these people have such love for you. I feel it. I see it. They’re wholly devoted to you. They’d willingly sacrifice themselves for you and not out of fear or intimidation. I’ve never seen the likes of that before. You are the embodiment of love. Your people need you. Middle-earth needs you.” His expression softened as his dark eyes searched hers. Sauron then whispered, “I need you. Teach me, Inanna, teach me how to love.” He leaned in closer.

Buffy remained frozen, dumbfounded. The Maia softly pressed his lips against hers, kissing her softly, an act that startled her back to her senses.

“What… what are you doing?” she sputtered, pulling away from the Necromancer. His brief moment of affection mortified her. Before he could answer, she quickly added, “No! This can’t be happening.” She pulled out of his grasp, letting the Orb fall from her hand. She jumped to her feet and hastily made her way down the ladder, disturbed by the Necromancer’s actions.

As she swiftly flew down the steps of the tower, Sauron pocketed the Orb and jumped through the trapdoor. By the time he landed on the floor, he had transformed into his wolf form. He chased after the Slayer.

Buffy utilized her slayer speed, outrunning the wolf down the winding stairway. When she was nearly at the bottom, rounding one of the bends, she ran into her husband. Literally.

“Ahhh!” she cried out unexpectedly.

“Oww!” he exclaimed in surprise.

The force of the impact sent them both falling down the steps. Fortunately, they didn’t go too far as many from the Slayer’s Household had accompanied Maglor and were able to stop them from rolling the rest of the way down the steps.

Thranduil helped Buffy to her feet. “Oh my Eru! Bella - are you alright?” he queried, straightening out her dress, which had become twisted around her.

“Yeah, I’ll live,” she moaned, blinking the stars away. Her body was throbbing as she turned to her husband. “You okay, Káno?”

The Noldo moaned, rubbing his hip. “I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why did you lock the door?” he asked with an air of annoyance in his voice.

Buffy eyed wolf Sauron, who remained still on the stairs, intently watching her, before she answered, “I… I must have inadvertently locked it. Sorry.”

Having heard her earlier cries from the top of the tower, everyone fell silent and stared at the Slayer with sympathetic eyes. Those concerned looks sent her fleeing from the tower stairway to her private rooms.

The hair on the wolf’s neck bristled as he growled at the others, forcing them to clear a pathway so that he could follow. The men shrank against either wall, allowing the beast passage. Sauron took off after Buffy with Maglor in hot pursuit.

The Slayer never realized exactly how large Lindecoa was until she had to outrun her pursuer. She knew that Sauron was following. However, with the head start that she had, she was confident that he wouldn’t be able to find her easily for he was not familiar with the layout of her Halls. To be on the safe side, when she reached her rooms, she closed the outermost door, ensuring that the Maia couldn’t follow unless he changed his bodily form, which would be a foolish thing for him to do, considering where he was.

Once she had entered her favorite sitting room, she went over to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of spirits. Her hand trembled terribly, causing her to spill the potent beverage all over the table’s surface. The strong smell of alcohol filled her flaring nostrils as she tried to catch her breath. Snatching the drink, she collapsed on the nearest sofa, leaning against the cushioned arm. She took a long swig, surprised to find herself shuddering from the bitter aftertaste. Yet that one gulp served its purpose by calming her nerves instantly.

Buffy curled her legs beneath her, sipping on her beverage. Her thoughts went from Sauron to Luthor, which only made her heart ache with sorrow. She didn’t know what she’d do without the Maia, not to mention what she was to say to Lalwen. Her hope of ending the elleth’s grief by bringing Luthor to her was not to be.

The fatal events of the battle played over and over in her mind. If only she had had a better grip on Luthor’s hand, things would have been different. She failed him. She let him fall to his death. The burden of guilt was becoming insurmountable. Her own anguish was quickly turning into despair.

At that moment, she heard the door fling open.

“Bella!” called out Maglor breathlessly.

Sauron, who had been waiting outside the door, bolted past the Noldo and into the adjoining sitting room where a teary-eyed Buffy sat. She paid no attention to the wolf as he ran to the end of the couch, resting his muzzle on the arm. Maglor entered only moments later.

“Why did you run?” he panted, rushing to her side. He plopped down beside her, taking the drink from her hand and setting it on the table.

“He’s gone, Káno. He’s really gone,” she said, barely containing her tears. “It’s all my fault. He’s… he’s dead because of me.”

“That’s not true!” protested the Noldo, taking his wife’s hands. “Ancalagon killed Luthor. Not you! You did everything you could.”

“But… but… ”

“Speak no more of what you cannot change,” interjected Maglor, stilling Buffy’s words by pressing his finger to her lips. “You’re not to blame, Bella. Do not harbor the guilt over something that you’re not responsible for. People die in war, even those of great power.”

“But, he’s supposed to be here, with us, Káno, with Lalwen.” A tear escaped her eye. The Noldo was quick to wipe it away. “Oh God! I’ve gotta tell Lalwen that he’s gone, that he’s really gone.”

“I deem that she already knows,” he answered solemnly. “I think we all know in our hearts when we’ve lost one whom we love dearly. She’s been dealing with that loss for weeks now. You’ve merely filled in the blanks by telling her the tale of what had happened.”

Maglor wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We’ll get through this, Bella.” He paused, allowing his wife a few minutes to pull herself together. When her breathing had become calm and steady he continued on a more optimistic note. “You need to look at the positives here. Morgoth has been defeated. Rumor has it that Tulkas wrestled him from his throne and hog-tied him with Angainor.”

“Hmm,” she sounded, staring blankly at her glass of spirits on the table.

Wolf Sauron let out a mournful sigh. He walked over to the rug in front of the fireplace and lay down. Resting his head on his paws, he watched the couple on the couch.

Silence fell between them again. The Slayer’s thoughts turned to her pledge to take the Silmarils from Morgoth and return them to her husband and brother-in-law. She knew that the conversation would inevitably go in that direction and wondered if she were better off to bring it up herself. Should she confess to Maglor that she made the choice to save her offspring than to reclaim the heirlooms of the House of Fëanor? A cold chill swept over her at the mere thought.

“Are you cold?” asked the Noldo, feeling his wife’s body quiver.

“No, not really,” she replied, reaching for her drink once again. She chugged the contents, having decided that she would confess that she had not told her husband the whole truth earlier. She sat the glass back on the table with a clink. Not wanting to make eye contact with Maglor just yet, she stared at the empty glass, saying, “There’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t tell you the whole truth earlier, at dinner.”

“What are you talking about?” queried the perplexed Elf Lord.

“The Silmarils,” she answered faintly, unaware that she was nervously chewing her bottom lip like Luthor had always done.

Maglor did not respond, but she could feel his penetrating gaze boring into her.

“I… I had made a choice,” she continued, fidgeting with the material of her gown. “I had to.” She turned, locking her eyes on her husband. “I had to choose between saving my offspring and the Silmarils. And… and… ” She couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“You chose to save your offspring,” he said, finishing her sentence for her.

“I know I had promised,” she started to explain, “but when I heard their cries… Oromë was gonna kill them. And not all of them are evil. Some have acted as my spies and, and… ”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Bella. You did the right thing.”

A look of shock came to her face. “I did?” she queried in disbelief.

The Noldo gave her a reassuring smile. “The Silmarils do not matter to me any more. All I care about is you, you and our family. You saved those whom you love. How can I fault you for that?”

“So, so you don’t hate me?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course not,” Maglor responded with a slight chuckle. “I love you, Luinil. I promised you that our family would always come first, even before the Jewels of my father. I’m just glad to have you back, back here with me. I’ve missed you so much. Let the Valar do as they wish. The Silmarils have brought enough suffering to me and my people. The time has come for me to let them go.”

“Oh, Káno!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her husband’s neck. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that. I thought you’d leave me for sure.”

“I’ll never leave you.”

Buffy pulled out of the embrace. “You don’t know how much I love you, how much I’ve missed you,” she said, cupping his face lovingly in her hands. “Not a moment went by that I didn’t think about you.”

Before he could say anything, she kissed him, passionately. Feeling his touch, the warmth of his lips reminded her how much she truly missed him. It seemed like forever since they had last been intimate, when in reality it was more like decades. Forgetting that Sauron was even in the room with them, Buffy and Maglor began to undress one another. Their desire for one another had awakened, and would not abate until their bodily needs had been sated.

Once naked, the Noldo lifted her into his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, as he carried her to their bedroom. Buffy fumbled with the doorknob, not wanting to break away from their kiss. Managing to get the door open, Maglor pushed his way through. She went to kick the door closed, but it failed to latch and remained slightly ajar. They dropped onto the bed, anxious to rediscover each other after so many years apart…



As Buffy and Maglor succumbed to their passion, those that had followed from the tower had decided that Maedhros be the one to enter their private sanctuary. The copper-headed elf crept into the first chamber. Finding it deserted, he proceeded to the next. The elf gently rapped on the door, even though it was partially open. His knocks caused the door to open wide. His eyes scanned the room, stopping on the wolf lying by the hearth. The beast lifted his head, cocking it to the side. He sniffed the air in the Noldo’s direction, his yellow eyes never leaving the Elf Lord. The look in the creature’s eyes sent a shiver down Maedhros’ spine.

“Bella. Maglor,” he called out softly. Shifting his gaze from the animal, his eyes stopped on the door leading to the bedroom, which remained slightly open. Keeping a cautious eye on the animal, whose keen eyes remained locked on the Noldo; Maedhros slowly crossed the chamber to the next room.

He heard the smacking sounds from within the bedchamber, giving him an idea of what was taking place beyond the door. Unable to restrain himself, he peaked around the corner, only to see his brother and sister-in-law in the throes of passion. Slowly, he backed away, reeling from the sight. Feelings of jealousy stirred in his heart. Maedhros was startled as he bumped the coffee table, tipping the glass, which fell to the floor with a clink. His eyes darted toward the bedroom, wondering if Maglor and Buffy had heard the noise. He remained still, listening intently, only to hear the moaning and groaning of the couple’s lovemaking.

Sauron, seeing Maedhros reaction, knew immediately that the elf was in love with his sister-in-law. Despite his feelings for the Vala Queen, he saw the perfect opportunity to fulfill one of the tasks that Melkor had planned - the total destruction of the House of Fëanor. He softly whimpered, the sound attracting the Noldo’s attention.

Maedhros locked his eyes on the wolf, heedless to the fact that the beast was weaving a dreadful spell about him. The elf’s mouth went agape. He rubbed his eyes, shocked by what he was witnessing. Instead of the wolf lying there before the fireplace, he now saw his father, dressed in his fineries.

“Do not doubt your eyes, my son,” said Fëanor, standing tall and proud as always. He was stern in face and mood. “I am grieved at heart, Nelyafinwë, for it seems to me that my eldest sons have forsaken me, that they have allowed my death to be in vain.”

“Is it… is it really you, father?” queried the bewildered son.

Sauron in disguise stepped forward. “Indeed,” he answered, placing his hand on Maedhros’ shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Even Mandos himself could not keep me locked away whilst my sons allow thieves to run off with my most prized possessions.”

“Adar,” said Maedhros in awe, dropping to one knee. He bowed his head, showing his father the respect that he had demanded in life. He raised his head, looking in disbelief at the eldest son in the line of Finwë. Reaching out for his father, he said, “My Lord, how great it is to see you once again… ”

“Enough of your flattery, Maedhros!” he retorted angrily. Fëanor stepped away from his son, his face wrinkled with contempt. “Look at you! What you’ve become. Sulking around here, secretly watching your brother fornicate with the Queen of Harlots!” He turned his narrowed grey eyes to the bedchamber door. Both Buffy and Maglor were unaware of what was happening in the adjoining room.

He let out a snicker of disgust before turning his gaze back to Maedhros. “At least my youngest sons had the decency to die a noble death in their attempts to regain what is rightfully mine. But you, you and Kanafinwë allowed yourselves to become beguiled by that Vala of Lies and Fornication.” He motioned toward the bedchamber with his head. “She has no loyalty to this House. Are you and your brother too dimwitted to see that? She had aligned herself with the enemy long before Ea was wrought!” he spat with seething hatred. “She has been conniving with Morgoth to destroy my House. One by one, my beloved sons have fallen because she has kept the Silmarils from us. She is behind all our troubles, all our woes.

“And here you are, lusting after such a creature, letting it compromise your true purpose in Middle-earth. You disgust me! You have no loyalty to our House. You are unworthy of being a son of Finwë, much less my son,” the menacing form of Fëanor sneered.

“Please, father,” implored a repentant Maedhros. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’ve become weak since you’ve… you’ve departed. What can I do to earn your praise and respect again, my Lord? I’ll do anything.” On the verge of tears, he crept over to his father, cowering at his feet.

A sinister smile came to the elder elf’s face. It was now time to set in motion the next part of Melkor’s scheme. “That’s a start,” he began, nodding his head approvingly. “Look at me, my son,” he ordered, staring down at Maedhros.

The copper-haired elf turned his gaze upward, looking at his father with tear-filled eyes.

“I will only forgive you when you regain the Silmarils. Take them from the thieves in the West. I do not care if you have to kill them all.”

“I will, father. I will,” readily agreed the eldest son of Fëanor.

“And have Kanafinwë go with you. Two Silmarils are left. One for the each of you.”

“But… but Maglor has renounced his Oath… ”

“The Oath cannot be rescinded. You are his brother, Nelyafinwë. You must convince him that you need his aid or else all will be for naught. You cannot do it alone. Kanafinwë must assist you in this task.”

Maedhros’ eyes darted to the bedchamber for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to convince Maglor to help him.

“What say you?” queried Fëanor, his patience wearing thin.

“Yes, father. I will see that your will is done.”

“Promise me; promise me that you’ll see to it that your brother is in agreement with you, that you will both fight for my Jewels, to the death, if necessary.”

“Yes, father,” Maedhros nodded. “I will see it through to the end. You have my word.”

“Good,” answered Fëanor. “Now off with you. Make your plans now for there is not much time left.”

Maedhros rose to his feet. Bowing before his father, he hastily left the chamber, thinking of how he could possibly convince Maglor to seize the Silmarils from Eönwë and his kindred.

When the door had closed behind the Noldo, Sauron’s smile broadened. He was pleased by his actions, confident that things couldn’t have gone any better. He picked up the glass from the floor and walked over to the sideboard. Filling it with the same spirits that the Slayer had drunk earlier, he guzzled a glassful before placing the vessel on the table. He then changed back into his wolf form and took his place back on the rug, eager to see what the morning would bring…


Chapter 107 - LIE TO ME

Buffy dozed off in her husband’s arms, more content and happier than she had been in a long time. Life seemed good and, with Morgoth dethroned, things could only get better. This is what she, the Elves and Edain had worked centuries for - peace in Middle-earth, at least, in Western Middle-earth. First thing in the morning, she would set off with Sauron to meet with Eönwë, whose encampment was about two hundred miles northwest of Lindecoa, on the coast of the sea.

However, during the night, the Slayer’s dreams were plagued by images of war and bloodshed. Though the threat of Melkor Bauglir was no more, she saw many other villains competing for his spot - to be the biggest and baddest in Middle-earth.

She saw those that had not been sent through the Hellmouth to other worldly dimensions escaping through the Second Door in the Iron Mountains, not to mention that there still dwelled many evil creatures throughout the lands, creatures that had never made their home in Angband.

She then saw horrific things involving mankind, specifically, the Edain. She saw them enslaved by beings more powerful than they, forced to labor endlessly for their new masters, constructing mammoth fortresses and structures. Women were raped and impregnated by grotesque beasts in an attempt to make new hybrids. Those maidens that had survived the assault, died during the birth as their bellies were ripped open by the enemy in order to retrieve the newly created spawns from their wombs. Even the children experienced unimaginable horrors, both physical and mental.

Buffy awoke with a start, bolting upright in bed. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. A layer of sweat covered her upper body, an automatic reaction to having witnessed such atrocities, even in the dreamscape.

It was still dark outside. Lindecoa was silent except for her heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall. Maglor continued to sleep soundly beside her, unaware that his wife was now wide-awake after having seen such nightmarish images.

She climbed out of bed, and poured herself a glass of water. Her body seemed to cool off after she had gulped down the drink. Her nerves calmed, she returned to bed, snuggling close to Maglor, hoping that her nightmares were over. Her thoughts turned to Olofin, and her eagerness to see him again. She thought of her soon-to-be reunion with her youngest son until sleep took her once more.

What should’ve been one of the most restful nights of her life, turned out to be nothing of the sort. After tossing and turning for the remainder of the night, Buffy gave up all hope of a good night’s sleep. She was more than amazed that her restlessness hadn’t wakened Maglor, who still slept peacefully beside her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the horrific images that had invaded her dreams, which now seemed to be occupying her waking thoughts too.

She was beginning to think that it was no mere nightmare. In fact, the longer she lay there, staring into the darkness, the more she believed that she had experience visions, visions of events to come. And what made matters worse was that they involved her people, the Edain, who had fought faithfully, not only by her side, but by the elves’ sides as well. Over the years, they had lost more than even the Eldar, since Ilúvatar’s gift to mankind was that they would not be reborn into the world as His elder children would. They only got one chance at life. And seeing how they had willingly put their lives on the line, sacrificing themselves in order to help oust Morgoth from his throne, proved just how loyal and true they were. To think that they would be made to suffer so cruelly in the future left Buffy feeling sick. It just wasn’t right. But what could she do about it?

She slipped out of bed, and quietly made her way to the bathing chamber. After tending to her bodily needs, she began to fill the tub, feeling that a good soak would help to clear her mind. The sound of the rushing water woke Maglor, who sluggishly rose and entered the room, still half asleep.

“What are you doing up so early?” he yawned. “It’s not even four o’clock.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she answered, sitting on the side of the tub. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright. I had to pee any way.”

As the Noldo used the toilet, Buffy made the decision not to share her nightmare with him. After everything they had been through, and with it being only her second day home, the last thing her husband needed to hear about was the doom that awaited the Edain. She didn’t speak until Maglor had come back into the main chamber to wash his hands.

“I’m gonna meet with Eönwë today,” she said matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Maglor glanced into the mirror over the sink, looking at his wife. His expression revealed both his sorrow and fear. He made no comment, as his eyes spoke volumes.

“You and Russandol can ask for a pardon,” she continued, rising from the edge of the tub. “I’ve learned that the Valar aren’t as bad as I’d thought. They’re a forgiving bunch. And if you speak with Eönwë… ”

“But what if they demand that Russandol and I return to Valinor? What if we are summoned to the Ring of Doom to answer for all we have done?” he interjected anxiously with a shake of his head. The Noldo let out a heavy sigh. “You know, Bellaseth, that you’re not permitted to enter Aman. We could be separated for Eru knows how long!”

Buffy crossed the room and stood behind her husband, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever keep me from you.” She moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. She leaned her head against his arm. “I can’t lift the Curse, Káno, but maybe they can. Just imagine the life we could have if we didn’t have that hanging over our heads. There are only two sons of Fëanor left. We’ve lost so much and I don’t want us to lose any more.” She pressed her naked body against his. “This is a new start for us, a new beginning. With the end of the war, the new age has begun. I just want us to start off with a clean slate, free from the Curse.” Buffy was quick to add, “I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to do. All I ask is that you think about it. It’s still early. I won’t be leaving for a few hours.”

On her tip toes, she gave the Noldo a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Káno. Don’t you ever forget that.” She gave him a reassuring smile before returning to the tub.

Maglor stood there for a few minutes, pondering her suggestion. He felt a tremendous amount of guilt over the numerous deaths that had come about as a direct result of the Oath. He rued the day that he had uttered those terrible words in Tirion, damning him and his kin. And if he were to have a normal life, the dark cloud that hung over his House had to be removed. After careful consideration, he finally relented.

“Alright, Bella. I’ll go with you. I’ll speak with Russandol.”

The Slayer felt that her husband had made the right decision. If she felt confident about anything, it was that the surviving sons of Fëanor would get a second chance.

Maglor then joined her in the tub. Both were oblivious to the shadowy form of wolf Sauron outside the doorway. The Maia had heard all that was said, and smiled to himself. He had the foresight to see that Maedhros would dissuade his younger brother from meeting with Eönwë, and would convince him that they were both bound to the Oath. Sauron had set Melkor’s plan in motion, his last and greatest gift to his Master - to bring to an end Buffy’s marriage to the Noldo.



When they had finished bathing, both the Slayer and her husband dressed. They then went their separate ways. He went to speak with Maedhros while she went to see about breakfast.

Once again, Sauron, in wolf form, accompanied Buffy, never leaving her side. As she descended the main stairway, an ominous feeling crept into her heart, and remained there. She did her best to put on a happy face, but those that knew her well could see that something troubled their Queen. Despite their probing, she kept mum, refusing to discuss the nightmare she had had with any. She tried her best to push those images out of her mind, yet they continued to weigh heavily upon her.

Arachas sounded his trumpet once the ship had been readied for the journey. Many would be going on the trip, elves and mortals alike. Buffy paced back and forth along the cliff’s edge, annoyed that Maglor and Maedhros were late. After thirty minutes, she sent several elves to search for her husband and brother-in-law.

After another forty-five minutes, Narudhur reported that both sons of Fëanor had departed on horses with several from their Household.

“They left no word as to where they were going, my Lady,” said the Noldo. “I was told that they took some lembas from the larders.” Seeing the look of dismay on the Slayer’s face, Narudhur added, “Perhaps they decided to journey on horseback to the coast.”

“Maybe,” she answered, her eyes scanning the landscape to the north, desperately looking for any sign of her husband. When fifteen more minutes had passed, she reluctantly sighed, “We’ve been delayed long enough. It’s time to go.”

With the lands changed, and the elves having not long dwelled at their new home, there were no steps carved into the rock wall that lead to the water below. The only place where one could easily reach the water by foot was some two miles to their south. To avoid the long walk, the elves lowered ropes over the edge of the cliff and rappelled down the rock face into the waiting ship below.

Sauron, who had been strapped into a harness, whimpered as he was carefully lowered to the boat. Buffy remained by his side, keeping him steady as they made their descent. The poor Maia trembled with fear. Of all things in Eä, he dreaded the sea more than anything else. Wolfie did not stop whimpering until he had safely reached the deck of the ship.

Tarlanc manned the vessel, which was one of the mammoth ships that the people of Ossir had built in anticipation of the flood. The constant motion of the boat made the Slayer nauseous. She was not used to sailing on open waters, only the rivers of her former homeland. She now didn’t blame Maglor and his kin for traveling on horseback. If given the option, she would’ve done the same. By the time that she had gotten used to the motion of the vessel, they had reached their destination.

They dropped anchor amidst the numerous Valinorean ships. The Teleri of Alqualondë still refused to set foot in Middle-earth, and remained at sea, aboard their swan-shaped vessels. None of the ships had departed for the West, at Eönwë’s command. He wanted the entire fleet to sail together, and had no plans to leave Endor until he had met with Buffy, personally.

The Green-elves then lowered smaller boats into the water. These boats were used in Ossiriand on a daily basis, or at least, had been before the lands sunk under water. They were lightweight and much, much smaller than the craft that transported them. They were definitely more suitable for reaching the beach.

This time, a cargo net was draped over the side of the vessel, making it easier for those to climb down into the small boats. Once again, Sauron began to whimper and shake when he saw that he had to be lowered over the side of the ship. The Slayer climbed down alongside him, speaking soothingly in an attempt to alleviate his fears. She and the wolf were the last ones to board their boat. They would be traveling ashore with Thranduil, Orchal, Nestor, Bellason (Nestor’s now grown son), Tarlanc, Narudhur, Arachas, Nimrod, Elros and Elrond.

Sauron positioned himself between Buffy’s legs, trembling like a leaf. He buried his muzzle in her lap, whimpering the entire time as they rowed to shore. She kept her arms wrapped around the wolf, stroking him and reassuring him that everything would be fine.

Turning her gaze to the beach, she could see the roofs of many tents and pavilions beyond the dunes. Most of them had been provided by the Green-elves. Those from the West had lost most of their supplies during the flood. While the Teleri ships had a store of goods, they had not brought nearly enough to last fifty years. During the War of Wrath (as it was afterwards called), Ossir had provided food, clothing and medical supplies to the Valinorean armies. Thankfully, and by the grace of Ulmo, Nestor had had the foresight to laden their ships with a great store of food and supplies. However, even the Green-elves were beginning to run low on the necessities and after Buffy’s return, there was talk of having to ration what foodstuffs they had left.

Orchal sounded his horn. Those on the beach answered the call.

When the boat had reached about knee-deep water, the men exited the vessel, using care not to knock Buffy and Sauron into the sea. They pulled the boat ashore so that she and the wolf wouldn’t have to get wet. Finarfin, who was waiting to greet them with many of his kinfolk, helped the Slayer from the boat.

“Hail, Luinil,” the Noldo King said, bowing his head. “We are delighted to see that you have made it back. We have worried about your safety these many weeks.”

“I appreciate that, Finarfin, but you guys don’t need to worry about me. I always find my way home.”

The Elf Lord’s eyes darted to the trembling beast by Buffy’s side. He eyed the wolf for a moment before continuing, “Eönwë waits for you in his pavilion. He’s most anxious to speak with you.”

“As I am him,” she answered as Finarfin escorted her across the beach toward a worn pathway in the dunes.

“I never had the chance to really speak with you before. You know how it is when one is facing battle - you have to put aside pleasantries and such until afforded the time,” he said with a smile. “I bring you tidings from Tirion in Aman, my Lady, from my son, Finrod.”

“Finrod?” repeated the Slayer, shifting her gaze to the Noldo. The moment she said the elf’s name, she accidentally stepped on one of Sauron’s paws, causing the Maia to yelp. She quickly turned her attention to the wounded beast. “Sorry, Wolfie.” For a split second, her thoughts went to her old friend, Finrod, and the one responsible for his death. How ironic it was that his murderer was walking so closely beside her. So closely, that he was pushing her into Finarfin. Buffy looked back at the Noldo King. “I’m sorry, Finarfin, you were saying.”

“My son asked me to give this to you,” he replied, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a thick, sealed envelope.

“So, Finrod’s no longer in Mandos?” she queried excitedly, taking the envelope from Finarfin.

“Indeed. By the blessings of Námo, my son was not housed long in his Halls,” he answered with a smile. “He has, at long last, wed his beloved, Amarië.” The Noldo King chuckled. “Ah, but I shan’t say more. I’m sure that my son has told you much about that in his correspondence. I deem that he would want you to read of that in his words, not mine.”

“Thanks, Finarfin,” she answered with a smile. “Orchal, will you hold onto this for me until I have time to read it. It feels like Finrod has written me a book!” she chortled, handing the envelope to the Green-elf.

The Slayer’s eyes swept over the wolf. This time, a pang of guilt crept into her heart. Here she was seeking a pardon on behalf of one who had done so much harm to those that had dwelt in Beleriand. Was it wrong for her to ask that the Maia get a second chance, to allow him the opportunity to atone for his past sins? Or was she merely doing that in order to uphold her promise to the Necromancer?

No, she thought. He came on his own accord. Sauron is repentant for his past deeds. He has told me so himself.

Buffy became lost in her thoughts as the others made small talk. She barely noticed those Maiar and Eldar that greeted her in passing. Before she knew it, they had arrived at Eönwë’s pavilion. The blue, multi-chambered structure had been made by her people long ago. On the pitch of the roof was the banner of Manwë - an eagle with outstretched wings on a white field. Two guards, standing at attention, flanked the entrance.

Finarfin nodded to the men. The guards pulled back the flaps as the Noldo King motioned for the Slayer and her companions to enter.

Sauron, trembling worse than before, was hesitant to enter.

“Come on, Wolfie. It’s alright. I’m right here.” She coaxed the Maia into crossing the threshold after her. The others followed behind.

“Bella!” said the voice of Eönwë, rising from his chair and crossing the chamber.

Buffy turned, facing the herald of Manwë. She gave him a warm smile. “Hello, Eönwë.”

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see that you’ve escaped the destruction of Angband,” he continued, embracing her.

“Me too,” she answered, pulling out of the hug. “But I had help.”

Eönwë took a step back. He raised his brows in amazement, as he suddenly noticed the quivering wolf at her side. “Well done, Bellaseth! You’ve brought this servant of Melkor to me!” With a wave of his hand, he stripped Sauron from his beastly disguise.

Gasping, her companions leapt backward with looks of horror on their fair faces.

The Maia guards were quick to enter the chamber once they heard the words “servant of Melkor.” Both were quite eager to seize the Necromancer. Much to their dismay, Buffy stepped between them and the cowering form of Sauron, shielding his body with her own.

“You will not take him by force!” she declared with such authority that both men stopped. As Sauron clung to her legs, whimpering, she faced Eönwë once again. “Sauron has come of his own free will,” she continued amidst the anxious whisperings of those within the chamber. “He’s helped me on more than one occasion, when no one else would… or could. I’ve come, Eönwë, to ask that he be given a pardon by the Valar.”

“A pardon… for Sauron, Melkor’s greatest disciple?” queried the Maia in disbelief.

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “As I said, he helped me when no one else could. If not for him, I would never have been able to escape Melkor… or Marduk, or the destruction of Angband. He has given me aid when I needed it most, and it’s only fair that I should do the same for him.”

Eönwë was taken aback. “And you would have him forgiven for all the sins he has committed? Correct me if I’m wrong - but was he not the one responsible for the death of Finrod, your friend? And did not Beren lie dying in the uttermost dungeons of Minas Tirith until saved by Lúthien? Would you have the Valar forgive him for those deeds of cruelty and the many others he is responsible for whilst in Middle-earth?”

“He did as Melkor ordered,” she answered without missing a beat. “He’s the true culprit behind all the pain and sorrow inflicted upon the peoples of Middle-earth. You have no idea how manipulating Melkor can be, how deceptive, how cruel. Sauron was corrupted, deceived.” She shook her head. “He’s no different than the one you serve. Manwë was deceived - so were all of the Valar. Morgoth’s the true enemy. Sauron was… ” She paused, turning her pitiful gaze to the cowering Maia. “Sauron was his puppet, his lackey.” Buffy shifted her eyes back to Eönwë. “He’s repentant and wants to atone for his past misdeeds.”

“Surely, you are aware, Bella, that I have no authority to grant Sauron any type of pardon.”

“I know. But you’re the one in charge here. And I know that you’ve been keeping Manwë and the other Valar apprised of what’s been going on. You speak with him - whether telepathically or by messenger, I don’t know. All I ask is for you to speak with Manwë and see if he’s willing to give Sauron a second chance as he has done with Melkor. That’s all. I don’t want anything else.”

Feeling slightly dazed and confused by the whole situation, Eönwë returned to his seat. He quietly sat there, rubbing his chin in what looked like thoughtful contemplation. Buffy had no idea that he was actually consulting with his Lord back in Valinor, for he also had the gift of telepathy. She kept her arms protectively around Sauron, patiently waiting for some type of response from the Herald of Manwë.

After several minutes, it became clear to everyone in the chamber that Eönwë was indeed speaking telepathically to his Lord. His facial expression would change; sometimes he would nod or give a shake of his head. Yet none knew the extent of that conversation or what it bode for the Necromancer.

Nearly an hour past before Eönwë spoke. “I have conferred with my Lord, the King of Arda, and this is his pronouncement:” He fixed his gaze on the trembling Maia. “Sauron is to be brought back to Valinor and put in the Ring of Doom to answer for his deeds whilst in Middle-earth. The Valar will then decide his fate, and punish him accordingly.”

Sauron yowled when he heard Eönwë’s words, clinging to Buffy even tighter.

The Herald of Manwë then turned his blue eyes to the Slayer. “Manwë Súlimo has also declared, Luinil, that out of his love and respect for you, we are not to seize Sauron by force. If he is truly repentant and has come of his own accord as you say, then he shall have the right to board one of our ships freely, and face his judgment in the West.”

“That sounds fair enough,” answered Buffy. She struggled to pull Sauron from her legs. His grip was so tight that it felt like he was cutting off the circulation. Crouching beside him, she asked, “How’s that, Sauron? Do you agree that’s fair?”

Sauron turned his terrified eyes to the Slayer. He stuttered and stammered, seemingly unable to get the words out. She stroked his face, hoping her touch would calm him. After a few minutes, he settled down. At least enough to say, “May… may I walk amongst the shore… one… one last time… to… to clear my head and bid fare… farewell to these lands… before leaving for… for the West?” The poor Maia struggled to get the words out of his mouth. Both he and Buffy looked to Eönwë for the response.

“Yes,” he replied with a nod of his head. As Sauron rose to his feet, still trembling, the guards immediately flanked him on either side. Eönwë raised his hand. “Sauron is to go alone, unaccompanied by any. If he is indeed repentant and has come of his own free will, he will not flee.”

Buffy wasn’t sure, but it sounded to her as if Eönwë’s tone was filled with doubt.. Even the guards seemed to look at one another skeptically. Nevertheless, Sauron left the tent. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he would, later that night, disappear into the woods bordering the beach, and wander Middle-earth, plotting his next move. He had duped Buffy as well as his Master had.

When Sauron had exited the tent, Eönwë said, “Will you walk with me, Bella, on the beach? There is still much I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Okay,” she answered, relieved that she had kept her word to the Necromancer.

The Herald of Manwë suggested that they go barefoot on their leisurely stroll. Buffy went a step further and rolled up the legs of her breeches, not wanting them to get wet.

Eönwë and Buffy walked along the shoreline, the foamy waves licking at their feet. She had turned her gaze upwards, looking at Vingilot hovering in the sky. She then asked the Maia why Eärendil did not land the craft and spend some time with his grown sons. He then told her about Eärendil’s journey to Aman, his prayer to the Valar, and the gift that the Lord of Arda gave to him and his wife - to choose which kindred they wished to belong to - that of Man or Elf, and that both he and Elwing chose to be accounted amongst the Eldar. To their children, Manwë decreed, would be given the same choice. That was one of the reasons why Eönwë had sent out search teams looking for Buffy. Since she had succored the sons of Eärendil, and they loved her dearly, he wanted her to be there when Elros and Elrond got to choose which race they wished to be accounted amongst. She was pleased that Eönwë had thought so much of her as to wait, because that was something of which she really wanted to be a part.

When they had walked a few miles, far from the others, they sat on the beach, looking out at sea. They fell quiet, savoring the peacefulness of being away from the noise of the encampment. The smell of salt lingered in the air, and the breeze from the sea felt refreshing despite the heat of summer. One couldn’t ask for a more pleasant day.

Unfortunately, the silence brought to mind the nightmarish images she had experienced during her sleep. As her uneasiness grew, so did her restlessness. She began to dig her feet deep into the sand.

Eönwë watched the Slayer closely. He could perceive that something was wrong.

“What troubles you, Bella?” he finally asked, his concern evident in his voice.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” she responded with a snort.

“It is,” he replied, giving her a quick smile. “Is there something I can do?”

She leaned back, placing her hands in the hot sand behind her. Sighing heavily, she said, “You’ve done enough, Eönwë. I mean, you brought the hosts from Valinor and helped us defeat Melkor. Not to mention that you didn’t take Sauron by force. I can’t ask for anything more.” Buffy paused. “Besides, I haven’t been so nice to you and the Valar over the years. I’ve undoubtedly been quite the bitch at times,” she added in an attempt to lighten her mood. “Let’s face it, I’m sure there are not many that have told the Valar to fuck off.”

“Ah, but there were extenuating circumstances behind your comments,” chortled Eönwë. He too, was trying to lighten the mood. When their chuckling had died down, he continued. “In all seriousness, we have not always been there when you’ve needed us most. The Valar are most grieved over that. You have had to endure horrific trials, trials that no other Ainu could have withstood. I’ve witnessed firsthand the evil that has plagued Middle-earth, and I cannot see how any could have survived the terror brought about by Melkor. To know what you’ve been through, and how many of those whom you’ve loved have sacrificed themselves for the greater good… ” He paused, shaking his head. “You can never ask too much of us! We will do whatever we can to help ease your burden. We are not the enemy. Do not forget that, Bella. We are your allies and will do our best to help you in any way we can. That’s not to say that we haven’t made some errors in judgment, mistakes that have cost many lives.”

“It’s those lives that I think about,” she said, sitting upright and brushing the sand from her hands. “The Edain, specifically, the hardships that they’ve had to endure.” She turned her woeful eyes to the Maia. With a shake of her head, she continued. “You can’t imagine what they’ve been through. They followed me, Eönwë; they followed me from Sumer, out of love and loyalty. We spent fifty years traveling across Middle-earth to reach Beleriand.” She shifted her gaze to the sea, remembering that sorrowful journey. “We lost so many on the way. We had to deal with Melkor’s wrath, the bitter cold.” Buffy shuddered at the mere memory. “The Edain are not elves. They’re not made out of the same stuff as Ilúvatar’s elder children. Death takes them quickly. Their lives are so short. Hell, I’ve taken holidays longer than a mortal’s lifetime,” she added with a snicker.

A somber look came to her face. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve had disturbing dreams, prophetic dreams.” She glanced at the Maia. “I had one last night,” revealed the Slayer before averting her gaze, looking back at the sea. “I saw such horrors, Eönwë, such atrocities inflicted upon my people, those from the Three Houses.” Her eyes welled with tears as the images flashed in her mind. “I don’t want those things to happen. It can’t happen.” She faced the Maia. Choking back her tears, she faintly said, “We can’t let that happen.”

Eönwë fixed his sympathetic blue eyes on the Slayer. “And what would you have me do?”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Take them with you. Take them back to Valinor where no harm can come to them.”

“Take them with me?” he repeated, stunned by her request. “You do not understand what you are asking! I cannot do that.”

“Why?” she asked, looking pleadingly at the Maia.

Eönwë took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering. “Because there they would whither as a flower in too bright of sunlight. Over time, they would become disillusioned and resentful as their own bodies age and ours do not.” He shook his head, and placed his hand on hers. “I am sorry, Bella, but that is one request that I cannot honor,” he said somberly.

Biting her lip, she thought for a moment. “What about the Lonely Isle, Tol Eressëa?” she suggested. “You can take them there! From what I hear, no one lives there any more.”

“I don’t know, Bella,” replied the Maia, flabbergasted by her suggestion. “It is no simple thing that you ask. Man’s domain is meant to be here in Middle-earth. To have them dwell so closely to Aman… ” The words died on his lips. Furrowing his brow, he looked to the sea, mulling over her second proposal. He wasn’t sure if the consequences would be the same if Man were to inhabit that isle, since it was not a part of Valinor. Yes, it was close by, yet it was still some distance away.

Seeing the fear in Buffy’s eyes made him consider asking those in the West about her request. The Edain had proven to be faithful, and they had joined in the war without hesitation. Even the Maia had to admit, if it weren’t for their numbers, they probably would still be on the battlefield. The Edain were the ones that had tipped the scale in their favor. And surely, they should be rewarded for their bravery and servitude.

“I will consult with my Lord later this evening,” he finally said. “I like the idea of giving them a land free of evil, for they have earned that right in my book.”

“I’m glad you agree with me.” That, alone, made Buffy feel happier. She had a feeling that if Eönwë agreed with her suggestion, so would the Manwë and his brethren.

Shortly thereafter, they began the trek back to the encampment.



After partaking of a midday meal of lembas bread, Eönwë presented Elros and Elrond with the opportunity to choose to which kindred they wished to belong.

Both men thought long about their decision, each wanting to make the right choice.

Elros, thought about the lore of Man that was taught to him by Maglor in his youth. He remembered his forefathers, especially Bëor/Sargon the Beloved, who had done such deeds of surpassing valor as King of Sumer and Akkad. Yet, the one thing that made him decide to be accounted amongst the race of Man was Buffy. He remembered the tales of old, how she had come into the world as a daughter of mortals, chosen as an instrument of Ilúvatar to slay evil at the young age of fifteen. Though he knew that her essence was that of a greater being, her hröa was that of Man, and he wished to keep the bloodline of her beloved Sargon going, for he knew how much that would mean to her. Elros knew that she had carefully documented the bloodline of Man since the days of Sumer, and that she continued to chronicle all births and deaths of the Edain in Western Middle-earth. Great things were to come to him, he deemed, if he chose to remain a mortal man.

Elrond, on the other hand, chose to be accounted amongst the elder children of Ilúvatar. Buffy had also influenced his decision. While he recalled the deeds of his forefathers and was most proud to be descendent from Lúthien (and Eärendil, no less), he felt that his being an elf would help the Slayer in upcoming skirmishes. Elrond had foreseen that a new evil would one day arise in Middle-earth and that his foster mother would come to depend on those whom she trusted most. She would need him, and he was not about to forsake her.

When their decisions had been made, Eönwë then did something that amazed all that witnessed it. Both men, now in their late fifties, had the years wiped away from their bodies, but not their minds. The grey streaks in their hair turned dark brown, and the lines of age on their fair faces became smooth once again. Elrond’s ears changed form, becoming leaf-like in shape, same as the elder children of Ilúvatar.

Having a better understanding of how swiftly Man aged, and as a gift to Elros (since he was the son of Eärendil), he gave to him a life span six times greater than his ancestors. To the rest of the Edain, out of their love and devotion to, not only Buffy, but the rest of the Valar, he granted unto them a life span three times greater than those not of the Three Houses of Man.

A delighted Buffy looked on as those present were granted the additional years to their life span. As her eyes scanned the more youthful looking crowd, they stopped when they came across part of the sea, bubbling. She eased her way through the throng to get a closer look. She then saw something break through the water’s surface, gradually rising. Amazed, she looked around her, wondering why no one was commenting on this extraordinary thing she was witnessing. All seemed oblivious.

Turning back to the sea, she watched in awe as a rocky mass continued to rise. It soon became clear that it was a mountain. Higher and higher it ascended, until she saw the lands from which it sprang emerge from the water. It was an island! A beautiful island. On the wind, she could hear the faint laughter of children coming from that place. Soon, dwellings of stone and wood appeared, dotting the seaside. She then heard a mingling of sounds, that of barking dogs, of music, and singing. She then saw men, women and children dancing with garlands around their necks in gardens of such lush loveliness. Among those people, she saw Elros, dressed in black and silver garments, happily dancing with a beautiful woman with long, dark hair.

At that moment, the heaviness on her heart lifted, only to be replaced with relief, followed shortly, by joy. With a blink of her eyes, the vision vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She then heard the faint notes of the Ulumúri fading from the water’s depths, and instinctively knew that Ulmo was behind that vision. And indeed, he was. Having heard her earlier conversation with Eönwë, the Lord of Water’s had gone to his brethren in the West and asked that they answer Buffy’s prayer. While the Valar deemed that Tol Eressëa was too close to the Blessed Realm for the Edain to call home, they would allow a new island to be raised, several hundred miles east of the Lonely Isle, and several hundred miles west of Middle-earth.

Smiling, the Slayer murmured the word, “Númenórë.” The name had popped in her mind as suddenly as the mirage on the water.

“What is that you said?” asked a bewildered Orchal, who, after seeing her wander off by the water’s edge alone, had followed.

Startled by his voice, she jumped, then laughed. She looked up at the Green-elf and said, “Numendor,” which was the Sindarin equivalent of Númenórë, which meant “West-land”.

She faced the ocean once again, grateful that the Lord of Waters had eased her worried mind. That day marked the official beginning of the Second Age.

Before she could tell Orchal what she had just witnessed, Eönwë joined them.

“I hate to intrude here,” he began, his eyes darting from the Elf to the Valië. “I only need a moment of your time, Luinil.”

“What is it?”

“I was not sure if you wished to send one of your own messengers to those Edain that dwell by your home or if you would like for me to send my own. They must come here, in person, if I am to extend the years of their lives.”

“I’ll do you one better, Eönwë. I’ll go myself. I’d love to be the one to tell them.”

“As you wish, my Lady,” he nodded before rejoining the others in their celebration.

She linked her arm with the Green-elf, ecstatic at the turn of events. Things seemed to be getting better and better. She confided to Orchal that there was something of great importance she wished to share with him, but wanted to wait until all their people were gathered together. Those that had sailed with her on the ship to the coast chose to return to Lindecoa with her, including both Elros and Elrond. They climbed back into their small boats, and rowed to the much larger vessel anchored at sea. Once on board, Tarlanc took his position at the helm, and they began their voyage home.

On the way, the falcons that she had sent out earlier, returned, bringing good news. They told her that Olofin was not too far from home, and that he was not alone. While searching for his mother, he had stopped at Lindórinand, hoping that she had found her way there. When Amdír, Lord of those Elves, heard all that had happened, he offered to help. Upon learning that the Green-elves food supply was dwindling, the King of the Wood wished to help his kinsmen. He had had his people load carts with much needed food, and had set out with the half-elf to Lindecoa. Before departing, he had also sent out his own search teams to look for the missing Blue Lady. Those elves, in turn, had notified the Onodrim that dwelled nearby, and they too joined in the search.

By the time that Buffy’s ship arrived home, the travelers were already there. That only gave more reason for the Green-elves and their kindred to celebrate. Nothing, absolutely nothing could damper the Slayer’s spirits. Even the fact that there was no news of Maglor or Maedhros did not give her cause for alarm. At least, not yet.

A feast was held that evening. All the mighty Lords and Ladies from Ossir were in attendance, as well as those that had come from Lindórinand. After the meal, Buffy announced that Elros would become the first king of a soon-to-be-raised isle, Númenórë, and that all the Edain would be given additional years to their life spans.

She then summoned Elros to her throne. “I have no kingly gift to give except for this,” she said, placing the Cross of Brolach in the mortal’s hand. “This has been an heirloom of your House from the days of Brolach the Faithful, the father of your kindred in Sumer. It has been passed down through the eldest line of Men for centuries and it now rightly belongs to you, my son.”

With his jaw agape, Elros dropped to one knee. He was stunned and amazed to have such an item of antiquity in his possession, something of which he had only heard rumor, but had never seen before that day, for the lore of Man continued to pass down from generation to generation though they did not speak openly about it with the elves.

“My Lady,” he began, his voice full of awe. “This is indeed a kingly gift, and the greatest heirloom of my kindred. Not only is the Cross of Brolach a symbol of hope, but it represents the strength of my forefathers and their success at fighting the oppressors that held sway over them for years untold. No greater gift could you give me.” Bowing his head, he added, “I will treasure it always. And when the time comes, I shall pass it on to my first son.”

“Rise, King of Númenórë,” she said, beaming.

The mortal got back to his feet, standing at his full height.

Buffy then embraced him, placing a kiss on his forehead.

The crowd exploded in applause, whistling at the first king of the soon-to-be-raised isle.

“Settle down. Settle down,” ordered the Slayer, waiting for the applause to subside. “I’m not finished yet.”

“You’re not?” queried Elros.

When the clamor had died down, she continued. “It is only right that the first king of Númenórë have a kingly name as well. On your knee, Elros,” she added with a smile.

He dropped back down, clutching the Cross of Brolach in his right hand.

Buffy took the sword of Húrin from Orchal and placed the tip of the blade on Elro’s right shoulder. “Today the Three Houses become united as one. I hereby declare you to be the first lord of the Dúnedain, the Edain of the West, and grant unto you the name Tar-Minyatur in the High Elven tongue, for you are the first of many kings to come. May the blessings of Ilúvatar and the Valar remain with you, always and forever.”

She then lifted the tip of the blade from his shoulder, as the room broke out into applause. The Slayer handed the blade back to Orchal, who then slid it back into its sheathe. The celebration continued well into the night…



Meanwhile, Maglor, Maedhros and those few men that refused to forsake them, arrived outside the encampment of Eönwë and the hosts of Valinor. The elder son of Fëanor then sent two messengers into the camp, whose purpose was to find where the two Silmarils were housed and demand that Eönwë surrender them to the surviving brothers.

Garbed in the raiment of the Green-elves, the men then slipped into camp and began questioning those elves in a round about way as to the location of the coveted Jewels of Fëanor. After a couple of hours, the spies of Maedhros found the location. The Silmarils were locked in a wooden box, in a tent close by to the Herald of Manwë, protected by only a handful of Noldo warriors.

Once the men learned of this, they went to Eönwë’s pavilion and demanded to speak with him. When the duo was brought before the Maia, they made their demands, that he return the Jewels of Fëanor to their rightful owners - Maedhros and Maglor.

The elven messengers’ demeanor deeply dismayed Eönwë, grieving him at heart. Yet, he refused to surrender the Silmarils, saying that the surviving sons of Fëanor needed to return with him to Valinor to answer for their deeds. Only those in the West, not the Herald of Manwë, had the authority to relinquish the Jewels.

Bitter and angered by the Maia’s words, the men left the encampment, disappearing into the woods. They then met with Maedhros and Maglor, telling them of Eönwë’s reply, as well as the location of the Silmarils.

Maedhros’ eyes narrowed. Looking to the west, he grumbled, “I curse the long days of summer!” Though it was late, the sun had not yet sunk below the lands. The elder son of Fëanor knew they could not make their move until darkness covered the land.

“I don’t know about this, Russandol,” started Maglor, who had misgivings about the whole thing. “Perhaps we should do as Eönwë says. If we return to Aman, perhaps the Valar will show us mercy, and forgive us our sins. Then we will… ”

“Nonsense!” interjected Maedhros heatedly. “The Valar wish to claim the Jewels for themselves! The Silmarils contain the only Light of the Blessed Trees and they will not give them back to us, the rightful owners, under any circumstances. They would keep them for themselves - just as father always said!” He wrinkled his face in anger and disgust. “They are thieves, plain and simple.” He turned his grey eyes to his brother. “You need not forget that, Maglor. We have lost many of our kindred because of their lust for the Silmarils.”

“Have we not brought the darkness upon ourselves, Russandol?” countered Maglor, who felt that he had more to lose than his brother. “Did we not swear that dreadful Oath, which has brought nothing but misery and death to our people?”

“And it is the Oath that binds us, brother,” came the reply of Maedhros. “We are bound to fulfill it or all will be for naught. We have no other choice. We leave at nightfall.” The copper-headed Noldo then walked off, leaving his younger brother to his own thoughts.

Maglor looked in the direction of Lindecoa, knowing that his wife had probably returned home by now. After hearing the news of Elros and Elrond, the Noldo longed to be with his family. His heart ached with such sorrow, realizing that Maedhros was right - they had to fulfill the Oath, or die trying. It was a Curse of their own creation. And they had to see it through, as it was fated to be.

Maglor wandered off, away from the others, who continued to keep a close eye on him in case he had second thoughts and attempted to flee. But there was no need, for he was a son of Fëanor, and the Doom of the Oath prevented him from doing so. His loyal kinfolk watched in silence as Maglor wept, foreseeing now that he would be parted from his wife, child, and loved ones, forever.

Despite the harshness of his words and the look of determination on his face, Maedhros too was struggling with his promise to fulfill the Oath. Yet, every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment, he saw his father, vowing that by regaining the Silmarils, the Noldo’s prayers would be answered.

“Truly a warrior of such great prowess as yourself should be wed to the Vala Queen of great strength and skill in battle. Regain the Silmarils, my son,” goaded Fëanor in Maedhros’ mind’s eye, “and the Lady Luinil will see the error of her ways. Her heart will turn to you and she will cleave to you, bringing forth mightier children than Olofin. For two warriors such as you and she belong together. Fulfill the Oath, and you shall experience such joy and bliss that you have never known.”

Those words, along with others like them, incited the eldest son of Fëanor to continue on, no matter how distressing he thought it to be. He had to remember his father’s words: that blood was thicker than water. Not only that, but his reward would be great, and to know such happiness, how could he not go on?

When darkness finally settled amidst the lands, Maedhros, Maglor and their men mounted their horses and made their way into the encampment. All disguised themselves as Green-elves, wearing the traditional green cloaks of their kindred, for none would accost them as they would be welcomed by all. They kept their hoods pulled over their heads, hiding their faces, so that no could discover their true identities or the true purpose of their visit.

Many of the elves and Maiar had gone to bed, but many were still awake, patrolling the camp. When those from the House of Fëanor neared the tent in question, they dismounted from their steeds. Having laid out their plans beforehand, the Noldo quietly took their positions, encircling the tent that housed their greatest treasure.

Maedhros, with a few trusted kinsmen, slowly crept along one side of the tent, while Maglor and a few of his men did the same on the opposite side. The dim light from within revealed that two more guards were stationed close to the wooden box. Those from the House of Fëanor would employ stealth to achieve their goal, something that Buffy had taught them well, back in the day.

Two of the Noldor then created a ruckus, several yards away, hoping to draw the attention of the elven guards. The guards never left their post, but keenly watched as the ensuing argument turned to blows.

Both sons of Fëanor acted with precision and with deadly accuracy. In one fell swoop, they each snatched a guard, placing one hand over the captive’s mouth, the other around the chest. As Maglor held his struggling foe, one of his men delivered the deadly blow, gutting the elvish guard so that his intestines fell from his belly.

Maedhros used his large arms to snap the neck of his captive. The cracking sound reverberated in the darkness, thus causing one of those within the tent to ask his fellow guards on the outside about the noise. Only a moment later, he rose from his chair to investigate why his friend had not answered.

Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, yet so slowly at the same time. The sons of Fëanor, tossing the dead men to the ground, now realized the folly in their plan. The two men from their Household had gotten so loud in their arguing that they had drawn the attention of many others, including Eönwë, Tulkas, and Oromë.

Seeing that they had no time to waste, those from the House of Fëanor charged into the tent with their weapons drawn, slaying the guards and seizing the box. By the time they had exited the tent, a great assembly of elves and Maiar had gathered around. Someone noticed the slain elves on the ground, and rang the alarm.

It had happened that quickly.

The others from the House of Fëanor began to attack those nearest to their Lords, as Maedhros and Maglor engaged their kinsmen from Tirion in battle. Those that had accompanied them died at the hands of their combatants, as Maedhros and Maglor tried to cleave their way back to their horses. They killed many of their brethren, a sight that compelled Eönwë to call his men back, allowing both sons of Fëanor to escape.

Both Maedhros and Maglor leapt upon their horses and fled north, following the western eave of the wood.

Though filled with great sorrow and anguish for those slain, Eönwë ordered his men not to give chase. The Oath of Fëanor had now been fulfilled, and the two surviving sons were about to learn that they cannot flee from a doom greater than they.

The sons of Fëanor did not stop until they were many leagues away. When they had made their way behind a wall of smoke from one of the fiery chasms, they stopped so that they could each claim his Jewel that so many before them had died for.

Maglor tightly held the box as Maedhros carefully broke the lock. Excited, he slowly lifted the lid, the blinding Light of the Silmarils illuminating their blood-streaked faces.

With lustful eyes, the brothers looked upon the Silmarils, joyful that they had succeeded in their quest.

“At long last,” said a breathless Maedhros, reaching for one of the Jewels with his only hand.

“The heirlooms of our House are now ours,” said Maglor happily, as he reached for his Silmaril.

Both brothers retrieved his Jewel at the same time, screaming in pain once their fingers had wrapped around the Silmarils. The box fell from Maglor grip, as the hallowed Jewels turned their fingers and hands black as it had with Morgoth.

At that moment, they comprehended with a clarity that they had not seen before, all the evil they had done that had brought them to that point.

The madness of that realization hit Maedhros first. Like a wild man, he took off running, running as fast as his long legs could move. He disappeared into the thick plumes of smoke before leaping into the fiery chasm, still clutching the Silmaril in his withered hand. His screams intensified for a moment as the flames eagerly devoured his flesh, killing the first son of Fëanor.

Grief-stricken, Maglor remained frozen to the spot, tears streaming down his blood-splattered face. The pain in his hand was excruciating, but the agony in his heart was even worse. Taking off in the opposite direction of his brother, he ran along the cliff’s edge, stopping when the stitch in his side demanded he do so. Weeping, he turned to the sea, thinking that it might take his life.

But as he stood on the edge of the rocky wall, Maglor recalled the words that Buffy had said to him long ago:

“By drinking my blood, you’ll never truly die, nor will your hröa fade from grief.”

“Oh, my darling Bellaseth, how I wish now that I would have heeded your words and had forsaken the Oath!” cried out the Noldo. Overcome with such guilt and sorrow, and deeming himself unworthy of keeping the Jewel, the Elf Lord mustered all his strength and threw the Silmaril far out into the sea.

His newly blackened hand was a testament to the evil he had wrought, and the pain would be a constant reminder of that evil for the rest of his miserable days. He feared to return home, thinking that his loved ones would look upon him with scorn and shame.

Maglor then realized that he had ended up sacrificing everything for the Silmarils, as there was no way he could go back home. Bereft of all joy, he continued his trek north. None of the Eldar or Edain would ever see the son of Fëanor again, as his doom was to wander alone, in regret, singing songs of lamentations of what once was. His misdeeds left him hollow, a mere empty shell of his former, noble self…



The following morning, Buffy awoke, feeling refreshed and as happy as she had been the night before. She had experienced a night free from dreams (or nightmares for that matter), and looked forward to the day with a renewed vigor.

Today, the rest of the Edain would board the ships and sail to the encampment on the coast. Once they were there, Eönwë would mystically add years to their lives, as well as teach them things that none of their kindred had ever learned before.

After eating breakfast, she, the Green-elves and the Noldor helped lower the mortals to the ships below. When the first vessel was nearly filled to capacity, she joined those on that ship, wanting to be with the first party to arrive on the coast.

Everyone was in high spirits. They sang and laughed as the ship glided effortlessly upon the waters. The conditions were favorable. The winds blew from the southeast, hastening their voyage. By midday, they had already crossed the gulf, and had entered the vastness of Belegaer. Keeping close to the coast, they continued to sail north. The Edain grew excited when they first caught sight of the numerous ships from Valinor.

Buffy too was excited for the Edain. She felt that life couldn’t get any better, that things were perfect. How could they not be? Morgoth had been overthrown, and Man’s reward for their aid in the war had far surpassed her expectations. Yes, life was good, and she deemed it would only be smooth sailing from there on out.

Yet, she couldn’t help but notice something was a bit different since her visit the previous day. As their ship neared the Teleri vessels, she felt something, something like an aching in her heart. Making her way to the prow of the boat, her eyes scanned the many Valinorean ships until they stopped on one in particular. With her heart beating wildly, she instinctively knew that Morgoth was locked away on that boat, mourning all that he had lost.

Her lips slowly curled into a smile, as she chuckled under her breath. She had the sudden desire to see Melkor imprisoned, hog-tied by the mystical chain, Angainor. Not only would that make her day, but also it would be nice to revel in the fact that she had won, and he had lost. The longer she stood there, the greater her desire became.

She then made her way to the helm, and pointed out to Tarlanc where she wanted him to anchor their vessel. The Green-elf was slightly bewildered by her command since it was further out to sea than he had intended. But the Elf Lord was not about to question his Queen, and did as ordered.

Once the boat was anchored, the elves began lowering the smaller vessels into the water. Buffy and her closest kin climbed down the cargo net and into the boat. The men then rowed the hundred yards to the Teleri ship where Melkor was confined. Despite Thranduil’s constant questioning, she refused to disclose why she wished to go to that boat.

“Hail, Lady Luinil,” shouted the Captain of the vessel. The silver-haired elf looked familiar to her though she had never met him.

“Hi!” she said in reply. “May I board your vessel?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

“Why, of course,” he answered. “Give me a moment, please.” His head disappeared for several seconds before returning. “We’ll lower a rope for you, my Lady, if that is alight?”

“That’s fine,” she answered, anxious to board the ship.

A couple of elves then lowered a rope. As soon as she was able to grab it, she did, and began to scale the side of the wooden hull.

“I’m coming, Nana,” she heard Olofin call from below.

Looking over her shoulder she answered, “Stay. I’ll only be a few minutes,” before continuing her climb.

An ominous feeling crept into the half-elf’s heart, as he now perceived that Morgoth was locked away somewhere on that ship. He didn’t immediately share that information with any, thinking that no harm could come to his mother with so many Maiar on board.

“Let us help you, my Lady,” said one of the Teleri elves.

“Thanks,” answered Buffy, as she climbed over the railing of the vessel. When both feet hit the deck, she turned to the elf that had greeted her. “Hi, again. I’m Bella,” she smiled, “or at least, I prefer to be called that.”

“Hail, Bella,” replied the Captain with a nod. “I am Olwë, Lord of Alqualondë, and Captain of this vessel.”

“Ohh,” said Buffy knowingly. “You’re Thingol and Elmo’s brother.”

“That I am,” he nodded yet again, although this time, with a solemn expression on his face.

“I was very fond of both of them,” she replied, remembering their deaths at the hands of the dwarves. “Just so you know, my people avenged their deaths. Those dwarves responsible for the sacking of Menegroth never returned to their home in the mountains.”

Olwë’s eyes widened, as he was slightly taken aback by her comments. While the elf was familiar with the story of Lúthien and Beren, and knew in his heart of his brothers passing, he knew nothing about dwarves or the attack on Menegroth.

“We of the Teleri kindred do not avenge death with death for we believe that those that commit such crimes will have to answer for their misdeeds sooner or later,” he replied grimly.

Buffy felt her face flush. Having been on cloud nine all day, she had given no thought to the Kinslaying at Alqualondë or the fact that it were the Noldor, led by her husband’s kinfolk, that had attacked Olwë’s people for their ships long ago. From the look on the Elf Lord’s face, she could see that that wound had not yet healed.

She cleared her throat in an attempt to conceal her sudden uneasiness. “Be that as it may, we did what we believed to be right. My job is to keep evil in check. And I, for one, am glad that we avenged the death of your kin.” She shook her head, desperate to change the subject. “But that’s beside the point, I have come… ”

“…to see him, have you not?” he said, completing her sentence. “You wish to see our prisoner.”

“That’s right.”

Olwë sighed heavily, glancing at the many faces of those that had congregated around them. His face became grave, as he fixed his grey eyes on her. “Would you heed my counsel, Lady, if I told you that my heart tells me that only ill will come from your meeting with one as callous as Morgoth, the Dark Foe? No good will come from it, I deem.”

“I’m sorry, Olwë, but it’s something I have to do,” she answered. “You have no idea what he’s put us through. I need to see him. I need to see him face to face.”

The Elf Lord turned toward the West, contemplating her request. His heart ached with foreboding for such a meeting to take place. He closed his eyes for a moment, as Buffy’s impatience grew.

“Listen, Olwë, I’m only asking for a few minutes. It’s not like I’m gonna abscond with him or anything,” she snickered, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “I just need to see him,” she said a bit more firmly. “And I’m afraid that I won’t take no for an answer.”

The Elf Lord’s eyes slowly opened. He let out yet another heavy sigh. “If that is your command, then who am I to deny one of such power,” he answered, refusing to meet her gaze. “Though Morgoth’s magicks have been hindered by the magic of Angainor, the power of his words still hold.” Olwë turned his doleful eyes to the Slayer. “Do not allow him to use that power against you, for he is a master of lies and will use that gift to your detriment.”

The elf’s comments were beginning to really irritate Buffy. Who was he to tell her about Morgoth’s powers when she had witnessed them firsthand?

“Where is he?” she demanded, not in the mood to continue what she considered a pointless conversation.

Olwë stared at her for a moment before giving a slight nod of his head.

A couple of Maiar then came forth. “This way, Luinil,” said one of them, motioning for her to follow.

She said nothing else to the Lord of Alqualondë and was grateful when she didn’t have to speak with him any more. She quickly pushed all thoughts of the Kinslaying out of her mind, so that she could fully enjoy her meeting with Melkor Bauglir.

Her Maia escorts spoke to the Slayer as they climbed down a narrow stairway leading below deck, reassuring her that Olwë merely had her best interests at heart. Unfortunately, she ignored all they had to say. The excitement of seeing Morgoth hog-tied was too great for her to think of anything else.

Two Maia guards sat outside the door that lead to the holding chamber where Melkor was locked inside. When the men learned the reason behind Buffy’s unexpected visit, they too seemed taken aback. Nonetheless, they obediently unlocked the mystical locks on the door, allowing her entry.

Stepping inside, Buffy’s eyes scanned the massive room. In its center lay Morgoth, still hog-tied with Angainor, with a dark green hood over his head. Surrounding him were twelve more Maia guards, seated in tall backed wooden chairs. Each had their weapon of choice girded at their sides, though the mystical chain of Aulë would prevent the Vala from escaping.

“Leave us,” she ordered, her gaze never leaving the demonic form of Morgoth on the floor.

“But, my Lady… ” protested one of the Maiar.

“I said, leave us,” she said, more firmly.

“It is unwise… ”

“God damn it!” she barked, shifting her narrowed eyes to the Maia questioning her. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” she hissed in a threatening tone.

The men looked warily at one another, the fear on their faces evident. One by one, they began marching out of the room. “We’ll be just outside, my Lady,” commented one of her escorts.

She heard the door close, shutting out the voices of those beyond it.

“Hello, Melindo,” she said, crossing her arms before her chest, eyeing the still form of Morgoth.

“I knew you’d come to me,” he answered in a gravely voice from beneath the hood.

Wanting to savor the moment even more, she strolled up to Melkor, squatting so that she could remove the hood that covered his face. She had to see him, to look him in the eyes so that he could see her reveling at his capture.

Upon seeing her smile, a scowl came to the Vala’s face. “Ah, so you’ve come to gloat at my misfortune, have you not?”

Her smile widened. “You know me so well,” she cheerfully replied. She grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it closer to the Vala. Taking a seat, she leaned back, crossing her legs, delighted to be in the position she now found herself.

Morgoth’s eyes never left her. He continued to glare at her.

After a moment or two, she said with a snicker, “Sucks to be you.”

“Is that so?” he said, his dark eyes burning with resentment.

“Yep!” she chortled. Folding her arms across her chest, she continued. “You finally got your just rewards! Hopefully, the Valar will beat you to death as you did Fingolfin.” A dreamy look came to her face as she pictured that in her mind. “That would be sweet! Or, or maybe they’ll quarter you,” she added excitedly. “You know, tie each one of your appendages to one of Oromë’s horses before they gallop in different directions. That would be pretty cool too. And just! Let’s not forget that you deserve what’s coming to you.” She waved her finger for added emphasis before laughing yet again.

“After all that I’ve done for you - succoring you in your hour of need - you would throw me to the wolves! That is a new low, even for you, Melisse.” A small smile came to the Vala’s face. “You are becoming more like me with each passing day, and that is good.”

“You wish!” she shot back amusedly. “You’re so screwed, don’t you see that? You’re finally gonna pay for all the horrible shit that you’ve done to the people of Middle-earth. The slower your death, the better!”

“And yet you are still unconvinced that you are not like me when you make such proclamations,” he said, as one of his brows slowly lifted in doubt. When he saw that his comments did not have the desired effect, Morgoth tried a different route. “You are blind, Melisse, blind to all that is really going on!”

“You’re grasping at straws here, Melindo,” she laughed in reply.

“Am I now?” he queried mockingly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. And here I thought you had grown wiser with age, and now, I’m sorry to say, that that is not the case. You still desperately cling to the belief of redemption, Melisse, when that is but a fallacy. My most faithful servant repents of nothing! Yet you so willingly want to see the good in people that you most unwisely allowed him into your house!” he cackled. “Do you think that Sauron was not carrying out his Lord’s wishes, that all he had said and done after the destruction of my lands were not by my orders? You are a trusting fool, Melisse.”

His words rattled the Slayer though she tried not to show it. She forced herself to maintain that grin on her face despite the fact that her heart had begun to race, causing beads of sweat to form on her face and neck.

“Now where is that Noldo husband of yours, I ask?” he continued in a low hiss. “Where could he and his kinfolk be? Could it be that they’ve been up to mischief at my instigation?”

Buffy found herself nearly speechless. All she could utter in reply was, “You lie.”

“I have never lied to you, Melisse! The foundation of our union is strong, unbreakable. We are bound together, you and I. The elf was a mere distraction, a distraction that I have now gotten rid of.”

Leaping from her seat, she demanded, “What have you done? Where’s Káno?”

Morgoth’s dark lips twisted into a malicious grin. He was overjoyed to see that the tables had been turned, and that his beloved was now getting a taste from the cup of woe that he had been forced to consume. But the Dark Lord was merely getting started, for he wanted to ensure that Buffy’s fate was the same as his own.

“The Doom has caught up with the sons of Fëanor at last,” he said gleefully, relishing the look on his lover’s paling face. “Yes, Melisse, your beloved Kánafinwë has chosen to honor the Oath of his father rather than his oath to you. He and his closest kinfolk have entered the encampment of those from the West and have stolen the Jewels of their father… He is dead, Melisse. He and his brother are dead.”

“You’re lying!” she spat angrily. “You’re nothing but a liar!” Despite her words of protest, Buffy couldn’t help but notice the sudden numbness in her body.

“You continue to doubt what I say?” he queried, his tone full of disappointment. “Ask Eönwë. Or Oromë. Then you will see that I speak the truth.” Seeing her body begin to tremble, her bottom lip quivering, the Vala continued, wanting to break her, as he had been broken. “Let me enlighten you to some things, my dear, for I deem that it’s time that you hear the truth.”

Buffy’s mind was whirling with confusion. Surely, she would’ve known if Maglor had died. Certainly, she would have felt it. But she didn’t. On the other hand, her body was reacting to the words of Morgoth as if he were telling her the truth, as if he knew of things that she did not. Had she allowed herself to be so consumed with joy and happiness over the Edain that she did not ‘see’ what was really going on within her own House? Was she blinded to some secret agenda of the sons of Fëanor, yet again? Had Sauron stirred up trouble whilst under her roof?

“I have the gift of foresight - you know that, Melisse,” he began again. “Once you meet with Eönwë and his kin, you will learn that Sauron has fled into the night - proving my words to be true. You’ve aided his escape, my dear, and for that, I am grateful. Because of your prayer, my most trusted servant will be able to continue on with my noble cause, the enslavement of the people of Middle-earth,” he revealed, snickering as he spoke.

At that revelation, Buffy felt as though her heart had dropped to her stomach. Her mouth went dry.

Melkor forced her to lock eyes with him. Then, speaking in a somewhat urgent tone, he went on, “Come closer, Melisse, for there is something I must warn you about.”

Unable to restrain herself, the Slayer stepped closer, crouching beside the Vala’s beastly form.

“I do not want your fate to be the same as mine, Melisse,” he whispered in that same urgent voice. “You must remain here, in Middle-earth, to tend to our children. That is why I shall tell you what I see, so that you will be prepared to act accordingly when these things unfold.”

Morgoth never broke eye contact with his beloved, using his deep connection with her to hold her gaze. “Beware of Oromë Aldaron for he is truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he began. “Once you have learned of your husband’s betrayal, you will grieve at heart, fleeing into the wood. The Vala will come to you, under the guise to comfort you - but believe it not, Melisse! - for he will reveal his true intention, that he seeks comfort in you, for his marriage to Vána is not one of great happiness.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “He will seduce you, Melisse. In your deepest sorrow, the Vala will seduce you, thinking so little of your love for the Noldo.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped, yet her eyes remained locked with Melkor’s, stunned by all he was saying.

“Oromë feels that you are worthy of being his mistress in Middle-earth. He lusts after you, one whose prowess rivals his own. He will see you as his plaything, a means of fulfilling his bodily desire whilst away from his wife. Do not let that happen, Melisse! Kill him! Kill him as swiftly as you may when he attempts to lay with you.”

The Slayer attempted to speak, but found herself unable to utter a single word.

“It gets worse, my beloved, far worse,” Morgoth continued in a more serious tone. “Manwë’s most trusted spy continues to whisper lies about you into his master’s ear. The Lord of Eagles’ loathing for you knows no bounds. He seeks to destroy you, utterly. His lies will drive the Valar to bring you before the Ring of Doom…”

Buffy’s eye’s widened in shock upon hearing that. She didn’t hear much more of what Melkor had to say other than, “Do not go willingly, my love, for they truly see you as an enemy, though they hide that from you. They are jealous of the gifts that Ilúvatar has bestowed upon you, especially Folkvang. They have seized control of your mystical realm out of jealousy. Why should you have a kingdom all your own when they must share the power in Valinor? That is why you have not been able to return there. They have taken your realm from you. Fight them, Melisse! Fight them every step of the way.”

Slowly, the Slayer rose to her feet, sick to her stomach. A part of her couldn’t believe what Morgoth was saying, but a part of her did. There was only one way to confirm anything that he had said and that was to speak with Eönwë.

Still dazed, she started toward the door.

“Melisse,” called out Morgoth.

She turned, facing the Vala, but with her eyes fixed on the floor. Breaking eye contact with him had released her from Melkor’s spell but she sure didn’t want him to look into her eyes allowing him to read her thoughts, to see her doubt.

“I can help. I can help you fight them,” he pleaded, his hopeful dark eyes looking beseechingly at her. “You have the strength to break my bonds. Free me! Free me, and together we can right the wrongs against us.”

“Rot in hell,” she said between gritted teeth, before turning her back on the evil Vala. She made her way to the door, knocking on the wood so the others could let her out.

As soon as Buffy had left the room, the guards were quick to re-cover Morgoth’s head. They did not see him smiling wickedly beneath the hood, delighted that he had set his final plan in motion. His beloved was on her way to commit one of the most heinous sins imaginable - the murder of an Aratar.

Soon, Melisse, thought the jubilant Vala, we will be reunited, and together we will plot our revenge on all in Arda. That thought alone helped ease Melkor’s fear in regards to facing his own fate at the hands of those in West.



Morgoth’s prophetic words consumed the Slayer’s thoughts as she made her way to the upper-most deck. She did not immediately notice that her traveling companions had boarded Olwë’s vessel while she spoke with Melkor below. As soon as they saw her, they stopped talking, staring at her with their deeply concerned eyes.

Olofin, Orchal and Thranduil dashed across the wooden deck and confronted Buffy before she truly knew what was happening. Apparently, she must have looked distressed, as each bombarded her with questions, all three speaking at the same time.

Unsure whether she should divulge what Melkor had said, she demanded that they leave immediately so that she could speak with Eönwë. Making her way to the side of the ship, she cast a quick glance at the Lord of Alqualondë. He slowly shook his head, mouthing the words, ‘I’m truly sorry.’

Those three little words frightened her more than anything. What exactly was Olwë sorry for? Her mind was racing, thinking over everything that Morgoth had said.

It’s true, she thought as she leapt over the railing and into the small boat bobbing on the water. Káno’s dead. Why else would Olwë say that?

No, no he’s not, disputed that other voice in her head. You’d know! You’d know if he were dead. Melkor is a master of lies. Speak with Eönwë. Speak with Eönwë before drawing any conclusions.

The boat could not reach the shore fast enough for her. Frustrated at the slow pace of the vessel, she snatched the oars from Elros and Elrond, manning them herself. Clenching her teeth, she rowed as hard as she could. With the sun beaming down, sweat poured off her as she utilized her slayer strength to get them to shore as fast as her arms could move. Despite her muscles throbbing in protest, and her eyes burning from the sweat dripping into them, she struggled on. Squinting, she watched as they came closer and closer to the shoreline, still refusing to answer any questions, only saying that she had to speak with Eönwë.

When the boat reached the beach, the Slayer climbed out and took off running toward Eönwë’s pavilion. She couldn’t help but notice the mournful faces of the elves and Ainur that she passed. It seemed obvious to her that something had happened. She prayed that it had nothing to do with Maglor, hoping beyond anything, that the long faces were do to Sauron’s escape. That, she could live with.

She flew past the guards stationed outside the pavilion, and into the first chamber of Eönwë’s quarters. In her haste, she nearly collided with the elf standing on the other side of the doorway, oblivious to the fact that it was none other than Ereinion, who had arrived earlier that morning with Círdan and their people.

With her chest heaving from her sprint, and sweat still dripping down her face, she pushed the wet strands of hair from her face as she eased her way through the many people in attendance. Some were still weeping. Others had been, as evidenced by their red and puffy eyes, Eönwë amongst them.

On the opposite side of the chamber, chairs were arranged in a semi-circle. Those that had sailed from the West, namely the highest ranking Noldor, Maiar and Valar occupied the seats. Eönwë sat at its center, presiding over the counsel.

Stepping before the Herald of Manwë, in a breathless voice, she asked, “Is it… is it true?”

As soon as she had asked the question, many of those present bowed their heads, loathing the fact that Buffy was about to hear a firsthand account of the tragedy that had taken place the night before.

When Eönwë did not immediately answer, she posed her question again.

“You speak of Maglor, Maedhros and those from their House, I take it,” replied the Maia solemnly. He paused, searching for the words that would make his response less painful to the Slayer. Unfortunately, he could find no words to make the blow any less devastating.

Buffy could only nod her head, as she tried to catch her breath.

Inhaling deeply, Eönwë said, “Yes, Bella, it is true. Those from the House of Fëanor raided our camp… ”

The moment he said ‘raided our camp’, the Slayer’s legs turned to Jell-o. She collapsed to the carpeted floor.

Several men leapt from their seats, each wanting to help her to their vacated chairs.

Buffy raised her hand, motioning for them to stop. “Don’t… ” That was the only word she could get out. Frantically holding back the tears that were already forming in her eyes, she looked back at Eönwë, wanting to hear the entire story.

The Maia then began where he had left off, sparing no grisly detail.

The Slayer went numb as Eönwë spoke, his tale validating all that Morgoth had told her. Right before he had said, “Once they had regained the Silmarils, they fought their way to freedom, killing many… ” those that had journeyed ashore with her had entered the pavilion.

“NO!” cried out Olofin in dismay. He didn’t have to hear mention of his father’s name to know that Eönwë was speaking of him. Who else would ‘regain the Silmarils’?

Buffy glanced over her shoulder when she heard her son’s anguished cry. He and the rest of her loved ones began to weep, realizing that the Doom of the Oath had come to fruition. Seeking to comfort their Queen, whom they knew had to be ailing from the news; her loved ones joined her on the floor. The Slayer forced herself to keep it together, not only for her son’s sake, but her own as well.

Olofin and Thranduil sat on either side of her. They wrapped their arms around Buffy, and she them. She desperately held back her emotions, trying to be strong for the others. As her boys clung to her, sobbing, she turned her teary eyes back to Eönwë.

“Is he dead?” she asked over the howling cries of her loved ones. “Is my beloved Káno dead?”

Eönwë, close to tears himself, replied, “What does your heart tell you?”

“My heart,” started Buffy, on the verge of losing it herself, “my heart has been ripped from my chest. I feel nothing.” She slowly shook her head. When she added, “I’m numb, Eönwë. I’m numb,” the tears fell from her eyes. The sight of that caused many in the room to gasp in shock.

“Look at Luinil’s tears!” cried out Tulkas in amazement, pointing to her face.

“They are golden!” shouted Finarfin in disbelief.

And indeed, they were. As Sargon had told her, when Maglor was finally lost to her, she’d know by crying tears of gold. Her tears were in liquid form as they ran down her face but turned into actual gold nuggets by the time they made contact with her clothing or that of her boys.

When she heard about her tears, Buffy reached for her face, wiping the wetness from her cheek. Looking at her hand, she watched as her golden tears hardened. Seeing that with her own eyes made her feel sick. She then knew that Sargon’s words of prophecy had come true - that Maglor was gone. Tilting her hand, the pieces fell to her lap. Horror-stricken, she fled the chamber, bawling.

Many of those from her House tried to follow, but Orchal stopped them by blocking the doorway. “No! Let her be! Bella needs time alone to deal with her grief.”

“Orchal’s right,” agreed Nestor. Both Green-elves knew her better than anyone and were correct in their assessment.

Instead of chasing after her, her people sought solace amongst themselves. All had dearly loved Maglor and Maedhros, and the thought that the sons of Fëanor were gone was heartbreaking. But what tormented them most was knowing the pain that Buffy had to be going through. While they knew she must come to terms with her loss alone, some within her Household feared that would not happen quickly enough. With Folkvang closed off to her, her suffering would only be prolonged. A few began to doubt that she’d ever return to Lindecoa, feeling that that place held too many memories of Maglor, and that those memories would be too much for her to bear.

What should have been a glorious day, turned out to be nothing of the sort. A saddened Eönwë then offered the adjoining chamber to those from the House of Luinil, so that they could mourn in private.

As the brokenhearted men filed into the adjoining chamber, Oromë slipped out of the pavilion unnoticed. He had to find the Slayer, knowing that he alone could help ease her sorrow and restore her hope. Before setting out, he returned to his own lodgings to collect his bow and a quiver of arrows. Since Sauron was on the loose, the Vala Lord deemed that he would kill him should their paths cross. Ordering his hounds to remain behind, he then took off on foot, following the trail of golden teardrops…



Running at breakneck speed, Buffy had disappeared into the woods that bordered the beach, heading east as Sauron had before her. She tried to navigate through the trees, successfully ducking under some limbs, while others raked across the flesh of her arms or face. The pain of the scratches was nothing compared to that of her heart. Yet she couldn’t stop running, even though she had no idea where she was running to.

She had gone several miles before tripping over a well-concealed root, sliding face first across the bed of dead leaves that had fallen the previous autumn. She lay there, gasping for breath, noticing for the first time, the cramping in her sides. Hot and sticky with sweat, the wounds burned from the salty layer of wetness that covered her skin. Her stomach twisted and turned. Buffy could feel the bile rising to her throat. Inching upright, sitting on her folded knees, the contents of her stomach spewed forth from her mouth, splattering onto the brown withered leaves. Edging backwards to avoid the streaming vomit, she continued to be sick until there was nothing left in her stomach.

Trembling, she wiped her mouth with the bottom of her top before rising to her feet. With her breathing somewhat steadier, her eyes scanned the woods. She wasn’t necessarily searching for anything, just looking. Birds chirped merrily from the treetops, occasionally swooping from one limb to another. A squirrel was running up a bole of a beech as another sprang from the other side, pursuing the first. None of the beasts seemed to notice her, standing there, sick with grief. The creatures were too focused on themselves, playfully carrying on as though it was just another day. And it was, to them. But, to Bellaseth Dagnir, she was at the end of her rope, barely holding on, struggling to prevent herself from falling into the abyss of despair.

She then took off again, running as swiftly as her legs could carry her, unaware that Oromë was in pursuit. She ran another league or so before collapsing from exhaustion. The heat of the day was too much. Her mouth was parched and there was no visible water source in sight. Too tired to move, she lay there. The only sound she could clearly make out was that of her own heavy breathing. As far as Buffy was concerned, she would lay there beneath the boughs of the elm tree towering above her until death took her. From the looks of it, she’d probably end up dying from dehydration.

The longer she lay there, the more she began to wonder what ill she could have done to justify her losing so much in recent days. First, she lost Ossir to the floods, then Folkvang, which made no sense whatsoever. While she would be the first to admit that she had done some horrible things in her past, things that would have warranted her being barred from entering her mystical realm, she had no idea what mitigating circumstance lead to that happening at this time.

And now, the worst thing imaginable had happened. Maglor was gone, the one man whom she adored above all others. He was her world, her everything. Though she knew of the Oath and Doom of the Noldor long before they married, she really never believed that anything would come of it. At least, not to him, not her beloved Káno. Even when she saw the Noldor dropping like flies, she still clung to the belief that Maglor would not forsake her, that their love would conquer all obstacles put before them. How could she be so wrong? Had she allowed her love to blind her? Or was she just, plain stupid?

One thing she knew for sure, if not for Olofin, she would’ve gone off the deep end. She had to be strong, not only for him, but also for the others that had come to depend on her. Was that not something expected of a Queen and true leader - to keep it together in times of distress?

Buffy continued to mull over these things, nervously chewing on blades of wild grass that grew beneath the tree. So deep in thought was she, that she failed to notice the arrival of Oromë, standing just outside the small glade, watching her. Even as he neared, his footfalls crunching the leaves beneath his feet, she remained oblivious to his approach. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat, alerting her of his arrival that she was made aware of him.

The sound startled her. Her body jerked in response to the unexpected noise.

“I’m sorry if I alarmed you,” he said thoughtfully. “That was not my intention.” He gave a quick smile, unsure of how the Slayer would react to his presence. After having heard what Orchal had said, he wasn’t sure if it was wise that he had followed.

“It’s okay,” she replied, spitting out the blade of grass on which she had been chewing. She surveyed the Vala, noticing the bow thrown over his shoulder. “You’re a long way from camp,” she continued, easing herself upright against the trunk of the tree.

Oromë blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “I was hunting.”

Arching her brow, she replied, “Hunting?” with more than a hint of skepticism in her voice.

“You’re hurt,” he said, changing the subject quickly.

“I’ll live,” she answered dryly, eyeing the water skin that hung from his belt.

As Oromë came nearer, he said, “I have medicine that will prevent those cuts from scarring.”

“I’d rather have a drink.” Her eyes shifted from the Vala Lord’s belt to his face. “You got any water?”

“Of course,” he answered, taking a seat across from her. He slid the bow and quiver off his shoulder, setting it on the ground, before unclasping the leather strap that held his water skin in place. He handed her the container before digging in his pouch for some salve.

Eager to be rid of the vile taste that still lingered in her mouth, Buffy took a mouthful of water and swished it around before spitting it out. She then took a long drink, grateful that she was able to quench her thirst at last.

“I’m truly sorry, Bella,” continued the Vala, as he unscrewed the top of the jar that he now held in his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

She let out a heavy sigh, leaning against the tree again. “You can bring my Káno back,” she said softly.

“I’m afraid that is something I cannot do,” he replied sympathetically, dabbing his finger in the yellow colored cream. Oromë then began to smear the ointment on Buffy’s face. “My heart tells me that Maglor is not dead though I cannot say the same for Maedhros. The eldest son of Fëanor has joined his kin in Mandos.”

The Slayer’s shuddered when she heard that. She had loved Maedhros dearly and had believed that he too had renounced his claim to the Silmarils because of their close friendship.

“The Valar shouldn’t have cursed them,” she uttered, the aching in her heart now returning full force.

The Vala’s eyes widened at her comment, surprised that she would say such a thing. “Come now, Bella. You would’ve done the same if it had been your people that were slaughtered, unprovoked. Fëanor and his sons swore a terrible oath; they brought the Doom upon themselves. You know that.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

It was now Oromë that raised his brow in question.

“Probably,” she said, correcting herself. She turned her eyes toward the treetops, listening to the birds singing above her, as the Vala continued to smear a layer of salve on the wounds to her arms. As she sat there, her thoughts turned to Morgoth, the true culprit behind everyone’s misfortune. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that Fëanor and his sons weren’t entirely responsible for the events that had happened in Valinor. Before she realized what she was saying, she added, “If you guys had never freed Melkor, none of this would’ve happened.”

A pained expression came to the Vala’s face. Much to her surprise, Oromë agreed with her. “Do you think I do not hold myself to blame for his escape?” he asked sadly. “I am the greatest hunter in Arda, yet Melkor was able to escape on my watch. His magicks hampered our attempts to seize him, to bring him to justice.”

“But you guys could’ve followed him to Middle-earth,” she countered, her temper suddenly flaring. “You knew that Utumno wasn’t totally destroyed in the first war, that he’d return to his old fortress! Instead, you guys sat on your asses, mourning those two stupid Trees.” She narrowed her eyes. “What purpose did those Trees serve any way? None!” she spat, answering the question herself. Enraged, she unleashed her anger upon the Vala Lord. “And look how many have died because of your inaction, because you people were too content in your Blessed Realm to act promptly. You didn’t give a fuck what happened to the people here. Thingol wasn’t a Noldo, yet look what happened to him and the good people of Doriath. And my people, they didn’t swear any oath. Yet they died! They were punished for your inaction! Tell me the justice in that Oromë, ‘cause I sure the hell want to hear it.”

The Vala Lord half expected that the Slayer might lash out at him. He took it like a man, but did feel the need to defend himself and his brethren.

“We are not without fault, I will admit to that,” he answered after a short pause. “Yet, I think it foolish to believe that Melkor was behind all the ill in Aman. If you truly think about it, Bella, as I have, you will see that the problems with the Noldor go back further, when Melkor was still imprisoned in Mandos… I deem the beginning of the downfall of the Noldor dates back to when Fëanor was born, when Míriel surrendered her life instead of rearing her young son. Surely, not having the love of his mother made him willful, proud beyond… ”

“Míriel? You think Míriel’s to blame?” she said, aghast at the mere suggestion. “How dare you say such a thing?”

“If Finwë had not overindulged Fëanor… ”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, Oromë,” she shot back heatedly. “If you think that the elves are to blame, then you need to take a good look in the mirror. You’re the one who led them from Cuiviénen, removing them from the lands of their birth! That was your mistake. That’s what started it all. You fucked up! Not the Eldar. Not Míriel. Not Fëanor. All the shit that happened afterwards was a direct result of your interfering with them. You should have let the elves be!”

Her words were like a slap in the face, and brought tears to the Vala’s eyes. The jar of salve fell from his grasp. Lowering his head, he buried his face in his hands, and wept.

Buffy felt horrible. She didn’t understand why she had lashed out so harshly at Oromë. Surely, he was there to help. But the things that he was saying angered the hell out of her. The Valar needed to accept responsibility for their mistakes, as they had made many over the years. Hell, she hadn’t even tackled the subject of their forsaking of her when she was held captive in the pyramid or when they allowed her evil doppelganger to run amok during her captivity. Not to mention Marduk, whose viciousness against her House caused the most harm, especially to her.

Yet as the sound of Oromë’s sobs filled the glade, she couldn’t help but feel remorse over her outburst. Was she being irrational, striking out at the Vala because of her grief?

“I’m sorry, Oromë,” she found herself saying. She leaned forward, placing her hand on his leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He lifted his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re right, Luinil. It is my fault… If I had not… ”

“No!” she said, cutting off his words mid-sentence. She shifted to her knees, moving closer to the Vala Lord. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… ”

“It’s true. It’s all my fault,” he blubbered.

Not knowing what else to do, Buffy threw her arms around Oromë, hoping that she could comfort him. Stroking his golden hair, she spoke soothingly to him, apologizing for her comments. “Don’t listen to me, Oromë. I’m taking my pain out on you, which is wrong, I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

It took several long minutes for the Vala Lord to calm down. As he wiped the tears from his eyes, the Slayer leaned back against the bole of the tree, wanting to forget the exchange that she and Oromë had just had. Her thoughts immediately turned to Sauron, wondering if what Melkor had told her about the Maia was true, that he had indeed fooled her into thinking he was repentant and fled the encampment.

“Tell me something,” she started, handing the water skin to the Vala Lord. “Did… did Sauron flee the encampment after I left?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

Oromë took a drink before answering her question. “Yes,” he answered with a sigh. “He is the reason why I brought my bow, should we happen to cross paths.”

“Fuck!” the Slayer shrieked. A flock of birds perched in the surrounding treetops hastily flew away at the loud sound. “How can I be so stupid?” she groaned, realizing that she had been hoodwinked by the evil Maia. That knowledge together with her grief brought her to tears. “I’m such a fool,” she cried. “How could I be so trusting?”

It was now Oromë’s turn to comfort Buffy. Reaching out, he pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly in his arms. “Do not hold yourself to blame, Luinil. You did manage to convince Sauron to come to us, which was a marvel in itself.”

“But… but he’s gone. He betrayed me,” came her muffled response, having buried her face in the Vala Lord’s tunic. “He has forsaken me.”

Oromë sensed that her tears were not at the Maia’s escape, but at the loss of her husband. Learning of Sauron’s departure was merely the catalyst that now drove her to tears.

“The pain will lessen, Luinil. I promise,” he said in his most reassuring voice, as he gently stroked her back. “The dark clouds that loom overhead will soon pass, bringing with it brighter days. The wheel of fate is turning, and things are as they should be. Everything happens for a reason. You will soon come to see this.”

The Vala Lord continued to speak soothingly, assuring Buffy that things would get better.

“Let us dry those golden tears,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He began to blot her tears with the cloth, using care to avoid the salve covered scratches. “Never before have I seen anyone cry tears of gold,” he began, smiling warmly. “I must warn you, Bella, should the Naugrim learn of this, they will be apt to make you cry so they can easily increase their fortunes!” he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

It worked, as it caused Buffy to laugh.

When she went to pull out of Oromë’s grip, he kept her there, gently but firmly holding her neck with one hand while the other pushed to the side the strands of damp hair that had fallen on her face.

“I want you to know something, Luinil,” he continued, looking deeply into her eyes. “You are no fool, and your trusting nature is a good quality to have. Do not think otherwise.” Still holding her in place, he began to caress her cheek with his finger tips. “You are the bravest woman I know. Your resilience is… ” He paused, smiling. “You are amazing. A true champion if ever I saw one. You possess all those qualities that I find admirable… How I wish you had entered Eä at the beginning, things could have been different.” His words became softer and softer as his face came nearer to hers. “Yet who are we to deny what is meant to be?”

The Vala Lord closed the gap between them, softly kissing her on the lips. Buffy was so shocked, she remained frozen, blindsided by Oromë’s gesture of affection. He pulled back a few inches, staring into the Slayer’s eyes with a look she had seen many times before. Without saying a word, he kissed her again, hungrily this time, forcefully sending her backward to the ground.

The taunting voice of Morgoth echoed in her mind:

“Oromë feels that you are worthy of being his mistress in Middle-earth. He lusts after you, one whose prowess rivals his own. He will see you as his plaything, a means of fulfilling his bodily desire whilst away from his wife. Do not let that happen, Melisse! Kill him! Kill him as swiftly as you may when he attempts to lay with you.”

The sudden voice of Melkor caused her to snap, blinding her with a sudden rage. She now saw Oromë for what he truly was - an enemy. Flailing beneath the pawing Vala, she reached to her side, pulling a charm from her belt. In one swift motion, she pushed him up with one hand, while driving her dagger into his belly with the other.

His eyes widened in shock, as he let out a painful groan. Still holding him above her, she withdrew her blade, his warm blood spilling from the gash in his gut and onto her stomach. She then flung him to the side.

Leaping to her feet, she looked at the Vala Lord writhing on the ground, clutching his hands to his stomach.

“You piece of shit!” she spat, pointing the bloody dagger at him. “Fuck with me - you die!”

“Luinil… Luinil,” he moaned in agony.

Buffy quickly snatched his bow and quiver from the ground before taking off deeper into the woods, leaving the Vala Lord to die. Feeling as though everyone was out to get her, she ran as fast as she could, disappearing into the thickness of the forest.

With her slayer speed, she was able to run a few miles before the fatigue in her legs brought her to a halt. She slid the bow and quiver from her shoulder to the ground before plopping down beside it. Massaging her aching legs, Buffy tried to catch her breath, wanting to put as much distance between her and Oromë as she could.

Not even a minute had passed when another vision appeared before her very eyes. The forest seemed to melt away, to be replaced by Belegaer. She beheld a great fleet of ships, some the Valinorean vessels, others, newly built. At first, she thought that she was witnessing the hosts departing for the West, a sight that would’ve made her sigh with relief if she hadn’t been so winded. But, as she focused on those boats, she could hear the fair voices of the Eldar, singing in their sweet melodic voices. One of them she distinctively recognized - Orchal. Feeling a cold chill sweep over her, she saw her people, the elves, leaving Middle-earth. Whimpering like a wounded animal, her eyes scanned those loved ones on board, stopping when they came to Olofin, laughing beside Thranduil.

Horror-stricken, she thought, The Valar are taking my boys. They’re taking everything from me.

The vision disappeared as sudden as it had appeared, leaving the Slayer even more distressed than before. The Valar would take away everything she had, all her people, all her hope. She had nothing left to lose. She now saw herself alone in the world, abandoned by all those that had professed their undying love to her. What was she to do? Where was she to go?

Her body shook uncontrollably at the mere thought. She slowly rose to her feet, unaware that her green eyes had turned to black. The vision had truly pushed her over the edge, breaking her completely. Picking up the weapons of Oromë, her face contorted in hatred, Buffy took off running through the wood, sounding and looking very much like a rabid beast.

She had gone maybe a mile when the intense cramping in her legs and sides demanded that she slow down. As she continued through the trees at a slower pace, she heard the distinct sound of leaves crunching behind her. She spun around so quickly that she lost her footing on the bed of dry leaves and fell on her side. The Slayer’s body landed painfully on the wooden bow, bruising her hip.

As her eyes scanned the wood, she armed the weapon, ready to kill the first thing that came in sight. Still seated on the ground, she aimed the flying projectile toward the sound. She couldn’t see anything just yet, but from the sound of it, two people were approaching.

Narrowing her eyes, her trembling fingers pulled back on the string. Her muscles tightened, knowing that any second she would see her unwanted pursuers.

A black shadow suddenly appeared from behind a thick stand of trees. Sighing with relief, the Slayer lowered her weapon. Rocco, his timing impeccable as always, weaved his way through the trees, toward his Mistress.

“Rocco,” she said happily, deeming that her steed had answered some unspoken prayer. She placed her arrow back in the quiver, slinging both it and the bow over her shoulder. “Come here, boy.”

The horse stopped in front of Buffy, neighing in greeting.

“Good boy,” she said, patting his neck. “You’ll never leave me, will you?”

He neighed again.

Buffy quickly leapt atop the steed, directing him to continue east. Rocco slowly meandered through the trees, and after a couple of hours, stepped out of the eastern side of the forest and onto the moors that stretched out for miles before them.

With no obstructions, Rocco was able to gallop at full speed through the wilderness.

The Slayer longed to return to whom, she believed, were her only kin left in Middle-earth, the twins. She had thought long and hard whilst riding atop her steed, thinking that she’d first meet with Osiris, with whom she had continued to secretly correspond, up until the War of Wrath. She knew that the Vala would offer to help, and see to it that she was reunited with Anno and Míre despite the fact that her banishment from Mesopotamia was not yet over.

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts, focusing on the lands that stretched out before her, that she gave no heed to the sky above. She had no idea that Oromë had survived her attack, and had made his way back to the encampment, where he was healed of his injury. Eönwë immediately informed Manwë of Buffy’s actions, and those in the West, especially Yavanna and Vána, demanded retribution.

The Eagles had been sent out to find her, and flying high above, was none other than Thorondor. Spotting the fleeing Slayer below, the Lord of Eagles, gradually made his descent, circling lower and lower, until he came into Buffy’s line of vision.

He landed a mile or so in front of the galloping steed, stretching out his massive wings, squawking for the beast to stop.

The Slayer cackled in her madness, seeing now her opportunity to seek vengeance upon the spy of Manwë for spreading so many lies about her. When Rocco began to slow, she demanded that he continue on, galloping toward the Lord of Eagles.

“By the command of the Lord of Arda, I order you to halt, Luinil,” called out the bird with a flutter of his wings.

Buffy acted quickly, reaching behind her, pulling an arrow from its case. She slid the bow from her shoulder, arming the weapon, as she aimed at Thorondor’s breast.

Either the Eagle was stupid or a creature of great courage, as the sight of her weapon didn’t incite him to flee.

Pulling back on the string, she heard a ‘ping’ sound before sending the flying projectile at Manwë’s messenger. The arrow whizzed swiftly through the air, hitting its target with dead-on accuracy. Thorondor let out a cry of pain, but remained on his feet. The Slayer quickly sent out another shaft, that bolt too struck the Eagle in the chest. But this time, the bird staggered on its clawed feet, before falling to the ground.

Laughing madly at her success, Buffy had Rocco slow down as they approached the wounded bird. Clutching Oromë’s bow in one hand, she slid from the horse’s back, intent on finishing off her injured prey.

As she neared Thorondor lying on his side, he lifted his head, fixing his bleary eye on her much smaller form. “Woe betides you, Vala Queen,” spoke the Lord of Eagles. “Ill deeds you have wrought upon your kin! You have heeded the lies of Melkor Bauglir, thus making his words bear fruit. We have never been your enemy…” The bird then laid his head back on the ground, and died.

The blood drained from Buffy’s face, as doubt began to gnaw away at her. She remained frozen to the spot, watching as Rocco sniffed Thorondor’s lifeless body. Seeing the still form of the Eagle, Rocco lifted his head, mournfully neighing as he looked upon his Mistress, shaking his head.

The doubt she had felt only a moment before quickly vanished. Dropping Oromë’s weapons to the ground, she pulled a sword charm from her belt. Clutching the weapon with both hands, she looked down upon the still opened eye of the Lord of Eagles.

“You lie,” she hissed between gritted teeth. The Slayer then brought the blade down, beheading the spy of Manwë. Placing her foot on his chest, she raised her arms in triumph. “I am avenged!” she screamed, the sound of her voice reverberating across the lands. When the blood from the blade ran down on her arm, doubt once again filled her heart. Looking upon the carnage she had done, she took a step back, aghast by her evil deeds.

Seized by terror and horrified by what she had just done, Buffy climbed atop Rocco and headed east, once again.

Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, as she hurriedly rubbed the still warm blood of Thorondor on the leg of her breeches. Feeling as though there was no turning back, she forced herself to harden her heart, determined to assail any that tempted to thwart her escape.

Rocco hurriedly crossed the plains, which were now dotted with trees. They were nearing yet another expanse of woods. The horse had no other choice but to slow his gait, meandering through the towering trees and thickets.

They rode for many hours beneath a canopy of trees until they came upon a game trail that ended at the banks of a wide, languid river. Seeing a shoal at the bottom of the embankment, she told Rocco to descend the slope. Slowly, he went, carefully making his way to the bottom, not wanting his Mistress to fall off his back.

Once they had reached the bottom, Rocco took a few steps into the stream, eager to drink its tannin-colored water. Though quite thirsty herself, Buffy refrained from drinking the brownish water, hoping to come upon a spring instead, with water clear and cold.

As Rocco lazily lapped at the water, stepping a bit further into the stream, the Slayer surveyed their surroundings. She was studying the trail on the other side of the river when she heard a loud rushing sound coming from upstream.

Rocco lifted his head with ears alert, the last bit of water dripping from his mouth. Both he and Buffy fixed their eyes upstream, curious as to what that sound was. Only a moment later, they saw a wall of water heading straight for them, causing the beast to rear and buck in alarm. His Mistress went flying off his back, as he took off toward the embankment, leaving her behind.

“You fucking coward,” she shouted at her fleeing steed.

Struggling to get back on her feet, she quickly glanced at the towering wave, gasping in horror. In its center was Ulmo, his arms stretched wide in anticipation of grabbing her. She desperately tried to run, but the currents now swirling around her prevented her from doing so. Glancing back at the terrible form of the Lord of Waters, she covered her head as he swooped down upon her, seizing her…


Chapter 108 - THE TRIAL

Ulmo placed a spell of sleep upon the Slayer, ending all her attempts to break free from his hold. He loathed that fact that his brethren had chosen him to be the one to apprehend her, not forgetting the promise he had made to his former lover, to be there when she needed him most. The Lord of Waters could not help but think that she would see his act as a sign of betrayal, but Manwë had ordered him to bring her back to Valinor to answer for her crimes against Oromë and Thorondor, and who was he to defy the Lord of Arda?

Understanding the trials and tribulations that Buffy had been subjected to, all Ulmo could do was aid her in her defense. He felt that his brethren did not wholly comprehend how awful life had been for those outside the Blessed Realm. Though they had heard much from Eärendil when he had come, the son of Tuor and Idril hadn’t told but half the story. The half-elf had not traveled the vastness of Middle-earth, and had not experienced the guilefulness of the servants of evil that roamed freely about, from coast-to-coast.

As the Lord of Waters neared the end of the river, those elves that toiled at constructing a new settlement under the direction of Ereinion fled in terror when they suddenly saw and heard the wall of water roaring downstream. Only a handful knew that they were witnessing one of the many incarnations of Ulmo, but the sight of him as a dreadful wave still terrified them, nonetheless. None could see that Buffy was in his grasp. They were too busy running, hiding amidst the surrounding trees. From their various locations, the Eldar watched in amazement as the breaker crashed onto the still waters of the gulf. The thunderous collision created a swell that came nearly to the top of the rocky cliff wall, spraying them with a light, salty mist.

The elves then came out from their hiding places, daring to peek over the ledge to see if Ulmo had gone. When they reached the cliff, they saw the disturbance on the water’s surface, but nothing more. Unsure whether the Lord of Waters wrath had been stirred awake, messengers were immediately dispatched to their King, who was visiting the encampment of those from the West.

Ulmo’s feet turned to stone blocks, the weight sending him plummeting to the sandy floor. He looked down at the still form of Buffy clutched his arms, the tendrils of her golden hair splaying about her head. Though she appeared to look at peace, he could feel the anguish emanating from her essence. The Vala Lord had to fight the overwhelming urge to take her to his halls at the bottom of the sea, where he longed to heal her tormented soul without interference from his kinfolk.

Despite his feelings, he knew that he had to carry out the orders of Manwë; otherwise, he might not be granted the opportunity to sit on the council that would decide the Slayer’s fate. Knowing that all the mightiest Lords and Ladies would be present, not just the Aratar, Ulmo felt that it was imperative that he attend, (something he very seldom did). He was concerned that a few of them were quite eager to cast Luinil through the Door of Night and into the Void, permanently banishing her from Eä. Yet, those same few gave no thought as to the consequences of doing so. They were merely acting out of spite and jealousy over the Vala of Love, their festering animosity toward her having built up over time.

Even though Ulmo walked with long strides, it still took him a little over a year (in the reckoning of the elves) to reach the shores of Valinor. Accompanied by several of his servants, he rose from the depths of Belegaer at Eldamar, his feet returning to normal, as he made his way through Calacirya, the only pass in the Pelóri, the great mountain chain that fortified the eastern coast of Aman. Before him, to the west, stood Túna, the mound raised by the Eldar on which Tirion had been built. Deeming that the Slayer would delight in seeing the birthplace of Olofin’s kinfolk, he wished to wake her, and show her the beauty of that fair elvish city.

As he considered lifting the spell, he heard the heartbroken voice of Manwë in his head. Glancing to his left, his eyes surveyed the mighty peak of Taniquetil, stopping at the summit that remained hidden amid the puffy, white clouds.

From his throne in Ilmarin, the Halls of Manwë Súlimo and Varda Elbereth, the Lord of Arda counseled Ulmo not to lift the spell just yet. ‘For my heart tells me that Luinil’s rage has not lessened, though much time has passed since her attack on both Oromë and Thorondor. Let her sleep still, until our mightiest have assembled, for only by a mustering of our powers, can we rein in hers.’

Ulmo turned his solemn eyes back to the Slayer, sighing in defeat.

‘Do not think that I have forgotten your love for Luinil, my friend,’ continued Manwë from his throne high above. ‘We too love Maranwë dearly! If, as you say, that my brother’s malice is behind the horrific events that have transpired - rest assured, that it will be brought to light.’ The Lord of Arda paused before adding, ‘However, you must remember that Luinil is very strong, dangerous, even with her powers suppressed. Angainor is not available to us, nor do we have the strength of Tulkas and Oromë to keep Luinil restrained. I shall summon the others to the Ring of Doom, but, once again, I must ask that you do not wake her until you reach Máhanaxar.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ answered Ulmo, using his gift of telepathy to reply to Manwë.

A series of horn blasts came from above, the melodic notes traveling far and wide, alerting those in Valimar of the Slayer’s arrival and impending council. As the Lord of Waters resumed his trek, following the road made by the elves long ago, he heard the bells ringing in answer from the wardens of the chief city and dwelling place of the Valar.

Many of the Vanyar left their homes on Taniquetil, eager to catch a glimpse of the Valië of Love and War in the flesh, for the rumor of her deeds, both good and bad, had even reached their ears. Those Teleri that had not accompanied their Lord to Middle-earth, boarded their vessels at Alqualondë, setting sail to Eldamar, as they too wished to see the Vala Queen that had aided their kinfolk in the battles with Morgoth in the Hither Lands.

When Ulmo neared Tirion, he turned toward the hill and saw the remnant of the Noldor, mostly women, exiting the great gate of their fair city, and making their way down the crystal stairway and to the nearby stables at the bottom of the mound.

Finrod, anticipating the Lord of Waters’ arrival, had kept watch for the Vala from the heights of the tower, Mindon Eldaliéva, which was part of the former abode of Ingwë, High King of all the Eldar, and where the Noldo currently resided. He was the first to leave Tirion, and was already atop his steed by the time Ulmo passed by the steps leading to their city. Riding alongside him, was a de-aged Tuor, who, it turned out, had reached the shores of Aman with Idril and become the first Man to be granted immortality, even before his son and daughter-in-law.

Not forgetting his friendship with Buffy, Finrod longed to attend the council with his people, the Valar permitting. While his people hurriedly mounted their steeds or hitched their wagons and carriages to their beasts of burden, he quickly caught up with the Lord of Waters, asking permission to attend the council.

Looking at his blood-splattered friend, the Noldo pleaded, “I know Bella well, having spent much time in her company whilst I dwelt in Beleriand. She is not one to strike unless provoked.” He narrowed his eyes. “My heart tells me that Morgoth is behind all of this. His malice knows no bounds, my Lord, especially when it comes to her.”

“I do not doubt your words, son of Finarfin. And if I have any say, I would have you there, for Bella will need the support of all her friends, however great or small,” answered Ulmo somberly. “It grieves me that she is to be put before the Ring of Doom. I fear that things will go ill, that Námo will show no mercy.”

“Then that is more the reason for me to be there!” demanded Finrod. “None here understands the horrors that she’s been through, but me! Not only have I witnessed firsthand the malice of Morgoth, but I was made to suffer cruelly at the hands of the enemy.” He fixed his sorrowful grey eyes on Buffy. “I wish to speak on her behalf, in her defense, for I know in my heart, that she’s merely a victim of Morgoth’s treachery.”

“I bid you to come then, Finrod. Perhaps Námo will let you speak your mind.”

Many of the Noldor had caught up with Ulmo and his companions, offering use of one of their wagons so that he did not have to walk the many miles to Valimar. The Lord of Waters gratefully accepted, feeling the weariness of his journey in his body, mind and soul. Still clutching the sleeping Slayer in his arms, he sat upon the bed of pillows that the elves had arranged in one of their vehicles.

From the dark Halls of Mandos departed Námo, his wife, Vairë, Nienna, his sister, and many of their servants. Námo would act in proxy on behalf of Manwë, who, after the Noldor went into exile, vowed never to depart Taniquetil for any reason, until the End of Days, when the final battle with Melkor had begun. The Lord of Mandos was to preside over the proceedings, since he was stern in mood and not easily swayed by his emotions. Only once in his lifetime had he been moved to tears, and that was upon hearing the woeful song of Lúthien Tinúviel. Though Buffy was his sister, he would give her a fair and impartial hearing, not allowing their kinship to affect his ruling.

From the magnificent Gardens of Lórien came Irmo, accompanied by his wife, Estë, and many of their Maia followers. With them also went Melian, who had returned to that place of healing after the death of Thingol. Upon hearing the tidings brought from Middle-earth, Buffy’s mentor felt the need to join her Lord and Lady at the council, speaking out on behalf of one whom she had come to love as a daughter.

In one of the parlors within the Halls of Aulë sat Yavanna Kementári, her sister, Vána, Yavanna’s daughter with Aulë, Nessa (and wife of Tulkas), and a handful of their handmaidens. They were sitting there when the bells sounded, informing them of the Slayer’s arrival and the approaching trial.

If there were any that could be named as Buffy’s nemesis in Valinor, it would be Yavanna. That Valië had no love for the Slayer, only enmity. Her resentment toward the Vala of Love went back ages, even before the making of Eä. She had not forgotten that her husband had asked for Luinil’s hand first, and had settled for Yavanna when he was rejected by Buffy, who had refused to leave the Timeless Halls and descend into the world when the others had. The Queen of the Earth viewed the Valië of Love as a seductress, a creature that used her womanly ways to seduce men to do her bidding. She was promiscuous, and a warmonger, who delighted in the sport of bloodshed.

As she sat there, huddled with her closest kinswomen, her heart became most bitter as she recalled things from times past. She remembered the wistful look on Aulë’s face before he had left with his people to begin construction of Folkvang, a task that took him away from her for centuries. He had worked feverishly on perfecting the mystical abode of his former lover, something that Yavanna Kementári dare not forget.

The Slayer’s arrival also brought to mind the time when Salmar had brought her a rose bush from Ossir, showing the Lady of the Earth the delicate flower created by the blood of Luinil. It was Yavanna that was the purveyor of all things that sprang from the earth, whether it be the wild grasses, flowers, or the trees that she coveted so. To see that the Vala of Love had created a flower with such an alluring scent, something that Kementári had failed to do, only made her livid. She had come to the same conclusion as Úrion before her - that the rose represented the Vala of Love. It enticed one with its heavenly scent, only to painfully prick them when they touched the thorny stem. She had destroyed the gift from the servant of Ulmo, and forbade any to plant or bring a single meril within the walls of Valimar. Only in the Gardens of Lórien could one see the magnificent creation of Maranwë Luinil, for Estë had become enamored with the rose, and on her isle within Lake Lorellin and throughout all her domain, there grew a bounty of roses. Yavanna believed that the wife of Irmo had done that out of spite, and no longer visited that fair place, which many deemed to be the fairest in all Arda.

Those factors, together with the tales that came from Middle-earth, caused the Vala of the Earth to voice her resentment toward the Vala of Love and War to any that would listen. Many ignored her diatribes, knowing full well that all she said was out of jealousy. Nessa was the first to be swayed by her mother’s rants, believing that one who had loved Melkor so dearly from the beginning must have some evil tendencies, and after the Slayer’s vicious attack on both Oromë and Thorondor, she no longer had any doubts.

Vána had always agreed with her sister. She always felt a pang in her soul every time she had encountered the Vala of Love when they had still roamed the vastness of time and space in spirit-form. Yet, after Luinil’s attack on her husband, she convinced herself that Buffy was a Vala of Wickedness. She believed that Oromë had thwarted the Slayer’s advances, only to suffer the consequences of having done so. She too sought retribution against the Vala Queen, and Luinil’s recent misdeeds made it even easier to convince their fellows of her guilt, and the need to banish her from Eä, or so she thought.

All the women rose from their seats, and together with their maidens, they began to make their way to the golden gates of their city, for on the other side, outside of Valimar, was the Ring of Doom. As they neared the smithies, the women heard the sound of a hammer striking metal. They knew that Aulë was inside, hard at work. The Vala Lord had heard the bells, but knowing that the council was still a couple of hours away, continued in his labors.

Yavanna stopped outside the opened doors to the building, listening to the relentless pounding coming from within.

“What is it, Mother?” asked Nessa, her face fraught with concern.

“I wish to speak to your father,” answered Kementári. “You ladies continue on. I’ll see you on Máhanaxar.”

The women obediently nodded in reply, continuing down the marble street.

Yavanna took a deep breath before entering the structure. She wasn’t looking for any type of confrontation. She was merely curious as to why Aulë had not put his hammer down. The Valië hoped that he would walk with her to the Ring of Doom, showing her the support she so desperately needed.

When she entered the chamber in which her husband was busily working, she felt a pang in her heart. It appeared that Aulë was constructing a new chariot for the Vala of War. Yavanna took yet another deep breath, this time, attempting to hold back the tears that she felt forming in her eyes.

“My Lord,” she said, clasping her hands before her.

Aulë ignored her, continuing to flatten the sheet of bronze that he was working with.

“My Lord!” she said a bit louder that time.

The Vala Lord lifted his head, and upon seeing his wife, laid his hammer to the side. “What is it, Yavanna?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“My Lord, did you not hear the bells? We’ve been called to council. Surely, you intend to be there for a meeting of such importance.”

Aulë took a long swig from his water jug, gulping down the refreshing beverage.

Yavanna tried to wait patiently for his response. Her worrisome green eyes kept darting from her husband to the vehicle he was constructing.

“All the Aratar must attend,” she continued, her patience running thin. “Save poor Oromë, my son.” She made a point to add emphasis to the words, ‘my son’ since Oromë was only her child, having sprung from her essence, and her essence alone.

“I’m well aware of the impending council, Yavanna,” answered the Vala Lord, slightly annoyed by her intrusion. He preferred that his wife not enter his workspace. With having so many things made of wood in that place, Yavanna had a tendency to complain that he had raped her forests, taking delight in crafting things from her beloved trees. She didn’t seem to understand that much of what he had made was out of necessity, and aided him in his labors. It was a never-ending argument with her that usually ended with his wife changing into a tree, refusing to talk to him for long periods. He found her behavior childish at times. Yet, on the other hand, it also gave him a break from her incessant need for validation of his love for her. Why must she continue to harbor jealousy over something that happened millennia ago? He loved her, not Luinil. The Vala of Love had rejected him, so he moved on. Why couldn’t Yavanna see that?

“I… I was hoping that we could… go together,” she stammered, upon noticing her husband’s furrowed brow. Was he thinking of her? she wondered. He seemed too quiet. “I feel it’s rather important that we show a united front, that we are together as one… that we both want to see justice served.”

The crease between Aulë’s eyes deepened, as he slammed his water jug back onto the table with a bang. The force caused several of his tools to bounce on the wooden surface. He felt his temper rising.

“I see that you’re ready to pass judgment of Luinil when you have not yet heard her side of the story…”

“Her side?” interjected the Vala Queen, her eyes wide with disbelief. “She stabbed my son! She killed Thorondor! What more do we need, other than to decide her punishment?”

“You amaze me, Yavanna,” answered Aulë, shaking his sweaty head disappointedly. “After all this time you continue to doubt my love for you.”

“This has nothing to do with your love for me!” she shot back angrily.

“No?” he queried, slightly stunned that she, of all people, thought that he could not see the truth within her heart. “You cannot hide your jealousy for Luinil from me, Lady. I can now see through the pretense of your visit to my smithy. You have come in hope of persuading me to condemn her without a proper trial. I find your vindictiveness most appalling. I would expect one of the Aratar to show Luinil some pity after all that she has been through, and listen to all sides before passing judgment.”

“She stabbed my son! She tried to kill him. Thorondor is dead! What more proof do you need of her guilt?” she exclaimed in a pain-riddled voice. Yavanna paused, attempting to keep her cool. “It seems to me, my Lord, that you have reached your own verdict before hearing her side. You presume her innocent when we know otherwise. Luinil is but a slayer of the righteous, a creature of evil that lures others to follow her blindly down the path of wickedness. How can you pity one whose moral depravity rivals only Melkor’s?” She narrowed her icy eyes at her husband. “I have now come to believe that it was she that had corrupted Melkor to do evil, for it was she that betrayed his trust.”

Yavanna’s words inflamed the Vala Lord. “You know not what you speak of, woman! If any here are blind, it is you, Kementári, for you know nothing of the world outside this realm. Here, you live in peace, to enjoy the bounty of all that Valinor holds. You do not go without. You have not suffered at the hands of the Enemy… ”

“Not suffered,” she protested indignantly. “My Blessed Trees are barren, withered from the evil that has been unleashed within this kingdom. If any have truly suffered from evil, I have!”

Aulë lunged forward, grabbing his wife by the shoulders. “You know nothing of suffering,” he hissed, his dark eyes narrowed in ire. “Let us cast you into the Hither Lands to wander alone, defenseless against our enemies. You may weep endlessly for the Two Trees, but I weep endlessly for her, for she has experienced such suffering, such pain… Who are we to condemn Luinil when we’ve turned a blind eye to her cries because of our scorn toward the Noldor? Tell me the justice in that, Yavanna.” He released his hold on the Valië, and returned to his worktable, picking up his hammer. “You have made my heart hot with wrath. Go now! Return to your gossip mongering maidens, and tell them of how badly I have mistreated you.”

Yavanna spun around, and stormed out of the smithy, furious at her husband.

Aulë took his anger out on the metal he was working with, destroying the panel that was to be part of the new chariot for Luinil.



By the time that the procession traveling with Ulmo reached Máhanaxar, most of the Valar and their people had already arrived. There, the Aratar sat upon their magnificent marble thrones that formed a circle within the structure referred to as the Ring of Doom. The Lord of Waters stepped out of the vehicle before carefully lifting the Slayer in his arms. He carried her into the building, flanked by the Eldar, who were indeed permitted to attend the council. As he went to place her in one of the vacant seats, Námo stopped him.

“Nay, Ulmo,” he said. “My sister is not here to pass judgment, but is to be judged. Lay her in the center of the Ring.”

Ulmo grudging did as ordered, laying Buffy gently on the circular green rug that lay in the center of the Ring.

“Remove her weapon,” instructed the Lord of Mandos. “Then you may wake her.”

All eyes remained fixed on Ulmo as he undid the clasp of the Slayer’s belt. The charms jingled faintly as he slid the mystical weapon into the pocket of his robes. Leaning over her sleeping form, he waved his hand over her face, calling her by her elven name.

“Wake, Bella,” he said softly.

The Slayer’s eyes popped opened. The face of an old man with brilliant blue eyes filled her line of vision. For a fleeting moment, she thought it was Luthor, but after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she realized that familiar face was not that of her father figure.

“I know you,” she whispered, not yet aware of where she was.

“Yes, yes, you do,” he replied with a smile, trying to make this most unpleasant ordeal less so.

“Ulmo,” she said, recalling her meeting with him centuries before. “You’ve come to help me. You’re… ” She stopped speaking when she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat, suddenly aware that she and the Vala of Waters were not alone. She made a move to rise.

“Let me help you,” he continued, taking her by the arm, and helping her to her feet.

As she rose, she immediately noticed the throng of people surrounding her. Her body tingled from head to toe, not realizing that that was the power of the Valar keeping her restrained. She would not be able to flee or to use her slayer strength against any. What little power she had, had been subdued.

“Are you alright?” asked the Vala Lord, looking at the Slayer with great concern.

Buffy didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to take in her surroundings. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, a definite sign of warning. Her heart began to thump faster and faster. Still slightly dazed by the effects of the spell, she slowly turned, only to see hundreds upon hundreds of faces staring at her. Blinking repeatedly, she thought that perhaps she was dreaming, for everything seemed dream-like, surreal. It would take her a few more moments to comprehend where she was.

As Ulmo made his way to his seat, she saw that she was standing in the center of what resembled a massive amphitheater, constructed entirely from white marble. Large tree-like pillars supported a domed glass roof, allowing one to see the puffy white clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky overhead.

Attempting to get her bearings, the Slayer’s eyes scanned the landscape that lay beyond the people, stopping on an enormous skeletal-looking tree situated on one end of a hill. The many spindly limbs were barren of leaves, its bark black as the darkest night. And she knew what that tree was. Shifting her eyes to the right, she beheld another, similar in appearance, for she now understood that those two mammoth trees were none other than Laurelin and Telperion, the Two Trees of Valinor. The lifeless Trees stood as a reminder to those in the Blessed Realm of the evil wrought by Melkor and Ungoliant in times past.

Realizing where she was, Buffy, for a moment, grew afraid. She, like Fëanor before her, saw herself surrounded by a ring of enemies, whose only goal, she believed, was to bring about her end.

Her recent experiences came rushing to her mind. The sudden anguish of all that she had lost hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to harden her heart. The Slayer’s eyes went back to those seated upon their thrones. Only three seats remained vacant, as those belonged to Manwë, Varda, and Oromë, none of whom would be attending the ‘festivities’, as she termed the events taking place in her mind.

By sight alone, she was able to perceive each and every Vala in attendance. She immediately recognized her kin, Irmo, Námo and Nienna. And though they looked upon her with much pity, she could only sense the brewing hostility emanating from Yavanna, Vána and Nessa (who stood between the seats of her parents). She could only think of how they had all abandoned her, forsaking her in her time of need.

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at those sitting upon their elaborate thrones. She deemed that they were the ones responsible for all the pain and sorrow that had befallen the people of Middle-earth. While the Valar wept over the decayed remnants of Yavanna’s greatest work, the Two Trees, they gave no thought or care to those suffering at the hands of Melkor Bauglir. Buffy saw her brethren as cold and indifferent to, not only her plight, but also that of the Elves, Man and Naugrim that had never set foot in their Blessed Realm.

She then did something that most did not expect, except a few, she laughed, a cruel and wicked sounding laughter that chilled many to the core.

Still turning slowly, she was able to focus more clearly on those Valar that were to judge her deeds or misdeeds, as it were. Her disgust grew even more, seeing the elves seated at the feet of her brethren. They reminded her of hounds, the ever faithful companion of Man, that sat dutifully by their master’s feet, waiting eagerly to carry out the next command, or to be shown the slightest bit of affection, a rub of their heads. It was a sickening display that she found most disrespectful to the elder children of Ilúvatar. Buffy would never have treated an Elf in such a manner. The sight of that alone incensed her.

“So, this is it, huh?” she scoffed, having locked eyes with Námo. “After all that I’ve done, busting my ass fighting evil, you decide to bring me here, to the Ring of Doom.” Buffy shook her head in disgust. “The irony of it all never ceases to amaze me.” She turned her gaze toward the dead Trees. “Those must be the infamous Trees of Valinor that the Noldor go on and on about.” She paused for a moment, as the tension built. “I’ve gotta say: Not impressed!” she added with a snicker.

Yavanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, seething at the Slayer’s insulting comments in regards to her precious creations.

Sensing the Vala Queen brewing in silence behind her, Buffy continued. “I find it remarkable that I’m here, really. After seeing what Melkor has done - how you’ve allowed him to claim the lordship of Middle-earth - you bring me here - for what? Was it the killing of Thorondor - or was it my gutting of Oromë?”

The Slayer’s nonchalant demeanor stunned many of the Eldar and Ainur alike. They remembered when Morgoth had been in the same position long ago, groveling at Manwë’s feet, begging for mercy. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand just how perilous of a situation she was in or care whether her words hurt those present. In fact, it almost seemed as if she was trying to instigate a confrontation - an act that they deemed was folly in and of itself.

Buffy waited for an answer. When it didn’t immediately come, she continued on, striking out at those around her. “Cat’s got your tongues?” she queried, slowly turning so that she could look each of the Aratar in the eye. She stopped when she faced Yavanna, feeling the deep hatred emanating from the Valië dressed in green.

The Vala of the Earth was the first to respond. Sneering, she hissed, “You attempted to kill my son.”

“Oh, damn,” Buffy replied, somewhat dejectedly. “He survived then?” She took a few steps forward, stopping before the throne of the Vala Queen.

Yavanna quickly looked to those sitting on either side of her, in hope that someone would stop the Slayer.

Buffy placed her hands on the armrests of the Vala Queen’s chair, leaning closer as she did so. Feeling the same dislike for the woman as Yavanna felt for her, the Slayer said, “Didn’t Oromë spring from your essence? Aren’t you his mother? Perhaps if you taught him manners, things would’ve been different. I don’t take it lightly when any man tries to get in my pants without an invite. He’s nothing but a rapist who got what he deserved.”

Yavanna was livid by the Slayer’s accusation, not believing it for one second. She wished she had the courage to strike the Vala of War, but thought better of doing so. Despite the fact that Buffy was half her size, the Vala of the Earth didn’t want her own actions to land her in the same position as the woman standing before her.

As luck would have it, Vána spoke up. “You speak lies! My husband would never disrespect any woman, much less one of the Valier.”

Buffy turned her eyes to the Valië seated beside Yavanna. Though her strength had been stifled, the power of her words had not. Believing that she had nothing to lose, she was going to take full advantage of the situation by demeaning those that were to judge her. And what better place to start, than with Vána, sister of Yavanna.

With a malicious glint in her eye, the Slayer pulled back from the throne of the Queen of the Earth (much to Yavanna’s relief). She fixed her eyes on Oromë’s wife, delighted that she was to be her next target.

“Ah, Vána, the Ever-young,” she began in an overly sweet voice, “the one who tends to the flowers in Valimar, right?” Her lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Tell me, Vána, how is it that the Valar institute laws for the Eldar to follow, but you find yourself exempt? Is it not written that none are to wed any closer in blood than third cousins?” A mocked expression of shock came to the Slayer’s face. “Wait a minute! I think we’ve got a law-breaker here.” She rubbed her chin, pretending to be thinking hard. “You’re Yavanna’s full-blooded sister, and Oromë is her full-blooded son - so that means that you’ve been fucking your nephew! No! No! Wait a minute. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. God damn, woman, Oromë’s like your sister’s clone. It’s like you’re screwing your sister! If that ain’t vile, than I don’t know shit!” She let out a derisive snort. “Hell, even Túrin and Nienor killed themselves when they discovered they were brother and sister. What does that say about you - oh, glorious Valië - when you find the deplorable act of incest perfectly acceptable?” Buffy turned to the other Ainur and loudly added, “And what does it say about you people? What kind of sick, twisted freaks are you?”

Vána burst into tears, fleeing the council. A few of her maidens took off after her.

With feigned innocence, Buffy asked, “Was it something I said?”

Rumblings immediately broke out throughout the crowd. While many knew how close Vána and Oromë were in kinship, they had never before thought of their union as incestuous. That is, until Buffy so eloquently pointed it out.

Basking in her moment of triumph, she turned her attention to the other Valar seated around her. “The truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, as you can see.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you to judge any, when you people have serious character flaws? You think that you’re holier-than-thou, when you ain’t shit!” she spat.

“I see that the venom of Melkor has poisoned your mind,” remarked Námo.

“Poisoned my mind, huh?” she chortled in response. “And just where is dear, ole Melkor?” Buffy sniffed the air in an attempt to pick up his scent. “I don’t smell him.” Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Come out, come out, wherever you are? Ollie, ollie, oxen free!”

Her voice bounced off the ceiling of the structure before fading altogether. Then silence.

“Huh!” she began again. “Imagine that!” She fixed her eyes back on Námo. “Why do I get the feeling that Morgoth isn’t here? What ill have I done to be put in the Ring of Doom before one who has done great evil here and in Middle-earth?”

“It is purported that you murdered Thorondor, most loyal servant of Manwë Súlimo and holiest of the Eagles,” answered her brother.

“Purported?” she repeated. “No, honey. I did it! I did the world a favor by getting rid of that propagator of lies.”

Upon her confession, Nienna began to cry, saddened that her sister thought so little of the Lord of Eagles, and had utterly no regard of his worth to the Valar. She was of the mind that having been in Middle-earth, exposed to the evil there, she had been corrupted.

“Cast her into the Void!” yelled out Yavanna, her body trembling with rage. “Luinil shows no remorse for her deeds, and has shown us nothing but contempt and disrespect.”

“I second that motion,” chimed in Nessa.

Buffy spun around, her eyes boring into the daughter of Aulë and Yavanna. “You have no say-so, girlie!” she snarled, frightening the young-looking woman.

Yavanna held her arm out protectively before Nessa, who skirted behind her mother’s throne. “How dare you speak with such impudence to my daughter! You are as callous as Melkor!” She turned toward her husband. “Say something, Aulë!” she demanded.

The mighty craftsman bowed his head, not wanting to get in the middle of the verbal sparring match between his wife and his former lover. It didn’t help matters that when he laid eyes upon Buffy, his thoughts turned to their relationship in times past. His heart was stirred to pity. Aulë could sympathize with the Slayer’s plight, for none of his brethren had the strength and fortitude to face the constant horrors in Middle-earth. Unlike his bride, he could not so easily dismiss the good that Luinil had done. Besides, she was the only Vala that had set eyes upon his beloved children, the Naugrim. And from what he had been told, she loved them too, even granting immortality to some to help in the construction of the Deeper Well.

“I knew it!” exclaimed the Vala of the Earth upon seeing her husband’s reaction. “You still have feelings for her. I see it on your face as clearly as day.”

Buffy saw a perfect opportunity to get in a verbal jab at Yavanna and wasn’t about to pass it up. How could she?

With the same malicious grin on her face that she had had when speaking to Vána, she locked her eyes on the Valië. “It must really grate on your nerves to know that Aulë settled for you, Yavanna. You were the runner-up at winning his affections. Now that I’m back… ”

A livid Yavanna leapt from her seat, towering over the much smaller form of the Slayer. “You… you most certainly are the Vala of Fornication!” she cried out, spittle flying from her lips. “I deem that you’re the one that brought evil into existence by using your feminine wiles to corrupt men of our kind who were once pure of heart. Death is the only befitting punishment for you, Luinil!”

Buffy, who found the whole thing quite amusing, cackled madly in the face of the Valië, incensing Yavanna even more. The Queen of the Earth could no longer restrain herself. She backhanded the Slayer with her Vala strength, sending Buffy flying backwards a good twenty feet before landing hard on her backside on the marbled floor. The strike was so hard that the Slayer could taste blood in her mouth, increasing the fury that she felt for her rival.

Gasps of shock rang out from the spectators within the Ring of Doom, having never before seen a Vala hit another.

Before Buffy could get to her feet, in a loud, booming voice, Námo said, “Enough!” He chastised Yavanna as Ulmo ran to the Slayer’s side.

The humiliated Slayer refused the Lord of Waters’ assistance. She pulled her arm from his grasp, hissing, “Traitor! You brought me here knowing damn well what was going to happen. Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me!”

A pained expression came to Ulmo’s face as he slowly backed away from an enraged Buffy. She climbed back to her feet, ready to throw down with Yavanna, but found herself unable to do so. That only made her fume even more. With her fists balled at her sides, she stood there, her chest heaving, staring down the Vala Queen.

Several of the Aratar reprimanded Yavanna for striking the Vala of Love.

When Námo had brought order back to the council, and the others had finally settled down, he commanded that Buffy face him. Powerless to do otherwise, she turned, facing her brother once again. He locked his dark eyes on her. The tingling sensation that she felt became more pronounced as he used his magics to put her in a semi-conscious state. She was awake and alert, but found herself unable to move, even a fraction of an inch. The tingling sensation gradually increased as each Vala focused his and her powers on the Slayer.

Then she saw it, the same thing as they: her entire life, from the moment she had entered Eä in the form of Buffy Summers. She found it impossible to stop the experience, which made her feel naked and vulnerable. Only the Ainur were able to witness these things, not the Eldar. They saw the good times and the bad, her triumphs and her defeats, those moments of great happiness, and the sorrow that always seemed to follow. The probing eyes of her kinsmen exposed every secret that she had kept hidden from all others. It was a terrifying experience, but one that would help the Valar to reach their verdict.

The Slayer didn’t know how much time had actually passed when they finished their invasive search. Once their magics were lifted, she was left feeling weak and ashamed. She fell to her knees before the throne of her brother, on the verge of tears. The only words she could use to describe the god-awful experience was ‘mind rape’. She had been violated, her deepest thoughts and feelings bared before a great number of people, people that saw her most private and intimate of moments.

From behind, she heard Yavanna’s derisive snort. The Valië of the Earth had a smug expression on her face, gladdened in her heart to see firsthand that her bitter rival had suffered so. She believed that not only was the suffering duly deserved, but also, that elements of the Slayer’s life had confirmed what she had always said: that Buffy was no good. Feeling high and mighty, she totally disregarded her son’s inappropriate behavior, believing instead, that the Vala of Love had brought that on herself.

Námo and most of his kindred looked upon the Slayer with pity, for they now perceived that Melkor was behind her woe, as he had put a curse on her like no other, a curse that would follow her throughout her entire life, only to devour her at the end. He now understood that she felt as if she had nothing left to lose, and that her brethren were to blame for all her sorrow. That led to his sister’s lashing out at those that loved her most - the Valar, her kin. The Lord of Mandos found that sad, sad and disturbing, for it seemed that Melkor’s obsession with Luinil had no limits, that he had made it his life’s goal to break her will, to make her evil, just as he was. He longed for a dark queen to sit by his side, whose abilities could aid him in becoming Lord of all that dwelt within Eä.

Now, Buffy herself was left feeling somewhat traumatized by the whole ordeal. She kept her head bowed, avoiding eye contact with any. After seeing her entire life played out in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t help but think of how she had forgotten about her life in America, and the loved ones that she had left behind. She had not thought of Willow, Xander, Dawnie, and Giles for centuries. To her, those memories seemed like a distant dream, one that had faded over time. She wondered how they were, if they were still alive, until she remembered that they had not yet been born into the world, and that it would be thousands of years before they would.

“Look at me, Luinil,” said Námo.

Buffy raised her head. A single golden tear escaped her eye, trailing down her face before hitting the carpeted floor.

“Alas! It is what I had expected,” Námo continued in a solemn voice. “You are merely yet another victim of Melkor’s malice. His possessiveness and lust for you prompted him to beguile you out of jealousy. He has misled you with visions of things that he wished to be, only to have you do his bidding, thus bringing his words to fulfillment.”

Hearing that Morgoth had pulled a fast one on her yet again stirred the anger within Buffy’ heart. She felt like a fool, suckered once again by the Master of Lies.

“Seeing as Melkor was the true culprit behind the death of Thorondor, I vote that we exonerate Luinil’s actions,” said Ulmo kindly. “Though she is responsible for the slaying of Manwë’s servant, she was under the impression that he had been conspiring against her. And we now understand that some of the information that Thorondor deemed true was, in fact, false.”

“I second that motion,” agreed Nienna.

“Nepotism!” shouted Yavanna. “You seem to overlook the fact that Luinil murdered Thorondor in cold blood! She decapitated him, for Eru’s sake! She should be held accountable for her actions! Melkor did not put the blade in her hand! She took it upon herself to kill one so pure and holy.”

Arguing broke out amongst the Valar, each attempting to out shout the others.

Gradually, their voices faded in Buffy’s ears, as she remained on her knees, thinking of her life that had played out in her mind only moments before. Her thoughts were not of her guilt or innocence, but of Melkor. After having been reminded of the events leading to the End of Days, she could see that the Valar would soon make the biggest mistake ever: casting Morgoth into the Void. Witnessing, once again, her battles with the First, (something that had evaded her mind for some time), she now saw that their punishment for him wouldn’t be good enough. He’d find a way back! Whether by his power or Ilúvatar’s will, Melkor would eventually punch a hole into this dimension, so that he could continue to sow the seeds of dissent amongst mankind, and water them with the blood of innocents.

She came to believe that that was the reason that she had been sent back in time, to fix this major blunder on the part of the Valar. It was all beginning to make perfect sense to her. This was the one opportunity for them to change the course of history, to give Man a fighting chance, to bring an end to the greatest evil that had ever walked the face of the earth. Morgoth, she concluded, had to die. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that that was the case.

Slowly, Buffy rose to her feet. She raised her head, as the arguing raged on. Only Námo and Ulmo remained quiet. They had focused their attention on her, watching her intently, perhaps even perceiving her thoughts.

Looking her brother in the eye, she said, “He has to die.” She wasn’t sure if her voice was lost in the din, but by the sudden change in Námo’s expression, she believed that he had heard her loud and clear.

“Silence!” he ordered in that booming voice of his.

Almost immediately, the others ceased their bickering.

“Who must die, Luinil?” he asked, cocking his brow.

“Melkor. Melkor must die.”

Nienna gasped at the suggestion, horrified by the thought of killing one of their kinsmen, even if that happened to be Morgoth.

Not one spoke. The Slayer could feel the thousands of eyes staring at her.

“Casting him into the Void isn’t good enough,” she continued, shaking her head. “I know that’s what you have planned for him. It won’t work. He’ll find his way back, and you don’t have the power to stop him. His evil spirit will roam this world, wreaking havoc throughout all the lands. We can’t let that happen. He must be stopped.”

“And you would have us slay the brother of Manwë, showing such little regard for our Lord’s love for his sibling?” queried Nienna, taken aback by the mere suggestion.

Buffy turned toward her sister. “Melkor doesn’t love Manwë. He doesn’t love anything but power. He’s a menace unto the world that must be destroyed.” She turned her attention back to Námo. “He must be taken out. You have to kill him.”

“And why is it, my sister, that you, who have had ample opportunity to do that yourself, have not?”

Buffy looked down at her feet, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”

“That is because it is not your fate to do so. Nor is it ours. You know that, Luinil,” answered Námo. “Deep down, you know that.”

“No!” she protested. “I don’t believe that! This has to be done now! You saw with your own eyes the evil he’s capable of, even when he can’t take bodily form. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is why I’ve been sent back in time - to fix this mistake, this mistake that you guys are about to make. Melkor must be destroyed!”

Rumblings broke out once again, yet, Námo remained quiet. The Slayer assumed that he was contemplating her plea, but that was not wholly true. Though Manwë Súlimo was not present, and remained in his Halls on Taniquetil, he and Varda both were able to see and hear all of the council. The Lord of Arda was conversing telepathically with Námo, instructing him on what to say next.

After a few minutes, the Lord of Mandos called the council to order. Fixing his eyes back on his sister, he continued.

“Though Melkor has wrought evil within the confines of Eä, he still remains beloved in the heart of Manwë, our Lord. Nay, Luinil, we cannot answer your prayer, for Manwë deems… ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” she interjected heatedly. “He’s evil! You’re an idiot if you’re just gonna sit on your ass and do nothing. You saw what he’s going to do. You can’t pretend otherwise. You people are supposed to be the Guardians of this world, the protectors of its inhabitants - then do so! This is your chance - your one chance to change all that is to happen afterwards. Do the world a favor and kill him!”

Without missing a beat, Námo narrowed his eyes and replied, “How quick you are to condemn one who, at times, has come to your aid. You give no thought to Manwë’s love for his brother, or his belief in Melkor’s redemption. You of all people profess to believe that there are those that can make amends for the ill deeds in their pasts, but refuse to allow Melkor that same opportunity... ”

Buffy attempted to interrupt, but Námo would have none of it.

“Silence, Luinil!” he barked.

She pressed her lips tightly together, seething at the words of her brother.

“Harsh are your words of condemnation! It appears that you think it an easy task to kill one whom our Lord loves dearly. Let us see how you react when put in the same situation, to judge one who has done ill. Can you slay one whom you profess to love so?”

A look of confusion came to Buffy’s face. “What?” she asked, unable to comprehend what Námo was saying.

“You shall be confronted with a situation similar to that of our Lord, and let us see how you judge the one that we consider a menace unto the world.” Námo raised his hand, and added, “The Valar have spoken!”

With a flick of his hand, Buffy felt her body suddenly jerk backwards into a vortex of swirling white light. She let out a fearful cry as her body spun out of control. She had no idea what was happening, nor the meaning of her brother’s words. Her body tingled all over. Her stomach churned and twisted until she finally found herself thrust out the other end. She landed, on all fours, onto a narrow, bricked road.

She let out a muffled cry, immediately noticing that her garments had changed. She was no longer dressed in the bloodstained shirt and breeches that she had worn before the council in Valinor. Instead, she found herself garbed in a beautiful red and pink gown, the kind wore by noblewomen during the eighteenth century. Confused and shaken by the unexpected experience, she slowly rose to her feet, having no idea where she could possibly be.

The Slayer looked around, surveying her surroundings. She found herself alone in a deserted alleyway between two three-story buildings. The oil lamps on the street up ahead already glowed dimly in the twilight. Gradually, her senses became sharper, she became more alert. The hair that covered all her body stood on end, portending danger.

Painful screams cut through the momentary stillness, causing Buffy to jump with a start. She whirled around, her eyes sweeping in all directions, half-expecting someone or something to suddenly spring upon her. She let out another soft cry when she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby window, doing a double-take when she noticed her appearance. She looked different. Totally different.

Walking slowly toward the grimy window in her dainty red slippers, she examined her reflection more closely. Half of her hair, which was now dark brown, had been pulled into an elaborate bun, the rest hung in spiral curls past her shoulders.

“Déjà vu!” she said breathlessly, feeling as though she was about to pass out.

Gasping for air, she realized that she was garbed in the same raiment that she had worn on Halloween back in Sunnydale centuries ago. She had seen that memory not long before, and the images of that costume was still fresh in her mind.

More screams rang out from nearby, but this time loud, boisterous cheers accompanied it.

Frightened, Buffy frantically searched the street for something that she could use as a weapon. When she noticed what looked like a piece of discarded newspaper at the edge of the bricked road, she made a beeline for it - hoping that it would reveal something about where she was, and why.

She picked it up, smoothing out the creases in the damp pamphlet. At the top was written: L’Amidu Peuple, the name of the publication. Below that, she read the headline in bold print: “La Morte! La Morte! La Morte!” Breathing heavily, her eyes searched for the date. She groaned again when she saw that it read September 3, 1792. It suddenly dawned on her, that the Valar had thrust her forward in time to Paris, France at the start of the reign of terror during the French Revolution.

A feeling of dread overcame her. Her mind began to spin from the shock. As a result, Buffy fainted, falling to the street, alone and vulnerable to attack…


Chapter 109 - BEAUTY AND THE BEASTS

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! The following chapter is rated “R” due to graphic and highly disturbing imagery. This chapter contains detailed depictions of rape and gore. The events contained herein are based on historical accounts. I’ve merely tweaked and embellished certain aspects to fit the context of this story. If you are easily disturbed by such imagery, I advise you to forgo the read. Consider yourselves hereby warned! And now, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure:


Chapter One Hundred-nine: Beauty and the Beasts



“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” said a manly voice, sounding somewhat hazy to the Slayer’s ears.

Stirring, she let out a throaty moan, as she began to come to her senses.

The blood-curdling screams rang out again, causing Buffy’s eyes to dart open in alarm. She gasped.

“Hello, Mother,” said the man crouching beside her. He smiled warmly.

Her breathing quickened, as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Did he just call me mother? Her mind was racing. She had no recollection of the ruggedly handsome face studying her own in the rapidly dimming light. Her eyes frantically searched his face, hoping that something would jog her memory. How was it possible that she could not recognize her own son?

Noticing the blank expression on her pale face, the man chuckled softly, pushing part of his long, dark hair behind his ear. “Damn!” he said. “Here I thought I was your favorite, but you don’t even recognize me! Jeez! I can feel the love!” he mumbled sarcastically. “But never you mind. Must be because I’m wearing my ‘street face’.”

The man’s face instantly morphed into that of a demon. His smooth skin turned grayish in color. It looked dry, wrinkly. She shifted her eyes to his. The iris had gone from hazel to grey. His pupils, which had appeared human-like before, now resembled slits, much like a feline’s. Over his left eye, etched into the flesh of his forehead was some sort of symbol - its significance held no meaning to the Slayer. At an angle, starting above his right eye ran a long, dark scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and ended in a swooping stroke along his left jaw line, a couple of inches below the ear. She knew, intuitively, that it was a painful reminder of a battle lost.

In this form, he seemed oddly familiar. It took a few moments for her to sense that they had one thing in common - blood. Her essence ran through his veins. He was a part of her, and Melkor. He was one of their beloved offspring brought into the world in ages past.

“Sah - Sahjhan?” she queried hesitantly, unsure if her guess was correct or not.

“Bingo! I thought that my true visage would jolt your memory.”

With a trembling hand, Buffy reached out, wanting to touch the damaged tissue with her fingertips. When her hand went through his phantom face, she quickly pulled it back. Sahjhan’s fey looked so life-like, resembling his bodily form in every detail that she could remember that she was stunned that he was not in his hröa.

“What happened to you?” she queried, confused more than ever. “Are you a ghost?” she continued, pulling herself to her feet.

He then transformed back into his human-like façade. “No, no. I’m no ghost,” he answered, rising to his feet as well. “We all have enemies, Mother. Mine have made me this way when I happen to enter this world. I can only come into this dimension in non-corporeal form. But I still have my time-shifting abilities. They couldn‘t take that away from me.”

“You’re a Time-shifter?” she repeated, her confusion not lessening in the slightest.

“I can watch this world from a multiple of dimensions. Thanks to you, of course,” he added with a quick smile.

She looked up and down the alleyway. It was empty, except for her and her demonic offspring. The only sounds were the continuous tormented cries that rang out in the ever-darkening sky, and the jeering roars of delight that seemed to accompany them.

“Why am I here?” she asked in hope that Sahjhan would be able to give her the answers she desperately wanted. “Only a few minutes ago, I was in the Ring of Doom, in Valinor, and… ” she stopped mid-sentence, turning her gaze back to the demon. “Did you bring me here? You said you were a Time-shifter. Are you behind all this?”

“I’m afraid not. Your brethren are the ones responsible, not me. But I knew you’d be coming, so I took it upon myself to be here when you arrived, to guide you, to show you what you must do.”

Still puzzled, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. Why here? Why now?”

“Because you’re the only one with the balls to get things done. And I say that in the most complimentary of ways. You have the guts to do the right thing, to see things through, unlike most of your kinfolk. The Valar don’t give a crap about what goes on in this world, about the evil creatures wreaking havoc on these poor, unfortunate, lost souls.”

“But you’re a demon! You like chaos and bloodshed,” she rebuked, recalling more clearly how her offspring had behaved in the First Age of Middle-earth.

“True, true. But only if I’m an active participant. It’s just not the same when I have to sit on the sidelines, acting as a bystander. Takes all the fun out of it, you know.”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. This is crazy. I’ve gotta be dreaming.”

“I’d pinch you, but, you know - can’t touch.”

“Why am I here, Sahjhan?” she asked, demanding an answer once and for all. “And no more beating around the bush. I’m not in the mood for your mind games.”

“Simmer down, Mom,” he replied, seemingly amused by the whole situation. “I’m getting to that.” He studied her for a moment before continuing. “What do you know about the French Revolution?”

Buffy stood there for a moment, staring incredulously at her offspring.

“Come on, now,” he continued. “I know that you remember what led to this most historic of uprisings.”

“Not much,” she snapped. The Slayer wasn’t in the mood to think about history or battles, past or present. Hell, to her, the War of Wrath had only just ended, and that was a fifty year battle. All she wanted was a one-way ticket back to Lindecoa where she could surround herself with those whom she loved. She didn’t want to be here any more and still didn’t have a clue as to why. “I just want to go home.”

“Why, you are home,” Sahjhan laughed. “War’s taking place and you are the Goddess of War. This is where you’re meant to be… ”

“No!” she protested, shaking her head. The heaviness in the air only added to her growing uneasiness. “I don’t wanna be here!”

“Then just smite these vermin like you did those in Jericho and you can be on your merry way.”

“Jericho? What the hell is Jericho?”

“Christ! Don’t you remember anything? Did the Valar wipe your memories yet again?”

Buffy stared blankly at the demon. With the Valar thrusting her forward in time to the Fourth Age, she had no memories of the things that had taken place from the second year of the Second Age to now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I just want to go home!” Her eyes began to well with tears. “I don’t like it here.”

“Tough!” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m disappointed that you’ve gone all soft on me. You were once a fearless warrior. The enemy trembled when they saw you on the battlefield.” He began to circle her. “What happened? Why have you gone all princess on me? Is it the clothing? ‘Cause if it is, we can do something about that.”

The Slayer remained frozen, as darkness settled upon the city. The oil lamp at the intersection of the main street cast the alley in shadows. The air felt cooler, chilling her.

“I can sense that your magics have been stifled? Why? What evil have you done to bring that about, again? Or do the Valar get their jollies by fuckin’ with you?” Sahjhan let out a derisive snort. “Hindering your magics and then throwing you into a frenzied mob? Mm-mmm… What the hell did you do to piss them off?”

“I killed Thorondor,” she answered, staring ahead.

“Thorondor? The Eagle? But that’s been millennia ago.”

“I told you that I was in the Ring of Doom right before I came here,” she said between gritted teeth.

“Geesh, no need to be so testy. I’m your ally, Mother, not your enemy,” said Sahjhan, stopping before her. He cocked his head, listening to the chorus of screams that shattered the night. “Listen to that. Howls of pain. It’s music to my hears.”

Buffy frowned, but made no reply.

“We all know how history can be manipulated, re-written. Hell, we’ve both done it to serve our purpose.” He leaned forward, smiling. “You know, show us in a better light,” he chortled. “But now, at this moment, in this place - there’s an uprising taking place by those that have seized power that will change history forever - if - you let it. They will re-write these events, making it palatable to the masses of later generations, who will look upon these events as one of the noblest of battles. But that’s not true, Mother. The cup overfloweth, and the dregs have risen to the top.”

“The peasants,” Buffy began, recalling what she remembered about the French Revolution, “the peasants rose against the monarchy.”

Sahjhan laughed. “The peasants are being slaughtered along with everyone else. And this is just the beginning, the beginning of the Reign of Terror, the likes that haven’t been seen in centuries. At least, not in the ‘civilized’ world.”

The Slayer’s heart was racing. The hair that covered her body continued to stand on end. Danger and death lurked around every corner. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. Oh, how she longed to return to the safety of her Halls.

“Why do you care?” she asked, her mouth dry from the impending doom that she felt awaited her.

“Why do I care?” he repeated. “Because my sworn enemy is here. And even if you don’t possess great magics - you’re still the Slayer. So slay! Do what you were born to do. Kill the barbarians. Kill them all.”

“You’re trying to trick me, just like Melkor did,” she said faintly. “I’m not gonna let that happen again.”

“Ah, daddy dearest. He’s here, you know. Like me, he has no body, but his spirit is alive and calling the shots.”

Buffy swallowed hard. Her body began to perspire upon hearing that Morgoth was in Paris. “He’s… he’s here,” she stammered.

“Oh, yes. And he has summoned his servants from far and wide. All have congregated here. Paris is the hub of evil.” Sahjhan fixed his eyes on his mother. “His goal is to wipe out your allies, so that you are alone. Religion is being mocked, and those that profess love for the Allfather… well, let’s just say, it’s no picnic for them.”

“What?” Buffy could feel the blood draining from her face. Her skin was sticky with sweat. Her slayer senses were kicking into overdrive and her stomach was churning most uncomfortably.

“Let me open your eyes to a world you haven’t seen for quite a while. Then, you can see whether you feel that these monsters deserve to be shown your mercy… or your wrath.” He smiled. “I’m sure hoping it’s the latter of the two.”

One moment, Buffy and Sahjhan were standing in the darkened alleyway, the next they were both standing atop the roof of some building. The horrific screams and drunken shouts that she had heard earlier became clearer, louder. They were close, so very close.

“We’re standing atop the Abbay de St. Germain des Prés, a noble institution,” began Sahjhan, turning to his mother. “This church houses your devotees, the ones that carry out your laws. Look!” he said, pointing behind her.

She turned to see a cross affixed onto the structure behind her.

“Your symbol still. But now, they make a mockery of it.” With his head, he motioned towards the ruckus coming from below. “They loathe it, as much as they do you. This war is about your destruction. Look down, Mother. Look down into the courtyard and see what the monsters are doing to your people, to your priests, to your loyal acolytes.”

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. The noise from below was more than enough. She could imagine what horrors were taking place, and didn’t want to see them firsthand.

“You must. That’s the only way you can truly grasp what’s going on, and what shall continue, unless you stop it.”

Buffy felt her blood go cold. She slowly crept forward, taking a few deep breaths in hope that that would help prepare her for what she was about to see. She peered over the edge. Her stomach instantly became queasy, her eyes widened to twice their normal size, as she looked down upon the atrocities taking place below.

The orangey-blue light of the scattered bonfires illuminated the grisly scene within the garden’s courtyard. Ruffians, dozens of them by her count, were brutalizing the holy men of the church in the most horrific of ways. They savagely pummeled the good men, using both their fists and shovels. The wailing cries of the holy men caused Buffy to shudder, as some of the hooligans sodomized the priests with not only their own sex organs, but also with blunt-tipped objects and the severed limbs of those that had been dismembered.

Of the four men that were being heinously tortured, one in particular caught her eye. Perhaps it was seeing him naked, on all fours, with a severed arm protruding from his anus, in which one of the villains took great pleasure in ramming the bloody appendage in and out the man’s rectum, thrusting a bit deeper each time, so that the old man cried out in agony. He was an elderly man, probably in his seventies. His nude body was bruised, gashed, and streaked with blood. He was held in place by three other savages, who, along with their comrades, cheered and howled with glee with each pitiful cry that came from their quarry.

Standing before the old priest was a tall man with greasy black hair under his red cap. He was a menacing figure, even by Buffy’s standards, one whom you wouldn’t want to meet on a deserted street. The sleeves of his dark shirt had been torn at the shoulder, revealing muscular arms that glistened with both sweat and blood. His erect penis had been freed from his breeches. He looked on at the old man’s abuse with a lasciviousness, which, in itself, should have bought him a one-way ticket into the pits of Hell. The brute’s excitement was growing with every second. Nearing his climax, he grabbed a handful of the priest’s hair with one hand, forcing the old man’s head upward, as the other continued to rapidly stroke his shaft. When the elderly priest screamed out in pain, the fiend unleashed his load onto the holy man’s face. The villain’s seed ran down the old man’s nose, dripping off the tip.

“Now, that’s amore!” snickered Sahjhan.

Buffy ignored Sahjahn’s most inappropriate comment, but found herself unable to take her eyes off the scene below.

Once the masturbator’s moment of bliss had passed, and he had caught his breath, he looked down upon the priest whom he still had in his clutches. “Where is your God now?” he bellowed in a thick Eastern European accent. “Renounce Him and I shall let you live another day.”

In an act of defiance, but of unwavering loyalty to the Allfather, the elderly priest’s demeanor changed. He no longer cried or whimpered, nor struggled with his captors. He looked the barbarian in the eye and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer in a broken voice. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy name, thy Kingdom come, thy will… ”

That’s as far as he got before the savage kicked the old man in the mouth, knocking out several teeth. He then snatched an axe from one of his companions, raising it over his head. “God is dead!” he spat, before cleaving the priest’s head in two. Like rabid beasts, his fellow hoodlums began to tear the old man apart. The scene was vile. Wicked. And one that made Buffy sick.

When she went to turn away, she noticed that hundreds of other people that lived within the Abbaye were lined up beside the church, forced to watch the cruelty inflicted upon those whom they loved, until it was their turn to face their doom. Their silent prayers were lost amongst the din.

Degenerates that had been wandering the streets, drunken on drink and the acts of blasphemy and brutality that they found most erotic, began to pour through the gates, joining the revelry. The butchery would go nonstop until dawn the following morning.

As Buffy backed away from the roof’s edge, she heard another thug demand of the next victim, “Do you renounce your God or will you die in His name?”

She vomited, the bile spewing from her mouth, since there was nothing else in her stomach. Although she could sense that there were demons amongst those down below, most were human, a thought that made her wretch all the more.

“This is but the beginning of what’s to come. Destroy them. I know you have it in you. Let this scum pay from their blasphemy.”

The Slayer wiped the stream of saliva from her lips, trembling from head to toe. The carnage was reminiscent of what she had encountered in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and Numeira long ago. She had thought that man was beyond that, that they had found Eru Ilúvatar, and clung to His godly ways. But that proved far from the truth. For when one is brainwashed with heresy, snubbing the divine laws that govern Man, then evil follows, for they no longer believe that there are consequences for the evil deeds which they commit.

“These are lies,” she said faintly, spitting out the remnants of the bitter bile in her mouth. Narrowing her eyes, she looked up at Sahjhan. “Your father would be proud of your trickery and guile. But, I won’t be fooled again.”

“You wish to live in a bubble just like the rest of your kindred, refusing to see what’s really going on,” he retorted. “Why live in the real world where wickedness runs rampant, when you can hide yourself in your Blessed Realm, turning a blind eye to the torments that plague mankind… ”

“Don’t tell me you give a shit about them!” she interjected with a snarl. “There’s more behind this that you’re not telling me. Evil is as evil does!”

Buffy was too traumatized to notice the malicious glint in Sahjhan’s eye.

Seeing now the perfect opportunity to put his plan in motion, Sahjhan continued with a sneer, “Mmm, that is true. Evil is as evil does - I like that! Let us see how you fare when confronted by one whom you have professed your love for, doing just that! One unspeakable act leads to another.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she spat, still feeling her stomach twisting and turning from the sickening sight she had witnessed only moments before.

“Evil is as evil does. Don’t forget that, most benevolent, Inanna Ishtar. For you’re about to get a taste of it.”

With a wave of his hands, the Slayer instantly vanished from the rooftop. She reappeared only a moment later in a different section of Paris. An unruly mob had descended upon some building, (which turned out to be the La Force Prison, though she didn’t know that at the time), dragging out the inmates that had been housed inside. To her dismay, many were women and children who were judged to be lawbreakers, when in reality, they weren’t. They were condemned to a fate worse than death, as paranoia had seized hold of those in power, and in fear of losing the power they had gained, sought to destroy all that stood in their way.

There were no police in the crowd, no armed militia, no guards from the prison, only ‘ordinary’ people, garbed in the fashion of that time. These were the ‘peasants’ that Buffy had read about in history, but the fiendish acts they were committing had never made it into modern history books, and she saw such horrors that frightened her beyond belief.

The prisoners were being ripped apart, their heads paraded around the court on pikes, as the frenzied mob danced and sang. The women, who were no noblewomen indeed!, bared their breasts for all to fondle, presenting themselves to any that had the nerve to stick their private parts into such a creatures hole. Some wore the entrails of their victims as though they were some lavish shawl or boa, chewing on the ends as they danced. Blood and the contents of the intestine ran down their chins, heightening their excitement.

Men molested the boys, some that looked as young as six. As they violated these children, others hacked away at their bodies, the violators not caring that their victims were no longer alive. The monsters’ goal was to find release, and they didn’t stop with the raping until that had happened.

And while that seemed vile enough, other men took their pleasure with the severed heads, ramming their penis’ into the mouths of the slain until they reached their climaxes. And the women were just as bad. Many masturbated with the severed hands of men, women and children.

It was despicable. Deplorable. Evil. Yet, sadly, humans made up most of the crowd. They had sunk to a new low, a low that Buffy found unfathomable.

As she slowly backed away, she nearly lost her footing. The street was slick with blood and the visceral fluid of the dead. The shouting, the screaming. It was bone-chilling. The stench of death in the air mingled with that of sex and brandy, which flowed as freely as the blood of the slain.

She then noticed a gang of men brutalizing the body of a woman. The headless corpse was being raped and sodomized at the same time. While those two fiends did the deed, others carefully cut off the breasts with their sharp knives. They then hollowed out the tissue, using the breasts as drinking vessels for their alcohol.

Men’s testicles were severed from their bodies by women, who then placed them on fishhooks and dangled them from their earlobes as though they were making some gruesome fashion statement. Some sliced off the men’s flaccid sex organs, licking them as if it were some sweet treat.

A fight broke out over that one female corpse, the one which the Slayer had seen the breasts removed from. Her body was horribly mutilated, eviscerated, cut in half above the waist. She had no idea that that had once been the Princess de Lamballe, a loyal friend and confidante to Marie-Antoinette. The Princess had fled Paris earlier, seeking help from her aristocratic kin outside of France, only to return out of loyalty to the Queen, to be at her side until the end. How cruel fate was to her, and what pain she must have endured before her fey finally fled its hröa.

No words could truly capture what Buffy was witnessing. No words could describe the stench that lingered in the air. It was putrid. Vile. Yes, vile seemed to be the closest word she could think of to use in her descriptions. Sahjhan was right. If she had had her magical powers, she wouldn’t have hesitated to smite Paris from the face of the earth. And though innocents would die, it would be a better death than what she was seeing before her very eyes. How wretched a creature Man can become. Was this their version of freedom? Was this what they envisioned as a republic? How quickly these people allowed the darkness within them to manifest itself into the most heinous of beasts! That Man had so easily been corrupted into committing such acts of revulsion would earn them a one-way ticket to Hell. She hoped they’d pay dearly for their sins. And if they were to ever set foot in her Hall of Judgment - she would doom them with the same fate that they had delivered unto their victims for all of eternity. That was just! A befitting punishment that fit the crime. Damn them all. Damn them all to Hell!

With her head spinning, her stomach churning, and her heart aching for those victims, the Slayer continued to back away from the spectacle. She had no idea if it was still Monday, the third of September, or if Sahjhan had sent her forward in time. In reality, he had not. It was still the same day, or rather night.

A thought then occurred to her. She noticed that she was dressed in garments more reminiscent of those being slain than those doing the slaying. How long before they noticed her? And Eru only knows whether she’d meet the same fate of those that had been ripped apart by the frenzied rabble.

“Sahjhan,” she called, continuing to ease her way backward, praying that no one spotted her before she could flee. “Get me outta here.”

Nothing. No response. No demon coming in to rescue her.

“Sargon,” she then whimpered, hoping that her mortal lover had the power to teleport her to Folkvang.

Nothing.

“Oh, God,” she said, becoming teary-eyed. “Help me!”

She then felt two hands seize her roughly by the shoulders; the heavy stench of booze engulfed her. “Why, I’ll help you, mon chérie.” The thug standing behind her was rubbing his erection along the small of her back, as he tightened his hold on her, his hands swiftly finding their way to her chest.

Buffy freaked, but was momentarily paralyzed with fear. The brute kissed her neck, the stubble on his face scratching her delicate, soft skin.

Feeling a surge of strength run through her limbs, she murmured, “Fuck this!” before delivering a reverse head butt to her captor. The hairclip flew from her head, her long, dark hair fell in waves over her face, obscuring her vision. The crack of their skulls meeting only caused the brute to lower his arms to her stomach, squeezing her tighter, expelling what breath she held within her. She then resorted to digging her fingernails into his hairy arms, drawing blood as she ran them along his leathery skin.

He moaned, a deep throaty moan that sent shivers down her spine.

She then brought her head forward, nearly to her chest, before flinging it back, nailing him in the nose. That time, he eased his grip, allowing her the opportunity to deliver a kick to his knee, which finally granted her freedom. Seeing as there were hundreds, if not thousands, congregated in the streets, the Slayer did the only logical thing - she ran. She ran as fast as her little legs would take her, knocking aside all in her way.

She had no idea which way she was going. But she turned right at the first street she came to, running as the sounds of the fiendish hordes became less and less. Buffy turned again and again, not really paying attention to where she was going. Her goal was to put as much distance between her and the mortal dregs that she could.

When the cramps in her side became unbearable, she glanced over her shoulder to see if any still followed. None were. Grateful that she was able to escape, she stopped, attempting to catch her breath. The sudden adrenaline rush had caused her to perspire, the cool night air, chilling her. Her heart was pumping so fast and loud, that it nearly drowned out the noise from the lunatics, blocks away.

The Slayer tried to get her bearings, to take in her surroundings. Realizing that she was in another alleyway, she was about to turn and leave, when she heard the sudden sound of a bottle rolling along the bricked street. She froze, listening hard. She was not alone. She heard grunting coming from the end of the alley. Was someone hurt? Was some innocent passerby lying near death, alone, in the darkness? Perhaps, someone, like herself, had managed to escape the rioting crowd, and found their way here, to the deserted alley. She had to investigate. If they were hurt, she could help. If they were evil, she could deal with that too. But to be on the safe side, she wanted a weapon. If she encountered a demon in mortal form, she wanted to beat it with more than her fists.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she searched the debris scattered about the alley for something that could be used as a weapon. Something shiny caught her eye. She quickly ran toward it. Sticking out from beneath a crumpled up pamphlet was a piece of metal pipe about eighteen inches long. It was perfect. She tightly clutched the cool metal in her hand before turning her attention to the groaning sounds that continued to come from the depth of the alleyway. Slowly, and cautiously, she stepped toward the sounds, unsure whether she’d encounter friend or foe, but prepared for either.

Her vision became clearer, sharper. She was able to make out a man standing near the back wall. His head was bent over; his dark hair fell over his face, concealing his identity. He was moving, doing something, grunting all the while.

Buffy’s eyes shifted lower. When she saw what he was doing, she stopped dead in her tracks, horrified by what she saw. Immediately, she recognized the clothing - he was one of those men fighting over the corpse of that woman that turned out to be the Princess. Apparently, he had won the gruesome tug of war match.

Vomiting a little in her mouth, she saw that the man was fornicating with what was left of the Princess’s body. His fingers dug into the flesh of her bloodied hips, since there was nothing else of her trunk left that he could grab hold of. Her only intact leg dangled at an odd angle, having been broken in several places. It was the only way Buffy recognized that it was the same woman that she had seen earlier outside the prison. Her other leg had been cut off at the knee. The man was thrusting the remnants of the corpse faster and faster on his manhood. Buffy swallowed that bile that made it to her mouth, shocked and horrified that she had happened to come upon yet another ghastly scene.

The man let out a deep growl when he climaxed, letting the mutilated remains fall to ground when his deed was done.

Perceiving that he was not alone, he flung back his head, revealing his demonic visage.

Buffy gasped. Her body went numb. The pipe slid from her fingers, landing onto the road with a clatter. Then silence.

“Angel,” she uttered breathlessly. She stared at the vampire in shocked disbelief.

A twisted grin came to his face, as he slipped his member back into his breeches. “Heard of me, huh?” he said with his very pronounced Irish accent. “Although I do prefer Angelus - sounds less… angelic.”

The Slayer remained frozen. She couldn’t believe that she was standing face to face with Angelus and that she had just witnessed her ‘former’ lover fucking an honest to goodness dead body. Her eyes darted to the mangled carcass on the ground.

Angelus followed her gaze. “Always wanted to do a princess,” he said amusedly. “Me thinks she’s like the rest of her noble kind - a dead fuck.” He laughed a creepy sort of laugh that made the Slayer shudder.

“Brings new meaning to the phrase, ‘piece of ass’,” quipped Buffy, finding her voice.

The vampire fixed his gaze back on the Slayer, looking her up and down. “Why, you are a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” he began, slowly approaching her like a predator stalking its prey. “How is it that such a fair lass, such as yourself, has survived the violent masses?” He came to a sudden stop, deeply inhaling the air. “Ahh! A Slayer. I feel your power, missy. How tragic that your time has come to an end. One Slayer dies, next one Called.”

Buffy shifted her stance slightly, holding up her balled fists, ready to take on Angelus. The shock was beginning to wear off. She had to remember that this was Angelus, not Angel. “Don’t count me out just yet.”

WHAM!

Buffy’s eyes rolled backward as she fell to the street in a heap - out cold from a single blow. She had been so focused on Angelus that she hadn’t sensed his partner in crime’s approach from behind, nor the fact that the weapon she had dropped earlier had been picked up by said evildoer.

“I beg to differ,” said Darla, dressed in her fineries, even down to the powdered wig that was in vogue at the time. She looked down at the woman sprawled on the ground. “A Slayer. Master will be most pleased!” She shifted her bright eyes to her vampire lover. “He’ll surely forgive you and welcome you into the Order for bringing him such a gift.” She smiled. Her eyes twinkling with delight as she discarded the pipe. She stepped forward, onto the unconscious form of Buffy, closing the gap between her and her lover.

Angelus looked lustily at Darla. “I don’t seek forgiveness from your Master. He can rot in Hell for all I care.” He wrapped his arms around his beloved, pulling her close before nibbling at her neck.

“This is Hell, lover. Our Hell to command as we like,” she purred, her excitement growing with his touch. “Settle your differences with my father and I’ll make it well worth your while.”

“Promise?” he cooed in reply, morphing back into his human-like façade.

“Have I ever broken my word to you?”

Angelus chuckled. “There was that time in 1765, when Holtz and his gang of hunters chased us from Arles… ”

“Oh, but, my sweet boy, I didn’t lie to you. I left you. Just for a while, any way.” She placed her hands lovingly on his cheeks. “And that’s in the past.” She licked her lips provocatively before adding in her most seductive voice, “There’ll be chains… and whips… ”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” He turned his gaze to the unconscious Slayer. “Such a pity to turn a creature of such beauty over to the Order.”

“You think she’s beautiful? Really?” queried Darla, lifting a brow in disbelief. “I wouldn’t take her as your type.”

“Just a figure of speech, love.” He looked lasciviously at his partner, eyeing her breasts, which seemed to be struggling to pop out of the top of her low-cut gown. “I prefer me women blonde… and with a little bite.” He caressed her cheek with his blood-stained fingers. “But it would be such a shame to hand over a Slayer without so much as a taste, don’t ya think?”

“Aurelius would be most displeased if she were fed upon,” she replied, turning her gaze to Buffy. “He gave his orders.” She looked back at Angelus. “She is to be brought to him, alive and unspoiled.”

“Ah, but a little taste won’t do no harm. How ‘bout it, Darla? Never tasted the blood of a Slayer before.” His dark eyes looked pleadingly at her.

She sighed. “Alright, but just a taste.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiled, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before turning his attention to the knocked out Slayer.

Angelus knelt between Buffy’s legs. Placing his hands on her flesh, he slowly eased up her dress as Darla looked on with amused interest. “Her skin is smooth. Warm, so warm. I can feel the strength coursing through her body.” He continued to hike her gown up, using his knee to spread her legs wider apart.

The smile quickly faded from his lover’s face. “Just hurry it up, Angelus,” she said, slightly annoyed by his commentary. “At this rate, dawn will be approaching before we know it.”

The vampire ignored her. He was instantly smitten by Buffy, and was savoring the moment. “So much power. So much strength. So soft. She will taste sweet. I can tell already.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sweet as honey. Get on with it already, Angelus. Time’s ticking away here!” barked Darla, no longer attempting to conceal her displeasure.

With a wry smile, he glanced over his shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me that my Darla’s jealous, jealous over a Slayer.”

“My patience is running thin, my dear boy,” she threatened in her ever-sweet voice. “If you do not hurry up, I’ll change my mind and will take her back to the Order without your having so much as a nibble.”

“Then I best get on with it.” His face turned back into its vampiric form. Leaning over, he sank his fangs into Buffy’s femoral artery. She didn’t so much as flinch from the deep punctures to her leg, but remained perfectly still, insentient to all.

He found her blood intoxicating as it rushed down the back of his throat. Angelus had never tasted any blood that came close to that of a Slayer. It was beyond delicious, unrivaled by anything that he had ever eaten, whether as a human or most certainly as a vampire. He felt as one with her. He could feel her heart beating, feel the blood gushing through her veins.

“That’s enough,” said a fuming Darla, placing her hands on her hips, frowning indignantly at her lover.

Angelus couldn’t help himself. The beating heart of the Slayer drowned out his companion’s words. He wanted her, to turn her, to make her complete - like him.

“I said, enough!” spat Darla, grabbing hold of the vampire’s shoulder, jerking him away from Buffy. Angered by his insolence, she tossed him across the alley with ease.

Angelus collided with the stone wall of the building before landing on his back, beside the remnants of the Princess. He was dazed, not from the impact, but from Buffy’s blood.

“One little taste and you’re on your way to draining the girl,” mumbled Darla under her breath. She pulled Buffy’s gown down before heaving the knocked out woman over her shoulder. “If there’s hell to pay for this - it’s on you, Angelus. I’m not taking the fall for you. Not this time.”

With the Slayer in tow, she began to storm out of the alleyway, livid at her lover.

Angelus turned his gaze to the remains of the Princess. “See, this is why I was attracted to you, Mademoiselle. You gave me no lip, unlike that one there.” He leapt to his feet in one swift motion, licking the blood from his lips, watching as Darla stomped down the alley. He sighed, glancing down at the remains once again. “Farewell to ya, Princess. It’s been nice knowing ya. Gotta fix things with me Darla now.” He started after his lover, mumbling, “Hell to pay, my arse.”


Chapter 110 - VILLAINS

Beneath the city of Paris, Darla and Angelus were making their way through the vast tunnel system towards the underground lair of the Order. Though engulfed in complete darkness, their vampiric eyes were able to easily pierce the gloom of the dank passageways.

They heard the voices from those within the main chamber long before they saw the first bit of light from the torches that illuminated the immense interior room.

Darla’s excitement grew with every step, knowing that the Master and Aurelius would be most pleased that she was bringing them the Slayer. She knew her reward would be great, and hoped that this would restore the Master’s confidence in her, and bring peace between him and Angelus at last. Her father was still wroth over Angelus’ cheek some years before.

The guards posted outside the chamber, caught the scent of Buffy as the couple drew near.

“The Slayer,” said one with amazement, eyeing the two in disbelief. “You found her.”

“Hands off, or Angelus here will rip them off,” warned Darla in an overly sweet voice, steering the unconscious form of Buffy away from his outstretched hands.

“You’re not trying to steal my Darla’s thunder, are ya?” queried Angelus in a low, threatening hiss.

Unnerved by the mere presence of the young, volatile vampire, the guard took a step back, shaking his head emphatically before standing at attention once again. He didn’t want a confrontation with one whose penchant for death and destruction was fast becoming legendary in the underworld.

“That’s more like it,” added Angelus with a wry smile, patting the guard roughly on the shoulder.

The guard sighed with relief when the two passed by. The Master could deal with Angelus’ incorrigibility, not he.

The room exploded with the elated voices of many, delighted to see the mighty gift that the lovers’ had brought. Luke quickly brushed the goblets of blood off one of the tables, freeing up space for an unconscious Buffy.

“The Slayer! The Slayer is here!” exclaimed one of the congregants.

“It is just as Aurelius had foretold,” shouted another.

“Blessed be this night!” cried out those highest-ranking officials within the Order.

The news quickly reached the Master, who was in another chamber at the time of Darla and Angelus’ arrival. He stepped into the room just as Darla flung the still knocked out form of Buffy onto the wooden surface of the table. A huge grin adorned his creepy demonic face. He deeply inhaled the fresh scent that invaded his den, both surprised and overjoyed that his Darla was the one that had successfully captured the Chosen One. If only she didn’t have that wretched scum with her. However, he could overlook that. At least, for the time being.

“The Slayer,” he said, his voice instantly bringing silence to the dozens gathered in his lair. In a blink of an eye, he was across the room, and standing over the still form of Buffy. The smile swiftly left his face. “She’s been tasted,” he sneered, quickly turning toward Darla, his eyes narrowed in anger.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Master,” replied the woman nervously. “I… I tried to stop him, but… ” She bowed her head in shame, as the vampire turned his wrathful gaze to Angelus.

“I should’ve known that you would be the one to defy orders,” he spat, backhanding Angelus and sending the vampire consort of his daughter flying across the chamber. “How dare you defile the girl!”

Angelus pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Rubbing his stinging cheek, Angelus cackled, “You can’t expect me not to have a little taste when she oozes such… ”

The Master was on top of him before Angelus knew it, pounding him with his fists. “You’ve tainted her with your bite, you vile and despicable creature… ”

“Enough!” said the bellowing voice of another.

The Master immediately froze. Still clutching Angelus by the front of his shirt, the vampire’s eyes widened upon hearing the commanding voice from behind. He gave one last threatening look to his bleeding adversary before leaping to his feet. He turned, facing the newly arrived visitor.

Standing within the mouth of one of the tunnels stood the menacing form of a demon. His yellow, lizard-like skin glistened in the firelight as his red eyes darted from the spectacle to the woman on the table.

“I wish you hadn’t witnessed that,” apologized the Master, slowly making his way toward the hulking figure.

“If you cannot keep order in your own house, perhaps you are not capable of handling your duties as Master of Rituals,” said the demon, turning his gaze back to the vampire.

“No, no,” answered the Master somewhat fretfully. “That one there,” he cast a contemptuous look at Angelus, “he’s trouble. Not a member of the Order by any means - merely Darla’s new plaything of the century.”

Darla kept her head bowed, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Immortal’s emissary.

Quickly turning the conversation away from the debacle, the Master motioned toward the Slayer. “Is she the one, the one that your Lord has been searching for?”

Giovanni approached the table, his blood red eyes scanning Buffy. He placed one of his monstrous hands on her forehead. “It is.” He smiled as he pulled his hand away. “Bella has returned at long last.” Reaching into the pocket of his blue robes, he pulled out a hypodermic needle filled with a milky-like substance.

“What’s that?” asked the Master, watching as Giovanni stuck the needle into the carotid artery of the Slayer’s neck and plunged the fluid into her bloodstream.

“Something that will keep her docile.” He lifted his gaze to the vampire. “Aurelius has been given his orders. The Slayer is not to be bound by leather or chains. This is all that is needed.” When the glass tube had emptied, the demon withdrew the needle and slid it back into his pocket. “Have her brought above ground. Prepare for the anointing ceremony. My Signore is on his way.” Giovanni glanced back down at the Slayer, smiling again, before turning and leaving the chamber.

The Master’s tension lessened as soon as the demon disappeared into the tunnel from which he had stepped out of minutes before. The last thing he wanted was to cross the Immortal, who had worked tirelessly to see to it that the Slayer was in Paris at the start of the month-long celebration of St. Vigeous.

Trying to quell his temper, the elder vampire balled his fists, his dagger-like fingernails piercing the flesh of his palms. If not for his love for Darla, he would’ve killed Angelus on the spot. “Your foolhardiness nearly cost me my post, boy,” he began, facing Angelus once again. He glanced at his daughter. “Get your conquest out of my sight,” His eyes then darted to her lover. “If you cross my path again, I will kill you. Not quickly, but slowly. You cannot fathom the power I wield… ”

“Oh, yeah,” retorted Angelus, scrambling to his feet. “Looks like big and ugly nearly scared the piss out of you. You don’t seem so tough to me, pops!”

“Darla!” barked the Master. “Get him out of here, or else… ”

The threatening tone of his voice was enough for Darla to grab her lover, and flee the lair of the Order.

“Imbecile,” muttered the Master. “If that’s the future of our kind, then we’re doomed as a race.” He shook his head in disgust, then ordered his minions to take Buffy to the surface, to the Halls of Aurelius.



Buffy started to come to. She felt groggy. Her mouth dry. With her eyes still closed, she licked her parched lips. The back of her head throbbed with a dull pain.

“Sahjhan,” she mumbled, still licking her lips. “Take me home.”

As her senses became more alert, she heard many people talking quietly. She couldn’t distinctively hear what any were saying. Their voices sounded muddled. A strong odor of rotting flesh combined with vinegar invaded her nostrils. It was a putrid smell that made her stomach queasy. She scrunched up her nose in revulsion, breathing through her mouth instead of her nose.

Her thoughts quickly turned to what she had last remembered - seeing Angelus in the alley, fucking a dismembered corpse. They spoke. Then nothing. In her dazed state, she deduced that he had not been alone, that someone had crept up from behind, striking her on the back of the head. The enormous knot on her skull was proof of that.

But where was she? And why did she feel so lethargic, numb even? Had she been drugged or was she experiencing the aftereffects of the blow to her head? What horrors awaited her once she opened her eyes? Would she see others doing the same thing as Angelus - an orgy of the dead screwing the dead? And where the hell was that foul odor coming from?

She opened her eyes just a little, surveying her surroundings through squinted eyes. Her vision was blurry, not clear enough to see anything other than fuzzy blobs. The Slayer blinked several times, hoping that would clear her vision. It helped, yet her eyelids remained heavy, droopy.

No one seemed to pay her any mind. She focused on herself first, immediately noticing that her clothing was different. Instead of the fancy ball gown she had had on earlier, she now wore a slinky, red, low-cut silk dress. She found herself seated in a chair, unbound. Her hands dangled over the curve of the armrest.

Lifting her gaze, she scanned the massive room and its scores of occupants. Demons co-mingled with humans. She could sense both now. The occupants had broken off into smaller groups, drinking and talking. All were cloaked in robes of various colors. Most had their hoods pulled over their heads, hiding their faces. Still suffering from foggy-brain, she couldn’t make out what any were saying. Not one voice stood out amongst the throng.

Buffy knew that such a group of characters had to be up to no good, and that she had to get out of there, pronto. She tried to lift her butt from the seat, but couldn’t budge a muscle. No matter how much she tried, she found herself unable to move. Only her eyes and mouth seemed unaffected by whatever magicks were used to confine her to the chair. Now, she understood why there were no leather straps holding her in place. Someone or something had the power to do that instead.

Sahjhan’s earlier words sprang to mind:

“Ah, daddy dearest. He’s here, you know. Like me, he has no body, but his spirit is alive and calling the shots… He has summoned his servants from far and wide… Paris is the hub of evil… His goal is to wipe out your allies, so that you are alone.”

“Melkor,” she whispered under her breath. He had to be the one behind this. But why? Her thoughts shifted to the Valar, and their stupidity at having thrusted her forward in time, ignorant of all that had transpired during the Second, Third, and what had to be the Fourth Age.

She then remembered what Námo had said before sending her on this new journey:

“You shall be confronted with a situation similar to that of our Lord and let us see how you judge the one that we consider a menace unto the world.”

What the hell does that mean? she thought to herself. Was Námo referring to Melkor or was it Angel, or rather Angelus?

Her mind was racing, attempting to make sense of her current predicament. She now wished that she had asked Sahjhan who his sworn enemy was, and if that somehow involved her.

Think, Bella, think, she demanded of herself. So many thoughts were swirling in her mind that they became as muddled as the voices within the room. She was beginning to panic, realizing that she was alone in a den of foes.

Once again, her eyes scanned the room and its occupants, hoping that she’d find some clue as to what was to come next.

Gruesome and horrific portraits depicting battles waged between various demon clans and humans graced the walls of the large room. Between these paintings, tacked to the plaster walls, were various banners. There was one with a sun and three stars that she remembered represented the Order of Aurelius. If it had not been for her recent trip down memory lane in the Ring of Doom, she wouldn’t have recalled that. Another was black, unadorned. Since she was fresh from the First Age, she instantly recognized Melkor’s banner. Shifting her gaze further still, she saw a flag with a red shield trimmed in gold. That held no meaning to her, having never seen it before. Her eyes continue to scan the walls, stopping on another banner, which showed a wolf, ram and hart morphed into one. That seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen that or what it represented. Beside that was another banner. In the center of a blue field was a long, twisted staff with a silver starburst at its tip. She had no recollection of that whatsoever.

A falcon perched beside a set of double doors momentarily distracted Buffy’s examination of the massive room. It nosily fluttered its wings before settling back down.

Her gaze then went back to the crowd. She looked more closely at those that did not have their heads covered. She was oblivious to the fact that there were many notable ‘Revolutionary’ characters within the room. Her eyes stopped on one such creature. She could tell that he was a demon disguised as a mortal. He went by the name Jean-Paul Marat, and was a major force behind, not only the Revolution, but also the Reign of Terror. His paper, (the one that Buffy had found in the streets earlier) was the propaganda machine for those in power. He was also the head of the Committee of Surveillance, the same committee that arrested innocents and allowed them to be ripped apart by the frenzied mobs.

He was a disgusting individual to look at. His greenish-tinted flesh was covered with open sores that leaked a vile odor, smelling like death itself. Many had assumed that Marat was in the last stages of syphilis, when in actuality, his demonic form was beginning to manifest itself through his mortal disguise. Wrapped around his toad-like forehead was a dirty red bandana. Apparently, the strong scent of vinegar was emanating from him. The nasty looking creature was so repulsive to his comrades that none stood too close to him, not even demons.

The Slayer’s eyes then stopped on another, a mortal, a real mortal. He was unattractive and had bright red hair. That was none other than Joseph Fouché, a man that would later go down in the annals of history as the Father of the Police State. He would become a horrific lynch man for the republic, and a thorn in Buffy’s side.

Standing in another group was an attractive young man when compared to the others in the room. Yet, looks can be deceiving. Though he was an honest to goodness human being, his heart was blacker than any monster. He was Louis Saint-Just, the right hand man to Robespierre, who would soon earn the nickname, “Angel of Death,” from his countrymen.

Saint-Just was speaking with the Director-General of Finance, Jacque Necker, whose sole purpose as an agent of a powerful banking dynasty outside the country, was to destroy France’s economy from within. From what little the Slayer recalled about the Revolution, he was doing a damn good job. In their group was also huddled one of King Louis XVI own kinsmen, the Duc d’Orleans, another parasite that took great pleasure in the destruction of his kindred’s regime. He was a drunk and a notorious womanizer, who passed most of his days in the brothels of Paris. Yet, deep down, he secretly hoped that the republic would fail, and that he would take up the scepter of France.

Before Buffy’s eyes could move on to the next fellow, a set of double doors to her left suddenly sprang open. The falcon let out a startled cry before zooming out of the room, and over the heads of the cloaked figures standing in the doorway.

A hushed silence swept over the occupants, as they shuffled to the side, making a pathway for those newly arrived. In the quietness of the room, she could hear the gurgling and cooing of an infant. When the half dozen cloaked figures entered the room, she saw that one was pushing a bassinet.

The Slayer’s heart began to thump loudly in her chest, the blood rushing through her veins. She knew what the child was for, and tried once again to leap to her feet. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t move. Her body remained frozen. She turned her eyes to the ceiling, which had been painted to resemble a star-spectacled midnight sky, praying for Ilúvatar’s aid.

Breathing hard, she watched as the villains slowly approached. Their hoods were pulled so far over their faces that she couldn’t see who they were. The only part of their bodies exposed was their hands, and she could clearly see that they were not humans, but demons. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end. One of the men was chanting something. His voice was so low that it was inaudible to even her Vala ears.

The bassinet was placed a couple of feet in front of Buffy’s seat. One of the monsters reached in and pulled out the infant, which immediately began to cry. The creature then held the child aloft.

“Accept our offering, Lord, for we are your most humble servants,” he stated. He then lowered the baby, holding it in the crook of his arm. The demon then pulled back his hood.

Buffy was dumbstruck when she saw that it was the Master. Her mind instantly flashed back to the time when he had killed her in Sunnydale long ago. The vampire was still able to strike fear into her heart. She looked on in horror as he sank his fangs into the pinkish flesh of the screaming infant.

“Blessed be this day,” said the others in unison.

The infant flailed its little feet and hands, his cries chilling the Slayer to the bone. The Master then snapped the child’s neck, the sound echoing within the room. He then placed the dead baby back into the bassinet. He allowed the blood from his puncture marks to spill onto his finger. He then stepped closer to the Slayer, holding out his blood-covered digit.

“With the blood of one young and pure, I anoint thee,” he said before smearing the warm blood on her forehead. “For the stars are aligned and the time of the Union between Dark and Light shall soon commence.” The Master marked a star on her skin. “And the Gods shall tremble in fear, for a glorious new power will arise, and wreak havoc upon the world. As it is written, so shall it be.” He gave Buffy a sinister smile before licking the remnants of blood from his finger.

Someone then banged a staff against the floor three times. The crowd immediately fell on bended knee, bowing their heads in reverence to the tall, cloaked figure standing in the doorway. Only the Master remained standing. He pulled the bassinet to the side, as the cloaked man made his way toward the Slayer. When he reached the side of the Master, the old vampire dropped to one knee, picked up the hand of the newcomer, and kissed the ring on his forefinger.

“All is ready, my Lord Aurelius. The Slayer has been anointed.”

“That is well,” answered Aurelius before turning to the congregants. “You may rise, children of darkness, for our time has come. We are now the rulers both above and below ground.”

The others rose to their feet.

The Master then questioned, “And he is on his way, the - ”

“He is in route as we speak,” interjected Aurelius, cutting off the words of the Master. He turned, facing Buffy once again. “It has been a long time since we’ve last met, Bella.”

The voice of the tall man before her sounded oddly familiar, but she was so traumatized by the murder of the infant that she couldn’t clearly place the voice.

“Rumor has it that you’ve been in the Colonies all these years.” He snickered. “How can you, of all people, go against the monarchies of old? It is heresy, a disservice to all that we’ve done.” He leaned closer, whispering, “Who will protect your people now that you’re gone? America will fall. I will see to that, personally.”

“Who… who are you?” she stammered, eyeing the figure with trepidation and confusion.

“Do you not know? Tell me, Bella - how can you forget me, of all people?”

The stranger lowered his hood.

Buffy gasped, shocked beyond belief to see that Mablung was standing before her, and that he was a vampire.

“No,” she groaned. “This can’t be.”

A smile came to his face. “I see that you recognize me after all.” He then backhanded her hard across the face, sending her toppling out of her chair. “Did you think I had forgotten about Randiel?” he spat, spittle flying from his lips. “I swore that I’d get my revenge and that day fast approaches.”

The Slayer lay in a heap on the floor, unable to move. She felt the burning sensation in her cheek, and tasted blood in her mouth.

“Aurelius,” said another cloaked figure in warning.

Mablung took a deep breath, instantly regaining his composure. He turned to his minions and barked, “Take her to her chamber. None are to enter, save me. I want guards posted outside the doors. Bella can be a tricky bird, and I do not want her to escape.”

Buffy was then picked up off the floor and carried out of the room.



Meanwhile, a lone carriage under heavy guard went speedily down one of the streets leading into Paris. Inside, sat the Immortal, but he was not alone. Seated opposite him was Morgoth in spirit form. The evil Vala glanced out the window, staring at the glow of the city still some miles away.

“You should’ve traveled by dragon. Much quicker.”

“It would draw too much attention, attention we cannot afford right now,” answered the Immortal.

“They will fail in their task,” proclaimed Morgoth, turning his demonic eyes to his servant. “She will flee and we will begin the game of cat and mouse, yet again.”

“Good,” replied Allandro. “Then we will kill all those that harbor Bella. The more allies she loses, the better off we’ll be.”

“I am tired of waiting. That’s all I’ve done… for millennia!” complained Melkor Bauglir.

“All I ask of you is to be patient, my Lord. The Merging will take place and the Covenant will be fulfilled,” answered Allandro, trying to conceal his annoyance with the Dark Lord. “I’ve done everything in my power to see to it that Bella would come here. And she did. She will have nowhere to run. The borders to this land are under heavy surveillance. There is no escape.”

“And these associates of yours, those mortals, they have been rounding up her allies,” continued the evil Vala.

“Yes, my Lord. They will be sentenced to death to ensure that she will no longer have their aid.”

“I do not trust them. Mortals. They are a weak and lowly breed that can easily be swayed against us,” mentioned Melkor uneasily. “I’ve seen it too many times before.”

“Yet they constantly seek power, and wealth. Men will do most nearly anything to obtain them - even slaying their own kin. Do not underestimate those under my command. They are loyal to you.”

Morgoth looked back out the window, and sadly added, “She is the Vala of Love. They flock to her. Always have.”

“We have struck quickly at the churches. We have seized them in Paris and will throughout the rest of France. She cannot flee there. Where else will she go if those most loyal to her are awaiting their executions in prison?”

Melkor turned his gaze back to Allandro, eyeing the man suspiciously. “She has been known to turn my followers against me. Have you forgotten that, my old friend? Have you forgotten about the power she wields, magic or no?”

“You’re being paranoid, Melkor,” answered the Immortal.

“And rightly so,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been seeking the capture of Melisse for thousands of years, yet, somehow, she always manages to slip through my fingers.”

“Well, you are non-corporeal,” Allandro replied with a snicker. “Kind of hard to grasp anything at all, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is that a joke? Was that a joke at my expense?”

“I tried,” replied the Immortal with a shrug of his shoulders. “Relax, my Lord. Bella will not escape. Not this time. The Covenant will be fulfilled at long last. I assure you of that.”

“It better, or there will be hell to pay… and that includes you, Allandro.”



Buffy was taken downstairs to a private chamber, and tossed onto the bed. Her captives then left the room. She heard the clicking latches of the many locks on the other side of the door. Her eyes scanned the sparsely furnished room. Everything was decorated in black and red. The only light came from a creepy chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The morbid light fixture appeared to have been made from a dozen human skulls. Candles burned within them, their light casting eerie shadows on the dark walls.

Directly across from her, hanging on the wall, was a portrait. In fact, it was the only artwork in the entire chamber. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the painting. She soon realized that the portrait was of none other than Daehir, the first vampire that she had encountered in Middle-earth back in the days when she had dwelt in Doriath. She found it strange to look upon his image so many years later. She wondered what had happened to him, and if he would also be making an appearance. After seeing Mablung, whom she believed dead, anything was possible.

As she lay there, paralyzed, her eyes continued to inspect every inch of the room that she could see without turning her head. From the corner of her eye, she could make out that there were two windows covered by thick, black velvet drapes. If only she could move, she could escape her prison.

Each second seemed like a minute, each minute seemed like an hour. The Slayer had no idea how much time had passed during her silent isolation. The longer she lay there, the colder she became. Goosebumps covered her entire body. How she wished she could pull a blanket over her naked shoulders and arms. Instead, she shivered in the dimly lit room, waiting nervously for the villains to make their next move.

She could do nothing else, but think. She still didn’t understand Námo’s last words to her, and she was still reeling from the blow of discovering that Mablung was a vampire. She wondered when that had happened, as she, herself, had buried him after the sacking of Menegroth.

Before long, Buffy found herself drifting off to sleep. She was almost out when she suddenly heard the latches of the locks clicking. Her eyes darted open. Someone was about to enter the chamber. She felt her heart rate increase, the hairs on her body stood on end. She made another desperate attempt to move her limbs, but remained motionless. She locked her eyes on the wooden door, expecting Mablung to enter. She watched as the doorknob slowly turned. The door let out a mournful creak as it opened. She was right. It was Mablung. He closed the door behind him. The Slayer could hear the clicking of the locks once again.

“Do not fear me,” whispered Mablung, giving her a reassuring smile. “I am not here to hurt you, but to help you.”

A puzzled expression came to Buffy’s face.

“I am not who you think I am,” he continued, making his way over to the bed. “I am a friend… well, more than just a friend… I am your ally, Ishtar.”

Buffy would’ve raised her brow in doubt if she could have. Instead, she looked at the villain with suspicion, wondering what new con job was being played on her.

“You do not believe me, I see,” Mablung continued with a soft chuckle, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I understand. Perhaps this will bring you some comfort.”

She watched as Mablung’s form instantly changed into that of a blue, scaly demon.

“Coruon,” she said softly, remembering how her offspring had helped her escape Gothmog long ago.

“I know that things must be… difficult for you at the moment, but do not worry too much. Help is on the way.” He cast a quick glance at the door before quickly adding, “I do not have much time. I fear that the real Aurelius will be down shortly.” He reached into the pocket of his robes, digging for something. “Do not think that you have no friends in Paris. Nothing is further from the truth. The cavalry is being marshaled as I speak, and we’ll get you out of here very soon.”

“Why am I here?” she asked, perplexed by her newfound predicament.

“Here?” he queried distractedly, as he pulled a small round box from his pocket.

“Yeah, here. In Paris. What is it that I’m supposed to do? I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Ishtar, but I do not have time to get into details,” Coruon replied while unscrewing the lid. “Olofin has given me orders to… ”

“Olofin? Olofin’s here?” she interjected anxiously, excited to know that her son was nearby.

It was the demon that now looked at the Slayer warily. “My dear Lady, Olofin traveled with you on the ship from America. How could you forget such a thing?”

“No, no he didn’t,” she protested. “No one seems to understand that the Valar brought me here. They brought me here at the start of the Second Age. I was in Valinor before I came here.”

Coruon jerked his head with start, listening intently to something that Buffy could not hear.

“What? What is it?”

“He’s coming.” The blue demon quickly lifted the Slayer’s head from the pillows. “This is not the time or the place for explanations. Olofin made this remedy for your ailment. It is derived from the coca plant and will counter the effects of the poison that was given to you.” He placed the box of white powdery substance beneath her nostrils. “Sniff. Sniff hard.”

As she snorted as hard as she could, she could see that Coruon had changed back into Mablung’s form.

“It will take a little while for the effects to kick in. Just be on guard. Be at the ready,” the demon advised as he gently rested her head back on the pillows, wiping all evidence of the powdery substance from the outside of her nose. “I must go.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, searching his eyes with her own. “Don’t leave me.”

“I must. I’m sorry.” With that, Coruon got up and made his way to the door. He gave three loud knocks before twisting the lid back on the circular box and shoving it into his pocket. Only seconds later, the door creaked open. Buffy’s demonic offspring disappeared without so much as a backward glance.

An uneasy feeling swept over her. She wasn’t sure who was coming. But, if it were Mablung, wouldn’t the guards posted outside the room question his returning so soon? The Slayer feared for Coruon’s safety. It seemed obvious to her that he was acting as a spy for her side, and worried that his visit with her would expose him as a traitor amongst the Order.

In the meantime, all she could do was wait, and hope that Olofin’s powdery substance would swiftly revive her languid limbs. She kept her eyes fixed on the door, expecting to hear latches clicking open at any moment.

Several minutes later, she finally heard it - the door unlocking. Her heart began to race once again, but this time it was from the remedy, not anxiety. The middle finger on her right hand twitched ever so slightly. She took that as a sign that her mobility would soon return.

Sure enough, Mablung entered the room. Once again, the door closed, followed by the sound of the clicking locks.

“I see that you’re sill resting comfortably,” began Mablung, clutching his hands behind his back. “Good. Good.”

The Slayer made no reply, but looked at the vampire in the most hateful way.

He smiled, revealing his fangs. “Do not fret, Slayer. You will not be alone much longer. Soon our esteemed guest will arrive and The Covenant will finally be fulfilled.”

“The Covenant?” she repeated.

As he walked slowly toward the bed, he said mockingly, “Did I stutter? Or is it that you’ve become denser with age and no longer recall the pact you made with Melkor?”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Indeed,” he answered, stopping at the foot of the bed. “My Lord has waited many long years for the heir that you promised him. And tonight, of all nights, that shall come to be.”

“Morgoth can’t father a child, dumb-ass” she snickered. “His fey can’t procreate.”

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, my dear,” said Mablung with a malicious glint in his green eyes. “Melkor’s essence is quite powerful. He only needs to merge with one of his most trusted servants, one who’s from the race of Ainur. Then he will be able to fulfill his part of The Covenant, and the miracle child will be born.”

“What’s in it for you, huh?”

“Why, my sweet, I get you… after the birth is complete, of course,” he added quickly. He turned, facing the portrait on the wall. “Then I will have my turn to cause you the same pain that you’ve brought to me and my kindred over the years. St. Vigeous will be most pleased to see his killer brought to justice.”

“St. Vigeous?”

“Daehir,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “You remember when we hunted him down like some rabid beast? How unwise I was back then. Young and foolish.” Mablung shook his head, before turning his gaze back to the painting. “Vigeous’ death will be avenged. Finally.”

While Mablung’s back was turned, Buffy discovered that she was able to flex her foot. She remained cool and collected, not wanting the vampire to know that her strength was beginning to return. She needed to keep him distracted, to buy her some time.

“You were a good man once. I’m sure Thingol would be saddened to see what you’ve become.”

“Thingol,” he repeated with a snort. “I haven’t heard that name in ages.” Mablung turned to face the Slayer, a contemptuous look on his face. “He was a fool. How it sickens me that I willingly sacrificed my life protecting his treasure. He was no noble Elf. He was greedy. Lustful. And that cost him his life, and mine. The Naugrim did the world a favor by killing him. As far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance!”

“You don’t mean that. I know there’s a part of you still in there, Mablung, a part of you that… ”

The vampire quickly moved to the Slayer’s side, towering over her. His long, silver hair shimmered in the candlelight. “Mablung is dead! He has been for ages. I am Aurelius now and it would do you good to remember that. Speak not that foul name to me again or I shall rip your tongue out.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s one part of your body that Melkor has no need of.” He let out a derisive laugh.

“You’re nothing, nothing but Morgoth’s lackey,” she hissed in reply.

His green eyes flickered with anger, as he made a move to strike Buffy, stopping himself just shy of making contact. He quickly withdrew his hand, shaking his finger scoldingly instead. “You almost had me there.” He stood tall, clasping his hands behind his back again, proudly proclaiming, “I am the leader of my kind. The Order of Aurelius is the largest and most powerful vampire sect in all the world. I am The Great Prophet to those in the underworld.” Mablung smiled, cocking his head slightly to his left. “I owe a bit of that to you and your tales of old. But, that’s beside the point. Soon the time will come when I will have the opportunity to try out my new methods of torture… on you. You see, you’ve managed to evade capture for forty forevers, but what the others fail to realize is that in order to kill the Slayer, you have to love her. And in that respect, I’m the Chosen One.”

A sudden rapping on the door interrupted Mablung’s boastful ramblings. As he made his way across the room, Buffy couldn’t help but think that he was nothing remotely like the Elf that she had once loved. He was nothing more than a demon, plain and simple. She had to keep that in mind. The real Mablung was long gone, and had been for thousands of years.

The door cracked open, allowing a falcon to come zooming into the room, circling above the bed, near the ceiling. The Slayer assumed the bird was looking for a place to perch itself as the door slammed shut.

“Come to daddy,” coaxed Mablung, wrapping the bottom of his cloak around his arm several times for additional padding. The falcon landed on his outstretched arm. With his free hand, the vampire Elf pulled a neatly folded paper from the leather pouch attached to the bird’s leg. The falcon then flew across the chamber, landing on the curtain rod above one of the windows.

Buffy watched as her captor carefully unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the message.

A wide smile came to his face. He shifted his gaze to the Slayer. “It shan’t be long, my sweet. I’ve just received word that Melkor and his emissary are only minutes away. The Merging draws near.” He closed his eyes for a moment, softly uttering, “Blessed be this day.”

The Slayer was beginning to freak. She still couldn’t move more than a fraction of an inch, and now Melkor was nearly there. She hoped that she could play to Mablung’s ego in an attempt to save herself.

“So that’s it. All this effort to get me and you’re just gonna hand me over to Morgoth,” she said, the desperation in her voice evident. “I remember you, Aurelius. You’re a legend. Not just a great seer, but a mighty warrior.” She paused. “But it’s not you. Morgoth didn’t choose you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“This Merging thingy that’s gonna happen. He didn’t choose you to merge with. What does that say about what he thinks of you? You’re nothing to him. We can change that. We can unite together, against him.”

Mablung walked over to the side of the bed, laughing. “I’ve always said that you’re a tricky bird. You fail in your attempts, Bellaseth. You may have the gift of persuasion when it comes to mortals, but it does not work with me. I am loyal to Melkor and will do his bidding, for my reward will be great.”

The falcon flapped its wings, taking off from the curtain rod. It landed on the floor behind the vampire.

“Melkor’s the Master of Lies. You know that,” she continued, looking at Mablung from the corner of her eye. “How can you think, for one minute, that he’s just gonna hand me over to you. And you call me dense?” she added with a snicker. “You’re the one who’s become stupider with age, not me.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” he exclaimed, puffing out his chest. “I am the Lord of Vampires, the greatest of my kind.”

“You’re a dope. A puppet. And Melkor’s pulling the strings. How does that make you feel, Mablung?!”

A look of hatred came to the vampire’s face. “You shall die for you insolence, whore! I am no… ” The words died on his lips. He gasped, his eyes bulging bug-eyed. Standing behind Mablung was Lalwen, wearing Buffy’s old falcon coat. Her hand clutched the end of the stake that she had just plunged through the vampire’s back, piercing his heart. A second later, dust rained down onto the floor.

“Hello, Bella. Good to see you again,” said the elleth cheerfully, twirling the stake in her hand before shoving it into her pocket.

“Lalwen!” Buffy gasped in surprise.

The woman brushed the dust from her coat before sitting next to the Slayer. “Can you move yet?”

“Not really. Just a little.”

“Alright. We have to get you out of here. Melkor’s on his way.” She reached back into her pocket, pulling out a syringe. “Olofin said that if you weren’t strong enough to give you a little bit of this juice.” She grabbed Buffy’s arm, sticking the needle into her flesh.

The Slayer winced.

“Sorry,” said Lalwen. “We don’t have much time.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“We have that figured out.” She pulled the needle out. “We need to change clothes.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about all this,” continued Lalwen, pulling off her coat. “Our timing was a bit off, but we’ve mustered our strength.”

“I… I don’t understand… what’s going on,” said Buffy struggling in her efforts to move.

“Long story,” replied Lalwen, now pulling off her clothing.

“How bout telling me the condensed version?”

“Melkor’s here. What more do you need to hear?” She pulled her sweater over her head. “Can you move yet?”

The Slayer pulled herself into a sitting position. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. She touched her aching head, feeling the lump at the back of her skull. She winced again.

Before she knew it, Lalwen was naked and was now helping Buffy out of her gown.

“What’s going on Lalwen? I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to trade places, Bella. You take the coat and flee, and I’ll remain here… ”

“But they’ll see that you’re not… ” Her words faltered as she watched Lalwen change into her double. She looked just like the Slayer except for the blood on her forehead. “Damn! Is everyone a shape shifter?”

Lalwen chuckled, pulling her sweater over Buffy’s head. “Haven’t you heard? It’s all the rage nowadays.”

When the women were dressed, the elleth pulled the Slayer to her feet. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Her equilibrium was a little off, but she felt her strength returning more than before.

Lalwen began fastening the buttons on the coat, starting at the bottom. “There’s an opened window on the fourth floor at the end of the hallway. Make your way there. Fly one block east, and that’s where you’ll find the others, waiting.”

“But what about you? I can’t leave you here.”

“Oh, Bella,” smiled the elleth, cupping Buffy’s cheek. “You’re always thinking of others before yourself. You’re needed in this world more than me. My time is over. I willingly lay down my life for yours.”

“No! Absolutely not!” protested the Slayer. “I forbid it! I’m not leaving you.”

“You have no other choice. If you’re here when Melkor comes, then a new evil will rise, destroying the world and all that inhabit it. We can’t escape together. There are too many guards. More and more have arrived throughout the night.”

“Then we wait for reinforcements. If they’re only a block away… ”

“No, Bella. That’s not the plan… ”

“I’m not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“But what a noble death that will be.”

“That’s crazy talk, Lalwen,” countered Buffy, grabbing the woman by the shoulders. “We’ll leave together. We’ll fight together, like old times.”

The elleth smiled, looking deeply into the Slayer’s eyes. She pushed her, sending Buffy flying backwards onto the bed. “You’re weak. You’re not ready for a fight. Not yet, but you soon will be.” She helped her friend back to her feet. “Damn, I nearly forgot.” She pulled a dagger from the pocket of the falcon coat, and pricked the tip of her finger. As she squeezed the blood out, she looked at the star on Buffy’s forehead. “I have to be a perfect replica of you.” She then smeared her blood on her own forehead, copying the symbol exactly.

Tears filled Buffy’s eyes. “Don’t do this, Lalwen. Please!”

“Don’t cry. If they see golden nuggets falling, they’ll know what happened. Be strong. Be safe. But most importantly, make your way to the fourth floor hallway.” The woman let out a sigh. “I love you, Bellaseth. I love you more than life itself. Kick some demon ass for me.” She then gave Buffy a kiss on the cheek, before clasping the final button.

The Slayer instantly turned into a falcon. She flapped her wings, keeping herself in the air in front of the elleth.

“There’s not time to waste. When you leave the chateau, go one block east. Good luck, Bella.”

The woman then quickly went to the door and knocked three times. She remained concealed behind the door, as the many latches began to click open. She motioned for Buffy to fly out as soon as the door cracked opened, wanting to make the guards think that Aurelius was only sending his messenger back out.

The Slayer stifled her tears, but her heart ached with such pain knowing that Lalwen was going to sacrifice herself to save Buffy.

When the door started to open the elleth once again quietly motioned for the Slayer to leave. Buffy hesitated for a moment, but Lalwen gave her a stern look. She then flew out the door before the woman slammed it shut.

Buffy flew down the corridor in the same direction that she had come. But once she reached the upper level, she didn’t know which way to go. There was a horde of people in the house and she became disoriented and confused. She flew down corridors, looking for the staircase to the upper floors, unaware that Melkor and Allandro had already entered the Halls of Aurelius and were hastily making their way downstairs.

When she finally found the stairway, she heard a loud shriek that caused her to ruffle her feathers in flight.

“SHE’S ESCAPED! SHE’S ESCAPED!” The Immortal’s voice rang out throughout the Halls.

“LOCKDOWN!” shouted the Master, as he ran through his house. “FIND HER! FIND THE SLAYER!”

Buffy quickly flew up the stairway over the heads of those running to and fro, desperate to reach the next floor. She glided above the heads of the enemy, none really noticing her, until she reached the fourth floor. She found the window barred. Morgoth’s minions were everywhere, searching for their prisoner.

She was trapped…


Chapter 111 - CAVALRY

Cries of, “AURELIUS IS DEAD! AURELIUS IS DEAD!” rang out throughout the chateau. That news seemed to inflame the vampire’s loyal followers, adding to the confusion and chaos within the Household. Demons and mortals frantically searched the Halls, peering under furniture and emptying storage closets in search of the Slayer.

It took all of five minutes before the accusations began to fly. Some pointed their fingers at their brethren, accusing them of being accomplices to Buffy’s escape. Brawls broke out amongst the members of the Order. Weapons were drawn, and bloodshed became the name of the game.

The Master quickly took charge of the situation, as he was the next in command within the Order. For an old vampire, he was able to act swiftly, ripping out the throats of the instigators with his bare hands.

“Stop this madness!” he shouted. “You’re acting like a bunch of animals.” With the troublemakers dead, he restored order within the Household. “We are still family, and do not need our numbers to diminish any more than they already have.” He looked sternly at his people. “Find the girl. Find the Slayer. NOW!”

The group resumed their search.

Buffy had no idea where to turn. She thought about zooming into the windowpane, but worried that at a high rate of speed, she’d probably break her neck instead of the glass. That is, if she could get by the guard. As she soared down to the lower levels, she saw that there was a guard posted at every window and door. She assumed that if there was some secret passageway, then, that too, was probably being watched.

With her adrenaline pumping, the Slayer felt stronger. She wondered if she would be better off to change into her mortal form and fight, even though she was greatly outnumbered. She knew that Lalwen had kept a stake and dagger in the falcon coat pockets, two weapons that were not ideal choices for combat, considering the circumstances.

Her hope of rescue was dwindling fast. She figured it was only a matter of time before someone figured out that the falcon soaring near the ceiling was she. As miserable a thought as that was, she couldn’t help but think that the Master, out of all those present, would be the one to figure that out. He always seemed to possess greater powers than the others of his kind, and Buffy could only assume that that was true even in the eighteenth century.

Should I or shouldn’t I? she queried in her mind, debating with herself whether or not to change into her mortal form. Not forgetting that Lalwen was downstairs, she decided to fight. Flying from the main salon, she searched for a room not so heavily occupied by the enemy, a room in which she would have a chance to overpower the occupants in one-on-one combat with her dagger and stake as her only weapons.

The Slayer flew close to the ceiling, avoiding those running throughout the Halls as she entered various rooms, circled above, then departed. When she found her way into the library, she was delighted to see that there were only two demons and one vampire in there. Two were pulling the bookshelves from the wall, thinking that she could be hiding behind them. How stupid they were to believe that she could squeeze into the small gap between the shelves and the wall! The third was on all fours, creeping around the elaborate mahogany desk. The idiot was pulling out the drawers, rifling through the papers as though she were hiding beneath them. She figured this was the best spot to make her change.

Still in falcon form, Buffy landed on the desk. The demon gave her a quick glance before resuming his search. She shook her head as she used her beak the undo the topmost button of the coat. Now squatting on the desk in mortal form, she reached into each pocket, grabbing a weapon with each hand. No one seemed to notice that she was right there, before their very eyes.

“Hey, asshole,” she whispered. “Looking for me?”

“Huh?” the demon looked up at the smiling Slayer on the desk. Before he could react, she grabbed one of the horns on his head, pulled him closer, and rammed her dagger into his throat. Unfortunately, his windpipe wasn’t located there, and the demon was able let out a high-pitched squawk. Foul-smelling, black blood sprayed her as she cut through the beast’s tendons, ligaments and bone. Her attempt at severing the monster’s head was interrupted by the other two creatures in the room. They both came rushing toward the desk, growling.

One went to sweep her legs out from beneath her. Buffy did a back flip, landing on the floor behind him. She plunged her blade into his back, piercing the chain mail that he wore underneath his cloak. He groaned in pain as she twisted the knife deeper into his flesh, using his body as a shield against the other. Despite her small size, she forcefully thrust her captive forward, his head colliding with that of his vampire comrade, dazing him. She dislodged her weapon before shoving the demon in her arms to the floor.

“You’re outnumbered, Slayer,” cackled the vampire, rubbing his bumpy forehead.

Sure enough, more and more of the enemy were swarming into the chamber.

Before she turned her attention to those entering the room, she hurled her stake toward the vampire, striking him in the chest. There was a momentary look of horror on his face before he turned to dust. The stake fell to the floor with a clatter.

Getting into her fighting stance, her eyes quickly surveyed the room. There were at least fifteen more that she’d have to face, and by the sound of it, more were on the way.

She kicked the closest foe in the gut, sending him flying backwards, and knocking down two of his brethren. Buffy then delivered a backhanded punch to another, which had virtually no effect on the demon. Another came from behind, grabbing her around the waist, and pulling her off her feet. She reached over her head and buried the blade of the dagger into his head, not stopping until the hilt collided with his skull. The monster fell backward to the floor, taking her with him.

With her arm twisted awkwardly behind her, she pulled her weapon free before leaping to her feet. Whilst in motion, another vampire gave her a roundhouse kick, sending the stunned Slayer flying. She landed painfully on the edge of one of the overturned bookshelves. She let out a painful moan, feeling as though she might have broken a couple of ribs.

With her free hand at her side, the Slayer looked up and saw a grey-skinned troll towering over her. Acting fast, she did a forward roll between the creature’s legs, stabbing her dagger into his foot until it was firmly imbedded in the wooden plank of the floor. The troll wailed, trying to pry his foot free.

Now weaponless, the Slayer had to rely on her body as her only means of defense. She pummeled and kicked anything that moved, eyeing the coat rack standing near the corner of the room. If only she could reach it. She fought her way toward it, gradually moving closer and closer. She was then struck from behind, propelling her forward, nearer to the coat rack. Quickly regaining her footing, she elbowed the beastly creature in her way, before snatching the stand.

A couple of coats still clung to the hooks as she lifted the device from the corner. As she did so, she happened to hit an oil sconce on the wall, shattering it. A stream of the burning fuel fell onto the garments, instantly igniting them. She whirled the pole around in an attempt to wrap the burning material on the end of the coat rack. Of course, having a flaming pole in her possession caused many of her foes to back away, especially the vampires.

She thrust this makeshift weapon at the enemy in an attempt to set their cloaks aflame. One of the demons tried to rush her. She swiftly swung her stick toward him, sending a burning garment flying off the end, hitting the creature square in the face. He screeched in pain as he pulled the burning coat from his bubbling flesh.

With only one coat now clinging to the end of the coat rack, the Slayer began to use the device as a spear. She rammed the implement into the nearest beastly creature. The wooden tip and hooks easily piercing through his dark hide, but in doing so, extinguished the flames. When the creature reeled backwards, he pulled the coat rack from Buffy’s grasp, leaving her weaponless once again.

Not wasting any time, she resumed her attack on those nearest to herself. The troll, who had managed to free himself, came stumbling after the Slayer, knocking aside his cohorts in the process. His sole intent, at this point, was the beat the living daylights out of Buffy, to have her feel the same pain as he.

Before the troll could actually reach her, the Master arrived. Standing in the doorway, surrounded by his personal guard, he commanded, not only those from the Order, but also those visitors from other clans, to end the mayhem at once.

“Touch the girl, and you’ll die in the most horrific ways imaginable,” he threatened to those within the library.

The room went quiet, even the troll, who was still quite livid, ceased his grumblings. None were eager to incur the wrath of the old vampire.

“Come here, Slayer,” said the Master, motioning her over with his long, skeletal-looking forefinger.

The demons parted, forming a pathway between him and her.

Buffy tried frantically to fight off the spell that he had somehow woven upon her, but her feet inched her closer to the Master.

“That’s a good girl,” he continued with a wicked smile on his face. “Come to papa.”

When she was only a few feet away from the vampire, she suddenly stopped. Her eyes remained locked on the Master, unable to break eye contact with him. Her skin prickled all over, an obvious sign of warning. She then heard a faraway voice in her head, speaking Sindarin.

The Master looked annoyed but didn’t fret. He stepped closer to the Slayer, studying her with renewed interest. How was it that she was able to thwart his spell? He concentrated harder, his eyes never leaving hers. She remained still, silent, except for her heavy breathing. The vampire reached out, wanting to feel the softness and warmth of her glistening cheek. She bedazzled him. Such power. It emanated from her. This Slayer was quite different than the others he had encountered in the past. Aurelius and Allandro were right. This Slayer, this Bella as she was called, was special. As his fingertips grazed the smoothness of her skin, a look of contentment came to the Master’s face. He felt love, a feeling that he had not truly experienced since his metamorphosis many centuries before. He had no idea that the small woman standing before him was the Goddess of Love and War and that she had the ability to bewitch those around her without so much as a word.

A sudden boom, followed by a loud crash, rang out in the main salon, breaking the Master’s spell on Buffy. Screams and shouts reverberated throughout the chateau, which rumbled and shook from the impact. Before anyone had time to react, there was another loud bang, followed by the sounds of breaking glass.

Someone outside the library cried out, “Son-of-a-bitch! They have cannons!”

‘Duck, Nana! Duck!’ warned Olofin’s voice in her head.

Just as the Slayer hit the floor, a cannon ball came bursting through the wall of the library. Sunlight streamed through the newly created hole in the wall, bathing part of the room with its orange glow. The iron ball passed through the troll’s midsection before colliding with the opposite wall. If Buffy had been standing, she would’ve been hit by the flying projectile.

Chaos broke out throughout the entire chateau as blast after blast could be heard. Rubble and debris rained down upon the occupants. A cloud of smoke and dust filled the air, especially around the gaping hole in the wall. Yet, it wasn’t dense enough to block out the early morning light, which set ablaze several vampires that had been standing there only seconds before.

The remaining vampires tried to flee the room, trampling over Buffy’s body on the floor. The demons immediately formed a line of defense, waiting expectantly for the enemy to enter the Halls of Aurelius.

The Master hastily covered most of his exposed flesh with his cloak. He reached down, grabbing the Slayer’s wrist, and attempted to drag her out of the room. He groaned as the sunlight seared the flesh of his hand, forcing him to quickly release his grip. He shouted to the demons to help him, but they were now confronted by the enemy on the other side of the dusty hole.

Arrows came whizzing through the opening in the wall, some bouncing off their targets, others penetrating the demons’ hides.

From the other rooms, Buffy could hear metal striking metal, and the shrieks of those that happened to be on the receiving end of said weapons. She sighed with relief, knowing that her people had finally arrived.

“The cavalry’s here,” she uttered under her breath before springing to her feet. She turned toward the Master, who had backed away from the orangey glow in the room, but remained standing just outside the doorway in the shadows of the corridor. A twisted smile came to the Slayer’s face, as she delivered a roundhouse kick that the Master did not expect, sending him crashing through the plaster wall of the hallway.

Her attention then turned to the clash taking place within the library. Several men had entered through the hole and were sparring with those beastly creatures that had remained behind. Buffy glanced back at the doorway, and saw that the Master had gone.

Feeling invigorated and strong, she was quite eager to join the others in the fray. With her two weapons lost amidst the wreckage, she thought that she’d rely on her old standby: her body. She charged the closest demon from behind, leaping onto his back and wrapping her legs around his barrel-shaped waist. Each hand grabbed hold of either side of the beast’s head. The Slayer gave it a good twist, snapping it from his spine. She let go as the creature’s limp body fell to the floor.

She now saw, standing before her, a familiar face. “Orchal!” she squealed in delight, throwing her arms around the elf. She clung to him tightly, relieved to see her old friend.

Orchal was slightly baffled by her behavior. It had only been two days since they had last seen each other. He assumed that her imprisonment must have been pretty harsh for her to react in such a manner.

“We’ve got much to do, Bella,” he said, pulling out of the embrace. He looked her over, his eyes stopping on her forehead. “What’s that on your head?” He leaned closer, peering at her forehead. “Is that… is that blood?”

Buffy had forgotten about the star-shaped marking on her head. She made a move to wipe it off with the back of her hand just as one of their foes collided into them.

In an instant, Orchal’s sword swooshed through the air, hewing the demon’s head from his body.

The Slayer watched as the head went one way, the body, the other.

“Damn, looks like beheadings are in vogue nowadays too.”

“Huh?” queried the elf, as he thrust his blade deeply into the back of another monster, felling the beast.

“Nothing. Just thinking aloud.”

With all the demons in the room now slain, the others were anxious to take the fight to the rest of the creatures in the lair of Aurelius.

“No Slayer should be without a weapon,” said Bellason, girding a sheathed sword around her waist, “especially a Noldorin blade.”

As the elf fastened the clasp of her belt, Buffy pulled the blade from the bejeweled scabbard. She wrinkled her face in confusion. “Nacil,” she murmured, shocked that she had been given the sword of Fëanor as opposed to her belt, which she preferred to wield in battle. Still puzzled, she looked to Orchal and said, “Why would you bring me this? This is an heirloom, not something that I use in battle.” She ran her finger along the smooth, cool metal, remembering when the sons of Fëanor had given her the sword as a betrothal gift. She felt a sudden aching in her heart for her beloved Maglor.

The elves looked warily at each other. “What’s wrong with you?” asked a befuddled Orchal. “You’ve been carrying Nacil into battle for centuries. How could you forget such a thing?”

The Slayer looked blankly at her dear friends for a few moments. “What’s wrong with you people?” she chastised. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I never lived through those centuries! I was thrust forward in time by the Valar… The War of Wrath just ended. I… I didn’t sail here on some ship from America, as everyone seems to think. I don’t know why the hell I’m here or what I’m supposed to do.”

Orchal, Nestor, Bellason, Arachas and Nimrod huddled together, out of earshot from Buffy. She could only hear snippets of their conversation, such as “devilry”, “dark magicks”, and “gone insane.”

“I’m not insane!” she remarked when she overheard that, knowing damn well that they were talking about her.

“No one’s claiming that you are,” piped up Nestor. He gave the Slayer a quick, reassuring smile before resuming his conversation with the others in much softer voices.

Annoyed by their comments, and eager to kick some demon ass, Buffy went to leave the library when another loud boom sounded in the adjoining room. The whole chamber shook violently. Furniture skidded across the floor. Those windows that had still been intact began to crack, as bits of plaster fell from the ceiling and the opening in the wall.

The Slayer took off, sprinting down the now smoke-filled corridor as the others shouted her name. Fires had broken out within the Halls of Aurelius from the shattering oil lamps, setting aflame the draperies and furnishings. Most of the vampires and many of the Men had fled into the sewers, escaping the torrents of flame, leaving mostly demons to battle the allies. The beastly creatures’ only desire was to see to it that the Union between Dark and Light took place, so that Morgoth’s heir would rise to command them in the flesh.

Before Buffy had a chance to join any of the various skirmishes taking place, a series of cracking noises reverberated throughout that section of the chateau. The allies, with their use of canons, had weakened one of the structure’s main supporting walls. Much of the wall, engulfed in flames, began to crumble, and would soon cause portions of the upper levels to come crashing down upon the occupants.

She quickly eyed those too engrossed in battle to notice their impending doom. Still holding her sword in one hand, she ran, pushing a tall green-cloaked figure out of harm’s way, just as part of the ceiling fell, sending her sprawling onto the floor. Her adrenaline kicked into overdrive as she hastily crawled out from beneath the burning rubble. Someone then grabbed her arm, pulling her from the wreckage, as they patted out the flames in her hair.

Numerous voices shouted out, “RETREAT! RETREAT!”

Once free, Buffy looked up, only to see that the green-cloaked figure was none other than Thranduil.

“We‘re supposed to be rescuing you, not vice versa,” he said with an uneasy chuckle, pulling her to her feet.

Buffy muttered a quick word of thanks, quite grateful to see the elf again.

“We’d best get out of here. I think the Order got our message loud and clear, don’t you?”

The Slayer paused for a moment, now seeing Olofin, still fighting away. The room was stifling, the air becoming less and less tolerable. She coughed, burying her nose and mouth in the sleeve of her feathered coat.

“Let’s go,” continued Thranduil, pulling Buffy by the arm.

“No,” she said, breaking free from his grasp. “Lalwen. We have to get Lalwen.”

Before Thranduil could stop her, the Slayer took off, disappearing into the thickening haze. “Bella, wait!” he shouted. “It’s too dangerous.”

Though the intensity of the fire was becoming unbearable to the allies, Thranduil ran after Buffy, calling her name repeatedly. Olofin, now aware that his mother was free, immediately followed the elf.

The flames reached higher and higher, spreading throughout the front half the chateau. The neighbors had congregated in the streets, fearful that the fire would spread, setting their own homes ablaze. Using pots and buckets that they had dipped into the community well, they frantically tried to fight the fire themselves until the water tankers arrived.

The Slayer found the path to the basement blocked by the burning beams and joists that had once supported the upper levels of the house. Sheathing her blade, she felt that flying in falcon form would the easiest way to skirt around the flames. She buttoned the topmost button of the coat, instantly changing form, before flapping her wings, and disappearing into the thick haze.

Thankfully, the feather coat proved to be fire-retardant as she zipped through the wall of flame. Buffy became slightly disoriented from all the smoke, and made a couple of wrong turns before she found her bearings. The door to the lower level had been nearly ripped off its hinges during the pandemonium, allowing her to sweep through the opening and down the dimness of the stairway. She could still hear the hacking cries of Thranduil, shouting out her name.

The passageway was deserted, not an enemy in sight. She assumed that they had fled through some secret door, though she had no idea where its location might be. Her thoughts were on Lalwen, and her hope of getting the elleth safely out of the Halls of Aurelius.

When she reached the chamber door, she saw that a wooden beam had been set in the brackets located on either side, barring the entrance. That gave her hope that the enemy had not wanted Lalwen to escape. She changed back into her mortal form before pulling the heavy timber from its brackets, and tossing it to the floor. She then tried the knob, but found it locked.

“Step away, Lalwen. I’m gonna break the door in,” Buffy shouted at the wooden panel. She studied the locks of the door for a few moments, trying to figure out the best way to breach the barrier. Deciding to use her body as a battering ram, she took a step back before heaving her shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge. She tried again, but all she got was a sharp pain in her shoulder for her efforts.

She took a deep breath, groaning as she rubbed her throbbing shoulder. She dare not attempt to do that again. The Slayer surveyed the locks again. She thought that if she directed her force through a smaller part of her body, say her foot, she might have a better chance of breaking down the door.

She took a step back, eyeing the wooden surface next to the locks. She gave the barrier a good, hard kick. The door let out a mournful moan, but did not yield. Mustering all her slayer strength, she tried again, aiming her foot at the wood next to the many locks. She kicked harder than before. The locks broke apart, the door swinging open with such a force that it bounced off the interior wall of the chamber before closing once again. With the locks and knob broken, Buffy was able to push the door open. She let out a horrified gasp before falling to her knees.

Inside the chamber, hanging from the skull chandelier was Lalwen, in her true elvish form, gently swaying. She was naked, strung up by her intestines, a pool of blood and guts beneath her. She had been eviscerated, sliced open from between her breasts all the way down to her privates. Her rib cage had been pulled open, her organs neatly arranged by size on the pillows on the bed.

Tears flowed from Buffy’s eyes, as her stomach twisted and turned at the grisly sight. She bowed her head, thinking that the elleth’s death was all her fault. She shouldn’t have agreed to Lalwen’s plan. None of this would’ve happened if she had remained the Order’s prisoner.

There was a loud booming crash above, but the Slayer remained on her knees, grief-stricken, weeping for the loss of Lalwen. The pain was nearly unbearable. First, she had lost Luthor, then Maglor, and now Lalwen.

“Bella!” coughed Thranduil, coming down the smoke-filled passageway. “We’ve got to get out of here. The house is about to collapse.”

Buffy didn’t respond, but continued to sob. A pile of golden nuggets lay on the floor before her.

“What is it?” the elf queried, squatting beside the Slayer. “What’s wrong?”

Still, she didn’t respond.

The elf lifted his gaze. Upon seeing Lalwen’s body, he gasped in horror, covering his opened mouth with his hand. Tears filled his eyes. “Savages!” he sputtered. The air was becoming heavy with smoke. He then turned his attention back to Buffy, rubbing her back comfortingly. “We’ll make the scum pay for this, Bella. I promise. But we must go or we shall perish in this tomb,” he said glancing up and down the dimly lit passageway. He forced Buffy to her feet, just as Olofin emerged out of the hazy hallway.

“Mother!”

The Slayer turned to her son. “She’s dead. Lalwen’s dead. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… ”

Olofin pulled his mother into his arms, holding her tightly. Thranduil motioned toward the chamber with his head; the half-elf followed his gaze. He too gasped in shock upon seeing the remains of Lalwen hideously displayed for them to find.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he groaned in dismay. “Those sick bastards!”

“Fin, we’ve got to go,” urged Thranduil, eyeing the ceiling above them. “These joists won’t hold much longer.”

“You’re right, Thranduil. There must be a way out of here.” The half-elf narrowed his eyes, looking through the dense smoke.

“No!” Buffy protested, pulling free from her son. “We’re not leaving her behind.” She marched into the chamber as her companions grabbed her, trying to hold her back.

“It’s pointless, Nana. Lalwen’s fey is gone. She has returned to the Halls of her kin.”

“What is that?” asked Thranduil, pointing to the red scribbling on the white sheets that covered the mattress.

They all turned their eyes to the bed. Written on the sheets, in blood, was:

“She wasn’t woman enough for me!”

Lying next to that was Lalwen’s torn vagina. The bastards had actually cut out her private parts.

Buffy buried her face in Olofin’s chest, crying even harder than before. She knew, intuitively, that the elleth had suffered horribly, that the atrocities committed against her were done while she was alive.

“We really need to get out of here,” coughed Thranduil, dashing across the chamber to one of the windows. He pulled back the black draperies, only to see more wall. “Shit!” he exclaimed. He ran to the other just to make sure that it wasn’t an exit. It wasn’t.

“Come, Nana. We must go.”

“We can’t leave her,” she cried, looking pleadingly at her son. “We just can’t.”

“I’m afraid we have no other choice.” He pulled his mother into his arms, feeling that they’d move quicker if he carried her. “Come, Thranduil. Let us find a way out of this house of horrors.”

Thranduil swiftly left the room and walked beside Olofin down the corridor. The elf ran his hands along the walls, hoping to find the secret exit. Every door they passed led to some other chamber. One housed the munitions, giving both he and Olofin cause to worry. Once the flames reached that room, the house would explode from the barrels of black power stored in there.

Only moments later, the area leading to the stairway collapsed. The flames of the raging fire had now reached below. Buffy, now seeing how perilous their situation was, joined her companions in the search for an avenue of escape. They had checked every room, every nook and cranny, but still, they saw no way out.

It was Thranduil that finally found the trap door in the floor, the same door that had been used by the enemy. As the suffocating smoke closed in around them, they hurriedly climbed down the ladder into the pitch-black sewers, searching in the darkness for an exit that would take them above, to the sun-soaked streets of Paris…


Chapter 112 - IN THE DARK

Author’s Note: I have tweaked the Angel timeline by about two decades in order to bring one of the characters from the show into the tale.

Chapter One Hundred-Twelve: In the Dark



The trio wandered the dark and dank sewers in search of an exit. No one spoke a word, as each was lost in their own thoughts, mourning the horrific defilement and death of Lalwen. Above ground, the massacres continued to take place, having gone nonstop since the day before. So many Frenchmen had been ripped apart that their blood and visceral fluid flowed in torrents down the gutters that ran along either side of the road, emptying into the sewers where Buffy, Thranduil and Olofin were now walking. They had no idea that they were sloshing through the gory fluid, despite the putrid odor that remained heavy in the air. Each assumed it was the smell of the enemy, who had used those same tunnels to escape the fire at the Halls of Aurelius.

Multiple blasts suddenly rang out behind them, momentarily startling the trio. They all knew that the flames had finally reached the munitions room in the chateau, as the explosions continued on for a few minutes.

After some time, they found an exit, popping out of the bowels of Paris into a nearly deserted alleyway above. A lone, plump woman was busily hanging her laundry. She gave the newcomer’s a quick glance, unfazed by their sudden appearance from the sewers below, as she continued with her labors.

The early morning sun felt warm, inviting, the cool fresh air a welcoming relief from the rancid stench underground.

“You two stay here,” instructed Olofin. “I’m going to find the others and let them know that we made it safely out.”

Thranduil nodded in reply. Both he and Buffy watched as her son turned into an eagle, then ascended into the sky, disappearing behind the building to their south.

“You alright?” asked the Green-elf, scrutinizing his companion carefully.

She shrugged; still somewhat dazed by everything that had happened. “My side hurts,” she added as an afterthought, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.

“Let me see,” replied Thranduil, lifting the bottom of her sweater. He winced. “Ooh, you have a nasty bruise.”

Buffy brushed his hand away, covering her exposed flesh. “I’ll live.” She turned her gaze to her feet.

The elf studied the Slayer for a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Lalwen. She was a good woman. Brave and fearless.” He lifted his companion’s chin. Her eyes had welled with tears. “We’ll make them pay, Bella. I swear. The Order won’t get away with this.” He then reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. “Let me wipe that filth from your forehead,” he continued, rubbing at the bloody star on her skin. “Ah, it doesn’t want to come off.” Thranduil spit on the cloth and tried again. “There we go. It’s coming off now.”

Once the blood had been removed, the elf shoved the cloth back into his pocket, eyeing the old woman down the alley, who was now singing softly to herself.

The Slayer took a deep breath, wanting to keep her composure. There was nothing she could do about Lalwen. But, at that moment, she vowed to herself to get the bastard or bastards that had done that to the Noldo Princess. Even though she had no idea who was responsible for the elleth’s painful death, she was determined to kill all those belonging to the Order, to make them all pay for the horrific deed.

“Why are we here, Thranduil?” she finally asked weakly. “Why are we in Paris?”

The elf shifted his gaze back to Buffy, a bewildered look on his face. “Do you not remember?”

“No!” she snapped, annoyed by her ignorance. “It’s like I told Orchal - the Valar sent me forward in time, through a portal of some kind! One moment I was in the Ring of Doom, the next, in an alleyway in Paris, dressed in the garb of this time. I don’t have any memories of anything between that time and now. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

Thranduil locked eyes with the Slayer. She could feel them probing, searching her mind. He frowned. “What have they done to you?” he queried with a dismal shake of his head. “I deem that they’ve placed some type of veil on you again.”

“Why?” she asked fretfully.

“I’m afraid I do not know the answer, Bella,” he answered, looking sympathetically at his companion. “What I can tell you is that we came here to help Louis, the King.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, raising his brows in surprise. “Oh, yes, you don’t remember.” The elf sighed heavily. “Louis helped us with our war in America. He has sent his troops to help us battle the English, to fight for the sovereignty of the Americans. Unfortunately, in doing so, he has nearly bankrupted his own country. And after years of exceptionally cold weather, which has lead to the depletion of France’s crops, his people have risen against him, against the excesses of the regime. They are hungry and angry. They blame him for all their woes.”

Buffy was still a little confused. “So, we’re here to help the King?”

Thranduil let out another heavy sigh, running his hand through his long, silver locks. “We tried,” he answered, his tone full of disappointment. “We had helped him and his family to escape their imprisonment, but they were stopped at the checkpoint in Varennes. Even disguised, his people easily recognized him and his queen. Instead of killing the three men stationed there as he should have, he surrendered.” The Green-elf shook his head again. “It saddens me to see how the monarchies of Man have grown weak. They’ve had the courage bred out of them. They are nothing like Washington, who willingly fought tooth and nail for what he believed in. The kings of old are dead. They are no longer warriors of noble stock, but have degenerated into creatures of servitude, whose masters are wealth, power and pleasure.”

The Slayer stared at the opening of the alleyway, where the narrow street met a broader one, thinking back on what little she remembered of the French Revolution. “He will die,” she whispered. “Louis will meet his end at the guillotine.”

“So be it,” answered Thranduil coolly. “His fate is no longer in our hands. Now that we have you back, we must ride to the Sanctuary.”

She looked back at the elf, her face wrinkled in confusion. “The Sanctuary?”

“Our lands east of France. Switzerland. That is our home base in Europe.”

Buffy continued to look blankly at the elf.

“How tragic that you have no memories of our past deeds, our accomplishments,” he said miserably, shaking his head. “Your banner flies over those lands. It is a war-free zone. At least, amongst the acolytes of Morgoth. The enemy has agreed not to wage war there… ”

“And you believe them?” she queried incredulously.

“Why, of course, for they have established their headquarters there as well. It is the one country where good and evil live in harmony.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever! The enemy can’t be trusted. How can we be so foolish as to trust them?”

“A truce was established decades ago, Bella. You made it. You made it happen! However, that truce does not apply outside those lands. We are in France and it’s open war here. We are not safe. Our spies have informed us that Morgoth has returned, that he is here. That is why we must leave at once. As soon as Fin returns with our forces, we shall ride in haste to the Sanctuary.”

The Slayer found herself nervously chewing her bottom lip, a habit she had picked up from Luthor. She thought about her father figure, wishing that he were with her.

They twosome fell quiet for a couple of minutes. Buffy’s mind was spinning from all that she had heard. She kicked a small pebble on the road, sending it ricocheting against the brick wall of the adjacent building.

“You know,” she began softly, “The stuff taking place in Paris reminds me of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and Numeira.” She looked up at the elf. “Do you remember those days?”

“God, I haven’t heard those names in centuries.”

“Really?” queried the Slayer, surprised that those two cities were no longer discussed.

“Really,” he replied. “Don’t get me wrong, we still talk about those days, but we tend to refer to those cities by their Hebrew names, Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Just hearing those names sent a cold shiver down the Slayer’s spine. She remembered the names, Sodom and Gomorrah, when she was merely the mortal Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers, and seemed quite shocked that it was she that had destroyed them. While she was no student of theology, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was the God that the Bible had spoken of.

That’s impossible, she thought to herself. She quickly put that thought out of her mind, thinking that it was blasphemous for her to compare herself to Ilúvatar, the true God in the world.

She then brought up America, wanting to know more about the Revolution that had taken place there. Thranduil was more than happy to comply. He didn’t hide his fondness for those brave people who had fought and died for their independence from England.

As they waited for Olofin’s return, the Green-elf shared with her one of his favorite stories. During one of many battles in which Washington had fought, the English soldiers had shot him multiple times, amazed that none of their slugs had injured their foe. Thranduil smiled as he told her that she had foreseen George Washington’s greatness, and had had the Valkyries (in spirit form) protect him in battle. The enemy feared Washington after that, saying that the hand of God protected that mortal.

She was stunned to learn of her close friendship with the first President of the New World, and that she, herself, had played a pivotal role in helping the Colonists break-free from the tyrannical English monarchy. Nowhere in history did she recall reading about her involvement in the American Revolution. She wondered why that was so, but didn’t dwell overly long on the subject.

While Thranduil continued to speak of the goings-on in the States, Buffy heard the sound of many hooves beating against the nearby street. She reached out, grabbing the elf by the arm. “They’re coming. The enemy is coming,” she said anxiously.

The Green-elf chuckled. “Do not worry. That is not the enemy, my dear. For that is the sound of elvish horses. Have you forgotten that as well?”

Buffy listened intently, as the galloping grew louder, coming nearer to the alleyway. She heard a faint jingling sound, like that of small bells. They tinkled melodiously with the movement of the steeds.

Only a moment later, men on horseback rounded the corner, entering into the alley. The Slayer’s heart pounded in her chest. Nothing made her happier than seeing the fair faces of so many elves. Her people. Her loyal followers who, when given the choice to return to Valinor or stay in Middle-earth and fight alongside Buffy, had chosen to stay. They had been through many adventures together, none of which the Slayer remembered.

Glorfindel dismounted from his horse before the creature had come to a full stop. With his face fraught with worry, he hastily made his way toward Buffy.

Thranduil quickly left the Slayer’s side, intercepting the Noldo before he could reach her.

As the Green-elf spoke quietly to the golden-haired elf, Celeborn came trotting up beside her on his white steed. “Well met, Bella. I knew the Order would not hold you captive for long,” he said with a smile. He pulled back on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt. The beast stomped his feet, breathing hard from his sprint through the streets of Paris.

“Celeborn?!” Buffy exclaimed in shock. “You’re here, with us!”

The elf furrowed his brow, baffled by her comments. “Where else would I be?” he queried in reply. He then turned his head, and whistled.

A moment later, Rocco came trotting out of the throng, his black coat shining in the sunlight. He immediately came to his Mistress’ side, brushing his head against her face. The Slayer didn’t know how to act around her horse. Her mind flashed to that moment when he had bucked her off in the river, allowing Ulmo to capture her and take her to Valinor. Yet, as she looked into his eyes, she could sense his undivided loyalty to her. She could see that he was truly happy to see her once again. She smiled, greeting the beast by stroking his neck.

“Hey, boy! It’s good to see you too,” she said nuzzling his head.

As the Slayer affectionately petted Rocco, Thranduil and Glorfindel came walking up.

“Thranduil says you’re hurt,” began to Noldo, reaching for Buffy’s side.

Not recognizing the Noldo, she backed away. “Who are you?”

A sad look came to the elf’s face. He exchanged a quick glance with Thranduil, who mumbled, “I told you,” before fixing his gaze back on the Slayer.

“I am Glorfindel, formerly from the House of Elrond.”

“Elrond?” repeated Buffy, looking past them in search of her foster son. “Is he here? Is Elrond here?” she asked excitedly, craning her neck around the two elves towering before her.

Cocking his eyebrow, the Noldo answered, “No, my Lady. He is not. Elrond sailed to Valinor with most of his kin over a millennium ago.”

“Oh,” she replied dismally. “That’s too bad. I would’ve liked to have seen him again.”

With a pained expression on his face, Glorfindel then said, “Do you really have no memory of the past, Bella? Have you truly forgotten me, of all people?”

Buffy looked at the elf, studying his handsome features. Thranduil placed his hand comfortingly on the Noldo’s shoulder, a gesture that she did not wholly understand. The golden-hair elf seemed somewhat familiar to her. She then remembered where they had met, blurting out, “Hey! Didn’t we meet at Mereth Aderthad, when Fingolfin was King?”

The Noldo forced a smile. “Yes, yes we did,” he answered in a solemn tone. Tears began to fill his grey eyes. He turned, walking away from the Slayer. Thranduil remained by the Noldo’s side. With his arm draped over Glorfindel’s shoulder, he spoke to him in hushed voice as they walked back to the Noldo’s steed.

The Slayer then turned to Orchal, who had taken Thranduil’s spot. “What’s up with that?” she asked, motioning toward the two departing elves.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” he sighed. “We better get a move on. We need to take advantage of the daylight.”

Buffy didn’t understand what was going on. She merely shrugged her shoulders before climbing onto Rocco’s back.

“Your coat, Bella,” said Nestor, holding out his hand expectantly. “We don’t want the enemy to be able to clearly identify you. I will keep it safe.”

She slid out of the garment, feeling a sharp pain in her shoulder as she did so. Handing the coat to Nestor, she said, “One of these days you’ll have to tell me how I got that back. Something tells me that it’s one hell of a story.”

“You’re right about that, Bella, you’re right about that,” he replied with a chortle.

“We ride east,” announced Glorfindel in a loud, clear voice to the others.

“Who died and made him boss?” queried the Slayer to Nestor.

The elf refrained from laughing. “Let’s just say, he rose through the ranks, and leave it at that.” He then nudged his horse forward, riding alongside Buffy.

“I don’t see how he has more authority than you and Orchal… or Olofin for that matter,” she mumbled in discontent.

“He’s a great warrior, Bella, and he serves you. Do not doubt Glorfindel’s loyalty.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, still confused as to how that Noldo had gained so much power with her people.

There were twenty-five riding in their group. Olofin had remained in eagle form, scouting out their course from the sky above. Orchal was telling her that there are more in their party, but they thought it best that they travel in smaller groups so as not to draw the unwanted attention of the enemy or their spies.

The horses trotted along the street, the bells attached to their harnesses softly jingling as they traveled along the uneven streets. They passed many people, some on foot, some in carriages, going about their day as though it were business as usual. None appeared affected by the atrocities taking place against their fellow Parisians throughout various spots within the city.

Glorfindel and Celeborn led the way, seemingly knowing which way they were going. To Buffy, it seemed strange to see elves riding through Paris, a sight she never thought she’d ever see. They avoided the main streets whenever they could, preferring to travel through the narrower, least congested roads where they were less likely to be noticed. Though, to the Slayer, their group seemed rather large, and a bit conspicuous.

She paid little attention to what streets or alleyways they traveled upon, but passed the time by looking at the many homes and storefronts they saw along the way. Her mouth watered when she caught the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread, coffee and bacon. Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, but when she caught a whiff of those most pleasant scents, her stomach automatically began to rumble with hunger. The cafés, restaurants, and bakeries that dotted the roadside seemed to have a thriving business despite the economic conditions that currently plagued France. She was eager to leave those streets behind, not needing the reminder that her belly longed for the fare that had already made France synonymous with excellent cuisine.

They had traveled a few blocks without incident when they reached the only road that Buffy could make out the name of - Rue St. Martin. There, they were stopped in the middle of the busy street by another group on horseback, their number nearly the same as the elvish group.

One man with a black hat pulled low over his eyes came riding forward, the apparent leader, the Slayer believed. She instinctively placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to fight if need be.

“Glorfindel, you must turn back,” warned the man, who appeared to be English, not French. “The Marseillais and National Guard have formed a blockade from the Bastille, east. They know which path you are traveling upon. You must turn and go west, crossing the river in haste. From what we’ve heard, only the fishmongers are watching the bridges until more men arrive.”

“Then it is not by mere chance that we have met yet again, Holtz,” answered the golden-haired elf grimly. “Travel with us, for we have need of strength in numbers.”

The mortal nodded his head. His forces joined that of the elves, as they reined their horses around, galloping in the same direction that Buffy and company had just come from. If they were attempting to be discreet, they were failing miserably. Such a great number of riders drew the attention of all those people that were out and about on that fair autumn morning. The people were quick to jump out of the way, fearing that the team of horses would trample them to death.

The Slayer’s heart was pounding. She didn’t have a good feeling, and rightly so. As they turned down another street, their horses racing speedily along, a policeman ran out into the street before them, waving his hands and blowing on a whistle. The horses didn’t slow, and the officer did not move. A second later, he disappeared under the pounding hooves of many horses, meeting his grisly demise.

“Oh, shit!” Buffy cursed as Rocco stomped over the body. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing many people running from the sidewalks to the dead man in the road. She turned away, biting her lip, wondering how long it would take for news of the officer’s death to reach the ears of those in power.

The group skirted around carriages and pedestrians in the streets. Women and children screamed as the group went racing by. The steeds missed many passers-by, by mere inches.

Gunfire rang out, as some of the enemy pulled out pistols, shooting at the riders.

“Shit!” shouted Thranduil, lowering his head. “They’re shooting at us!”

Everyone in their group hunched down, not wanting to give the enemy a clear head shot. They continued to weave around the obstacles in the streets, urging their steeds to move faster.

They had traveled a couple of miles to the west before turning south, heading toward one of the bridges that crossed the Seine. As they came nearer, Buffy saw a large assembly of women, waving pikes, hooks, and other weapons threateningly at the approaching allies.

“They’re women!” said the Slayer to Orchal. “They sent women out to fight us.”

“Those are no women,” answered the Green-elf with a sneer. “Those are the fish-hags, ungodly creatures that prey on the weak.”

“But they’re women,” argued Buffy, shocked to see them forming a line mid-way across the bridge. “Surely, we’re not… ”

“Show them no mercy, Bella,” interjected Thranduil, who had overheard hers and Orchal’s exchange. “Those hags are the ones that stormed Versailles, killing the King’s servants in the most heinous of ways. The bitches devoured the flesh of their kinsmen, an atrocity that demonstrates just how wretched of creatures they truly are. They are blood-thirsty leeches who deserve nothing but death.”

“They ate the king’s servants?” she queried in disbelief, her hunger dissipating at the thought.

“Yes!” came the elf’s reply. “They are sick creatures. Show them no mercy.” Thranduil then withdrew his blade from its sheath. Only moments later, everyone else in their party did the same, including the Slayer.

As they came nearer, they heard the women taunting the riders, closing the gaps in their human barricade. Some of the women carried rifles and muskets, training their weapons on the galloping allies.

A few of the elves sent a hail of arrows at the hags, who for lack of a better word, truly fit that description. Many of the flying projectiles met their mark, striking down some of those wretched creatures along the frontline. The fishmongers’ returned fire, shooting at the allied forces, as the horses swiftly approached the human blockade. There must have been hundreds of those hags lined up in rows.

At the last moment, some of the fishmongers fled to either side of the bridge, fearing that they might be maimed or killed in the oncoming stampede. However, others stood their ground, believing that by killing the “traitors” and “loyalists to the ancien régime”, that they were acting as true patriots, mercenaries of the newly formed republic, whose deeds of bravery would one day make it into the annals of history.

The collision between the cavalry and the women wasn’t as devastating as the Slayer thought it would be. Since her people were merely trying to flee the city, they did not have a tight formation when the horses met the human blockade. That allowed many of the fishmongers to remain on their feet, lunging their spears and pikes at both rider and steed. The horses felt the brunt of the hags’ wrath, as the men were well-trained warriors and were able to block many of the blows that the women tried to deliver.

Several of their horses became impaled on the hags’ weapons, causing the beasts to rear and grunt in pain, tossing their riders from their backs.

Part of the allied forces steered their steeds around, striking at the women while attempting to retrieve their fallen brethren, refusing to leave any behind. The Slayer was a part of this group.

Her initial thoughts of not fighting the fishmongers changed when she saw how they attacked her people with a ferociousness that Buffy had only witnessed amongst wild animals, or the creatures of Morgoth. Those women were literally frothing at the mouth, shrieking in delight as if they were overcome with some madness that compelled them to kill anything in sight.

A few of them were brazen enough to brandish poles that had been imbedded into the severed heads of those that had been killed in the massacre. Apparently, one of those heads had belonged to one in Holt’s company, for one of his men had cried out, “Mercer! They have the head of Mercer!” That same man urged his horse toward the wretched creature that flaunted the head of his friend. Lifting his sword over his head, he shouted in rage, as he hewed off the woman’s arm at the elbow, sending both the severed limb and ghoulish trophy to the street. The man didn’t stop there. Using the momentum, he swung his weapon back, in the opposite direction, going for the hag’s head. As she wailed in pain, blood spurting from her wound, she started to sink to the ground. The man took off the top of her head, sending the topmost part of her skull along with part of her brain flying through the air, striking another woman in the chest.

Not a second later, they heard the sound of the tocsins ringing out, alerting the allies that there were more forces marching from the north.

“Flee! Flee!” shouted Glorfindel.

As they fought their way through the mob, the Slayer saw Holtz knocked from his steed. She reined Rocco around, toward the mortal, who was doing his best to fend off the frenzied crowd. One hag came rushing from behind, wielding a wicked-looking cleaver. Before the bitch could strike him, Rocco bolted through the hags, stepping between Holtz and the woman. She brought her weapon down on the flank of the steed, the blade bouncing off Rocco’s iron-like hide.

“Get on,” Buffy said, grabbing Holtz’s arm and helping him onto the back of her steed. Together they cleaved their way through the thinning mob, following those that had already made it pass the barricade.

The large group then broke off into several smaller groups, each taking off in a different direction, galloping at great speed. Traveling along with the Slayer and Holtz were Orchal, Nestor, Thranduil, Celeborn and Glorfindel. No one spoke for a long while, riding hard and fast out of the heart of Paris. They continued on a western course, only the Noldo knowing where they were going.

It wasn’t until they had put many miles behind them, when they were far outside the city, that any spoke. Buffy was the one to break the silence. She rode up beside Glorfindel since it seemed obvious to her that he was the leader of the group.

“Where are we going?” she queried as they continued to ride swiftly.

The Noldo faced her, his golden hair whipping about him. “We’re going to Caen,” he replied, before glancing over his shoulder to see if they were being followed.

“Who’s Caen?” she asked, not recalling that name at all.

“It’s not a person, but a place. A city, near the coast.”

“Oh,” she answered, feeling slightly stupid that she had thought it was a person. The group fell quiet again, none speaking again for a few hours.

They had left the main road, traveling across the hilly stretches of fields and woods to avoid the district checkpoints. With the Order of Aurelius conspiring with the National Convention, it was only a matter of time before word went out of the Slayer’s escape. That was Glorfindel’s greatest concern. While the Noldo didn’t wholly understand why the Order desired Buffy’s capture, his heart told him that the enemy was up to no good and would not stop searching for her. It was imperative that they reach Switzerland as quickly as they may. He loathed the thought that they were forced in the opposite direction of the Sanctuary, and wondered if they would be better off to journey to the coast and sail to England instead.

“You alright back there?” the Slayer asked Holtz.

“I’m somewhat uncomfortable, but grateful to you, my Lady, for pulling me from the sea of hags.”

She chuckled at his comment. “So, what’s your story, Holtz? It is Holtz, right?”

“Yes. Daniel Holtz.”

“Daniel. I like that name. So, tell me, Daniel, how do you know Glorfindel and the others?”

“We are all hunters, are we not? Hunters of vampires and other wretched creatures that wander the Earth.”

“I prefer the term Slayer myself.” She paused. “It’s a rough life, you know. How did you get into the slaying business?”

Holtz then shared with her his first encounter with a vampire. Her blood ran cold when she heard that it was none other than Angelus. She was horror-stricken to learn what Angelus had done to the Englishman’s family, draining them all except for his young daughter. His voice was riddled with both pain and anger as he spoke of discovering his beloved Sarah having been turned into a vampire, and how he was forced to toss her into the sunlight to kill the demon within her.

“From that moment on,” he concluded, “I vowed to get my revenge on Angelus and Darla. I’ve been hunting them throughout Europe. That is how I met your people. We have killed many vampires together.”

“Well, my people are professional demon hunters. They’ve been at it for a long, long time.”

“And you, you are an honest-to-goodness Slayer.”

“Yep.”

“I had always thought that the Slayer was just a myth from lore. I would’ve thought you’d be… bigger.”

Buffy chuckled again. “I get that a lot.”

“So, how long have you been doing this - slaying?”

“I was chosen at fifteen.”

“I take it that you’re, what, twenty-four, twenty-five?”

She laughed yet again, glad that Holtz’s comments were able to push her sorrow out of her mind for a bit. And it seemed obvious that he didn’t know her true identity, that she was actually a Goddess from the myths of old. “I’m twenty-five,” she finally answered. “Although I feel much older.”

“Hunting vampires has a way of doing that. I find it admirable that, as a woman, you have devoted your life to such a noble cause.”

“Well, I didn’t have much say-so in the matter,” she sighed. “If I had my way, I’d be sitting hearthside, sipping some tea… no, make that wine, white wine, listening to the beautiful voice of my beloved Káno.”

“I take it that this Káno is your lover.”

“My husband,” she corrected. “He was my husband.”

“What happened to him?”

That brief moment of happiness that the Slayer had felt faded, only to be replaced, once again, by sorrow. Her body stiffened. “I don’t know,” she replied solemnly. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

Holtz knew that he had touched on a sore subject with the Slayer. “I’m sorry,” he answered, giving her arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Silence fell between them. The mortal was struggling within, anxious to ask her one question, one question about her captivity within the Halls of Aurelius. Yet the air around her had become somber. He could feel her misery, her loss. But the purpose of his trip to France was to capture, torture and kill both Angelus and Darla, and he wasn’t sure when he’d get the opportunity to speak with Buffy again, when he’d have the chance to ask her point-blank about the vampires whom he loathed more than life itself.

Dare he ask her? Yes, he thought.

Holtz readjusted his position on the backside of Rocco, leaning closer in to the Slayer. “There is something that I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he began. “I hate to be the one to stir up… unpleasant memories or whatnot, but… ” He hesitated, unsure if she’d take offense to his question.

“What is it?”

“When… when you were captured by the Order of Aurelius, trapped within their Halls, did you happen to notice if Darla and Angelus were there?” Before she could respond, he went on to describe, most accurately, both vampires.

Listening to Holtz’s descriptions instantly conjured images of Buffy’s meeting with Angelus in the alleyway. It now dawned on her that Darla was probably not too far away when she encountered him. She couldn’t believe that she had forgotten that they were a couple at this time. Holtz’s comments of only a few minutes earlier were a reminder of that.

“… Did you see anyone fitting those descriptions?”

The Slayer was glad that Holtz couldn’t see her face. “No,” she lied. “Can’t say that I have. Sorry.” She didn’t know why she had lied, but she did. She hoped that that would put an end to their conversation as the last thing she wanted to talk about was Angelus. She had far too many things on her mind to concern herself about her future vampire lover. Thankfully, Holtz fell quiet once again. They didn’t speak much afterwards.

The ride from Paris to Caen normally took about two days, but the group traveled non-stop, and were able to arrive in the city in twelve hours. As they rode through the lamp-lit streets, Glorfindel and Orchal made a point to ride on either side of the Slayer. She had been given a cloak, hours earlier, and was now told to keep the hood pulled over her head so that none could see her face.

Buffy grew concerned for the others, for none of them had yet made it to Caen. She gave no thought to the fact that the Eldar had the ability to communicate telepathically, and that some of their friends would be arriving into the city over the next few days.

Celeborn and Thranduil led their small procession. They had seen some milling about in the streets, mostly outside the gambling halls and bars. A few prostitutes hung out on the street corners, trying to tempt the passers-by with their wares.

Neither Buffy nor the Valar knew exactly how pivotal a moment this was for the Slayer. While those in the West wished to teach their sister a lesson by having her confront one whom she loved that wreaked evil, they had not foreseen that there were many enemies of the Vala of Love and War in France at this time, including Morgoth. They had no knowledge of the evil that awaited her, and it would be some months later before one from their sect would boldly stand up to their kinsmen, disobeying the command of Manwë Súlimo, thus plucking Buffy from the doom that awaited her.

When the group turned down Rue St. Jean, Glorfindel announced that he would see about their accommodations.

“I don’t want you to be alone, Bella,” he said gravely. “We can not underestimate the enemy, and someone must remain by your side at all times.”

She had no idea that the Noldo saw himself in that role. Instead, she replied, “Orchal will stay with me.” She turned to the elf, forcing a smile. “It’ll be just like old times.”

“As you wish,” came the Green-elf’s reply. “Although, I think you should call me François,” he added in a thick, French accent.

“François?” she repeated with a chuckle, amused by the elf’s accent.

“And you shall be Monique, my bride,” he continued.

Celeborn laughed upon hearing that. Glorfindel turned his narrowed eyes to the Sinda, whose laughter quickly turned to coughing.

“Why Monique?” inquired the Slayer, curious as to why that name had been chosen for her.

“Because that is what it says on your passport,” answered Orchal. “Surely, you do not think we’d go by our elvish names when around strangers. We must assimilate ourselves to our surroundings as the situation warrants. You’ve told us that yourself, Bell-, er, Monique. We all have alias.”

“Oh-kay,” she drawled. Buffy nudged Holtz behind her, asking, “And what’s you alias, Daniel? What name shall I call you?”

“Let us stick with Daniel. I have no need to hide my identity from anyone.”

“Oh-kay,” she answered again.

They were finally able to dismount their steeds outside the Hôtel de l’Intendance, an imposing four-story hostelry. If not for the quick reflexes of Holtz, Buffy would’ve fallen to the ground. Her legs were numb and her rear end ached horribly from the saddle.

As Georges (Glorfindel) went inside to see about their rooms, she and her companions were assisted by the hostler with the stabling of the horses.

Orchal did most of the talking, telling the man in fluent French that they had traveled from Orléans. The Slayer didn’t know if the elves had already come up with that story or if her dear friend was just rattling off what came to mind. Regardless, she kept quiet, ensuring that she wouldn’t be the one to screw up the pretense of their visit.

Once the horses were put up, they made their way into the inn, where Glorfindel was still at the front desk, making arrangements for their rooms. Buffy walked around the lobby, massaging her butt, which continued to ache from the long ride.

Not long afterwards, Glorfindel handed out their room keys. The Slayer moaned and groaned as she started up the stairs. While she had been hungry earlier, now her only thoughts turned to sleep. She was even willing to forgo a bath until the next morning, as she was too tired to bathe. Thankfully, her friends had a satchel of her clothing. But come the following morning, they would see to it that she would be given a drastic make over.



“I look hideous,” Buffy grumbled the next day, surveying herself in the mirror.

“That’s nonsense! You look lovely, mademoiselle,” replied Adrien, the man whom Orchal had hired to outfit the Slayer with one of his many elaborately made powdered wigs.

“It itches,” she complained, carefully scratching at her scalp. “And it’s hot… and heavy… and smells a little funky.”

“Funky?” queried Adrien, bewildered by her usage of the word “funky”.

“My wife blurts out the most outlandish things when agitated,” chimed in a very amused Orchal. “I think the look is quite befitting.”

“She looks like a princess,” declared the wig-maker happily.

The Slayer rolled her eyes as she adjusted her boobs, which felt like they were about to pop out of the top of her lace-trimmed bodice. “I ask that you not refer to me as a princess. If the wrong people hear that, next thing you know - it’ll be off with my head!”

A look of horror came to the wig-maker’s face.

Orchal let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “That’s my Monique. Outlandish as ever!” He cast a look of warning at Buffy. “I think you’re work here is done, monsieur,” continued the elf, slapping Adrien on the back with one hand while the other slipped several folded bills into the man’s hand. “There’s a little extra there for your… troubles.”

Orchal helped stack the boxes into the appreciative wig-maker’s arms before showing him to the door. Once he was gone, he turned to Buffy and said, “Can you refrain from the off with your head comments? Damn, Bella. This isn’t the time or place for such talk!”

“But François,” began the Slayer mockingly in a thick, French accent, “it is all the rage nowadays. Just like this rat’s nest on the top of my head.”

The elf frowned. “We must be careful, Bella. If you continue to speak that way, the authorities will surely be onto us. Discretion is of the utmost importance.”

“It was just a joke,” she replied with a scowl.

“Well, keep the jokes to yourself. The last thing we need is all of France hunting us down.”

“Sorry,” she answered. “I just… I just need to get out of here.”

Orchal glanced around their rather cramped quarters. “I think you’re right. Let me take you out for the afternoon. We can wander around the city, grab a bite to eat.”

“I’m ready,” she replied a bit more upbeat than before.

Only minutes later, Buffy and Orchal left the hostel, arm in arm, heading toward the more active section of town. Everywhere they went, the talk was about the uprising in Paris, which, in turn, stirred up both those for and against the overthrow of the monarchy throughout the rest of France. Though the propaganda machine was busily putting out papers and pamphlets, downplaying the atrocities that were taking place in the capital, news of the massacres was still reaching those outside the city. Unbeknownst to the people at the time, in the upcoming days, the horrors would soon spread like a plague throughout most of country.

After a day of sightseeing and window-shopping, the two returned to their lodgings. The Slayer was quite eager to get out of her gown and wig, as she found them most uncomfortable. The clothing from that era looked pretty in books or paintings, but actually wearing them was a totally different story. She longed for just a pair of pants and a sweater, garments that she considered far superior to the dress that was fashionable at this time.

Buffy was delighted to see that Olofin had made it Caen, the first of the other group to do so. He was waiting in the main salon upon her and Orchal’s return, talking with the rest of their companions.

A smile came to his face when he set eyes on his mother. “Well, look at you,” he said, rising from his seat on the settee. “You look… ” He paused, carefully considering his words as his eyes amusedly scanned her garb.

“Lovely,” said Glorfindel, finishing the half-elf’s sentence.

The Slayer raised her eyebrows, turning her gaze to the Noldo. “Lovely?” she queried, skeptical in tone. “I feel like a doofus.”

“Rubbish! You would look lovely even in a burlap sack,” he added with a smile.

She shook her head. “Please tell me that you guys brought me more suitable clothing. I can’t stand wearing this outfit. My girls need to breathe,” she complained, adjusting her bosoms. “And this rat’s nest on my head is driving me crazy. I can’t take it any more.” If not for the many pins holding the wig in place, she would’ve pulled it off her head.

“We think it’s best that you stay incognito,” answered Olofin, his eyes quickly darting from his mother to Glorfindel.

“What’s the point? Morgoth knows I’m here. Wearing this isn’t gonna hide me from him,” she continued, motioning to her ‘costume’. “How the hell do you expect me to fight wearing this?”

A few men then trickled into the lobby, speaking in boisterous voices.

“Monique,” began Thranduil, gesturing to Olofin with his head to shut the doors leading to the salon. When the half-elf crossed the room, closing out the voices of the newcomers, the Green-elf continued. “If you wear your breeches, you’ll only attract attention to yourself. Right now, we do not need that added burden. Have you not seen enough to know how imperative it is that we remain in disguise?”

“I don’t care,” she hissed, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.

“So, you do not care if you put our lives in jeopardy,” chimed in Nestor, his brow arched in question.

Frustrated, annoyed, and highly uncomfortable, the Slayer plopped down beside Glorfindel on the sofa. “Fine,” she snapped, refusing to make eye contact with any.

“We’re doing this to protect you, Bella,” stated a sympathetic Glorfindel. “The Order has already snatched you from us once. We can’t afford to let that happen again.”

She turned her narrowed eyes to the Noldo. “And you think that by wearing this, they won’t find me? Seriously?!” She shook her head in disgust. “If that’s the case, then you people really don’t know a damn thing about Morgoth or his minions… ”

“It’s not Morgoth that concerns us so much,” spoke up Celeborn, “it’s his mortal followers. They will not recognize you dressed like that, but if you revert to dressing… well, like a man, you will surely draw their attention, whether that’s your intent or not.”

“We cannot take that risk, Mother,” agreed Olofin. “Once we reach one of our safe houses in the country, then you can run around naked, if that’s your desire.” He smiled, hoping that his words would lift her spirits, for a while, any way.

“So, we’re not staying here long?” she asked, shifting her eyes to her son.

“No. Coming here was a spur of the moment decision. The rest of our people are scouring the countryside, seeing which safe houses will be adequate on our way to the Sanctuary.”

“We won’t be here more than a few days. Tops,” declared Orchal confidently. “After that - we’ll be home free.”

“Hopefully,” added Glorfindel uneasily. “We must be prepared and expect the unexpected.”

Buffy felt slightly better knowing that she wouldn’t be forced to dress that way throughout the rest of their journey. She could handle a few days of discomfort, if it’s for the greater good.

Once Olofin had returned to his seat, he, along with the others, began to interrogate Buffy about what she had seen and heard during her captivity by the Order. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to provide them with much information.

None had a clue as to why the Master had anointed her, although, they definitely believed that it had something to do with Morgoth. Thankfully, the cavalry had arrived in the nick of time, sparing them all from finding out what had awaited her. A few wondered if Buffy’s fate was to be the same as Lalwen’s, but the Slayer doubted that. Despite all the evil that Melkor had wrought throughout the years, he had never, not once, attempted to kill her. The only thing that everyone could agree on was that it was no mere coincidence that Melkor happened to be in Paris at the same time as the Slayer. He was up to something, that was for sure.



Later that night, when Buffy retired for the night with Orchal, she began to question the elf about all that had happened since the Second Age.

“That is no simple thing you ask of me,” he said with a yawn as he fluffed his pillows before lying down. “It would take me months, if not years, to tell you everything we’ve been through.”

She crawled into bed next to her friend, pulling the covers up to her chin. “So, what’s the deal with Glorfindel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Orchal. I see the way he looks at me. I can feel him staring at me when my back’s turned. Are me and him… well, you know… ”

“Lovers? Is that what you mean?” The elf turned out the lamp. The room went dark.

“Er, yeah,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes, Bella,” answered Orchal with another yawn. “You two have been together for… I don’t know, three thousand years or so… ”

“Three thousand years!” she exclaimed, bolting upright.

“Just go to bed,” answered the elf, his voice muffled by his face being buried in his pillow. “I’m tired. And it’s late.”

“How can I sleep when you tell me… ”

“Good night, Bella,” Orchal yawned yet again with an air of finality to his voice. He rolled over onto his side, his back facing her, refusing to answer her many questions.

With her mind spinning from this latest revelation, she laid back down, wondering how she and the Noldo had hooked up. She now understood those looks that he kept giving her. But, somehow, he didn’t seem to understand that she was pining for Maglor, who in her eyes, was her one and only true love.

Not long afterwards, she heard Orchal faintly snoring beside her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shut down her mind and sleep. She felt wired, as if she had drunk fifty cups of strong coffee or something.

Giving up all hope of sleep, she climbed out of bed, and slipped into her robe and slippers. Buffy thought that some fresh air might help clear her mind. She quietly left the chamber, making her way to the courtyard located behind the stone structure.

She took a seat on one of the benches within the walled courtyard. Leaning her head back, she looked up at the star-speckled sky, confused more than ever before. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Maglor. From what Orchal had said, it seemed obvious that they’d had a parting of the ways, something that made her heart ache with sorrow. Before being taken to Valinor, she had planned to search all of Middle-earth for her beloved. Even now, two ages later, she was determined to look for him, that is, if she was able to find her way back in time.

Her thoughts immediately turned to the twins, Anno and Mirë. They had the ability to alter time. Perhaps if she found them, they could send her back, but not just back to the moment when she had left, but further, before Maglor and Maedhros had stolen the Silmarils. Knowing what they had planned, maybe she could stop that from taking place, thus changing history.

But where were the Oracles? With her memories of the past ages concealed, she had no idea where to look for them. Could they be in Switzerland, the Sanctuary that the elves talk about? Or maybe they were still in Mesopotamia.

“No,” she mumbled under her breath. Sumer’s long gone, she thought.

Folkvang! They might be in Folkvang!

All she had to do was find her way back to her mystical realm, something that she had not done in many, many years. Closing her eyes, she concentrated hard, hoping that she could teleport herself to Sussrúmnir. She felt a tingly sensation in her body, a feeling that gave her hope. Her eyes darted open, yet, she found herself still sitting on that same bench within the courtyard of the inn. She closed her eyes once again, calling forth the Valkyries to come to her. Still, nothing. She then repeated the process, but this time, begged for Sargon’s help. Yet, she still found herself alone, seated on the bench. The Slayer turned her gaze back toward the heavens, beseeching Ilúvatar to take her to her home, to remove her from France, a place where she did not belong.

Nothing happened. No voices in her head. No sudden appearances by any of the Ainur, or anyone else with the ability to help her. She bowed her head in defeat, feeling betrayed by those in Aman and in Folkvang, not to mention Eru Himself. How could He allow the Valar to do what they had done? Did He not see how cruel and thoughtless their deed was? Why must they hinder her magics and memories when she needed them most? And why the hell was she here in France at this time? What was she supposed to do - watch those loyal to her fall one by one? Why? That’s all she wanted to know? Why? Why here, why now? It made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” said a voice from behind.

She let out a startled gasp, twisting on the bench toward the sound. “Oh,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s you.”

“You know how dangerous it is to be out here, alone,” continued Glorfindel.

Buffy’s eyes scanned the empty courtyard. “Yeah, that statue over there might come to life and kill me,” she snickered, pointing to the unfamiliar stone figure next to the fountain. She rolled her eyes, shifting back to her original position on the bench.

“May I?” he asked, motioning to the space beside her.

She slid over a bit, allowing room for the Noldo on the bench. He sat down, watching her as she resumed staring at the sky above.

“I take it that you couldn’t sleep either.”

“Yep,” she answered, her eyes fixed on the heavens.

“Do you need something to help you sleep? A tonic perhaps?”

“No. I don’t wanna sleep. I need to think.”

“About anything in particular?” he inquired, his eyes never leaving her.

“No. Just… just stuff.”

The Noldo couldn’t help but notice the Slayer’s aloofness. They both fell quiet, staring up at the twinkling night sky.

Buffy found it odd that she was seated next to the man that had been her lover for over three thousand years, yet, to her, he was a mere stranger. As they sat there, in silence, she felt absolutely nothing for him, no flittering in her heart, no sweaty palms, nothing.

After some time, she finally spoke. “Orchal told me, told me about you and I.”

“Oh,” Glorfindel answered, turning his grey eyes to her.

“Is it true? Is it true that we’ve been together for over three thousand years?” Her eyes never left the heavens as she posed her question.

“We’ve been together for three thousand eleven years to be exact.”

Her brows shot upwards, still astounded to hear that they’d been together for that amount of time.

“Do you remember any of our time together?” he queried anxiously.

“No,” she answered, lowering her head. “I don’t remember anything.” She faced the Noldo. “I don’t remember you.”

“I cannot tell you how much that grieves me.” He reached out, longing to touch her, but the Slayer backed away. He pulled his hand back, his face a mask of pain.

Buffy’s eyes searched the Noldo’s face, hoping that she’d recall something, anything, about the elf, but her mind drew a blank. “You’re a stranger to me, Glorfindel, a complete stranger… ”

“That is not how it was.” He gently took her left hand in his, showing her the interwoven gold and silver bands on her ring finger. “I gave you this, a long time ago. I have one too. See.” He showed her the matching ring on his corresponding finger. “We exchanged these in the last age, as a token of our love. You refused to marry me, saying that three times is enough… ”

Three times? she wondered. She had never married three times!

“… I love you, Bella, and you love me… ”

“This is crazy,” she exclaimed, pulling her hand free and leaping to her feet.

Glorfindel motioned for her to lower her voice.

“No! I won’t be quiet. All of this… is maddening. I can’t take it.” She began to walk off in a huff.

The Noldo jumped to his feet, watching her storm off.

She stopped a few feet away. With her back to him, she added in a firm tone, “I don’t love you. How can I when I don’t even know you?” She continued on her way, leaving the heartbroken elf behind…


Chapter 113 - DEAD END

WARNING! The following chapter contains graphic scenes depicting torture and death. Proceed with caution. Please note that this chapter is based on historic accounts and has merely been tweaked to fit the context of this story.

Chapter One Hundred-Thirteen: Dead End



Needless to say, Buffy didn’t sleep much that night. How could she? She was beginning to think that she was providing the Valar with some much needed entertainment. It seemed, to her, at least, that they got off on tossing her into harrowing situations without so much as a single memory as to what had brought her there. How could they do this to her? What in Eru’s name gave them the right to screw with her mind as they had done? And why the hell wasn’t Ilúvatar intervening on her behalf? If she was His favorite daughter, how could He let this happen, yet again?

Not only that, but she was beginning to regret her snappish attitude toward Glorfindel. Though she had no memory of their past, it appeared that they had been together a long, long time. When she looked at things from the Noldo’s perspective, she couldn’t imagine how trying this must be for him. Even so, it still didn’t change anything. She didn’t know him, and quite frankly, she had no desire to. Right now, her heart belonged to her beloved Kanafinwë. She yearned for the son of Fëanor, and no one else. Not even Sargon the Magnificent.

Things did become awkward between her and Glorfindel after that. She found it difficult to look the elf in the eye, and found herself turning away after a second or two. When she wasn’t facing him, she could still feel his penetrating gaze, as he watched her intently. She found it uncomfortable, so much so that she avoided the Noldo as much as possible.

While they waited to hear which safe house they would be traveling to, the Slayer passed the time wandering the city with Orchal or Thranduil. They liked to sit in the market place, watching the people coming and going. She still found it strange to see people dressed in the garb of that era. It was a dramatic change from the dress of the First Age, which was definitely more comfortable to the wearer.

One day turned into two, and with it, Buffy’s restlessness grew, especially at night. Her friends had advised her to avoid the streets after dark when the low-lifes were known to prowl the area, particularly outside the bars. Of course, being told not to do something, made the Slayer more inclined to do the exact opposite. There was a pub only a couple of doors down that she wished to visit, regardless of what any thought. She was in France, a place famous for not only its food, but also its wine. How could she not partake of a glass or two of Bordeaux?

“That’s asinine!” chided Orchal when he heard of her intention. “You can’t go parading around in the local bars. There are too many undesirables there.”

“You gonna stop me?” she retorted, her eyes narrowed in challenge.

“No,” he answered with a sigh. “But, I’m going with you.”

“I’ve got no problem with that,” she replied, happy that the elf had backed down. As they made their way toward the door, she added, “Besides, it’s still early. Who would be up to mischief at this hour?”

Orchal grumbled something inaudible under his breath. He knew that Glorfindel and the others would disapprove of their excursion, deeming it too risky. Yet, he knew Buffy well enough to know that if he didn’t accompany her, she would most certainly go on her own.

They strolled over to the bar. The name on the wooden plaque beside the entrance was illegible, having faded with time. By the looks of it, the stone structure was old, solid, but old. The green paint on the main door was peeling in many places. The matching shutters, which were kept closed, were in the same state as the entryway, the green paint chipped and peeling in some places.

Pushing the door open, they were instantly greeted with a cloud of cigar smoke, the sound of piano playing and the laughter and boisterous voices of many. They had no idea that this particular establishment was one frequented by lawyers, deputies and other “political charlatans”.

Orchal took Buffy by the hand and led her through the crowd to a small, empty table in the corner of the room. Several patrons watched as they passed, eyeing them with interest. Though quite early (it was only around eight-thirty) the place was pretty busy.

They took their seats as a barmaid came rushing by, informing them that she’d take their order when she returned. The place was bustling with people and the poor woman already seemed frazzled.

The Slayer’s eyes scanned the dimly lit, smoke-filled room. It seemed to her that the turmoil within the nation had prompted its citizens to drink, and by the looks of it, to dally with women of ill repute.

“Do they have no shame?” remarked the Green-elf in disgust, watching as some man felt up a brown-haired woman not feet away.

“Apparently not,” Buffy snickered in response. “I guess war makes people amorous.”

“Pfft,” sounded Orchal, rolling his eyes. “That is the result of removing godly values from a people - it leads to moral decay. Reminds me of the Greeks long ago, and the Romans during their decline.”

“Well,” began the Slayer, “at least she’s alive. That’s a welcome sight compared to what I witnessed in Paris.” She shuddered at the mere memory. “You wanna talk moral decay - you should’ve seen what happened to this poor woman there... Jesus Christ.” She shuddered again as the elf looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate further. She didn’t.

A few minutes later, the barmaid returned. Orchal ordered a bottle of their finest chardonnay, a Buffy favorite, although she had no recollection of that. The two then did what they normally did in their down time, (which happened to be pretty much all the time), they people-watched.

Of course, like everywhere in France, the main topic of conversation was the uprising in Paris. The people had splintered, just like their government, dividing into separate factions, some in support of the insurrection, others against.

At the table next to theirs sat a few men, speaking quietly amongst themselves. She and Orchal overheard part of their conversation regarding the travesty that had taken place in their city only a couple of days before. A poor man by the name of Bayeux, who happened to be the Deputy-General in Normandy, had been unjustly imprisoned. By the time his release papers had arrived from Paris, a wild mob had assembled outside the prison, hacking him to pieces when he exited the doors.

The news shocked Buffy, as she had wandered throughout the city since her arrival, and couldn’t believe that such a thing had taken place under her nose. While she had heard talk of unruly mobs, and severed heads being paraded around on pikes, she had assumed that people were speaking of those in Paris, not those in Caen.

The Slayer had grown weary of hearing information such as that and of the insurrection still taking place in France. She wanted to forget about those atrocities, at least for a while. All she wanted was to relax and enjoy the music.

Putting aside those thoughts, she focused her attention on those near the piano on the raised wooden platform. Several couples were dancing, their sweeping movements in harmony with one another. She sipped on her wine, mesmerized by the music and dancers. If only she knew the steps, she would’ve loved to have joined them. Instead, she remained seated, gently swaying to the rhythm of the music.

By the time she had consumed three glasses of wine, the Slayer felt more relaxed. Not drunk, or even tipsy, but relaxed. Having drunk nearly all of the chardonnay, she asked Orchal to order another bottle of wine, preferably Bordeaux.

“This is neither the time nor the place to overindulge… ”

“I’m not, Orchal. I can hold my alcohol. I’ve only had three glasses for Eru’s sake. I don’t even have a buzz.”

“Very well,” he sighed. The Green-elf scanned the throng of people in the room, searching for the barmaid. “Where is that woman?”

“Just go up there and get a bottle. She’s probably waiting on someone else,” answered Buffy, draining the last drops of white wine from her glass.

Her companion reluctantly rose from the table and made his way to the counter. She followed him with her eyes until he reached the bar. As he waited, her gaze shifted further down the line, stopping on four men grouped tightly together, watching her. One raised his glass when they made eye contact. She offered a quick smile before turning her complete attention back to the dancers.

Not a minute had passed when the stranger from the counter approached her table. Without an invitation, he slunk into Orchal’s empty chair.

“Would you like to dance, mademoiselle?” he asked, the smell of brandy heavy on his breath.

Slightly startled by his sudden appearance, she responded firmly but kindly with, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, but you look so lonely here, sitting by yourself,” he continued. His big, brown, bloodshot eyes lingered on her breasts as he spoke.

“My husband went to get us drinks,” she replied, pulling her purple shawl over her chest. She then motioned toward the counter where Orchal stood with his back to her.

The stranger’s eyes did not follow her gesture. He placed his hand on her arm. “Surely, he wouldn’t mind if we shared one dance,” the man continued, caressing her skin.

“He most certainly would,” she said in an affronted tone, pulling her arm away. Scowling at the man, she added sharply, “I bid you good-evening,” before turning her head toward the dancers once again.

The man remained there for a few moments, staring at the Slayer. When he saw Orchal making his way back from the bar, he said, “We’ll meet again, mademoiselle. Make no mistake about that.” Laughing gruffly, he rose from the chair and returned to his waiting comrades.

“What was that all about?” asked the elf upon his return.

“Just some perv. I took care of it.”

Orchal turned his wrathful gaze toward the group of men, who continued to stare at his companion lasciviously.

“Perhaps we should take the wine and return to the inn,” he continued, shifting his gaze back to Buffy. “My heart tells me that those men are up to no good.”

“Oh, come on, Or- François,” she replied, correcting herself. “They’re only mortal men. I can handle ‘em.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he mumbled, as he popped the cork on the bottle. “Discretion is key, Monique. Remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, sliding her empty glass toward the elf.

Once again, she turned her attention back to the dancers while Orchal watched the men out of the corner of his eye. When ten minutes had passed, he asked if the Slayer was ready to go. She answered, no. After another ten minutes, he asked again. That went on for another thirty minutes before Buffy threw up her hands and agreed to leave. As they rose from their seats, the Green-elf noticed that the men were no longer standing at the counter. He felt a sense of relief, gladdened that they were gone.

They stepped outside into the brisk night. The street lamps softly illuminated patches of the sidewalk and road.

“I’ve got to pee! I feel like I’m going to explode!” announced the elf anxiously.

Buffy looked up and down the virtually deserted street. “Go pee around the corner. No one’s gonna see.”

“Why don’t you go on back to the hotel. I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll wait,” she replied, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “The night air feels good, especially after being in all that smoke.”

Orchal was nearly bouncing up and down. “Alright. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurried down the sidewalk, disappearing around the corner of the building.

The Slayer stepped out into the street, glancing up at the star-speckled sky on a canvas of black. It was a beautiful night.

“I told you that I’d be back, mademoiselle,” said a gravelly voice from behind.

Buffy spun around, coming face to face with the man that she referred to as “Brandy Breath” in her mind. Before she had a chance to utter a single word, she felt two hands roughly seize her from behind, pulling her backwards and off her feet. She lost her footing as she was being dragged.

The goon stepped closer. “What I want, I take,” he sneered, his thin lips curling into a fiendish grin. “That is, if you’re not willing to give it up freely.”

“Fuck you!” she grunted, trying to dig her heals into the ridges of the street, desperate to regain her balance.

“Precisely what I aim to do!” he snickered. The man reached out, jerking the shawl from around her shoulders. The material was stuck beneath his comrade’s grip and merely stretched as he pulled on it.

Only a second later, the Slayer heard the muffled cry of Orchal coming from around the building’s side. That was followed by a gunshot, a sound that caused Buffy’s blood to run cold and incite her to action.

“Orchal,” she muttered under her breath. She dug one of the heels of her boots between the paving stones, the other struck Brandy Breath’s knee.

Crack!

The man let out a blood-curdling scream. He fell to the street, clutching his right knee, howling in pain and cursing the Slayer.

At the same time, the man behind her shifted one of his arms higher, putting her in a chokehold, and pulling her backwards.

Four men came darting out from around the side of the building, one carrying a still smoking pistol in his hand.

Knowing that she didn’t have any time to spare, Buffy lifted her feet off the ground in an attempt to weigh down her captor while simultaneously slashing at his forearm with her fingernails. He groaned in pain, but tightened his hold, cutting off her air supply. She then wrapped her legs behind his, trying to throw him off balance.

“Get that fucking bitch!” snarled Brandy Breath from the ground, spittle flying from his lips.

The other men stood there for a moment, stunned beyond belief to see that such a small woman was able to harm their friend with a single blow to the knee. They remained frozen, watching the scene unfolding before their eyes. The young woman’s eyes were bug-eyed, glistening in the light of the street lamp, as she struggled with Hébert, writhing her body in an attempt to free herself. They had never seen a woman engaged in one-on-one combat before. Any other woman would have submitted to her captor, but not this one. She was fiery, a rarity amongst their kind.

The Slayer was beginning to see stars and feared that she would soon pass out from lack of oxygen. She had to do something quick. Mustering her strength, she managed to pull one of her arms free. She rammed her elbow into her captor’s ribs as hard as she could, causing him to relax his hold. She leaned forward, forcing him to do the same. Still squirming within his grasp, the man lost his balance and both fell forward into a roll, ending up on their backs. The man, now below her held her loosely around the waist, still moaning and groaning from her blow.

Gasping for breath, Buffy’s eyes gradually came back into focus. She immediately noticed Brandy Breath seated before her, cursing her as he reached into his coat pocket. Thinking that he was going to pull out a gun and shoot her, she raised her leg, bringing the heel of her boot down hard onto his injured knee.

Brandy Breath wailed once again, as one of his cohorts reloaded his pistol, finally comprehending that this was no ordinary woman they were dealing with.

Clenching her teeth, the Slayer lifted her head before flinging it back forcefully into the face of the man beneath her. Knocking her opponent out cold, she rolled off him, scrambling to her feet.

With her adrenaline pumping, and her chest heaving, she glowered at the others standing in the street.

Brandy Breath was now rolling around on the ground, shouting, “Gendarme! Gendarme!” at the top of his lungs.

“Stop right there, bitch!” said the man holding the pistol. He had his weapon trained on Buffy. “You’re going to pay for this, whore!”

At that moment, the Slayer knew, without a doubt, that he was the one that had shot her friend. She stared him down, slowly stepping toward the creep.

“One more step, and I’ll put a slug in your head!” he warned, hesitant to pull the trigger.

Buffy motioned for him to. “Do it!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “You’ve got one shot - better make it count, mother-fucker.”

The man didn’t hesitate then. He pulled the trigger. She could actually see the hammer starting its forward motion. A second later a click, followed by a blast. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion. The Slayer could actually see the projectile shooting from the barrel. She dove down, rolling on the stone road, as the bullet went zipping past her.

The three other men immediately took off, running in various directions. The man holding the pistol stood there, mouth agape, as Buffy was back on her feet, coming straight for him. He had no time to react. She seemingly flew at him, her hands grabbing his head on either side. In one swift motion, she spun his head, snapping his neck. With his face now turned completely around, the Slayer let the mortal’s limp body fall to the ground.

Brandy Breath watched in horror as his friend’s lifeless body fell in a heap onto the street. “Oh God, please help me! Somebody please help me!” he cried, dragging himself along the road.

Nobody did. Those that heard the initial gunshot remained hidden in their homes. Only one person witnessed the incident, a young woman, standing at her bedroom window from the second floor of the stone house across the street. She watched in awe, amazed to see a woman taking on a group of thugs and winning, by the looks of it.

Buffy turned, facing the man pulling himself along the street, crying. His buddy still lay unconscious nearby. She glanced down, taking the pistol from the dead man’s hand. She inspected the weapon, realizing that it would have to be reloaded if she wished to fire it again. Nevertheless, she grasped the metal object in her hand, slowly closing the gap between her and the injured man.

“No, please, mademoiselle! Don’t!” pleaded the man, as he continued to pull himself along the road, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. “I meant no harm!”

She stopped beside Brandy Breath, who turned over, so that he could attempt to plead with the Slayer. Buffy placed her foot on his stomach. “What I want, I get. And I want you die,” she proclaimed in a raspy voice.

She dropped to her knees, striking the man at the bridge of his nose with the butt of the pistol.

Whack!

The force of the blow crushed through his skull, killing the man instantly. Blood poured from both nostrils, a hollow left where he had been struck.

As she lifted her weapon again, wanting to inflict more damage on her foe, Glorfindel came dashing out of the inn, yelling, “No! Bella! Don’t do it!” as he speedily crossed the street.

Hearing the elf’s voice snapped her out of slayer mode. She looked down upon the man, his blank eyes staring at the night sky above, most of his face covered in his life force. Seeing the blood on her hand, she dropped the weapon, and rose to her feet.

The entire episode lasted maybe a minute to a minute and a half.

When Glorfindel reached her side, his eyes quickly scanned her for any apparent injuries before turning his gaze to the man on the ground. “Bella! What did you do?”

Buffy’s hand was rubbing her throat, which hurt horribly. Her thoughts then turned to the Green-elf. “Orchal,” she whispered hoarsely before taking off toward the side of the building.

She rounded the corner, only to see her dear friend lying still on the swath of grass, his eyes closed. His trousers were still unbuttoned, both hands folded on his stomach.

“NOOO!” the Slayer cried out, tears forming in her eyes. She fell to her knees beside the elf, her eyes scanning his body. From beneath his hands she could see that his shirt was soaked with blood. “Orchal! Orchal!” she wept, shaking him gently with trembling hands.

He didn’t respond.

She reached out, placing her index finger against his neck, feeling for a pulse. Thankfully, she felt one.

“Bell… Bella,” the elf stammered, his eyes fluttering open.

“Orchal,” she said softly, relieved to hear his voice. Her golden tears splattered on the elf’s chest, as she pushed his silver hair from his face. “You’ll be alright. I promise. You’ll be alright.”

Only a second later, Thranduil and Nestor came rushing around the corner.

A tearful Buffy looked over her shoulder. “Orchal’s been shot.”

“Oh God!” gasped Thranduil, sliding onto his knees next to Buffy. “Is he going to be alright?” asked the horrified Green-elf.

“Yes,” answered Buffy firmly. “He’ll be alright.” She looked up at Nestor, who had dropped down on the other side of the injured elf.

“Let me see, my friend,” he said soothingly, moving Orchal’s bloodied hands from his stomach.

The Slayer’s eyes darted from Nestor to Orchal, as the healer inspected the wound in near darkness.

Thranduil questioned Buffy while waiting nervously for Nestor’s pronouncement. Clutching her dear friend’s hand in hers, she began to explain the confrontation between them and the men in the street, that there were two groups that attacked them simultaneously.

Before she was able to finish her account, Olofin suddenly sprang around the corner of the building, out of breath from his sprint. He halted beside the group huddled around Orchal, his face fraught with worry.

“What happened?” he asked, surveying the Green-elf lying on the ground.

“We need to get him inside,” remarked Nestor gravely, not allowing anyone the chance to fill the half-elf in on what had transpired. “Help me.”

He, Olofin and Thranduil carefully lifted Orchal off the ground. Buffy continued to hold onto her friend’s hand, apologizing profusely for having insisted that they go to the pub.

“You make life interesting, Bella,” said the Green-elf weakly. “Never a dull moment.”

When they reached the sidewalk, the proprietor of the hotel and his wife were standing on the front stoop of their establishment, dressed in their nightclothes. The wife, Gabrielle, was going ballistic, waving her hands wildly as she ranted and raved. She was speaking so fast that the Slayer couldn’t understand what she was saying.

As soon as she saw them carrying a wounded Orchal, she shrieked. Her husband, Jean-Louis, tried to calm her, but to no avail.

“No!” she said when she saw them approaching, waving her finger defiantly. “I forbid you from entering my inn. No!” Gabrielle then went off on another tirade, pointing to the bodies that Glorfindel, Celeborn and Holtz were removing from the street.

“François was attacked!” interjected the Slayer. “He did nothing wrong. Those men attacked both of us!”

“Those Jacobins,” hissed Jean-Louis. “They are nothing but rabble-rousers!”

“I don’t care! If we allow them to stay, they will come after us! I do not need this. We do not need this. They will put us out of business - or worse!” countered Gabrielle, blocking the doorway.

“Please, Gabrielle,” pleaded Buffy. “We did nothing wrong. Our friend is hurt. We need to tend to his wound. I beg of you. Please let us inside.”

“No,” she answered, folding her arms across her chest. “Take François to the hospital. He can get help there!”

“Come, come,” beckoned Jean-Louis, motioning the others to follow him. He grabbed the lantern hanging on a hook to the right of the door. “My wife cannot be reasoned with,” he continued as he led them around the other side of the building toward the stable. “All this craziness… She fears that the Jacobins will retaliate against us if we help.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong. They attacked us!” reiterated the Slayer, catching up with the man.

“It doesn’t matter, Citizen Chénier. Two Jacobins are dead, and one’s wounded. The survivor will embellish the tale in the retelling, and the National Guard will be summoned. There will be hell to pay, and Gabrielle fears that we’ll be caught in the crossfire. My advice to you and your friends: flee Caen as quickly as you may. I will help you the best I can, but there is not much time. The police have been summoned; I’m sure. It will not be long before they arrive.”

Though times were rough, Jean-Louis offered them his only wagon in which to transport Orchal from Caen. Olofin, ever-grateful, slipped several francs into the old man’s hand, thanking him for his hospitality and kindness during their brief stay.

“You may collect your things from inside. I will help Monique hitch the horse to the wagon. Go! Go! If Gabrielle gives you a hard time, you tell her that I told you to. Now go.”

Olofin turned to Thranduil, “Jacques, will you go for me? I don’t want to leave François’ side. Just bring what we need.”

“Let’s get him in the wagon first,” added Nestor.

Buffy grabbed a horse blanket and laid it on the wooden floor before they carefully placed Orchal on top of it. Both Olofin and Nestor climbed in, on either side of the Green-elf, eager to tend to his wound with their elven magics.

As she and Jean-Louis went to the stall where Orchal’s horse was housed, the man said, “You’re in trouble, mademoiselle. I can see that. I’ve lived many long years, and you and your friends… you people are unlike anyone that I’ve ever met.” He glanced over at the wagon where the two elves were hunched over the injured man, a soft white light emitting from between them. “There is more here than meets the eye,” he added rubbing the stubble on his chin.

The Slayer made no comment. She took the harness from Jean-Louis and busily began strapping it onto the horse.

The old man watched her intently. “What are you people?” he whispered. “You are too fair of face for the average Frenchman.”

She glanced up, as she continued to do the straps. “We’re no different than you, Jean-Louis.” She shifted her gaze back to the task at hand. “We love. We hurt. We bleed. We die.” She looked him in the eyes. “Isn’t that what makes us human?”

“I don’t know what this world is coming to. From the news we hear, it seems humans are doing inhuman things, unholy things.”

“And what are you going to do about that?” she asked, fastening another strap.

“What can I do? I am but an old man. There is nothing I can do.”

“That seems to be the problem around here,” she answered. “No one wants to get involved except… except the rabble-rousers, as you called them. When you have people like that leading the flock, they’re only going to lead you to slaughter. Unless, you fight them. Evil reigns in France, Jean-Louis, evil that will bring about this country’s downfall. That’s a sad state, if you ask me. I believe in fighting for what you believe in, fighting for those that you love.”

“Is that what you people do, fight evil?” he asked, eager to hear her response.

“We do what we have to, to survive, to persevere. I hope your people decide to do the same thing.”

“You’re not from France, are you?”

Buffy locked eyes with the old man, but didn’t answer his question. “It looks like we’re ready to hitch her to the wagon,” she said, changing the subject abruptly.

Jean-Louis nodded, knowing that their conversation was over.

As he helped her hitch the steed to the wagon, Glorfindel and Daniel came into the barn. Holtz looked on while the Noldo leaned over the side of the wagon, telepathically speaking with Olofin and Nestor.

“Saddle up, Monique,” Glorfindel said, turning his gaze to Buffy. “We have need for haste.”

Leaving the two men to finish, she got Rocco from his stall. Glorfindel also quickly began saddling his steed.

Celeborn then came into the building, carrying a bundle of bags. He brought both Nacil and Glorfindel’s sword.

Jean-Louis looked on, his lips pursed together, as the Slayer girded the sheath around her waist. Celeborn then wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, advising her to keep the hood pulled over her head.

“We’ll see you soon, my friend,” he said once she had climbed atop Rocco.

“What?” she asked, befuddled by his remark. “Aren’t you guys coming?”

The silver-haired elf shook his head. “You and Georges will ride on together. We’ll catch up with you later.”

The Slayer was aghast at the suggestion. “No! I’m not leaving without Or- François… ”

“You have no say-so in this, Monique,” interjected Glorfindel tersely. “If you would’ve stayed inside as advised, none of this would have happened. And if we do not get you out of here as soon as possible, Lord only knows what will happen. You have put those that you love in jeopardy. The best thing you can do now is distance yourself from them and pray that no harm comes to any of us.”

“Georges,” began Celeborn, clearly disappointed by the tone with which the Noldo spoke to Buffy. “There’s no need to be so harsh.”

“Obviously, gentle prodding doesn’t work with Monique. François is proof of that.”

“Enough!” demanded Olofin, glancing over his shoulder at the Noldo. “Your point has been made.”

Buffy felt her eyes begin to tear up. Biting her lip, she urged Rocco forward.

Jean-Louis stepped before the steed, stopping her. “Please, mademoiselle. There is something that I must… Are… are you an angel?” he asked hesitantly.

The Slayer could feel Glorfindel’s glaring eyes boring into her back. She glanced over her shoulder; the Noldo ever so subtly shook his head. She turned her gaze back to the old man. “I am naught but the hunted,” she replied, the sadness in her voice apparent. She then took off out of the stable, leaving a very annoyed Glorfindel behind.

“Damn it! Has she not learned anything?!” mumbled the Noldo under his breath.

“Hurry, Georges,” said an uneasy Celeborn. “Monique should not be left alone.” The Sinda walked across the barn, standing just outside the doors, watching Buffy as she waited for Glorfindel beside the road.

Glorfindel grumbled his discontent, as he hurriedly slid the bridle over his horse’s head.

A small assembly of people had gathered around the bodies beside the road. Even in the dim light, the Slayer could see the looks of horror upon their faces.

“What kind of monster could have done such a thing?” proclaimed one man.

“The devil has been unleashed in Caen!” declared another.

Buffy looked away, turning her eyes toward the house across the street. On the second level, she could see the silhouette of a woman, holding the curtain aside, watching the scene below.

However, the woman was not watching the people gathered around the corpses, but was watching the Slayer sitting motionless upon her steed. She could see the sheathed blade protruding from beneath her dark cloak. With wonderment in her eyes, she saw that that small woman possessed a drive to do what was right. The woman instantly felt a connection with the mysterious stranger, deeming that there was some type of bond between them, though she knew the woman not. She watched as another rider, a man, much taller than the petite woman, trotted up alongside her before both took off down the road at a gallop, quickly disappearing from view.

The woman standing in the window then murmured two words, “I should!” Walking away from the window, she was determined to put her plan into action. That young woman was none other than Charlotte Corday. And over the past few days, she had begun an internal debate, asking herself, “Should I, or shouldn’t I?” Her disgust over what was happening in her country would drive her to do the unthinkable. But now, after witnessing the prowess of the small, dark-haired woman, she was resolved to do what she believed was right. It would take months before she would put her plan into action, going over every minute detail in her mind hundreds of times.

Come the following summer, on July 13 1793, Charlotte would ride to Paris and to the home of Jean-Paul Marat, the demon disguised as a mortal, whose paper, L’Amidu Peuple, (she believed) was the instrument that had incited great evil within France. She would enter his home, alone, and stab the demon in the heart whilst in his bathtub, thus ridding the world of a truly wretched creature. She would be guillotined shortly thereafter.



Now, Glorfindel was ever-wise, and knew the heart of the enemy well, having battled them for thousands of years. While Buffy thought that they would be heading east, toward Switzerland, that was not the case. The Noldo knew that word would quickly spread of the deaths in Caen, and that their foes would correctly guess that the Slayer was behind the rather grisly slayings.

The elf had the foresight to see the enemy’s next move. Since France’s armies were busy fighting wars on various fronts, he knew that the National Guard would be dispatched in an attempt to waylay their forces along the Alps to the east, and the coastal regions to the west. The enemy armies would then march inward, from both east and west in an attempt to capture the allies between the hammer and the anvil. It was an old maneuver employed by the enemy for many ages, and one that the elves could easily thwart by traveling south instead of north, where the enemy would believe they were more likely to flee France’s borders.

Using his ability of telepathy, he had instructed Olofin and Nestor to follow them to Nantes, which lay nearly two hundred miles south of Caen, along the River Loire. There, they could lie low, until things settled down, before making their way east toward Switzerland. The Noldo had already heard from several dove and falcon messengers that had been sent to various regions in France. There were still many people scattered about the country that were loyal to Buffy, that knew that she was the Slayer, and had offered their homes as safe houses until she and her friends could safely escape to the Sanctuary.

That was the Glorfindel’s plan. He shared that with Buffy once they had departed the city of Caen, but she made no comment. The Noldo could see that she was already beginning to withdraw into her shell.

The Slayer had taken Glorfindel’s earlier, accusatory words to heart. She was responsible for Orchal’s injury. If she had only stayed inside the inn, not demanding to go to a pub of all places, none of this would’ve happened. The guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders and as soon as she met up with Orchal again, she’d do her best to make it up to him, somehow, someway.

Those that they had left were not far behind. Olofin and Nestor were able to extract the bullet from Orchal’s abdomen and close the wound with their elven magics. Though the Green-elf was still sore and weak from the blood loss, he refused to ride in some wagon, which would only slow down the group, putting them all at risk. Orchal insisted that he ride atop his horse and departed Caen with the rest of his companions. The others in their group who had stayed in various sections of the city met up with them in the hilly outskirts of town.

As before, Buffy and Glorfindel rode hard and fast, trying to get to Nantes in record time. When they were about twenty miles outside the city, a hellacious thunderstorm struck. The torrential rains that accompanied it drenched the weary travelers to the bone.

Yet, the rains also proved to be a blessing in disguise. They were stopped at the checkpoint on the main north road leading into Nantes and had to produce their passports before they could gain entry into the city. On cue, the Noldo reached into his pocket and pulled out both documents, handing them to the pudgy official who glanced at the papers uninterestedly, stamped them, and then returned them to Glorfindel. That would be the last time the Slayer would go by the alias, Monique Chénier. After entering Nantes, she would assume the name Marie-Thérésa Dubois, a merchant’s daughter from Reims.

Shivering, the Slayer and the Noldo rode through the streets, amid heavy rains, to a beautiful, gothic-looking chateau that sat by the river’s edge. They passed through the gated wall, entering the estate of Bishop Guillaume Lavergne, whom they were told to address simply as, Monseigneur.

Once inside the elaborate halls, they were ushered upstairs, to adjoining rooms, where they were able to change out of their wet clothes. Having traveled only with the garments on her back, Buffy was given a plain white, uncomely gown that looked more like something that would be worn during Queen Victoria’s reign than the current fashion trends in France.

The Slayer sat on the hearth before the roaring fire within her room in an attempt to rid the chill that lingered in her bones. Her thoughts turned to the others. She prayed to Ilúvatar that they would all survive the perils of the road, making it to the safe house in one piece.

When thirty minutes had passed, Glorfindel knocked on the door, asking her to come downstairs and speak with the Monseigneur. Sliding her feet into a pair of oversized slippers, she followed the Noldo to the lower level and into the study of the Bishop.

Several priests sat quietly at a rectangular table in the middle of the room, mulling over many books and newspapers. The Monseigneur sat in a burgundy wing-backed chair near the fireplace, a folded paper resting on his lap. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties. When he heard them enter, he shifted his gaze in their direction.

“Good afternoon. Good afternoon,” he said warmly, motioning them to the vacant chairs situated across from his. “Have a seat.”

As Buffy and Glorfindel crossed the room, a few of the priests lifted their heads and gave the Slayer a quick once-over before returning to their reading.

The newly arrived guests took their seats.

“Thank you, Monseigneur, for allowing us in your home,” said Buffy, glancing around the rather large room, which contained, not only opulent furnishings, but many religious artifacts as well.

“You’re most certainly welcome, my dear Lady,” he answered with a quick smile. “My brethren, including myself, believe that the good Lord has sent you here, seeking our aid and protection,” he continued. “France is in turmoil - the Devil has been unleashed in this land and is out to destroy the Faithful.”

“The Faithful?” she queried, wondering if the Monseigneur was perhaps descended from the Edain.

“Those loyal to God, my child,” replied the old man. Cocking his head to the side, his brown eyes scrutinized the small woman seated before him. “Those that have seized power seek to dispel God and His laws. They have been hunting down those of the clergy, deeming that we are at the root of the problem, instead of seeing us as we truly are - servants of the Almighty that only wish to spread His word, and give hope and guidance to those that have lost their way.”

“The church has been vilified,” added the Noldo. “The radicals have been killing men and women of the cloth for several months, looting and defiling the churches in their madness.”

The old man nodded, his baldhead shining in the firelight. “That is right! The atrocities that we’ve been reading about in Paris, and elsewhere, are the direct result of the purging of Godly values from the people. They are running amok, believing that there are no consequences for their actions.”

“What are we supposed to do?” asked Buffy, still unsure of what her purpose in France was.

“That I do not know,” answered the Monseigneur with a sigh. “All I can say is that God has brought all of us here, for what purpose - I do not yet know. My people and I have fled our abbeys months ago, seeking a place where we can garner what strength we have and fight the despots in power, if need be.” He leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the roaring fire. “I fear that we are living in the End of Days,” he added in a mere whisper.

“No,” answered the Slayer, shaking her head. “This isn’t the end. France will endure this. She will survive. This is not the end.”

The Monseigneur turned his eyes back to Buffy. “I hope you are right, dear Lady. I hope you are right.”

“There is something that you must know, Marie-Thérésa,” interjected Glorfindel gravely. “I do not think you understand the gravity of our situation, the threat that lingers over all of our heads.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the perplexed Slayer.

“Monseigneur.” The Noldo nodded to the old man.

The Bishop lifted the paper from his lap and handed it to Buffy.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking it from the Monseigneur.

“Read it,” instructed Glorfindel gloomily. He rose from his seat and stepped before the fire. Grabbing the poker from its base, he began to shift the flaming logs within the fireplace.

Buffy unfolded the paper. It was a newspaper, from Caen. Her jaw dropped when she saw that there was a sketch of her on the front page, stating that she was wanted by the republic for conspiring with the monarchy, and for the murder of the hags on the bridge. While that was troubling enough, the proprietors of the inn in which they had stayed had been arrested for harboring a “royal sympathizer,” who was reputed to be “a threat to the newly formed republic.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “It’s all my fault,” she said upon finishing the article, her voice cracking as she spoke. “Jean-Louis and Gabrielle are probably gonna die, and it’s all my fault.”

“We do not know that,” countered Glorfindel, returning to his seat beside the Slayer. He placed his hand comfortingly on her arm. “But you must understand how imperative it is that we lay low for a while. You must not be seen, by anyone outside these halls.”

“But I was seen!” she disputed. “That man at the checkpoint - he saw me.”

“He did not pay close attention to you, Marie-Thérésa,” replied the Noldo. “He appeared distracted, unconcerned about his duties… ”

“It’s not your face on the front page! It’s mine! Don’t tell me this won’t jog his memory!” Buffy flung the paper into Glorfindel’s lap before storming out and back to her room.

She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face into one of the pillows. How could she have been so stupid? The guilt that she felt over Orchal was now compounded by that of Jean-Louis and Gabrielle. She had put everyone in jeopardy. Her foolishness and selfishness had put them all at risk. And now her face was plastered on the front page of the newspaper! She wondered how long it would be before she was found. The Slayer vowed to stay inside. She wouldn’t step outside until the others deemed it safe.

The heaviness in her heart eased a bit when the others began to arrive in small groups shortly thereafter. To her dismay, Orchal had become ill during the trip, showing up at the chateau with a raging fever. Buffy took it upon herself to nurse the Green-elf back to health. With the assistance of Emilie, the Monseigneur’s mistress, she did just that. The elf remained confined in her room until he recovered from his ailment a couple of days later.

Yet her heart ached horribly upon his recovery. Orchal pulled away from her, refusing to sleep in her room any longer. She knew deep down that Glorfindel was behind that although the Green-elf never said so. He didn’t have to. She could see it plainly in his eyes. Her perceived rejection by Orchal started her slow decline into a state of depression, which would get worse over the following months.

To help pass the time, the Monseigneur urged her to read books that were considered “classic” to the French people. The chateau had a magnificent library, overflowing with tomes, some centuries old. The Bishop suggested that she start with Voltaire, who had been a friend of his until the author’s death some years earlier.

Confining herself in her bedchamber, with the curtains drawn, she began to peruse the literary works of Voltaire. As the days turned into weeks, she moved on to Rousseau, whose book Contract Social, was touted by the radicals in power. They clung to that book as though it were their Bible, spewing out quotes during their many meetings in Paris. The Slayer would come to learn that the ramblings of the madman, Rousseau, whose mind saw endless conspiracies and plots against him, would flow from his pages to those that held his words as sacred law. They too began to see these vast conspiracies around them. Yet the difference between Rousseau and the establishment was that they had the power to execute those whom they felt threatened by. And for a long while, the streets, not only in Paris, but in many cities throughout France, ran thick with the blood of the innocent betrayers of “Virtue.”



With the ushering in of the New Year (1793), those that dwelled within the household of the Monseigneur began to congregate in one of the chateau’s vast halls, discussing the dilemmas that currently plagued France. Buffy remained quiet during these discussions, drinking in what knowledge the Elves and Men shared in regards to properly governing a nation.

She grew disheartened to hear her own people speak of the monarchies throughout all of Europe with much disdain, for to her, she was still a Queen, and their comments, while not directed at her, confused her all the more. Though her people were somewhat loyal to the King, it was mostly due to his aid in the American Revolution. She was shocked to hear that they wholeheartedly supported the overthrow of the “ancien regime”, but were vehemently against the means by which the people were doing it. Sadly, the elves seemed to forget that the Slayer had no memory of the things that had transpired over the past three ages. And without that knowledge, she found their comments disconcerting, and soon, stopped attending the nightly gatherings.

Before her birthday arrived, Daniel came calling upon her, as she spent most of her time now locked in her bedroom.

“There is no point in me and my men staying here, locked away in his fortress,” he said with a quick glance around her chamber. “Our mission is to hunt and kill vampires. We have no desire to involve ourselves in the wars of men.”

“I can understand where you’re coming from, Daniel,” she replied.

“I just wanted to tell you good-bye before I left for England, and wish you God-speed on your return home.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Should you encounter Angelus and Darla, do me a favor, and stake them both.” His eyes glinted with vengeance as his lips curled into a tight smile. “I would not be offended if you tortured them first. I would like to see them suffer as so many of their victims have.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered halfheartedly. “Be safe. Watch your back on the road.”

“I will.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze before turning, and headed toward the door. Stopping, he looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps our paths will one day cross again.”

“I hope so.”

He gave a quick nod of his head and left the room. Buffy never saw Daniel Holtz again, in life or in the afterlife. Upon his death, Námo would claim his soul, housing the mortal’s fey within the Halls of Mandos.

After Holtz’s departure, the Slayer seemed to distance herself more from the others, including Olofin and Thranduil, who had always been dear to her heart. Her friends attributed this to their new surroundings. Though the chateau was lavishly furnished, the Halls remained solemn, quiet. At Glorfindel’s prompting, the elves filled the halls with music, something that had always soothed Buffy’s soul.

By the time her birthday rolled around, the Slayer was starting to act her old self again. She resumed her training regime even though she and the elves had no intention of joining the Revolution. They were of the same mindset as Daniel, not wanting to involve themselves in the wars of man, but would defend themselves should the need arise.

Now that Buffy was more upbeat, Glorfindel saw this as a perfect opportunity to integrate himself into her life. Since she had no memories of their past together, the Noldo was quite eager to reignite the flames of love within his beloved’s heart. Often, they would sit alone together, playing chess or cards to help pass the time. The first step was to form a bond of friendship, which was the precursor of any long-lasting relationship.

As the weeks turned into months, news from outside the fortress looked even grimmer. Scores of publications poured into the chateau, bringing with it news from Paris and from around the whole of France. At this point, it was hard to tell who the good guys were, as the factions seemed to constantly change. To Buffy, the only choice amongst the poor souls of France was the lesser of two evils, whose lines became more blurred with each passing day. The talk of the day centered around The Commune and the Committee of Public Safety, whose members had the authority to accuse any of “conspiring against the republic”, which they then dealt with swiftly at the Place de la Concorde, where the guillotine had been erected. There, vendors sold drink and food for the spectators, who cried out in glee with each grisly execution.

There was talk of the Left and the Right, of the Mountain and the Plain. The Dantonists held a great influence in the government, but Robespierre’s name began to emerge in prominence amidst the headlines. It was a scary time, and a scary place to be.

There were small glimmers of hope that came with the New Year. Throughout France, many “peasants” took up arms with whatever weapons they had at their disposal. They made a valiant attempt to fight off the yoke of tyranny that was spreading quicker than the bubonic plague in the fourteenth century. The rebel forces started in their home turf, but had an unyielding determination to take the fight to Paris, and dispose of the despots that had seized power.

On top of that, news of Buffy’s plight had also reached her friends in America. George Washington sent ambassadors to Paris, led by none other than Thomas Paine, to entreat with the Commune to end the hunt for the Slayer. The Americans were willing to pay a hefty ransom if they called off the bounty and allow her to return unhindered to the States. Many of the Generals that had fought in the American Revolution agreed with the President, and implored the Committee to allow her to emigrate to America. However, this was the same government that had beheaded their King only weeks earlier. Many of those allied to the Slayer were tossed into prison; several were executed.

The radicals, under the influence of Morgoth and Allandro, responded to the pleas by raising the bounty on Buffy’s capture. The Committee of Surveillance became more vigilant in their search, literally going from house to house in pursuit of even the slightest rumor of the Slayer’s whereabouts. So far, none were aware that she was hiding out in Nantes. A lot of that was due to Olofin, who, using his ability to shape-shift, had traveled throughout the city, claiming that Buffy had returned to Paris where she was preparing to engage the militants in battle.

As the winter turned to spring, and spring into summer, those in Paris did their best to quell the insurrections throughout the country. Nantes, too had seen its fair share of persecution by those in power, the taking from the “haves” to give to the “have nots”, in the name of fairness and liberty. Those that stood in their way were hacked to pieces in the most literal sense of the word. Buffy, the Elves and the Monseigneur feared that it was only a matter of time before the enemy set their sights on the fortress. What a great command center it would make for the immoral deputies and their lot!

That time did arrive in June of that year. The National Guard showed up at the gates, demanding entry into the compound. The priests armed themselves with rifles, ready to engage the enemy in defense of their fortress. The few women that inhabited the halls were sent to the cellar, including the Slayer. Glorfindel and Nestor remained with them, serving as their protectors should the enemy breach the structure.

Buffy longed to join the others in combat, despite the fact that they would be fighting mortal men. To her, it was the right thing to do. At this, Glorfindel put his foot down, declaring that if she revealed herself; the National Convention would send the armies next. It was too risky a move and one that the Noldo refused to entertain.

The Slayer hated the fact that she was forced to remain removed from battle, for whose prowess was greater in warfare than her own?

Even so, Ilúvatar had not totally forsaken her. When the first gun blasts rang out, reinforcements arrived from the east. Several brigades of “peasants” had been fighting their way through various towns, striking back at the usurpers with an unbridled hatred that rivaled the enemy’s. With Ulmo’s essence running through the Loire River, he guided these patriots to Nantes to help deliver the goodly people trapped within the fortress. The allied forces fought the enemy in the same cruel manner in which the brutes had inflicted upon the innocent, showing them no mercy.

The chieftain of these newly come forces was no trained warrior, but the son of a wool merchant by the name of Jacques Cathelinueau. Disgusted by the atrocities being committed against his kinsmen, he rallied those that would follow to fight off the enemy combatants that had invaded their once peaceful little towns. With each victory, more and more commoners flocked to him, eager to fend off the National Guard which was now completely under the despots’ control.

It was a re-occurring dream that brought him to Nantes, a dream about a mysterious young woman whose face was plastered on bulletins and papers throughout France. Of course, that young woman was none other than Buffy Summers.

The clash outside the gates of the fortress was short-lived. Many of those in Nantes joined the newly arrived brigades. Several citizens proved to be excellent shots. Acting as snipers, they concealed themselves in various positions, such as on the rooftops of their homes and amongst the leafy limbs in nearby trees, picking off some of the oblivious enemy combatants.

Cathelineau had in his possession also, a cannon that he had seized after one of his victories. He used that weapon zealously, sending out grapeshot at the unsuspecting troops. The National Guard was forced to scatter, dispersing themselves throughout various places in the city.

While some of the allied forces pursued the fleeing men, others began tossing the dead into the river, so that their bodies could float downstream to the neighboring towns, showing them that the enemy had not prevailed in the west.

The priests stationed along the ramparts of the wall allowed Cathelineau and some of his men entry through the gates. Knowing the Monseigneur rather well, the holy men knew that the Bishop would like to thank the men for their assistance, personally.

When Cathelineau entered the massive halls and saw the religious relics on display, he knew that he was on the right path, that destiny had brought him to Nantes. Only moments later, he was introduced to the Monseigneur, who invited him and his men to sit with him a while. Taking a seat in one of the massive salons, Cathelineau then shared with the Bishop the dream that had brought him to the city on the Loire River.

That revelation stunned the Monseigneur. Calling forth one of his priests, he whispered softly in the man’s ear, before the priest left the room. The two men resumed their conversation, picking up where they had left off, as those in the cellar were notified that the skirmish outside had ended, and about the visitors who were now with the Bishop.

The priest spoke with Glorfindel, telling him that the Monseigneur felt that God’s hand was at work, and asked if Cathelineau could meet the Slayer in person.

The Noldo showed much reluctance at the Bishop’s request. However, it was Buffy that spoke up, readily agreeing to meet the man.

Glorfindel relented to his lover’s pleas, believing that if he refused her the opportunity to meet the one that had helped save them from the National Guard, then friction would arise between the two. After several months of building their friendship, he was loathe to throw it all away over a brief encounter with one who had dreamt of her for quite a while. As long as he was at her side, with his weapon at the ready, he had no qualms about it.

They then climbed up the stairs and made their way into the salon on the main floor where the others were congregated.

When Cathelineau set eyes upon the Slayer, his jaw dropped. The woman in his dreams was even more beautiful in person, although smaller. He rose from his chair and met her as she crossed the room with both Glorfindel and Nestor. Dropping to one knee, he said, “What an honor it is to meet you at last, mademoiselle.” He took her hand, and in a gentlemanly way, tenderly kissed it. “The sketches of you in the papers do not nearly do justice, for you are more beautiful in person.”

Buffy’s cheeks flushed at the man’s comments. He was quite good-looking and his words of flattery tickled her. All she could do was giggle in reply.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes at the spectacle. As the man stared longingly at the Slayer, still clutching her hand in his, the Noldo cleared his throat, alerting the mortal that his touch was bordering on impropriety.

Cathelineau’s eyes darted to the elf. He gave him a quick smile before releasing his hold on Buffy’s hand. Rising to his feet, he continued, “I have been dreaming about you for weeks now. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I felt your anguish, even from afar. You feel trapped, confined to your own hellish prison.” He glanced around the elaborately furnished chamber. “Granted, your prison cell is much fairer than most others.”

Buffy found Jacques to be most charming, much to Glorfindel’s chagrin. They spoke together for a long time. While she had no interest in him, romantically, she did feel an instant bond with the man. So much so, that she invited him to use the chateau as his base of operations in Nantes, a gesture that even the Monseigneur agreed with wholeheartedly.

Now Cathelineau did not remain at the fortress for long. He was a man on a mission and soon departed the halls, gathering his strength as he went along. Many in Nantes joined him and his brigades, feverishly hunting down the enemy. At first, Olofin, Thranduil and Orchal joined them, but when they saw how badly they butchered their foes, they voiced their disapproval, deeming their actions as deplorable.

Cathelineau had returned to the fortress with the elves, seeking the Slayer’s approval for the methods that he and his men employed. After having witnessed the things in Paris that she had, she was in total agreement with him.

“Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” she declared, alarming the elves. “I’ve seen what these men are capable of and I say: show them no mercy. Let them experience the cruelty they’ve brought upon others.”

The vindictiveness in her words filled her loved ones with dismay, but Cathelineau was quite pleased to receive her blessings. Though the elves no longer joined them in battling the enemy, the newly arrived brigades carried out their sworn duty.

Unfortunately, Cathelineau’s triumphs in Nantes were not long-lived. He died the following month after taking a bullet to the back of the head which killed him instantly.

The terrorizing of the citizens of the city began again, although the National Guard steered clear of the gothic-looking hall on the river. Word had been sent to Paris and those on the Committee of Public Safety had sent orders back to the deputies in Nantes to keep watch of the fortress, but not to assail it. Not yet, any way. They were told to capture any that left the compound, to use any means of torture necessary to find out the secrets contained behind the walls.

News of this reached those within the fortress, as both birds and beasts acted as their spies, and informed them immediately when they had overheard the conversations between a few of the councilmen.

A vigilant watch was kept on the chateau, around the clock. Yet none departed those halls. At least, not for a few months.

By late-September (or Vendémiaire as it was now called), the supplies within the chateau were becoming scarce. Despite the fact that they had rationed what food supplies they had, there was need to replenish their larders. The Monseigneur had decided to send his two fiercest priests to the market place, a decision that both the elves and Buffy dreaded to hear. They suggested that Olofin and Orchal accompany them, as they were renowned warriors whose strength and skill could be useful should the enemy attack. But, the Bishop refused, not wanting to put them in jeopardy, saying that it was more important that they remain behind as protectors of the Slayer.

So it was on that cool autumn afternoon that the two priests left in a mule-drawn wagon for the heart of the city. They holy men were watched, of course, and would never again return to the fortress.

The enemy didn’t strike until after they had made their purchases, which they intended to seize for themselves. The deputies ordered the attack outside of the Hôtel de Ville (“City Hall”) so that they could witness the event for themselves. The National Guard sprang into action, killing first the mule before snatching the God-fearing men from the seat of their wagon. They beat the priests into unconsciousness prior to dragging their limp bodies to the nearest prison.

Once there, each man was taken to a separate room. When they regained their wits, each believed the other to be dead. The torments that they had to endure were quite horrific, as the Slayer and her friends would later discover.

The savages began their interrogation with blows to the head. When that didn’t make the priests talk, they chopped off a finger when they received no answer to their question.

One priest kept reciting the Lord’s Prayer, over and over again. His torturer, a devout atheist, lost his temper and cut the priest’s tongue out. His superior immediately chastised him, since they were now unable to get any meaningful information from that priest. Deeming the Father useless, they went ahead and killed him.

It was now imperative that the surviving priest not die from his wounds. His torturer had already hewn off eight fingers, leaving only a middle finger on each hand. When the tormentor learned that the other holy man had died, he understood that he would have to use care in his attempts to extract any intelligence from his captive.

The brutes stripped the priest of his garments, leaving him naked on the cold stone floor. Removing their belts, they lashed as his flesh, demanding to know what secrets were housed behind the walls of his halls. The holy man refused to speak, clenching his jaw tighter. The pain was excruciating, especially when the leather strap struck his genitals.

Seeing their victim squirming on the floor, the head torturer came up with a horrid idea. He and his cohorts pulled the man from the floor, laying him flat on the table. Taking a long pointed needle, the chief torturer slowly slid the implement through one of the man’s testicles, causing the priest to scream out in pain. All attempts at twisting his body free from his captives proved futile. He couldn’t escape.

“Tell us: what secrets are you hiding?” demanded the interrogator, as he clutched the needle on either end, slowly pulling on it so that it ripped through the priest’s testis.

When the holy man only answered with a bone-chilling shriek, the torturer swiftly tore the needle through his sack, tearing the sensitive flesh. Grabbing a hold of his penis, he squeezed the limp member tightly, as he slowly inched the bloody needle into the priest’s urethra. The savage twisted and turned the implement, jabbing and penetrating the walls of the passageway in order to inflict more pain on his victim.

“Alright! Alright!” cried out the priest. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

The tormentor stopped his motion, but left the needle where it was. “Speak!” he shouted.

“It’s… it’s the Slayer. We… we’re harboring… the Slayer.”

A look of triumph came to the interrogator’s face. He leaned down, whispering into the priest’s ear. “The republic is ever grateful. Your reward for your betrayal is a quick death.”

Lifting his head, he motioned to one of his cohorts, who then pulled out a saber. While the others held the man down, the executioner hewed off the priest’s head.

Despite the fact that the holy man’s head had rolled off the table, and blood spewed forth from his severed neck, arguments immediately broke out within the interrogation room. Some of the men wanted to prepare an immediate attack on the chateau, while those that held the most authority wanted to wait for instructions from those in Paris. The Slayer was a fugitive, wanted by the Convention, and to go against the powers would mean an instant death sentence to the disobedient. That reminder put the others in line with their chief, as they knew there was truth to his words.

Without delay, messengers were dispatched to Paris.

Two days later, they arrived at the Conciergerie, which not only housed one of Paris’ most infamous prisons, but also the offices of the Committee of Public Safety. The twelve-man panel listened with great interest as the messengers shared the news that the Slayer had been found hiding in Nantes.

At that time, Maximilien Robespierre was, for all practical purposes, dictator of France and had the final say-so in the Committee. Before sending word back to the deputies in Nantes, Robespierre wished to confer with Allandro, who had remained in Paris after Buffy’s escape. The decision on her fate did not rest with Robespierre, but with Allandro. Though the “Bloodthirsty Tyrant” was the supreme authority in the country, he was smart enough to defer judgment to one who wielded even greater power and influence than himself.

No decision was made until Allandro had spoken privately with Morgoth. It wasn’t until the following night that he was able to summon the evil Vala, who had been searching along the Alps for his missing Melisse.

Nothing delighted Morgoth more than to learn that his beloved had been found. Together, he and Allandro hatched a plan, as he did not want his beloved taken by force. His goal was to inflict much pain upon her until she broke mentally, forcing her to surrender, to come to him of her own free will. All that would happen in Nantes afterward, would come about as a direct result of this meeting between those two insidious individuals.

The following morning, Allandro met with both Robespierre and St-Just at the dictator’s office at the Hôtel de Ville. There, he gave his orders for them to send out their most wretched deputy to “put an end to the revolts in Nantes.” Executions were to take place as close to the chateau as possible, so that the Slayer would be forced to witness these “injustices on humanity” taking place. Yet, all were forbidden to assail the fortress or instigate any type of physical altercation with her, under penalty of “severe torture”.

St-Just chose to send Jean-Baptiste Carrier to carry out the horrific killings. He was a brute of a man, some say even mad, who had become quite bloodthirsty over the course of the year and had developed a deep hatred for children, in particular. Carrier was given a few days to get his affairs in order before departing for Nantes. The barbarian was given some suggestions on possible means of execution by the “Angel of Death” himself, St-Just. One in particular, was devised by Morgoth himself, and was intended to be a tribute to the Vala of Love.



Those at the chateau grieved the loss of the two holy men, knowing in their hearts that they had fallen into the hands on the enemy when they did not return before sundown. Glorfindel, who continued to remain in charge of the elves, refused to allow any to go beyond the walls of the compound. After what had happened, even the Monseigneur yielded to the will of the Noldo.

Olofin took it upon himself to forage for food for those trapped inside. With Glorfindel’s approval, he was allowed to fly out of the compound in the guise of a hawk. Sometimes he traveled north, beyond the fertile pastures in search of game that he could hunt from the skies or he followed the course of the river, looking for wild hogs rooting in the woods beside the stream.

Generally speaking, the half-elf’s hunts proved successful. Since there were nearly eighty people dwelling within the halls, a few rabbits or squirrels were not enough to feed them all, even when they tried to stretch the meat out by making a soup or stew. Bigger game was needed yet it was extremely difficult for Olofin to smuggle his kills in, unnoticed by the enemy. A mere hawk could not carry the weight of a boar or deer unless it was of great size. The half-elf took to tearing the carcass apart in the wilds, bringing back only the hunks of usable meat after nightfall.

Even though they remained imprisoned in the fortress, there continued to be clashes between the good and the wicked all throughout the city. Cathelineau’s former brigade remained in Nantes, their numbers increased with the addition of many locals. Those not killed were thrown into the local jails, which were swelling with people, both male and female, young and old. Most were tossed in there on trumped-up charges, or those in positions of power sought reprisals against those that they envied or were jealous of prior to their newfound power. It was the same old story that was taking place in all of France - injustice in the name of liberty.

The Criminal Tribunal which had been established a year before finally kicked into overdrive when Carrier arrived in October. No one was granted a trial. All were presumed guilty and given a death sentence.

Keeping his word to those in Paris, Carrier demonstrated his wickedness, making a point to pull off some of these executions within sight of the chateau. The National Guard seized many of the homes on the opposite bank, taking the occupants prisoner. Age didn’t matter, as many were children, toddlers, and the elderly. He had these people tied up, placed in boats, which were then pushed into the stream. His men then shot holes in the vessels, so that they slowly sank, drowning all on board. This form of execution became known as Noyades (“drowning”) amongst the populace.

In honor of Buffy (and at the suggestion of Morgoth), the parasites also killed many in what they called, “the Republican Marriage.” Men and women were stripped of all their attire. Once naked, they were tied together, face to face, and thrust into the cold waters of the Loire. Unable to swim, they would drown, their lifeless bodies floating downstream.

Others were dismembered, their legs and arms cut off. Whilst still alive they were cast into the river, struggling for life as the waters overtook them. The river literally ran red with blood, almost as if the spectators were witnessing firsthand the prophecies from the Book of Revelations.

Yet, one of the worst things done was to the children. In the fields behind the chateau, boys and girls were lined up along the slopes of the land. There, the National Guard shot them down. Not all the blasts were fatal. The wretched men would then bludgeon to death the poor children, smashing their skulls in, without so much as a second thought. Large cauldrons had been placed in the field where the infants and toddlers were tossed into the vats of boiling water. The vile men would then partake in a feast, devouring the flesh of the young and innocent, as they watch their comrades continue their brutality.

Then there were the pedophiles, whose mere existence was an abomination unto the world. The things they did to children, too young to understand what was happening to them, was too horrific to go into in graphic detail. It was deplorable, an affront to any with a conscious.

From within the gloomy fortress, the cries of agony and ear-piercing shrieks of the victims pierced through wall and pane. The elves remained congregated around Buffy, fearing that she may try to escape the halls in an attempt to aid those outside. The Monseigneur and priests fled to the chapel, praying for God’s intervention in the obscene acts of depravity that were taking place in Nantes and elsewhere.

With her arms wrapped around herself, the Slayer rocked back and forth in her chair, weeping golden tears. The screams of the prisoners, together with the cheers of the barbarians, left her traumatized. She couldn’t understand why she and the elves did not help those poor people, why they remained locked away inside the halls when they should be fighting the oppressors.

“It is not our place to get involved,” Glorfindel attempted to explain. “You have said so yourself. We may counsel men, but we do not fight their battles for them.”

As the golden tears ran down her cheeks, she stared at the Noldo with a look of exasperation on her face. “If that’s the case, then we’re no better than those fiends out there,” she countered, motioning toward the nearest window with a thrust of her head. “We are as monstrous as they are, by allowing this to happen… ”

Olofin kneeled before his mother’s seat. “This is but a trap, Nana. Can’t you see that? The enemy is attempting to lure you out.”

“Why else would they be doing these things within close proximity of our dwelling?” added Thranduil. “It is a ruse.”

“And we’re outnumbered, Bella. We cannot defeat all those men,” remarked Glorfindel.

Buffy fixed her teary eyes on her son. “But, you can,” she sniffled. “You’ve brought down mountains, Olofin! Mountains! Surely, you can do something.” She then turned to Orchal, as hope began to stir within her. “And you and Nestor, you guys know the spell that can flood the river. There are things that can be done!”

“And you would have us take many more innocent lives… ” began the half-elf before she cut his words short.

“…They’re slaughtering the innocent now!” she protested. “How can we just sit back and let that happen. What’s happened that’s caused us to look the other way? I just don’t understand this. This isn’t what we do.”

“Things have changed with time,” chimed in Celeborn. “We have changed.”

“We still do not know the reason why the enemy seeks to capture you,” added Glorfindel. “For them to go to this extreme… ” His words trailed off as he shook his head. “Eru only knows what they have in store for you.”

“I don’t care!” she argued, dismayed by the words of her friends. “I’ll take that risk.” She sidestepped Olofin, rising to her feet. “I can’t take this any more. If you guys don’t want to do anything, fine! But, I can’t sit here and listen to those howling cries any longer.”

The half-elf jumped to his feet, grabbing his mother by the shoulders. “I must insist that you remain inside, Mother. This is not a matter for debate.”

“Have you people lost your fucking minds?!” she exclaimed, nearly beside herself. Buffy decided, then and there, that she was going to fight the enemy whether the others wanted to help or not.

Seeing the look of determination on his mother’s face, Olofin waved his hand before her, softly uttering, “Sleep.”

The Slayer instantly fell under his spell. Glorfindel swooped in, catching his lover in his arms as she sunk to the floor. Shaking his head, the Noldo decided that it was best to keep Buffy locked in the dungeons in the bowels of the fortress, the only place where she wouldn’t be able to hear the tormented cries of those being slaughtered or escape.

While she slept, the elves fixed up the largest of the chambers as nicely as they could. They brought down some beautiful furniture and tapestries, trying to lighten the dark and dismal room. They were not about to leave the Slayer down there, alone. Glorfindel, Olofin, Thranduil and Nestor would remain in the cell with her, ensuring that she would not be able to escape.

Once roused from her slumber, Buffy was quite dismayed by her new surroundings. No matter what the others said, she found herself sinking to the bottom of the sea of despair. She remained aloof, refusing to speak with any for making her a prisoner within the ‘safe house’. She declined all offers of food and drink. Within days, her physical health began to deteriorate along with her spirit. There was no hope that the people of Nantes would be delivered from the butchery perpetuated by the Tribunal and National Guard.

With each passing day, the elves worry grew. They knew if they released the Slayer, she would involve herself in the melee, and with her health declining, they feared she’d be recaptured. After conversing telepathically, they deemed that the time had arrived for her to depart Nantes, to move on to another safe haven, where atrocities such as those taking place outside the walled compound were not yet happening.

Winged-messengers had been dispatched in search of a place closer to the eastern borders where Buffy could take refuge. Ten days later, they returned. The elves were welcomed to hide out at the country estate of Armand de Flesselles in Lyons, a location that would bring them much closer to Switzerland’s borders. Their only problem was deciding how they could get Buffy out of Nantes whilst under the ever-watchful eye of the enemy.

It was decided that Olofin would use his shape-shifting abilities to turn himself into a great Eagle, like the servants of Manwë. Using the cover of darkness, both Glorfindel and Buffy could then escape the chateau, riding upon the half-elf’s back. There was no way that the Noldo would remain behind. He designated himself as the Slayer’s personal guard, and would willingly sacrifice himself before he’d let anything happen to his lover.

Two nights later, the trio departed the chateau in the wee hours of the morning. They were grateful that the mists had settled about the land, providing them even more cover than just the night sky. Olofin flew high above the lands, out of reach of any weapon that the enemy might possess. Neither bullet nor cannon ball could reach the heights in which they traveled.

Glorfindel kept one arm wrapped around the Slayer, holding her body close to his. As they put the miles behind them, he could feel the tension gradually leave her body. That only confirmed that he had made the right decision by leaving Nantes.

They were unable to reach their destination before sunrise. Olofin landed on the edge of a vast forest, far outside the city of Bourges. In the distance, beyond the vineyards, they could see thick plumes of grayish-black smoke hovering above the city, a sign that Bourges was under attack too.

For the first time in nearly two weeks, the men were able to convince Buffy that she needed to eat and drink, to help build up her strength. She nibbled on the cured venison that they had brought with them, which had become the staple of their diet in Nantes.

As she ate, she closed her eyes, savoring the cool morning breeze against her skin. It seemed like years since she had last been outside. And it showed. What tan she once had was long gone. Her skin was paler than an elf’s, and her long, dark hair only accentuated that fact. She was grateful that she was able to bask in the sunshine, to feel the warmth of its rays on her flesh. She allowed herself to forget her troubles for a while, imagining that she was no longer being stalked by evil.

Late that afternoon, Buffy’s bladder felt like it was about to burst from all the water she had consumed. Rising from her spot on the grassy slope, she started to make her way into the wood.

“Where are you going?” asked Glorfindel, peering over his shoulder.

“I have to pee,” she answered, speaking for the first time since being locked away in the dungeon.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, starting to get to his feet.

“I think I can handle it myself, thank you very much,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Very well,” the Noldo sighed. “Don’t go too far.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbled, as she set off into the dense wood.

She plodded along, doing her best to avoid the thickets that grew between the trees. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet, except for the sound of the leaves crunching beneath her feet. Still able to hear the voices of her companions, she ventured deeper into the woods in search of a suitable place for her to do her business. A thorny bush grabbed hold of her gown, the barbs piercing through to her skin. Cursing under her breath, she wrestled herself free, but had to stop so that she could pull the prickly stems that clung to her dress.

Up ahead, Buffy spotted a small clearing beneath a canopy of trees. She carefully continued on, doing her best to avoid the rotting limbs and thickets in her pathway. Her bladder was grateful when it was finally able to expel its contents. As she remained squatted, trying to avoid peeing on her shoes or dress, suddenly, someone snatched her from behind. One hand covered her mouth, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her backward. With her underwear still down to her knees, her muffled cries were lost. The ambush caught her off guard that her immediate reaction was to stop the flow of urine that was now running down her leg.

“And here I was, wondering how I would pass the time until sundown, when you should happen along,” hissed a voice amusedly.

The Slayer immediately recognized that voice. Angelus. He had found her! As she was dragged across the forest floor, she wondered why Glorfindel and Olofin weren’t coming to her rescue. Had she gone that far into the wood?

“Seems the luck of the Irish is still with me, eh?” he continued in that same sardonic tone. “I’ve got the elusive Slayer in my clutches - my new plaything.”

Finally regaining her wits, Buffy reached behind her, trying to grasp the vampire by the neck.

“Uh-uh,” he chided, stretching his neck out of her reach. “You don’t want to do anything… ”

She cut off his words by raking her fingernails down his cheeks.

Angelus growled, tightening his hold around her stomach, squeezing the air out of her. The fingers on his other hand dug painfully into her face.

Buffy retaliated by ramming each one of her elbows into the vampire’s ribs. She tried to employ the same maneuver that she had used outside the bar in Caen, by using her weight to force him down. Unlike the mortal who had her in a similar hold at that time, Angelus was much stronger. Her tactic had no effect on him whatsoever.

Mustering her strength, she threw her legs up from the ground in an attempt to flip out of his clutches. As she propelled herself backward, her dress fell over Angelus’ face, blinding her opponent momentarily. The momentum allowed her to wrench herself from his hold. Landing on her feet behind him, she swiftly kicked him between the legs, causing the vampire to fall breathlessly to his knees. She followed that up with a kick to the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

The Slayer spun around; half-expecting to see Darla there, ready to blind-side her, like she believed the vampire had done in the Paris alleyway over a year earlier. Instead, she saw Sahjhan, looking down upon the unconscious form of Angelus with an utter look of disgust on his face.

“Kill him, Mother!” he ordered. “End the vampire’s life before he kills more innocents.”

Breathing heavily, she turned her gaze back to Angelus, lying flat on his face. How could she kill him when she knew that he’d eventually be re-ensouled, and would help her in her fight.

“Do it! Do it now! Before he comes to!”

Buffy shifted her eyes to Sahjhan. “I can’t,” she whispered. Flinging her undergarment off from around her ankle, she took off through the woods, toward her waiting companions.

“Shit!” groaned Sahjhan before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

The Slayer sprung out the woods, shouting, “We got to go. Now!”

Seeing the look of distress on her face, neither man questioned her. Olofin immediately transformed into an Eagle before she and Glorfindel climbed on his back. They then took to the air, heading east once again.

Though the Noldo asked her repeatedly about what had happened in the woods, Buffy remained evasive, refusing to discuss her encounter with Angelus. Glorfindel could see that whatever had happened disturbed his lover greatly, but he didn’t want to pry any further, knowing that would only result in her distancing herself from him. Over the past year, they had become close, forging a great bond of friendship, and the last thing he wanted to do was put that in jeopardy. It wasn’t worth it, not to him.



They arrived at the country estate of Armand de Flesselles that evening, a place that was many miles from the heart of city. While Olofin had hoped that they could continue their journey east, their winged-messengers advised against that, warning that Morgoth’s phantoms were lurking along the mountain range in anticipation of their escape that way. Until they found an opportunity to flee that way, they would remain in Lyons.

Unlike their previous hideout, Buffy was permitted to walk the vastness of the estate, reconnecting with nature. Often she was in the company of Glorfindel, other times with her son, walking amongst the sheep or strolling through the wood. At night, she enjoyed sitting lakeside, staring at the reflection of the twinkling stars on the waters surface.

Gradually, over the following weeks, others from their group arrived in Lyons. They never said how they managed to escape the siege in Nantes. Although, in the Slayer’s heart, she believed that Ulmo had had something to do with it. She had no proof of that, but something inside her told her that the Lord of Waters was behind it. Her friends would neither confirm nor deny her assumption, but she held it to be true nonetheless.

Now, their host had lost his brother at the onset of the revolution and he was secretly financing the uprisings in Lyons. Though he was not an active participant, many men came and went to the estate, bringing news of the skirmishes taking place in the city. The elves saw to it that Buffy didn’t learn of these things, especially at the beginning of December when Joseph Fouché and his partner in crime, Marie Collot d’Herbois declared war on the people of Lyons by order of the Committee of Public Safety. The enemy had no clue that the Slayer was merely forty minutes away from their headquarters, a revelation that would come to light the following spring.

In the meantime, Buffy enjoyed the freedom that the countryside had to offer. Even when winter came, she continued to take her long walks through the estate, clueless to the horrors taking place in the nearby city.

During this time, Glorfindel began to share with his lover snippets from their past. He longed to have what they had once had and with the Slayer having no knowledge of their time together, the elf was brokenhearted. The others in their party were quite sympathetic to the Noldo’s plight, as they loved Glorfindel dearly. Buffy and the Elf Lord had been together so long that it seemed incomprehensible that they were no longer together in a romantic way. Try as they might, none were able to lift the spell that had been placed on the Slayer. The elves did whatever Glorfindel asked, distancing themselves from their Mistress (especially Orchal) so that he could have the opportunity to try to woo her off her feet once again. He did not approach the situation in a forceful way, but gradually built on the trust that they had established since leaving Caen.

With the New Year came new hope for the Noldo. Not a week had passed into 1794, when he and Buffy set out on one of their leisurely strolls around the estate. Emboldened by the closeness of their relationship, he took her hand in his, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away. Such a simple gesture filled the elf with great joy. There were moments when he saw the sparkle return to her eyes, reminding him of why he had fallen in love with her in the first place. Unfortunately, those instances were a rarity, for Glorfindel could see that a shadow had crept over her heart, leaving Buffy feeling trepidation and doubt.

Yet the Noldo did not let that dissuade him. By the waning of winter, he had progressed to giving her a nightly kiss on the forehead or cheek. There were also times when they sat in the music room, listening to the piano playing of Olofin or the singing of Orchal that she would doze off with her head on Glorfindel’s shoulder. While those moments may seem trivial to an ordinary person, they were quite intimate to the Elf Lord.

Even though the Slayer’s fondness for Glorfindel was growing, she also wasn’t blind. From afar, she could see the thick plumes of smoke lingering over the city. Yet, she managed to separate herself from the horrors taking place in Lyons, viewing that burning city as if she were looking into her Mirror at some distant land. She knew there was nothing she could do, that she powerless to stop the wheel of fate from turning. She paid little heed to the fact that fate would dictate that the time was fast approaching when she would be confronted by the monsters that had invaded the city, and that the war would not die down until her capture.

That fateful day came, ironically enough, on April 1 of that same year.

After eating a hearty supper with those that dwelt in the castle, Buffy was shuffling from the dining room with a handful of others when Jude, their host’s cousin, stopped her in the hallway.

“Marie-Thérésa,” he began, stepping in her path. “May I have a word with you?” His big blue eyes swiftly shifted to Glorfindel then Thranduil, who stood on either side of her. “Alone,” he added. “It’ll only be for a minute or two,” Jude said reassuringly, flashing a quick smile.

“Sure,” answered Buffy happily. Promising to join the others in the music room, she followed Jude down the hallway and into a deserted chamber. Once the door had closed behind them, she asked, “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, he took a sip of the brandy he had clutched in his hand, as he slowly made his way toward the hearth. He stopped. Placing one hand against the mantle, he leaned forward, fixing his gaze on the low flames of the fire.

“I realize that we’re not supposed to discuss the horrors taking place in the city,” he started with a sigh. “But, things are far worse than one can imagine.” Jude paused, wanting to choose his words carefully. “The bastards in charge are relentless in their persecutions. None are safe, not even us here.”

The Slayer remained still, watching the man intently. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

Still staring at the fire, he replied, “You can make it stop. The executions will stop if you turn yourself in.”

“What?” she queried, confused by his comment. “What do you mean the executions will stop if I turn myself in? Who told you that?”

“Fouché… and Collot.”

“And you believe them?” she asked incredulously.

Jude turned his blue eyes to Buffy. “Yes. Yes, I believe them.” He pulled himself upright, facing the Slayer. “Lyons is my home. My people have lived here for centuries. Now, many of them have been arrested, accused of crimes that they did not commit. They await the firing squad or worse, the guillotine.” He shook his head dismally. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. And I believe that you would do the same, Marie-Thérésa. I do not believe that you would risk the lives of those that you proclaim to love. Those fellows traveling with you - wouldn’t you do anything in your power to spare them a horrific and tragic death?”

Buffy immediately broke out into a cold sweat. “What are you saying?”

Jude fixed his blue eyes on the Slayer’s much smaller form. “You are to turn yourself in to Fouché, at the Hôtel de Ville in Lyons. If you do not arrive by sunrise, the National Guard will be deployed. They will be ordered to execute all that dwell within these walls, including your people, Marie-Thérésa… ”

“You sold me out!” she uttered in dismay, feeling as though her legs were about to buckle beneath her.

With only a couple of long strides, Jude had crossed the room, stopping in front of Buffy. Indignant in both mood and manner, he spat, “My kin are in prison! They will surely die if… ” He stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing his tone was a bit louder than he intended. Still angry over the injustice of his plight, he took a deep breath before nosily exhaling.

“What am I supposed to do? Let my people die?” he answered in a calmer voice. For a brief moment, Jude’s eyes glinted with fear. “I had no choice. I will do whatever I have to, to protect my family, my friends.”

The Slayer slumped against the arm of the couch, needing the support. Jude’s words left her shocked beyond belief.

“The killings will not stop until you turn yourself in… ”

“I can’t believe you’d listen to anything those people have to say. I have nothing to do with the Revolution.”

“Then why is it that your face is on placards throughout all of France? They say that you are an English spy, and an assassin.”

It seemed obvious to Buffy that Armand hadn’t shared her “true” identity with his cousin. She believed he must have had a reason to keep that information to himself.

“The Convention seeks out all those that disagree with their methods of purging France of all dissidents. I guess I’m accounted amongst that group. I hate what they’re doing. I’ve lost friends… ” began Buffy before being cut off.

“And I have too!” he interjected. “My sister sits in prison with her small children. My mother. My father. I can’t lose them. They’re all I have… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I betrayed you, but it’s for the greater good. If you do not go, we will all die. And that blood will be on your hands.”

He turned away, walking toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he paused before turning it. “I’ve tethered a horse to the big elm on the edge of the woods by the front gate. You know which tree that I’m talking about. Go alone. Tell nobody what I have said to you and they will be fine. The chateau is being watched. If you attempt to flee during the night, we will all perish in ways unimaginable. Do the right thing, Marie-Thérésa. Be at the Hôtel de Ville by sunrise and all this will be over.” He opened the door and departed, leaving a stunned Buffy behind.

She sat there for several minutes, wondering why life always seemed to take a turn for the worse when her outlook of the future seemed more hopeful. Feeling depressed, she rose from the arm of the couch and left the room. As she ambled down the corridor, the Slayer could hear the jovial singing of the elves coming from the music room. She stopped, listening to the chorus of melodious voices for a minute. Realizing that she was putting their lives in jeopardy, something she swore that she wouldn’t do again, the Slayer climbed up the stairway, preferring to be alone with her thoughts until all retired for the night.

Once in her room, she crawled onto the bed and pulled herself into the fetal position. She didn’t cry, didn’t weep over her current predicament. She felt too numb inside to shed any tears. The last thing she wanted to do was to bring harm to those whom she loved. They had been loyal and very protective. There was no way she would risk their lives, even if it cost her, her own. As Buffy lay there, wrapped in the silence of her chamber, her sadness escalated to despair. She had doubts that Fouché and Collot would keep their word, that her people would not be slaughtered if she turned herself in. The current regime had already gained infamy for their many lies. Was this just another?

The Slayer had no idea how long she lay there before flashes of lightning began to illuminate the room from an approaching storm. Rising from the bed, she made her way toward one of the tall windows, watching as the flashes lit up the darkening countryside.

After several minutes, she heard a couple of soft knocks on the door before it creaked open. A moment later, she heard the latch close. She remained still, staring at the sky as thick black clouds rolled in.

“You never joined us in the music room,” said Glorfindel, now standing behind her. “Is something wrong? Do you feel ill?”

“Just a case of the blahs,” she answered with a heavy sigh.

“Did Jude say something to upset you? I haven’t seen you since you spoke with him.”

Buffy was a bit surprised by his comments. She hesitated for a moment before replying, “No. He… he didn’t… upset me, or anything.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re keeping something from me? Perhaps I can help.” Glorfindel placed his hands on her shoulders, and began to massage them.

The Slayer found the Noldo’s touch extremely comforting. Instead of answering, she moaned her approval of his rubbing her tense muscles.

Glorfindel knew Buffy well enough to know that something was troubling her. Deciding not to prod any further, he started to softly sing an elvish love song to her.

While he sang, the Slayer continued to stare toward the heavens. When another round of lightning blanketed the sky, she saw a winged-shadow swerve out of the dark clouds. Her muscles tightened, her eyes widened. “Did you see that?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“See what?” queried the bewildered Noldo.

Buffy looked back at the sky. The form that she had seen so distinctively only seconds before had gone. “I… I saw… ” She paused, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.

“What did you see?” Glorfindel inquired again, his grey eyes scanning the landscape outside the window.

“It… it was nothing. Must be my eyes playing tricks on me.”

“I don’t believe that for one moment,” he answered, turning her around so that she now faced him. “What’s going on? Something is bothering you. I can see that clearly enough.”

As she took a deep breath, the Noldo quickly added, “And don’t you dare tell me that everything is alright. I’m not buying that. I’ve known you long enough to know when something is troubling you. Now, tell me what it is.”

Try as she might, Buffy was unable to hide her fear from the Elf Lord. He was too damn perceptive and could read her like a book. All she could manage to say was, “I’m afraid, Glorfindel” in a faint voice.

The Noldo’s heart ached as he searched his lover’s doleful green eyes. “What is it that you’re afraid of, love?” Holding her gaze, he gently lifted her chin. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that, Bella.”

Feeling her eyes well with tears, she whispered, “I don’t belong here, Glorfindel. I’m not a part of this world. Too much has changed. And I don’t like it. There’s so much pain and sorrow… ”

“Shh,” sounded the Elf Lord, placing his finger on her lips, stilling her words. “Do not speak of such things. I’m here. I will shield you from the ills in the world. I promise.”

While the Noldo had no idea what fate had in store for her, the Slayer couldn’t help but feel glad that he was with her. Just being in his presence made her feel safe, for the time being any way.

“I believe you,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his waist. She stepped closer, resting her head against his chest.

He embraced her, keeping her body pressed close to his. “I will never let any harm come to you.”

This was the first time since their arrival in France that they had showed such affection for one another.

As they stood there, holding one another, Buffy could feel the goodliness of Glorfindel’s fey emanating from his hröa. The strength of his essence helped dissipate the anguish she felt at Jude’s betrayal of her to the enemy. She clung to the Noldo even tighter. He responded to that gesture by planting a kiss on the top of head.

After a few moments, the Slayer eased back, looking up into the eyes of the Elf Lord. She wanted to thank him, thank him for being there for her, but she couldn’t seem to find the words to express that. But, she didn’t have to. Her connection with the Noldo ran deep, (even though the spell placed upon her blinded her to that fact), and he could see her gratitude as plain as day.

For the first time in eighteen months, Glorfindel saw that familiar look in his lover’s eyes that he desperately yearned for - her longing, her need, for him. He leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips. She did not push away, but kissed him back. Several more flashes lit up the chamber, as their kiss deepened, awakening the passion that had slept overly long in both of them.

Buffy felt her heart racing in her chest. The proverbial butterflies in her stomach fluttered their wings madly in response to Glorfindel’s kiss. Not a minute had passed when they both began to undo the buttons and clasps of each other’s garments. The Slayer could no longer deny the mutual attraction between herself and the Noldo. The gentleness of his touch and the hungering of his kisses dispelled all doubt in her mind. Never before had things felt so right.

Once undressed, they slid onto the bed, as their hands and mouths eagerly explored one another’s body. A throaty moan escaped her lips when they joined as one. Their feys emitted a soft glow, bathing them in the blessed light of their essences. This was not merely an act of bodily pleasure, but was a union of their souls.

When they found their release, they lay there, their bodies still entwined, breathing heavily. Once Glorfindel had caught his breath, he lifted his head, his damp, golden hair draping his handsome face, and whispered, “I love you, Bella.”

Finding herself unable to answer with the same, she replied, “I know.”

The Noldo was slightly hurt by her response. He rolled off Buffy and onto his back, lying beside her.

She immediately snuggled up to the elf, placing her head on his smooth, muscular chest. “It’s gonna take some time, Glorfindel. Just give me some time.”

Understanding her current predicament, with her memory loss, he answered, “Time is something I have. I am immortal, after all.” He wrapped his arm around her, keeping her close to his naked body.

“Thanks.”

They lay there for some time, watching as the flashes of lightning lit up the chamber, before sleep took them.



A loud crack of thunder woke Buffy with a start. She was lying on her side. Glorfindel’s hand rested on her hip. She could hear the torrents of rain lashing against the windowpanes, as another round of lightning lit up the room for several seconds.

Maybe thirty seconds had passed when she suddenly remembered Jude’s words from the night before.

The time, she thought to herself. What’s the time?

She reached for the clock sitting on the nightstand. She could feel her blood pressure rising in fear that she had overslept. She looked at the dial. It was two twenty-three. Buffy let out a sigh of relief as she placed the device back on the table. She quietly eased out of bed, praying that she wouldn’t wake Glorfindel.

Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she looked down at the sleeping Noldo. She knew that, in time, he would come to understand what she was about to do, and that their night together was basically their final farewell. The Slayer knew that she wouldn’t be coming back. She was tired of running, tired of hiding. Whatever the enemy had in store, she would face it with all the courage she could muster. It was time to bring an end to the madness.

She crept over to the wardrobe and pulled out garments that she deemed appropriate for the journey on horseback. She quietly dressed, pulling on a pair of tan pants and a navy blue sweater. After brushing the tangles out of her long, dark hair, she braided it, tying the end with a piece of blue ribbon. When she reached for her coat, another flash of lightning lit up the room. The gemstones on the scabbard of Nacil sparkled in the light. A sudden compulsion forced her to grab the sword at the back of the wardrobe. She girded it around her waist before sliding into her coat. Buffy topped off her ensemble with an elaborate hat decorated with flowers and bows. She surveyed herself in the mirror, chuckling softly at how strange her attire looked.

She glanced one last time at Glorfindel, who remained sleeping. The Slayer placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, tilting the blade behind her so that it would not drag across the floor. She then proceeded out of the room, leaving the Noldo, fast asleep.

Doing her best to avoid those floorboards that creaked or moaned with the slightest amount of weight, she made her way downstairs and out the door. She ran toward the front of the property, her feet sloshing through the waterlogged grass. The rains were cold, the winds fierce. If she had not tied the bow of her hat tightly, it surely would’ve blown off her head.

Surely enough, Buffy found a horse tethered to the elm by the front gates. It was not Rocco, but one of Armand’s treasured steeds. The beast was already saddled, standing beneath the limbs in an attempt to stay dry. She undid the reins from the tree, before climbing onto the wet saddle. She then took off for the road. One of the iron gates at the entrance of the estate had been left ajar. The winds and driving rain caused it to sway open and closed, clanking against the metal pole. When a gust blew it open again, she darted through the opening before it slammed shut again.

The ride to Lyons was long and miserable. The whole time she sensed that she was being watched, but with the inclement weather, she was unable to see anyone lurking in the woods beside the road. Hell, for all she knew, phantoms were following her, phantoms that she could not clearly see.

She met nobody on the roadway until she was a couple of miles outside the city. Several men on horseback sprang out of the woods on either side of the road, surrounding her. By the red caps on their heads, she knew they were members of the National Guard. Not one spoke a word to her. Their orders were to escort the Slayer to City Hall, nothing more.

When they entered the city, even more men joined the train. There must have been at least fifty men surrounding the Slayer.

It wasn’t until they stopped outside the steps of the Hôtel de Ville that any spoke to her.

“Get off the horse - slowly!” ordered one of the men, pointing his rifle at Buffy’s chest. “And no funny business, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear,” she replied, as she slid off the steed.

All the men had their weapons trained on her, even those stationed outside the main doors to the building. Yet, she found it odd that none took away her sword. For a fleeting moment, she pictured herself valiantly hacking down those around her, defeating the enemy with ease. But, who was she fooling? If she dare pull Nacil from its sheath, she’d be shot to death on the spot. With no magical powers, she couldn’t stop any bullet from penetrating her flesh. She was at the mercy of her captors. Eru only knew what they had in store for her.

As soon as she dismounted, two men grabbed each one of her arms roughly. Their fingers dug through the layers of her garments, bruising her flesh. Many commented on her sheath. The plethora of gemstones gracing the cover gleamed in the light of the lamps, stirring the lustful hearts of many who wished to possess what they considered an objet d'art.

The scabbard dragged across the road’s surface until they reached the steps. Buffy had a hard time climbing them, as her weapon kept causing her to stumble. Another man came from behind, lifting the sheath off the steps, making it easier for the Slayer to trudge on.

Once inside, she was ushered down a hallway. Men lined the corridor on either side, gawking and uttering vulgar comments as she passed by. She kept her head bowed, watching the droplets of water fall from the brim of her hat. She was lead up another stairway, and down another long hallway until they reached a set of double doors to her left.

She shuddered as the doors swung open, revealing a large courtroom. She shifted her gaze, eyeing the room and its several occupants. Seated at the center of a long table was a man that Buffy immediately recognized from her imprisonment in Paris. Though he was now wearing a powdered wig, she knew that beneath it was a head full of red hair, and that that was none other than Joseph Fouché, an abomination to mortal kind.

Beside him, sat a deplorable-looking figure whose eyes clearly revealed his warped mind. That had to be Collot, Fouché’s partner in crime.

Before being seated in a lone chair set out in front of the table, Nacil was taken from her, and placed on the table. She was then frisked for any additional weapons. The hat was torn from her head; the bow that secured it in place nearly choking her. Once it was determined that she was weaponless, her hands were tied tightly behind her back with rope. The Slayer was then thrust onto the hard, wooden chair, as another man crossed her ankles, tying them securely with another strand of rope.

“You’ve evaded us for a long, long time, Mademoiselle Dubois,” began Fouché with a sinister sneer on his face. “It is noble of you to do the right thing and turn yourself in. You will be given a fair trial… ”

Upon hearing that, the Slayer snickered, stopping the man from finishing his sentence. She knew it was absurd that she’d be given any type of “fair” trial. The infamy of the Tribunal’s duplicity was known throughout all of France.

After a moment, Fouché read from the long list of trumped-up charges, ranging from murder, leading several insurrections, as well as conspiring with the monarchies of England and Austria to overthrow the republic, to name of a few. Buffy had already been declared guilty in the Tribunal’s eyes; there was no mistaking that. What awaited her was her sentencing, which, by the sound of it, would inevitably be a one-way trip to the guillotine.

Surprisingly, Fouché did not condemn her to death, not yet anyway. He would personally accompany her to the Tuileries in Paris, where sentencing would take place before the Convention, since she had become a celebrity of sorts.

Buffy had only been in the courtroom for about ten minutes, when she was lifted out of her chair, and forcefully dragged from the building to a carriage waiting outside. Fouché accompanied her, taking Nacil with him. He was the only one that rode in the vehicle with her. Others, namely members of the National Guard, went as well, riding alongside the carriage as it headed north.

“I know who you are, who you really are,” her captor began, as the vehicle rolled through the streets of Lyons. “You’re the last of your kind that still walks the earth, refusing to forsake mankind, whom you love so much.”

The Slayer turned her gaze from the window, fixing it on the mortal. He now had her full attention.

“I may speak of there being no God, but I know otherwise,” he continued, delighted that his words had piqued her interest. “Death is but an eternal sleep. At least, that’s what they’re told to believe.” He motioned toward the riders outside the vehicle. “I know better, for I have seen his Holiness - the malevolent Melkor Bauglir, King of the World and the driving force behind this Revolution. He is the Light amid the Darkness… ”

“You don’t know shit,” Buffy replied, glaring at the mortal.

“I know that you are impotent, Inanna, incapable of doing me harm,” Fouché answered with a wry smile. “How sad it must be to be you.”

“Fuck you!” she spat, twisting her bound, aching wrists behind her back.

“I should expect that you’d say something of that nature. What else could I expect from one whom has been so aptly named the Goddess of Fornication,” snickered Fouché. “But, alas, I am a married man, and am loyal to my wife. I’m not easily seduced by any woman, even if she happens to be the consort of God.”

“Melkor’s not God!” she countered between gritted teeth, angry at the mere suggestion.

“Is that so?” queried Fouché, his smile broadening. “Well, perhaps it’s time for me to enlighten you, most Benevolent One.” He leaned forward in his seat with that same creepy grin on his face. “How is it that Melkor has come back into this world? How is it that he managed to escape the Void? I’ll tell you: He defeated the Allfather. He killed Him! And now claims lordship of all the world.”

“If you believe that, then you’re stupider than you look!” Buffy shot back, amazed that the man was dumb enough to fall for one of Morgoth’s lies hook, line and sinker.

“Why is it that you have no powers, Inanna? Have you not had them recently? How is it that your magics vanished like that?” He clicked his fingers for added emphasis. “It is Melkor, Melkor who has subdued your magics so that he may reunite with you once again.”

“You’re wrong,” she replied half-heartedly, feeling a twinge of doubt within her heart. Though she believed that Morgoth had duped Fouché, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was some truth in his words. Glorfindel and the others have talked about her possessing magical abilities when they had arrived in France. It was when she had become separated from them in Paris that she lost her abilities. Was Morgoth truly behind that and not the Valar as she had thought?

“We’ll just see about that,” chortled Fouché in response. “Why don’t you pray to the Allfather? Why don’t you pray for Him to release you from my custody? Wouldn’t that prove beyond a doubt whether He is alive or dead?”

Buffy didn’t answer. She turned her gaze back to the window, watching the rain lash at the glass. If Fouché said anything after that, she didn’t remember. She found that Ilúvatar and Morgoth suddenly consumed her thoughts. She couldn’t help but wonder just how the evil Vala had managed to escape his imprisonment in the Void. Surely, he didn’t have the strength to overthrow Eru, or did he?



Hour after hour, the carriage continued north. The rains eventually stopped; the clouds dissipated allowing the sun to shine brightly in the clear, blue sky. Buffy remained aloof, refusing to talk with her captor any more. She kept her eyes glued to the window, watching the beauty of the countryside as they passed by.

They stopped only once before nightfall, at a small roadside inn, where Fouché and his men partook in a three course meal to sate their ravenous appetites. Although she was offered food and drink, the Slayer turned it down.

After a two-hour break, the company set out on the road again, wanting to put as many miles behind them as they could.

When darkness settled upon the land, Buffy found it difficult to keep her eyes open. Since night had blanketed the landscape, she no longer had anything of interest at which to look. Weariness overcame her at last, the movement of the carriage lulling her to sleep.

The Slayer had not been asleep long when she was jolted awake by the terrifying shouts of men together with gunshots. With her heart racing, she anxiously looked through the window, her face nearly pressed to the glass, her breath fogging up the pane.

Riders on horseback came stampeding out from behind the hills on either side of the road, shooting at those escorting the carriage. Some carried torches, the flames partially illuminating the men’s faces.

Fouché cursed. “We’re under attack!” he bellowed, sliding open the window. “Faster! Faster!” he yelled to the driver.

Muzzle blasts lit up the darkness, looking like short streaks of lightning. The gunshots echoed against the hills, frightening the horses. Many reared, tossing off their riders.

Buffy’s eyes frantically surveyed the attack taking place outside. This new group of riders was encircling their group, firing constantly upon them. Cries of pain shattered the night, as men fell from their steeds, apparently shot by the newcomers.

A couple of riders darted in the path of the carriage, nearly causing a collision. The vehicle went off the road, tilting on its side for a moment before correcting itself. Both the Slayer and Fouché flew to one side of the compartment, their heads striking the inside of the carriage hard.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, blinking the stars from her eyes. “Untie me, damn it!” she ordered, struggling to push the man off her.

“Shut up!” he barked, pulling himself back onto his seat.

The pounding hooves of the steeds became louder and louder as they drew their ring tighter, trying to slow the vehicle.

Fearing for their lives, some members of the National Guard fled. Fouché cursed at that as well, vowing that they’d be guillotined for their cowardice.

The carriage was forced to a halt, as the shadowy figures on horseback closed in around vehicle.

“These imbeciles have no idea who they’re dealing with,” grumbled Fouché, as he flung the door open. Only a second later, the mortal yelped as he was grabbed and pulled out of the carriage. There was a loud crack, then nothing more from her captor.

Unsure of what was happening, the Slayer slid across the bench, and away from the opened door. She desperately tried to free her hands, fearful of what awaited her. Leaning against the opposite corner, she lifted her bound feet onto the seat, ready to kick the first thing that appeared in the opening.

She heard the voices of many, but none approached the opened door.

Then she heard it - the distinctive sound of jingling bells.

The elves! she thought to herself, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. They must have discovered that she had gone and had somehow found her.

Yet, Buffy was plagued with uncertainty, as none of those outside revealed themselves to be friend. She kept her eyes fixed on the opening, prepared to kick any that she didn’t immediately recognize.

When she heard the men addressing someone as “my Lord,” her heart skipped a beat. That was a telling sign that the bells that she heard had to be from one of elven kind, as the current regime deplored nobles, and usually addressed one another as “Citizen”.

Every second seemed like a minute, every minute seemed like an hour, as she waited impatiently for those outside to reveal whether they were friend or foe. The anticipation was nearly driving her mad. With her hands still bound behind her, she felt a sharp metal protrusion along the edge of the seat rake against the inside of her arm. Believing that that was sharp enough to cut through the rope, she began to feverishly rub the cord against it.

The door that she was leaning against suddenly swung open, causing the Slayer to let out a startled gasp as she fell backward through the opening.

“I’ve got you,” said a kindly voice, catching her before she could flip out of the carriage. “You’re safe now.”

The Slayer looked up at the handsome face hovering above her, not immediately recognizing the stranger.

“It’s me, Bella. Allandro,” he added with a warm smile. “Let me help you.” He slid her out of the vehicle, placing her on her feet.

“Allandro,” she said, the name finally registering with her.

“Olofin and the elves are nearly beside themselves with worry,” he continued, pulling a dagger from his belt. He began to cut her bindings. “We’ve all been searching for you… ”

“They’re okay then. My people,” she interjected, rubbing her now freed wrists.

“Of course,” he answered, cutting the rope around her ankles. “They said that you had disappeared during the night. They dispatched messengers throughout the land. Thankfully, one reached me in time. And I was able to find you.” Allandro stood upright again. He placed a comforting hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for saving me.”

“That’s what champions do, isn’t it?” he chuckled in reply. “I imagine you’ve grown tired of France.”

“You got that right!”

“Come, come with me. We’ll take my carriage back to Rome. The others,” he paused, “the others will meet up with us at my palazzo.” Allandro reached into the vehicle, and grabbed Nacil, which lay on the floor. “I believe this is yours,” he continued, handing Buffy her sheathed blade.

“Thanks,” she replied.

The Immortal wrapped his arm around her and led her towards his carriage. He quickly barked orders to his men to leave the dead where they lay.

After helping the Slayer into the vehicle, he took a seat beside her. As the carriage jolted forward, heading north again, Allandro offered her both food and drink. When he saw the flesh wounds on her wrists, he cursed, “Bastards! How could they do that to you?” As he dug into his bag, he went on, “That Fouché is an opportunist, if ever there was one. At least now he has received his just rewards.”

“I’ve seen him before,” remarked Buffy. “Fouché.”

“Why, Bella, everyone in France knows who he is. Fouché is a notorious… ”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she interjected, remembering her captivity a couple of years before. “I saw him, in Paris, two years ago, when I was taken prisoner by the Order of Aurelius. He was there, with the Master. With all those evil people.”

“So, Fouché is a follower of Aurelius,” Allandro chortled, as he smeared some salve onto her raw wrists. “How amusing.”

Buffy looked blankly at the Immortal.

“He is no different than most men in France today, Bella. His principles sway with those in power. He was once a defender of the clergy. Can’t say that he is anymore.”

“Death is an eternal sleep,” she whispered, recalling similar words spoken by the mortal earlier.

“Well, he’s in for a rude awakening, don’t you think?” queried Allandro with a snicker.

“Yeah, he is,” she answered.

The Slayer partook in some of the food and drink that the Immortal offered her. He made small talk as she ate.

As the carriage, accompanied by many armed soldiers, disappeared over the hill, those that remained behind at the “battle zone” were already mounting their steeds. Unbeknownst to Buffy, the whole debacle was a charade, a charade devised by Morgoth and his most trusted acolyte, in order for the Immortal to gain her trust. It worked, for the Slayer didn’t have a clue that she had taken the bait, and had fallen into a trap that had been conceived a long while before.

Once she had finished eating, and had come down from her adrenaline rush, Buffy felt sleepy. Allandro wrapped her in a thick, warm blanket and held her in his arms until she drifted off. Phase one was now complete.



The sun rose in the east. Its warm rays beamed into the windows of the carriage. After sleeping for many hours, the Slayer began to wake. As she went to stretch her aching limps, she discovered that she was now in the most precarious of positions. She cried out in shock when she found herself hog-tied. She began to wrestle with her chain bindings.

“You can’t break free,” declared Allandro matter-of-factly, who sat across from her, admiring Nacil.

Buffy shifted her wide eyes to the Immortal, flabbergasted by the turn of events.

“It’s Angainor, my dear,” he continued. “None can break the iron links wrought by Aulë. Not even you.”

“Why… why are you doing this to me?” she asked in dismay, still struggling with her restraints.

“It’s not all about you!” rebuked the Immortal. “God! I had forgotten how self-absorbed you can be.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Allandro’s sudden metamorphosis freaked out the Slayer. She was beginning to panic, as she continued her futile attempts to free herself from Angainor. She nearly rolled off the bench in her attempts, but he stopped her with his feet.

“I told you - there’s no escape from Angainor!” he stated once again. “If Melkor the Magnificent couldn’t break these chains,” one of his feet rattled the links, “surely Maranwë Luinil won’t be able to.” The Immortal turned his attention to Nacil, which he still clutched in his hand. “What a rare artifact this is! The sword of Fëanor! How delighted I am to add it to my collection of relics,” he said gloating over his newly acquired possession. “I will keep this beside the surviving Palantíri, in homage to the eldest son of Finwë.”

Buffy glared at the Immortal. If looks could kill, he’d have been splattered all over the inside of the carriage. But, alas, she had no power to do much of anything, other than give him the evil eye.

He sheathed the blade before placing it across his lap. He then fixed his dark eyes back on his captive.

“It’s a shame, you know,” he began again. “You’ve fucked with our plans a bit.” His lips twisted into a wicked grin. “But, fret not, my dear Luinil! We have to make allowances for such things.” The smiled immediately faded from his face, only to be replaced by a severe scowl. “How it sickens me that you still fornicate with the lower beings. A Vala with an elf. It’s revolting! I can smell the stench of elf’s seed inside you. You’ve been defiled!” He paused for several long moments. “But, that can be rectified easily enough.”

That evil grin came back to his face as he reached into his coat pocket. He then pulled out an Orb of Thezula and held it aloft.

A prickling sensation coursed through the Slayer’s body when she laid eyes on the mystical object. Her eyes widened in fear.

“Ah, I see that you remember the Orb wrought by the Dwarf Lord ages ago. You’ll soon see it up close and personal, I’m afraid.”

Buffy shifted her gaze from the globe to Allandro’s eyes. She waited expectantly for him to elaborate.

“Surely, you do not expect the Covenant to take place when your flesh has been sullied. No, we must destroy your hröa, and then make it anew so that it is pure, untainted. A holy sacrament for the most holy of Lords.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped, still hopelessly wrestling with her restraints.

“The Covenant, my dear Bella. You’ve failed to fulfill your obligation to Melkor. You promised him a son. And you will give him one.”

She stopped thrashing. Narrowing her eyes she said, “That’s what this is about? The Covenant?” The Slayer snickered after hearing herself say those words aloud. “Morgoth’s been stripped of his bodily raiment. He can’t take form again, jackass!”

He sniggered in reply. “Oh, how ignorant you are, my sweet,” he responded, shaking his head. “None can constrain the mightiest of the Valar.”

Allandro’s usage of the word “Valar” left her taken aback. She never recalled hearing him use that term before. Yet so much time had passed since she had last seen him, and there was no doubt that she didn’t remember everything that he had said so long ago.

“Melkor’s love for you knows no bounds. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, can keep him away from you. He has found a way to escape the Void. And if he’s capable of doing that, then he’s most certainly capable of fathering a child, with my help, that is.”

“With your help?” she repeated, unsure of what the Immortal was talking about.

“I am his Vessel, the instrument to be used to fulfill the Covenant. He and I will merge as one before you and I merge as one.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” she said through gritted teeth. “There’s no way that you and I are going to… Never! I’d die first!”

“That’s part of the plan, my dear. You will die! There is no way around that. Your body has been defiled and must be remade. Besides, you’re the most wanted person in France. By executing you, we kill two birds with one stone,” said the beaming Immortal, as he slid the Orb back into his pocket. “All those renegades out there will see their hero fall…” He paused for a moment, snickering yet again. “You will be taken to Paris and tried for your crimes before the Convention. I daresay I already know the verdict - beheading by guillotine.”

Buffy felt a cold chill sweep over her. At that moment, she knew that Allandro was speaking the truth, that she was screwed.

She refused to even look at Allandro after that. She felt stupid at being so easily duped by one whom she had thought was a friend. With her eyes clenched closed, she prayed for a miracle. Lord knows, she needed one.



By late afternoon the carriage had reached Paris.

“We’re nearly there, Bella,” announced the Immortal, nudging Buffy with one of his feet. “We’ll soon be crossing the Seine, just south of the Tuileries. I’ll have the driver take us through the Place de la Concorde so that you can see the guillotine at work. As you know, that’s execution central in Paris.”

“Go to hell!” she hissed, her body throbbing horribly.

Allandro turned his gaze to the opened window. “Ah, we’re approaching Quai d’Orsay. I can already see the Palais Bourbon up on the left.” He glanced down at the Slayer and added, “The moment of truth is almost here.”

Buffy still lay on the opposite bench, hog-tied. She could see the façade of many structures through the window as they passed them by. That feeling of dread escalated. Her stomach twisted in knots (much like her limbs). But she wouldn’t cry. She would be brave. She has faced death many times before, and lived to tell the tale. Yet, knowing that she would soon be decapitated made her nauseous. That was not her ideal way of dying. Would it hurt? Would she feel the blade drop onto her neck, severing her head from its body? Would the dregs of society parade her head around the square on a pike? Would they rape her corpse as they had done to so many others?

The Slayer could feel the vomit at the back of her throat. She broke out into a cold sweat. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

As the carriage started across the bridge, the cheers and shouts from the bloodthirsty crowds reached her ears.

Suddenly, others cried out. The pitch of their voices much different from a second before. They sounded… fearful.

Out of the depths of the Seine rose Ulmo in all his terrible splendor. People along the right and left banks of the river fled, fearing the “being” whose form was made entirely of water.

Allandro noticed the menacing Vala to his right and let out a terrifying wail. Before he could open the door, Ulmo crashed over the bridge in the form of an enormous wave.

The cold, rushing waters entered the opened windows, its force breaking apart the vehicle, as it was carried over the other side of the bridge.

Buffy, shocked by the experience, felt her body glide through the water, separating her from the Immortal. Only seconds later, Ulmo grabbed her in his watery arms, and disappeared to the bottom of the river. He would take her back in time, to the Second Age of the world, where she would reside with him at his Halls at the bottom of the sea for many years. There, he would comfort her, healing her ailing heart.

The sudden appearance of the Lord of waters terrified the people of Paris. Since so many had witnessed the episode, Robespierre would declare, a month later, the existence of “God”, although he would refer to him as the “Supreme Being”, and would hold festivals in his honor. In the months to come, the Revolution would come to end, ushering in Napoleon Bonaparte’s reign.

The Valar, in their infinite wisdom, had not foreseen all that was to take place in Paris during the Revolution. They had no idea that Melkor would be there, and that he had corrupted Men to do his bidding, including wreaking havoc on the Household of Maranwë Luinil.

There would be dire consequences for humankind, as this was the occasion when Maranwë Luinil, lover of Men, turned her back on them. She would never willingly set foot in this world again, leaving the defense of its inhabitants to her emissaries and the slayer line. That is, until the Valar deemed that it was time to intervene once again. That time would come nearly two centuries later, in the year 1981...


Chapter 114 - THE GIRL IN QUESTION, PART 1

When 1981 rolled in, the Valar still sat upon their thrones within the Ring of Doom, debating the issue of Maranwë Luinil’s refusal to continue her sacred duties by maintaining the balance between good and evil. The Powers had been slow to act (as was their wont!); since they believed that they could reason with the Vala Queen.

Unfortunately, for them, the horrors of the French Revolution, especially the brutal slaying of Lalwen, had stirred Buffy to wrath. But that did not hinder their attempts, as they had no comprehension of the pain and anguish that their (seemingly) constant interference had brought to the Vala Queen.

Irmo was the first of the Valar to pay her a visit, around one hundred and forty-five years (Yr 1939) after she had departed Middle-earth. The Aratar believed that he was the best choice to negotiate her return since their familial bond was strongest. Needless to say, that reunion did not go over well with Buffy.

“You, come to me, with demands,” she slowly hissed from atop her lapis lazuli throne within her Hall of Judgment. “The audacity of that is mind-numbing!” With Sargon by her side, she looked down upon her brother, standing at the bottom of her dais, flanked by her Valkyrie chieftains, with enmity and contempt. “You hold the soul of Lalwen captive, depriving Luthor of his bride. She is dear to me, like a sister, a mother… ”

“You have no mother. None of the Valar… ” he began, before the Slayer angrily shouted over him, drowning out the last of his sentence.

“Shut up, mouthpiece of Súlimo!”

“…The daughter of Finwë is of elven kind. Her fey belongs to Námo,” continued Irmo in his calmest voice. “You know the rules, Luinil, the laws of Manwë.”

“The laws of Súlimo hold no weight in Folkvang. I am Lord here! I’m Queen! My laws prevail, not his, nor anyone else’s,” she spat haughtily. “If your brethren are so concerned for mankind - then get off your asses and do something. I’m through! I quit! You people have done diddlysquat for me! When I’ve come to you begging for aid, you’ve always turned me away.” After a short pause, she snickered. “Nice to have the tables turned for once. Now get out my Halls before I toss you into my dungeons!”

Irmo was dumbstruck. Before he had the chance to say anything else, his sister expelled him from Folkvang, sending the Vala back to Aman, where his kinfolk awaited his report.

Near tears, he shared with his brethren what she had said. Dismayed by the news, they fell quiet, sitting in the Ring of Doom, pondering their next move for many years to come.

After much contemplation, Vairë suggested that Ulmo should be sent to Folkvang. “He saved her in Paris. Surely she would heed his counsel.”

“We’ve been over this before,” answered Eönwë, who attended the council in Manwë’s stead. “Ulmo has refused our summons. He is sympathetic to Luinil’s plight. As far as I can see, he will not return to Valinor any time soon.”

“Then perhaps he should face our judgment for defying our orders,” suggested Yavanna. “Ulmo should not have saved Luinil in Paris. He should have let her… ”

“Die? Is that what you’re saying, Mother?” interjected Oromë, his green eyes narrowed in anger.

“Yes,” she replied coolly. “That was her fate.”

“How could you say such a thing about one of our own?” spoke up Nienna, taken aback by the Valië’s words. “How can you harbor such hatred towards one who has done more in Eä to combat the forces of evil than all of us combined?” Her eyes welled with tears. “It breaks my heart that you’d wish her harm based on things that happened so long ago.”

“Long ago?” shot back Yavanna Kementári venomously. “She has defiled my House. She has seduced my son with her witchery!”

“She did not!” exclaimed Oromë, tightening his grip on the arms of his marble throne. His body began to tremble with rage. “It sickens me that you continue to hurl insults at Bellaseth when all she has ever done was to exorcize evil from this world. Perhaps you, dear Lady, should be forced from Aman to the world beyond to face the creatures of darkness that dwell there. Let us strip you of your powers and see how long you last without…”

“There is the proof of Luinil’s sorcery!” countered Yavanna, motioning toward her son. “My son has lost his mind. He sounds more like Luinil with each passing day.”

“Enough!” said Námo with an air of finality in his voice. “This is not getting us anywhere,” he continued, fixing his eyes on Kementári. “Clinging to what you deem are past ills only hurt you, Yavanna. It would do you good to forgive, and move on, and not dwell on things that were beyond your control.”

“Here! Here!” agreed Aulë, before his wife turned her wrathful gaze on him, shutting him up.

“I will go,” volunteered Oromë, despite the furious looks from both his mother and wife. “Who else, besides Ulmo, has formed a greater bond of friendship with Bella? I am the prime candidate… ”

“I forbid you to leave this realm,” spat Yavanna, her face turning red just at the mere thought of her son and the Vala of Love.

“You do not have the authority to tell me what I can and cannot do! I am one of the Aratar too! I do not answer to you,” replied Oromë heatedly.

“You answer to all of us, son of Yavanna,” said Námo, reminding the Lord of Trees that all the Valar held equal authority within Eä except for Manwë, who was Lord over all.

“With all due respect,” began Aulë, looking to his wife’s son. “I do not think that Sargon would take it lightly if you were to show your face in Folkvang. His jealousy over Luinil runs deep. He will mark your arrival as an attempt to supplant his… position with his Queen. I do not deem it wise.”

“I agree,” answered Irmo, nodding his head.

“Then what are we to do?” asked Námo to those gathered on Máhanaxar.

All fell quiet once again, thinking about what they should do next.

The Elves and Maiar that sat at the feet of the Valar looked nervously at one another. Many had misgivings about the Powers meddling in the life of the Slayer yet again. They, like Ulmo, believed that she had earned the right to live in peace within her Blessed Realm.

However, a dark cloud loomed over Middle-earth, and the lands were riddled with war. Though Buffy’s emissaries, including her children, had been doing what they could to protect mankind, it was not enough. She was needed in the world, for no other being in all of Arda truly understood evil as she did, save Melkor, but he had been cast into the Void ages before.

The silence was broken by a Maia seated at the feet of Nienna. “I will go,” offered Olórin.

“You, Olórin?” queried Tulkas with a look of amazement on his bearded face.

The White Wizard nodded. “I have formed, in days past, what I consider a great friendship with Bellaseth. I have sought her counsel more times than I can remember and we’ve gone on an adventure or two together. If you recall, I looked after her children when she went away, saw to it that they were safe. I do not think she would forget such things and would be willing to listen to what I have to say.”

Námo pondered that suggestion for several minutes, wondering how his sister would react to seeing Olórin again after so much time. For, unlike Irmo, Luinil’s only memories of Gandalf were of their time together in Middle-earth, and the Third Age had not been so long ago that she would easily forget the deeds of the White Wizard. But, then again, Maranwë’s mood had soured towards most of the Ainur, and Námo wasn’t sure if she would welcome Olórin to her kingdom. Not to mention the fact that she was becoming so damned unpredictable.

The Valar reached an agreement, deciding that they’d send Olórin to Folkvang.

Once the Maia got to his feet, he entered the center of the Ring of Doom, facing Námo.

“Are you ready, Olórin?” asked the Lord of Mandos.

“I am,” he answered with a slight nod of his head. For a brief moment, the Wizard wished he had his trusty staff with him, thinking that he might have need for it in Folkvang after hearing what Irmo had said about the Vala Queen.

One second the Maia was standing within the Ring of Doom, the next, he found himself standing in the mammoth vestibule of Sussrúmnir. Olórin was stunned by the beauty and majesty of the Vala of Love and War’s Halls. As his eyes swept over his new surroundings, the beautiful melodious voice of Antamo reverberated throughout the massive structure, instantly putting the Wizard at ease.

“Olórin?” said a female voice from behind.

The Maia turned. “Rainë,” he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve come to see Bellaseth.”

“You don’t say,” she replied, warily eyeing the Wizard. “Have you come as the spokesman of the Valar or,” her lips curling into a mischievous grin, “have you come in search of the blessings of the Priestesses of Tingilindë?”

Olórin let out a frustrated sigh. “I see that you’re as cheeky as ever. I am here on behalf of the Aratar, and wish to speak with your Mistress as soon as I may.”

“Ah, that’s such a shame. The girls would’ve had fun with you,” she answered, slowly circling the Wizard. “Perhaps another time then?”

“Perhaps. Now, if you don’t mind - I must speak with Bella,” continued Olórin, his impatience obvious.

Rainë turned to Vórëa. “Why don’t you be a dear and see if Bella is willing to meet with the White Wizard?”

Without saying a word, Vórëa took off down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

“How ‘bout a drink, Olórin?” queried Rainë, linking her arm with the Maia. “Bella’s in the East Garden with Sargon and it may be a while… that is, if she’s willing to speak with you at all.” She led the old man toward one of the first floor parlors. “I’m sure you’re aware that her fondness for the Valar has dwindled over the years. Their constant interference has really pissed her off. Can’t say that I blame her though. How can they make her suffer so? They cannot fathom how much pain they’ve brought into this House. They don’t seem to care.”

“Poppycock!” exclaimed the Wizard, pulling free from the Valkyrie.

“Excuse me,” she shot back with her hands firmly planted on her hips, staring at the old man in disbelief.

“The Valar love Bellaseth and you know it!”

The Valkyrie remained poised for a moment before breaking into a fit of laughter. “I have forgotten how amusing you can be, Olórin.” She went over to the sideboard to pour them both a glass of wine. “A word of advice, old man: don’t use that line on our Queen unless you wish to face her wrath.” Rainë glanced over her shoulder. “She has no love for those in the West, save Ulmo… and maybe Oromë.” She placed the cork back into the bottle. “Actually, I’m a bit surprised that they sent you instead of one of them. Why is that? Why is it they sent you?” she queried as she handed him his drink.

“I volunteered,” he answered, sniffing the contents of his glass.

Upon seeing that, the Valkyrie chieftain said, “It’s not poisoned, you know,” before taking a sip from her glass.

“One can never be too sure nowadays,” he replied before sipping the deep red beverage.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, fixing her eyes on the Wizard. “If Luinil saw you as a threat, you would’ve been seized the moment you arrived. She is all-powerful here. The Valar cannot hinder her magics whilst she is in Folkvang.”

“They have no desire to hinder her magics,” answered Olórin.

“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” she remarked, as she plopped down on the sofa. Rainë grabbed hold of the old man’s arm and pulled him down onto the cushion beside her. “Enough talk about Bella,” she added, abruptly changing the subject.

The Wizard found the Valkyrie’s demeanor unsettling. He attempted to squirm away, but she had a death grip on his arm, keeping him in place.

Rainë leaned forward, exposing her cleavage to the Wizard. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had… new blood in Folkvang,” she cooed, placing her hand on the Maia’s knee. “You’re a welcomed sight, Olórin,” she continued suggestively, gradually sliding her hand up his thigh. “Perhaps we can pass the time by… ”

“Rainë!” exclaimed Vórëa, who suddenly appeared in the doorway of the room with a look of fury on her face.

Rainë sat upright, her cheeks flushing from the penetrating gaze of her sister-in-arms.

“Freya will see you now,” Vórëa said to the Wizard. “Follow me.”

Olórin placed his glass on the table and quickly rose from his seat. He glanced at Rainë, who now hung her head low, much like a child scolded by a parent. Vórëa’s timely arrival couldn’t have been better. He felt a sense of relief as he made a beeline for the door.

The Wizard followed Vórëa down a long corridor, glancing at the many faces of those that he passed by. They were mortals, he could see. It had been centuries since he had last seen an Adan from the noble houses of old. For no mortal man walked in the lands of Aman, not since the Hobbits many years ago. But then again, they weren’t really from the race of Man after all.

Vórëa stopped before a set of double glass paned doors, which were opened. She stepped to the side, revealing Buffy and Sargon seated together on a couch on a beautiful porch that overlooked a magnificent garden in bloom. The Valkyrie motioned for him to enter before she turned and walked away, but the Wizard remained frozen to the spot, watching the two lovers closely.

Sargon was speaking softly to the Slayer, one hand resting on her thigh; the other stroking her cheek affectionately. From where he stood, he could feel the lovers’ devotion for one another. It was a strange thing, mostly because the Wizard was aware that Buffy had other lovers, perhaps not in Folkvang, but he knew there were others hidden in the realms beyond, so as not to arouse the jealousy and ire of the Vala Queen’s favorite mortal companion.

The Maia cleared his throat, not wishing to intrude upon what he considered to be a tender moment between the couple.

They both turned their eyes to the Wizard.

Olórin felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he locked eyes with the Slayer, for he could see the sorrow etched on her still youthful face and the grief in her green eyes. They last time he had seen her, when they said their farewells in Middle-earth long ago, she seemed to sparkle with life and love. That was obviously no longer the case.

“Mithrandir,” said Buffy, forcing a smile on her troubled face. She rose from her seat, Sargon following suit.

“Bellaseth,” responded the Wizard, stepping through the doorway. “It has been a long time, my old friend,” he continued, looking kindly upon the woman.

“That it has,” she replied, somewhat dejectedly. The Slayer turned her gaze from the Wizard to her lover. “This is my beloved, Sargon the Great,” she said, grasping the mortal’s hand.

The Maia exchanged greetings with the Adan, scrutinizing him with his inquisitive blue eyes. “Are you not also called Bëor by the Edain?”

“I am,” answered Sargon with a smile. “I am known by many names.”

“Aren’t we all?” chuckled Olórin, as he too had been known by numerous names in Middle-earth.

Buffy rolled her eyes at their attempt to make chitchat. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” she remarked, deciding that there was no point in making small talk. She sat back down with her legs folded beneath her bottom, absently twirling a strand of her golden hair. “I have to tell you, Mithrandir, I’m a little surprised that they sent you. I was half-expecting Melian, to tell you the truth.” The Slayer motioned for him to take a seat in the empty chair across from the sofa.

“It was my suggestion that I come,” answered the Wizard as he eased into the seat.

“That could be a dangerous move on your part,” came her reply.

“Perhaps,” responded the Wizard, arching one of his thick brows. “However, since our surroundings are quite informal, and we are not in your Hall of Judgment, I deem that I am welcomed and that my presence does not fill you with the same contempt that you had showed to your brother.”

“You’re right about that,” she sniggered. “As far as I know, you haven’t betrayed me.”

“That is true, but the Valar have not betrayed you either,” he said in defense of the Powers.

Buffy instantly became grim in face and mood at the mere mention of those in the West. “I will not leave my home, Gandalf. I’m tired of my brethren toying with me. They’ve done nothing but fuck with my life. Repeatedly! They have no idea what it’s like to live in that world. That’s why they avoid it at all costs. They cherish the peace and beauty of Aman, but expect me not to do the same in Folkvang.” Her facial expression hardened. “I’ve earned my peace! I’ve suffered at the hands of Men, Elves, Demons and even our own kind. I will not subject myself to any more. If the Valar are so dissatisfied with the state of things, then they need to take it upon themselves to do something about it. They are the Guardians of the world, after all. It’s time for them to step up to the plate and leave me be.”

“I know what it’s like,” replied the Wizard in a solemn voice. “I have walked the lands of Middle-earth, mingling with mortals and elves alike. I have lost those that I have loved. I have experienced the pain, the fear…”

“Then tell me, White Wizard, have you come back to that world since sailing to the West? Did you witness the fall of the once noble Houses of the Edain? Did you watch the mighty kings of Men become corrupted by power and wealth? Did you see, from afar, through a Mirror perhaps, how they hunted my children, eradicating them from the world?” Her voice broke as she asked her last question.

“Your children?” repeated the Maia, experiencing a sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“The Periannath.”

“The Hobbits?!” exclaimed the Wizard in dismay. “The Hobbits are dead!”

“For more than a thousand years now,” Buffy replied sadly. “I wasn’t there to protect them, to protect them from men who hunted them for sport.” She closed her eyes as she recalled those days. “I was sent on a mission, with Oromë, to battle evil in another realm. By the time I got back, the Shire was no more, the Hobbits were no more. Their heads were displayed on the walls of men as trophies of the odd little people that had once brought such joy into the world.” The Vala Queen opened her tear-filled eyes and looked upon the horrified Maia’s face. “I take it my brother didn’t share that bit of news with you. I know you loved them, looked after them when I was unable to. But when you left, when the elves left, there was no one left to watch over them, to protect them.

“Maybe now you have a better understanding as to why I won’t leave here. And the loss of the Hobbits is only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve lost so much and I’ll be damned if I lose any more.”

Olórin was left speechless. He had no idea that the Halflings were no more. None in Valinor spoke much of them after the deaths of the three that were granted asylum in the Blessed Realm. After the deaths of Bilbo, Frodo and Sam, very few spoke of them at all, except for the elves that dwelt in Middle-earth during the Third Age, and who remembered them fondly.

“I am sorry,” whispered the grief-stricken Wizard after several long minutes. “I did not know. I always believed that the Hobbits continued to thrive in their neck of the woods. What a sad day it is that they no longer roam in the world beyond.” Tears ran down the Maia’s face as he remembered those Little People and their love for life.

“They were my children, Mithrandir,” said a bleary-eyed Buffy. “They sprung from my essence. They were made from me, just like Aulë’s dwarves. And Ilúvatar welcomed them into the world, blessing my little children with souls.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “And the Valar let them die! They didn’t protect them when I couldn’t. They’re jealous. They’ve always been jealous of me. I hate them. I hate them all.”

Olórin sat there, numb, staring at the Slayer with his mouth agape. Whilst he had always known that she had brought the Hobbits into being, he was horrified that the Guardians of the World had allowed that race of people to diminish in Middle-earth. It was a tragedy, an injustice unto the world. The Maia now truly understood the Slayer’s resentment and ire with those in Aman. In his opinion, it was justly placed.

Wiping the tears from his face, the White Wizard rose to his feet. “My business here is over,” he announced. “I now see where you are coming from, Bellaseth Dagnir. I would not have you leave Folkvang for any reason after what you just told me.”

“I just want to be left alone, Mithrandir,” said Buffy morosely from her seat on the couch. “Haven’t I earned that?”

The Wizard wasn’t given the opportunity to answer or say good-bye.

With a wave of her hand, the Slayer sent the Maia back to Valinor. From that point on, she cut off all communications with the Valar, locking them out of Folkvang with the aid of her powerful Maia followers.



Olórin’s sudden appearance in the Ring of Doom shortly after he had left did not come as a surprise to the Valar.

“I take it that Luinil will not leave Folkvang on her own accord,” said Námo from atop his throne.

“No, she will not,” replied the Wizard. He said no more than that. While he was still disturbed over his discovery of the Hobbits’ fate, he had no desire to bring that subject up at that time. Instead, he solemnly walked back to the empty spot at the foot of Nienna’s throne, and sat back down.

Because of Olórin’s demeanor, none questioned him about his conversation with the Vala of Love. It was pointless as they knew that she would not willingly leave her Blessed Realm.

And so it was that the mighty Valar sat upon their thrones contemplating what they should do. The years swiftly passed by until January 1981 arrived.

It was at that time that Manwë Súlimo summoned the Aratar to his Halls on Taniquetil. Though he had not attended the council on Máhanaxar, he and Varda had heard all that had been discussed.

Only seven of the Aratar were present, as Ulmo still refused to leave his Halls at the bottom of the sea.

“I have given this much thought,” began Manwë, nervously fiddling with his sapphire scepter. “I am somewhat in agreement with Yavanna when it comes to Luinil.”

The Vala Queen smiled smugly, gladdened to hear that her Lord agreed with her.

“Since Luinil refuses to carry out her duties, we have no other choice but to impose our will on her,” he continued.

“But that is wrong,” protested Oromë. “Every time we do that, she suffers as a direct result.”

“Yet this time will be different,” answered Súlimo. “Maranwë has come to trust that the Slayer line will thwart the forces of darkness. She is responsible for enhancing those young girls with great powers having little regard to how quickly that power brings about their demise… ”

“Excuse me, Lord,” interjected Námo, “but my sister was not responsible for bringing about the Slayer line. Her son, Olofin Tirion imbued the first Slayer with her blood, not she.”

“Perhaps,” replied the Lord of Arda. “Nonetheless, she is to be held accountable for the actions of those of her House. And I deem the time has come for her to experience firsthand what her daughters have had to face for millennia.”

“What are you saying?” queried Aulë fretfully.

“The time has come where we must act quickly. We will use our powers to thrust Luinil’s fey into that of a future Slayer.”

“That is cruel on so many levels!” exclaimed Oromë in dismay. “We need to stop interfering like this. It’s just wrong!”

“I agree with the wisdom of Manwë,” spoke up Yavanna. “Who else here feels that our Lord knows best?”

Of course, Varda sided with her husband. Aulë, Oromë and Nienna objected, feeling that Luinil should be left in peace. Námo would be the deciding vote.

After careful consideration, the Lord of Mandos sided with Manwë Súlimo. And it was he that would play the largest role in what Buffy would later call “The Great Conspiracy”.

Manwë then explained to the others what they had to do…



On January 19, 1981, a very pregnant and highly distressed Joyce Summers lay on a gurney, as it was wheeled down one of the corridors in the maternity unit of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, California. Her husband, Hank, ran alongside, clutching one of her clammy hands in his own.

“It’ll be alright, Joyce. It’ll be alright,” he kept repeating in an attempt to calm his wife.

“She’s dying, Hank. I can feel it,” Joyce cried, as her free hand stroked her swollen belly in hopes of rousing her unborn infant to move.

“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait out here,” informed one of the nurses, refusing to allow Hank’s admittance beyond the double doors.

Hank watched as his wife went through the doors. When they swung shut, he stared through the small glass window until Joyce disappeared from view. Terrified at the prospect of losing his firstborn child, he retreated to the waiting room where a few expectant fathers were congregated.

He took a seat away from the others. He closed his eyes and prayed to God that his child, a daughter according to the ultrasounds, would be alright, that both she and Joyce would pull through this ordeal, healthy and whole.

The scenes from earlier replayed in his mind. First, Joyce was spotting, which soon turned into a stream of blood flowing from her nether regions. Frightened, they called the doctor who instructed them to get to the hospital as fast as they could. On the way, the baby had stopped moving within Joyce’s womb, terrifying the parents-to-be.

Please God, prayed Hank. Let Joyce and the baby be okay. Don’t let anything bad happen. Please.

While Hank repeatedly prayed for divine intervention, the nursing staff was busily prepping Joyce for an emergency cesarean section. She was already groggy from the drug in her IV, her body numb from the waist down. She too mumbled prayer after prayer as the voices of those within the room became muddled to her ears.

She couldn’t clearly make out what the doctor and nurses were saying. A green screen prevented her from seeing the surgical procedure. A part of her was relieved by that, yet another part wished to see what was happening.

“It’ll be alright, Joyce,” said the nurse at her side. She held one of her hands, speaking reassuringly to the mother-to-be.

Everything seemed to be moving slowly and quickly at the same time. Joyce attributed that to the drugs, which had relaxed her to the point of extreme drowsiness.

The infant’s heartbeat has stopped.

Did someone say that or was Joyce imagining that? She tried to speak but no sound escaped her lips.

The doctor took the bluish-tinted infant from Joyce’s womb and, with the aid of the nurses, hurriedly began to work on her on a nearby table.

Tears escaped from the corner of Joyce’s eyes, knowing that her daughter was dead.

The child will be revived more blessed than ever. She is holy.

Joyce truly believed that the meds were causing her to hallucinate, as no one seemed to notice the old man dressed in white standing beside her bed. The figure seemed to emit a white light.

He looked down upon the woman and, without seeing his lips move, she clearly (or so she thought) heard him say, She will live.

She looked on in amazement as the figure seemed to glide over to where the doctor and nurses were attempting to resuscitate the baby.

Still, no one seemed to notice this strange man within the room.

When he reached the baby, he lifted his arms up toward the ceiling and proclaimed in an imposing voice that seemed to shake the room with its power:

I am the Master of Spirits, Channel to the Vessel; O’ Maranwë Luinil hear my summons. I command thee to come forth and enter the Vessel. Come forth, Maranwë Luinil! Come forth and enter the Vessel!

Joyce was shocked, as the hallucination seemed so frightfully real.

Only a second after the stranger had spoken, a blinding white streak of light flashed out of the ceiling and entered the man’s body. He placed his hands on the infant and the light seemed to run from his fingertips into the baby. A split second later, the light had diminished, the man was gone, and the newborn was squalling.

Joyce found herself crying and laughing at the same time, not knowing what to make of the strange thing she had just witnessed.

“The baby will be alright, Joyce,” said the nurse at her side. “Everything’s fine.”

Relieved and thankful, Joyce struggled to keep her eyes open. The emotional roller coaster left her feeling drained, and knowing that her baby, her baby Buffy, was now safe, she allowed sleep to overtake her.

By the time she woke several hours later, Joyce Summers had no memory of Námo’s visit or the fact that her child had truly perished, and that the fey of a Vala Queen now resided within her infant’s hröa.

Stripped of all her powers and all knowledge of her real identity, Maranwë Luinil was about to embark on her greatest adventure ever - that of a mortal girl who would one day become the Slayer…


Chapter 115 - THE GIRL IN QUESTION, PART 2

Sargon and Buffy were walking happily together through the gardens of Sussrúmnir when she suddenly collapsed.

“Bella!” the Adan called out as he speedily swept her into his arms before she could hit the grass. Holding her tightly, he dropped to his knees, his wide eyes quickly scanning her body. “Bella!” he cried out again, tapping her face in an attempt to rouse her.

Her green eyes stared back at him, empty, devoid of all life. She was insentient to her surroundings.

He pulled her closer, pressing her face to his. Already, the warmth was leaving her body. He could not feel her breath on his skin, no pulse, no heartbeat.

He wailed in aguish, looking wildly for someone to help.

The Prince of Folkvang’s howl of despair alerted those nearby. They knew something was terribly wrong.

Cradling her lifeless body in his arms, Sargon wept as the Valkyrie chieftains came rushing from Sussrúmnir to the side of their Mistress and her distraught lover. The women could immediately sense that Luinil’s fey was gone, that her hröa was merely an empty shell.

“What’s happened to her?” queried the mortal in tears. “What has happened to my beloved Bellaseth?”

Feawë, greatly dismayed by this unexpected turn of events, tried to keep it together. “Take her inside, Sargon. Maranwë must go to the Healing Wing.”

The mortal jumped to his feet with his lover in his arms. He took off for the house, running as fast as he could, not stopping until he had reached the healers’ quarters.

Istahiro, like the Valkyries, sensed that Luinil’s fey had gone. Whether or not it was by her choice, he did not know.

“She would not leave me!” declared the grief-stricken Adan. “She would not leave Folkvang for any reason.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sargon,” replied the chief healer of Folkvang. “Her fey is gone. Where it has gone - I do not know.”

The Adan remained seated on the edge of the bed, clutching the Slayer’s hand in his. “Maybe, maybe Anno and Mirë have the answer,” he suggested. He turned his gaze to Vórëa. “Will you ask them? Will you ask them where she has gone?”

“Of course,” answered the Valkyrie. She then left the room in search of the Oracles who dwelt nearby in Tingilindë.

While Anno and Mirë knew exactly what had happened, they did not share that information with anyone in Folkvang. In their wisdom, they deemed that things had to play out as they were supposed to, and that, in time, Sargon and those under his command would realize what had happened and how to remedy it.

Sargon then had Buffy moved to their private quarters, where he kept a bedside vigil so that he would be there upon her return. The handmaidens of the Vala Queen used their magics to preserve her body, preventing it from withering and decaying without the power of her spirit.

The Adan no longer tended to the fields or gardens of Sussrúmnir, which had always been his favorite pastime. He refused to leave the rooms which he had shared with his beloved. His constant thoughts revolved around her, hoping that he’d eventually figure out what had happened.

After some time, Sargon realized the answer to his conundrum.

Her diaries, he thought to himself. Bella recorded everything in her diaries.

The Adan could kick himself. All that time he had spent mourning the loss of Buffy could have been put to better use, as all of her diaries from Middle-earth were housed in the many libraries of Sussrúmnir. It suddenly dawned on him that he had forgotten the legends of old in which she had been sent back in time from the future, from the End of Days. Surely, she would have recorded such things in her diaries, prophetic writings of events that could possibly be taking place now. All he had to do was to read her journals to discover her whereabouts.

He then summoned the Valkyries and demanded that they bring him all the diaries that his beloved had written over the years.

“But, my Lord,” replied Laurië, “their numbers are far too great. There are literally hundreds of thousands of volumes.”

Sargon did not let that number deter him in the slightest. Instead, he ordered all members of the Household to peruse the diaries in search of the answer. Hundreds were put to the rather daunting task, reading around the clock until the words became blurred from weariness.

Those in Folkvang had no idea that they would not find the information they sought in the journals in Sussrúmnir, as those contained only the Red Diaries (as Buffy called them), that were written after her death at the hands of Úrion. What they needed were the Blue Diaries that she had begun writing soon after her arrival in Doriath ages ago.

When Orchal arrived a few years later, and learned what had happened, he informed Sargon that they were reading the wrong books.

“But there are no Blue Diaries housed in Sussrúmnir!” declared a frustrated Sargon.

“She doesn’t keep them here,” answered the Green-elf. “Those books hold too many secrets of the future, so Bella had them moved to the vaults of Tingilindë, thousands of years ago.”

“Why would she lock them in the temple and not tell me?” asked the perplexed Adan.

“I don’t know,” Orchal said with a shrug of his shoulders. He glanced at the Red Diary in the mortal’s hand. “But you won’t find what you’re looking for in that.”

Sargon grumbled his displeasure as he personally went to the temple, leaving his lover’s side for the first time since her spirit had vanished. Sure enough, the Blue Diaries were stored in the vaults deep below Tingilindë. The Adan was slightly annoyed. He had just devoted endless hours reading hundreds of Buffy’s diaries, when there were only a few of the blue books when compared to the red.

Stacking several of the earliest marked volumes into his arms, Sargon ordered the Priestesses to bring the rest back to Sussrúmnir before leaving the temple.

Taking a seat in the chair beside his lover’s bed, he opened the first book, perusing the first page, which was written in English, a language that the Adan had learned whilst living in Folkvang:

At the urging of Melian, the Queen of Eglador, I am writing all the things that have led to my being here in Middle-earth. Melian seems to think that if I write down everything that has happened that brought me to this strange world, I may find clues as to why I’m here. (Not sure if I agree with her, since it seems pretty obvious that magics are the culprit in my arrival in this land.) Nevertheless, I will record the events as I remember them, perhaps, for posterity’s sake, if nothing else.

My journey began in January 2006.

Sargon smiled for the first time in years. He knew that the journal in his hand was the missing link to the riddle. He continued reading:

The rain is beating against the mullion windows of the library at Lindon Hall. Another flash of lightning lights up the darkened sky, followed by a rumbling crack of thunder that’s shaking the castle down to its foundations.

Typical English weather…

The sudden, unmistakable shrieking cries of several women startled the Adan from his reading. Alarmed at the ruckus, he tilted his head, listening as the sound came closer and closer. Only moments later, the door to the bedchamber burst open. The Valkyrie chieftains came dashing into the room, Rainë at the forefront.

“My Lord! My Lord!” she cried. “The enemy has breeched our barrier!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sargon, his grey eyes surveying the teary-eyed maidens.

“Anno and Mirë,” Rainë panted. “They’re dead!”

“What?!” exclaimed the Adan, jumping to his feet. The book in his hands fell to the floor. His heart began racing at the words of the Valkyrie.

“They have been murdered, my Lord!” she continued, tears flowing down her pale cheeks. “The enemy has murdered them in Bella’s sacred temple.”

“Tingilindë? The enemy has entered Tingilindë? How? How is that possible?” queried the deeply troubled Adan.

“Magicks? Fate?” suggested a sobbing Laurië. “We do not know. You must come. Please, Lord!”

Sargon didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced at Buffy’s form lying peacefully on the bed before darting out the door with the Valkyrie chieftains. They rushed through Sussrúmnir, nearly knocking over those in the corridors in their haste to reach the nearby temple.

The death of the Oracles was not known to any except for the Priestesses and the Valkyries.

The group entered the temple and swiftly made their way up the stairway. They ran through the archway leading to the Receiving Room, which connected the outside world to their mystical realm.

The Adan let out a muffled cry when he saw both Anno and Mirë lying on the floor in pools of blood.

“Oh my Eru,” uttered Sargon under his breath, approaching the twins with trepidation.

“Leave us!” demanded the spirit of Mirë, suddenly materializing within the chamber. “I wish to speak with Sargon alone.”

The Valkyries obediently did as they were told, leaving the Adan and the Oracle.

Sargon’s eyes went from the bodies on the floor to the fey of Mirë. “Who did this to you? Was it the Valar? Did they do this?”

Clutching her phantom hands before her, the Oracle looked at her and her brother’s corpses on the marble floor. She then replied, “No, Beloved of Luinil. The Powers are not to blame. They are not inherently evil, as you may assume. Misguided, perhaps, but not evil. This was done by Vocah, an evil servant of Melkor.” She shifted her sorrowful blue eyes to the Adan. “An offspring of Melkor and Mother.”

He gasped upon hearing that. “How could this happen? How could evil be allowed to enter this Blessed Realm to commit such a heinous act?”

“It is destiny. Fate,” she answered solemnly. “I do not have long, Sargon. Anno has already departed this realm, having answered the summons of our Uncle. My time fast approaches, where I, too, will go to Mandos.”

“But you’re Bella’s children!” protested the Adan, shaking his head. “Your place is here, not in Mandos. Your family is here.”

“Do not forget, Sargon, that we have kin in Aman.” She slowly walked around the bodies on the floor, occasionally looking at the doorway expectantly. “Only two survive, only two of my siblings remain.” She stopped at the head of her brother.

Anno lay on his back, blood splattered across his handsome golden-hued face. His eyes remained open, barren and lifeless.

“The End is coming, Sharru-kin,” she continued, locking her gaze on the Adan.

Her transparent image flickered as Námo summoned her fey to Mandos. The Oracle continued to fight the powers of her Uncle until her task in Folkvang was complete.

A mournful expression came to her face. “Mother will soon die in the place where she now dwells. You will not be quick enough to save her, Sargon.”

The Adan attempted to speak, but the words would not come out.

“Fret not, for Ilúvatar will intervene and take her to the one place in the world where she is at peace.” She turned her gaze upwards, looking at the arched ceiling of the room. “The Timeless Halls.”

“Then she will not come back to me?” queried Sargon sadly.

Mirë fixed her gaze back on the Adan. “She will. In time.” Her fey flickered yet again. “Woe unto the world when she is pulled from Folkvang against her will, for the world will tremble and the End will be nigh.”

“I do not understand,” he replied, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Soon, Sharru-kin. The time approaches quickly.” She sighed, looking forlornly upon her corpse once again. “Anno and I always knew that Mother loved Olofin best. He who is responsible for his death will rue the day.”

“Olofin… Olofin is dead,” he stammered in shock.

“Not as of yet, but I have foreseen it. Do what you can to prevent Mother from finding out when that time comes, Sargon, for the world will be thrown into chaos as a result.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “That can’t be.”

“It will,” she sighed. “Go. Go back to Sussrúmnir and continue to read Mother’s diaries, for you will find the answers to that which you seek, and will know when to act.” Her fey then disappeared before the Adan’s eyes.

Sargon stood alone in the room. He turned his gaze to the twins’ bodies on the floor. Sickened at the sight of the scythe imbedded in Mirë’s back, he went to retrieve it, but stopped when he heard her voice say, “Leave it! For one will soon come to claim it. Farewell, Prince of Folkvang. Farewell.”

Disturbed more than ever, the Adan left the Receiving Room only moments before Angel arrived.

After the Oracle had spoken with the vampire, she had completed her mission at last. She then answered the summons of Námo, and departed the temple of her Mother for the Halls of her Uncle.



With a heavy heart, Sargon returned to the side of his beloved. He wept for the loss of the twins whom he had come to love deeply.

He then ordered the Valkyries to lay the twins in state, using their magics to preserve their bodies. The gateway was then closed, breaking the link that connected those in Middle-earth to the Powers That Be. The Priestesses and Valkyries were forbidden to speak of Anno and Mirë’s death to anyone.

Sargon decided to take it upon himself to tell Marto about the murder of his children. The Maia was summoned to the Sacred Halls where he met with the Adan in private. Naturally, Marto was inconsolable when he heard the news. He fled the Halls of Sussrúmnir for Tingilindë, where he vowed to remain beside his children’s lifeless forms until their mother returned.

Sargon found himself unable to focus on Buffy’s diaries. He just couldn’t shake the image of an anguished Marto from his mind or the ominous words spoken by Mirë before her fey had vanished from the temple. The Oracle’s prophetic words left him more confused than before.

It took a few weeks for the Adan to refocus his energies on the journals. Once he had, he remained engrossed in his reading, taking notes on what he considered pertinent details of his lover’s “mortal” life.

Nearly one year to the day after the Oracles’ demise, Buffy took a swan dive off Glory’s tower, sacrificing herself to save, not only Dawn, but also the entire world and the many dimensions connected to it. Just as Mirë had predicted, Ilúvatar intervened, snatching Luinil’s spirit from Eä and, for a time, allowed her to roam throughout the vast, dark space of the Timeless Halls.

By the time Sargon had figured out what needed to be done, Buffy had not only died, but had been resurrected by her friends in Middle-earth. Wroth at his mistiming, his opportunity to claim her fey would not present itself until the latter half of January, Yr 2006.

No matter how hard the Adan tried, he could not manipulate the movement of time in Folkvang to correspond with that of Middle-earth. The only ones who had that ability were the Oracles, who were no longer around to aid the Prince of Folkvang in that feat, and Bella, who was unable to do anything while in the guise of the mortal-born Slayer.

Deciding not to leave things to chance, Sargon sent Feawë and Rainë (in spirit form) to the Eerie Street Cemetery in Cleveland, Ohio, to ensure that they were there when Buffy arrived to destroy that Hellmouth several years later. Their feys remained close to the Malison Family Mausoleum, waiting for that fateful day to come.

In the meantime, Sargon remained beside his beloved’s side, reassuring her (or, perhaps more accurately, himself) that her spirit would soon return, and that she would be made whole again.

Unfortunately, a few years later, grim news came from the world beyond. Thranduil had arrived from Middle-earth bringing with him grave tidings.

“Olofin is dead,” declared the Green-elf to the Adan. “Even worse, he was killed by one whom we considered an ally, one whom we’ve trusted and protected… ” Thranduil couldn’t continue. He broke down, weeping. The pain of losing one whom he had loved greatly was too much.

“No!” bellowed the Adan. Overcome with grief, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Dark clouds formed in Folkvang, bringing with it torrential rains that were quite uncommon for that Blessed Realm. It seemed that even the lands mourned the passing of one so pure and holy.

Many of the highest-ranking officials in Folkvang gathered at Sussrúmnir, anxious to discover what tragedy had befallen their kingdom, as the sudden change in the weather was an indication that something was terribly wrong. Men, Elves and Maiar assembled within the bedchamber of their Queen, as Sargon was loath to leave her side, especially now.

Thranduil then tearfully recounted all that had happened in Middle-earth regarding the death of Olofin.

As he spoke, the maidens clung to one another, crying. The mightiest of Men sat there in silence with tears streaming down their faces.

“Wait a minute,” said Brolach after hearing the tale. “How can we trust what Allandro says is fact?”

“He brought us Olofin’s body, Brolach,” answered the Green-elf, fixing his gaze on the mortal King. “He said that he wishes to make amends for the things he did in France… ”

“He cannot be trusted!” spat Orchal in disgust, interrupting Thranduil. “He’s a servant of Morgoth! There is no forgiveness for what he has done!”

“Calm down, Orchal,” said a composed Luthor from his seat. The Maia’s own heart ached at the news, but he felt that he needed to keep it together for the sake of the others.

“I will not!” exclaimed the Elf Lord, pacing across the room. “Allandro’s a piece of shit that has evaded capture. And now we find out that he has entered the Sanctuary and walked away unhindered! That’s rubbish! Utter and complete rubbish!”

While Orchal continued his rant, cursing the Immortal, Luthor turned to Thranduil and asked, “Tell me, who has taken up the role as Hebor?”

“Bellason,” answered the Green-elf. “I’ve appointed him Hebor until we find another worthy as protector… ”

“And the spell?” interjected the Maia, his blue eyes revealing his concern. “Did you perform the spell on him?”

“Of course I did. We can’t afford to leave things to chance, no matter how trustworthy we deem him to be.”

“Good. Very good,” sighed the old man, as he leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Oh, how he loved Olofin, and to hear of his death, which was gruesome indeed, shattered the remnants of his already broken heart.

However, he had to remain focused, for the time of Bella’s return was fast approaching.

And when she learns of Olofin’s death, the old man thought, shaking his head miserably. Oh, dear Lord. That thought alone fills me with despair. We must keep that from her. We must keep that from her as long as we can.

Rumblings broke out in the room.

Orchal had brought up several good points in his tirade, as he was trying to convince the others to wage war on all those in collusion with the one responsible for Olofin’s death. Several had the foreknowledge of the events that were soon to come, and felt that it was their duty to avenge the death of one so noble and beloved to the people of Folkvang. Others felt that things should play out as prophesied, and, that ultimately, it would be their Queen that would take matters into her own hands, punishing those responsible in the manner that seemed most befitting their crimes.

“We must remain level-headed in this!” Luthor proclaimed loudly to Orchal and those in agreement with the Green-elf.

“He was like a brother to me,” hissed Orchal in his fury. “And why isn’t he here? Why isn’t the blessed son of Bella in Folkvang?”

“He has gone to Mandos,” remarked Sargon, wiping the tears from his eyes, “joining Anno and Mirë in the Halls of Námo.”

“But why?” queried Orchal, as a hushed silence fell over the occupants.

The Adan lifted his head, his bleary eyes scanning the scores of people in the room. “Because Folkvang will be the first place to fall.”

“What are you speaking of?” asked Húrin, his face grave.

“There is no time for this now,” announced Luthor agitatedly, getting to his feet. He stood before the group, feeling the weariness of his many years of life for the first time. “We must deal with this… tragedy. Everything else can wait.” He took a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “First things first,” the Maia continued. “Bella must not learn of Olofin’s death when she returns. She will find out soon enough.” He turned his gaze to Thranduil. “Who is watching over Olofin’s remains?”

“Glorfindel, Celeborn and Nestor,” answered the Sinda.

The Maia nodded. “Okay. Have them take the body back to Olofin’s home in Findor. They can lay him out in state there. Tell Nestor to collect a vial of his blood as I will have need of it. Go! There is no time to waste.”

As the Green-elf made to leave, Sargon stopped him. “Wait! Thranduil, do not go just yet.” The Adan rose to his feet. “Before any depart these Halls, Luthor, we should honor the customs of old and drink to Olofin’s memory.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” answered the old man. He turned to the cupbearer. “Fulla - if you don’t mind.”

The maiden dutifully left the chamber for the adjoining room, to pour some wine for the nearly forty people assembled in Buffy’s bedchamber.

While she was gone, Luthor continued, “It seems that Melkor is stepping up his game, and has destroyed almost all of Bella’s children.” His frown lines deepened. “Only Illyria is left.” He spoke the last sentence in a mere whisper, wondering if Buffy’s betrayal warranted the death of the only child she had with the evil Vala.

“Surely, Morgoth would not kill his own,” spoke up the mortal lord, Orrin. “Would he, Luthor?” he asked, beginning to doubt his own words.

“No,” answered the Maia firmly. “Morgoth is wroth over Bella’s failure to fulfill the Covenant, but I do not foresee his punishing his only child as a result.”

Luthor fell quiet, contemplating what he should do next. By the time that Fulla returned, the Maia decided that he would accompany Thranduil and Orchal to Findor. There were many questions running through the old man’s mind, and the only way he could get any answers would be to taste the blood of Olofin.

Once everyone had a chalice of wine in hand, Orchal spoke such moving words about the half-elf that many were brought to tears, yet again. When everyone had sipped from their cups, the crowd dispersed, carrying out whatever duties that had been assigned to them. One thing was quite clear, none should speak of Olofin’s death, whether in Folkvang or Middle-earth.



Not even a year had passed in Folkvang when Feawë arrived, who then informed Sargon that the people of Cleveland were under orders to evacuate the city, and that there was a strong military presence.

“The time has come sooner than I anticipated,” stated the Adan. He stood by the window, clutching his hands behind his back. “Vórëa,” he continued without turning his gaze from the garden below, “have your most powerful brothers and sisters assemble in the Hall of Judgment as quick as they may.” Sargon then turned, facing the Valkyrie chieftains. “Its show time,” he added with a smile.

The woman left, obediently following the Adan’s orders.

Before Sargon left the room, he planted a kiss on his lover’s forehead. “We’re preparing for your return, my love. It shan’t be long, and you’ll be home with me, where you belong,” he whispered as he affectionately caressed her cool cheek with the back of his hand. He then left the room, hastily making his way to the Hall of Judgment.

Out of the hundreds of chambers within Sussrúmnir, the Hall of Judgment was, by far, the most magically enhanced. All had assumed that this was due to the two vats of Imperishable Flame burning brightly at the bottom of the dais, as the fires contained the very essence of Ilúvatar Himself. They were correct in their assumptions, for there was no greater power in the world than that of the Allfather, Eru Ilúvatar. Over the years, Maranwë Luinil had come to understand that great gift that had been bestowed upon her and how to utilize it to her advantage.

With Sargon having re-familiarized himself with Buffy’s journals, he too understood the powers contained in those two vats, and how to use them at need. The Adan climbed the steps of the dais, and sat atop the lapis lazuli throne. Since Sussrúmnir’s conception, he had been the only living soul other than his beloved to sit on that majestic canopied seat.

From the top of that throne, he watched as the most powerful acolytes of the Queen entered the chamber - the Valkyries.

Though the chieftains of those women had originally come from the Houses of the Aratar, they were now devotees of their Mistress, and commanded hundreds of underlings. Those powerful Maiar loved Luinil deeply and would go to any great length to see to her safety. While there were, from time to time, instances where they went against the orders of the Vala Queen, in the end, their decisions were for the benefit of Luinil.

The vats and the Valkyries were integral elements to Sargon’s plan. As the Imperishable Flame was at Buffy’s disposal, to use at her will, so it was for him as acting Regent of her mystical kingdom.

When all the women had entered, they sat on the marble floor, forming rows before the dais.

Sargon raised his hands, palms held outward, and the Fires within the vats sprang to life. The Flames climbed higher and higher until the radiance of the Light engulfed the entire chamber. One by one, the women fell backwards, one atop the other, as their feys left their bodies. The mystical Fire acted as a conduit, transporting them to the nether realm in which Buffy would soon be traveling.

Several minutes later, the Flames went back to their normal size. The Adan let out a hopeful sigh before leaving the room to return to his lover’s side…



Buffy fled the doorway of the crumbling mausoleum, which stood atop the Hellmouth in Cleveland. She saw the last of the Slayers, passing through Willow’s portal.

“Willow!” she yelled to her friend, who was still on this plane.

“Buffy!” Willow said with an expression of relief and joy on her face. “C’mon. You gotta move faster. There’s not much time left.”

Buffy was running with all her might. She was nearly there.

All of the sudden she felt something pulling her in the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder and saw a black shadow.

“Willow!” she screamed as her feet left the ground.

She didn’t see Willow’s expression after that. She was devoured by the shadow and pulled back into the Hellmouth. She tried to fight and wrestle with the ghostly apparition but to no avail. She was being pulled deeper and deeper into the pit. Then for a split second, the amulet activated itself once again. A bright white light illuminated around her. She even stopped falling in mid-air. She could feel an immense amount of energy encompassing every fiber of her being.

Suddenly, blue balls of light whirled around her. Buffy felt like she was in a three-way tug of war. The dark, the white and the blue lights each pulling her body in different directions. The pain was excruciating. She let out a painful shriek as the blue lights overcame her, vaporizing her body.

Only moments later, the fey of Luinil returned to her hröa, in Sussrúmnir. With her face skewed from the pain she had experienced only moments earlier, she bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily and wild-eyed.

“Shh,” sounded Sargon, pulling her into his arms. “It’s alright. It’s alright. I’m here. Everything’s alright,” he said reassuringly.

Still panting, and with her fingers digging into the back of Sargon, the Slayer’s eyes frantically surveyed her new surroundings. She was confused and disoriented, unsure of what had just happened and where she was.

“I’m here, Bella,” continued the Adan soothingly, stroking her back.

“Where… where am I?” she stammered breathlessly as her eyes stopped on a glittering portrait of herself hanging on the wall.

Sargon eased out of the embrace, yet kept his tender hold on his beloved. His grey eyes searched her face. As she turned her gaze to his, he felt his heart tremble within. At that moment, the Adan knew that she did not recognize him or their home.

“No,” he whimpered, refusing to believe that fate could be so cruel.

His heart began to beat quicker. Overwhelmed by a sudden compulsion, he leaned in and kissed her. A spark went from the Adan’s lips to Buffy’s, a remnant of the Blessed Light from the Hall of Judgment, hours before.

That spark caused the Slayer’s memories to instantly return.

Their kiss deepened. Her arms wrapped tighter around the Adan, pulling him down on top of her.

She was back! His beloved Bella was back!

“Sargon,” she whispered as his wet kisses traveled down her neck…



The Adan had successfully broken what would’ve been a never-ending cycle for Buffy, throwing her from the Fourth Age to the First, over and over again.

Grim were the Powers in the West, for they had acted out of fear of the End of Days. All knew that The Last Battle would bring about the annihilation of their greatest creation - Arda.

The next war was approaching, and the Valar were now powerless to stop it. Out of his love for the Vala Queen, Sargon, the immortal Prince of Folkvang, had bested the Powers at their own little game. Those in the West would not be able to thwart what was to come - Dagor Dagorath, the Battle to End All Battles. As the Allfather ordained it, as it should be.



Bliss and joy had returned to the people of Folkvang, especially to their Queen. Her life as a mortal Slayer had not been an easy one and she was relieved to find herself back within the confines of her Sacred Realm where she could maintain some control of her life.

Though she was grieved to learn of the twins’ death, Buffy knew they were not truly dead, for she had foreseen things that she had not revealed to the others, not even Sargon, her beloved. At the request of Marto, she released the Maia from her service, allowing him to return to Valinor so that he could be with their children until The End.

Time seemed to come to a standstill in that heavenly realm, though it continued to move rather swiftly in the world beyond.

The Vala Queen fell into a normal routine. Though she refused to return to Middle-earth, feeling that she had earned the right to enjoy the rest of her days in peace and to leave the rigors of warfare behind, she still kept a watch over those that dwelled outside her realm. She came to rely on her emissaries to carry out her wishes, and to maintain the balance between good and evil.

Since her return to Folkvang, she had forfeited any claim to most of those souls that died in battle, allowing them to dwell in Mandos under her brother’s command.

Luinil’s only desire was to govern her people and to savor the beauty and tranquility that Folkvang had to offer.

Often, she and Sargon were seen strolling hand in hand through the gardens of Sussrúmnir. While her preference was to lounge amidst the beauty of the grounds, there were times when she would gladly join the Adan in his labors, pruning flowers or tilling the soil.

There came a time of festival, many years later, at which the inhabitants of Folkvang gave thanks to the Allfather for the many blessings He had bestowed upon them. Dressed in their finery, everyone gathered at Tingilindë, for a day of singing, dancing and feasting.

As the day wore on, and dusk arrived, Buffy grew weary of the celebration and wished to return home. Even though she was the host, she and Sargon were able to escape the merry-making without much notice.

Upon entering their bedchamber, the Valië sat before her dressing table, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She carefully removed her lapis lazuli crown, placing it on the wooden surface.

“I think I drank too much ale,” said Sargon, stifling a burp. He stumbled toward the bathroom. “My equilibrium’s off.”

“Mmm. Maybe I should take advantage of you in your weakened state,” she chuckled, picking up her brush and running it through her hair. Buffy felt a tingling sensation coursing through her body. She stopped, cocking her head to the side, listening intently to a voice that had begun to speak in her head:

‘Great Goddess, Inanna Ishtar, Queen of Heaven… ’

“Sargon!” she exclaimed. “Do you hear that?”

‘… Wielder of Light and of Dark… ’

“Hear what?” asked the Adan from the other room.

Buffy paused.

‘… You who art all that is, and shall ever be… ’

“A voice,” she answered. “A woman’s voice.”

‘… Please share with me this night… ’

“It’s probably the wine. You did have several glasses,” her lover faintly replied. His voice seemed to fade with every word..

The tingling sensation increased, as did the Slayer’s heart rate.

‘… Fill my circle with your Blessed Radiance, hear my prayer… ’

The brush fell from her grasp as she placed her hands on the edge of the table, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“Sargon! Something’s not right! Something’s happening to me! Sargon!” she cried out, alarming the Adan.

‘… Great Goddess of Love and of War… ’

Sargon came running out of the bathroom. “Bella! What - ” The words died on his lips.

‘… I invoke thee… ’

When those last three words were spoken, Buffy felt a pulling sensation from within her hröa. With a quick yelp, she fell backwards, chair and all, before vanishing from her bedchamber, much to the dismay of Sargon.

She reappeared only a moment later in a dimly lit room, disoriented, oblivious to everything except for the spell-caster, who continued to speak the invocation.

“… And offer myself thus - ” The woman stopped the incantation. She stared up at the Mother Goddess standing before her within the circle. She gasped, placing her hand over her mouth for a brief moment. “Oh, my God - ess,” she said slowly.

Maranwë Luinil shifted her gaze to the woman sitting cross-legged at her feet. The air was heavy with the scent of myrrh and rose oil. It took a moment for the Vala Queen to realize that yet another had dared to use the Summoning Spell that she had taught Bëor long ago, an act that had usually brought an instant death to the conjurer.

“Oh… God,” the woman uttered again.

The Valië furrowed her brow, glaring menacingly at the obviously rattled woman. Luinil raised her arms in preparation to smite the one who had had the audacity to summon her from Folkvang.

“B-Buffy,” the panic-stricken woman said breathlessly. With her eyes wide with fear, the witch could see that she was in big trouble. Looking pleadingly at the Goddess, she frantically added, “B-Buffy… It’s… it’s me! Willow!”


Chapter 116 - END OF DAYS

Buffy cocked her head slightly, scrutinizing Willow with her penetrating green eyes. The Witch still loosely clutched a dagger in one hand. Blood spilled from the incision she had made in the other, which continued to stream into a small wooden bowl sitting on a pedestal. Recognizing her friend at last, the Slayer lowered her arms, placing them at her side.

Willow tried to catch her breath. She felt a sense of relief when the Goddess she had summoned had lowered her arms, but was still stunned that the Goddess looked like Buffy.

“Buffy, is it… is it really you?” she asked, baffled. “I mean, I was trying to summon the Goddess of Love and War and… ”

“I am she,” answered the Vala Queen, cutting off the woman’s words.

Willow’s eyes remained wide. “Wow! I mean… wow!” Her eyes surveyed the Goddess standing before her, dressed in a long, slinky white toga with silver serpent-looking bands wound up each arm. Bejeweled rings adorned every finger. Around her waist was a belt from which little weapon charms hung.

“You’ve bled enough,” remarked the Valië, watching as the Witch’s blood continued to gush into the basin.

“Um, oh, yeah,” replied Willow, still a bit dumbstruck by the surprising arrival of her old friend. She set the dagger down, before searching her pockets for something to staunch the flow.

“Here, let me help you,” offered Buffy, gently grabbing hold of her friend’s arm and easing her to her feet.

“Thanks,” the Witch responded, still awed by Buffy’s presence.

The Slayer took Willow’s injured hand in hers, staring at the mortal woman’s life force as it pooled within her palm. Leaning closer, (as her friend looked on incredulously), her tongue touched the wound, intent on healing it with her “magical” saliva.

The very moment she tasted the blood, something incredible happened. The Veil of Concealment that had been placed on her ages ago was ripped away, revealing all of Maranwë Luinil’s memories of the past, even to the very moment when she had sprung from Eru Ilúvatar’s essence with Námo. All the events of her “life” flashed in her mind, playing like a movie in fast-forward. As she ran her tongue along the incision, everything became clear. Like an epiphany, she now understood her true purpose and why the Valar feared it so.

With the wound healed, she raised her head, searching the eyes of her friend. The redheaded woman looked the same, but a little older. “Willow,” she said, as her lips curled into a wide grin.

“Oh, Buffy. You’re back! You’re really back!” The Witch threw her arms around the neck of the Vala Queen, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Their feet knocked over the implements on the altar, as the Valië wrapped her arms around Willow.

“We thought we had lost you,” continued the woman, as the irises of Buffy’s eyes went from green to black, “and were afraid to bring you back in case you were in heaven again.” Something then dawned on Willow. She pulled back, as the Slayer’s eyes returned to normal. “Oh, no! Buffy, I didn’t pull you from heaven, did I?”

The Vala Queen gave a quick smile. “It’s okay. This time, you were supposed to.” She cupped the Witch’s cheek, looking upon her with even greater love and admiration. “This moment was meant to be. Call it destiny if you like.” She gave another quick smile before pulling her hand away. She then turned, looking at the opened portal across the room. “I guess we need to go through there, huh?” she added, her face now grim.

“Oh, Buffy, I need to fill you in on everything that’s been going on since you left,” began Willow, speaking rapidly, as she stepped beside her friend. She then paused for a moment before continuing, “Um, should I call you Inanna Ishtar, or… er… ”

The Slayer glanced at her companion. “Call me Buffy. It’s what you’re used to.”

“Oh, okay,” she nodded. She then tried to brief the Vala Queen on the horrors that had transpired in the world since the destruction of the Cleveland Hellmouth.

Buffy held up her hand, stopping the Witch. “There’s no need, Will. I pretty much know what’s going on. I may have lived on another plane, but I still kept my eye on the goings-on in this world.” She turned her gaze back to the portal. “I know what needs to be done,” she added solemnly.

She stepped toward the gateway, already knowing what waited on the other side. Willow followed behind. The Slayer took a deep breath before entering the portal. The whirling energy engulfed her, but she remained composed as she came out on the other side into a windowless chamber where a battle was taking place between young girls, presumably Slayers, and men dressed in Bedouin garments.

Her eyes scanned the rather large, dimly lit chamber, the only light coming from torches affixed to the stone walls. Nearly twenty Slayers, and a few men, (Watchers, perhaps?) were fighting against roughly three dozen men armed with their traditional weaponry of scimitars and spears.

A few of the turbaned men lay on the floor, unconscious. It seemed apparent to Buffy that the Slayers were still following the rules of engagement - not to kill humans, unless in a life or death situation. While her personal stance on that had changed over the years, she kept out of the fray, as her eyes continued to survey all the players within the room.

From the shadows, she could hear the voices of several women, chanting in unison. Her eyes shifted to their cloaked forms. Sensing their powers, she knew that they were Witches who, more than likely, were members of The Coven that aided the Watchers, at need.

Their focus was on the lone man, a beautiful man, standing in the center of the room, protected by an invisible shield. From Buffy’s angle, she could clearly see his profile. To her, he was the personification of perfection, resembling a statue of great beauty that had come alive. He was tall, dark and handsome, the three characteristics that she found most attractive in any man. Her heart skipped a beat, as her eyes lingered on his attractive form. She could perceive that his powers were great, far greater than all those in the room (other than herself), combined.

The man stood at the centermost point of a pentagram. The symbol looked to be part of the original flooring. The smooth, black rock that formed the icon contrasted with the light grey stone that predominately made up the rest of the chamber. An altar had been set up on the western point of the star. Whirling grey smoke from burning incense rose into the air, resulting in the air being stuffier than it normally would have been.

There was something special about that place, familiar even. Buffy was able to discern that that place was holy, that it exuded powerful, ancient magics. She could feel it emitting from deep within the earth, and from the stones that made up the chamber. It then occurred to the Vala Queen that that structure where she now found herself was located on the Holy Mount, the location of the very first temple of Eridu ages ago.

“He calls himself the Enlightened Leader,” Willow whispered in her ear. “He’s the head honcho of the Unified World Government.” She paused, her face a mask of worry. “We think he might be the Anti-Christ.” She then turned her eyes to the Coven. “We’ve been trying to break through his mystical barrier, but haven’t had any luck, yet.”

A sudden yelp diverted Buffy’s attention from the so-called Enlightened Leader to a Slayer that had just been impaled through the shoulder by a spear. The force of the strike was so strong that the weapon had lodged in the wall. The man that wielded the spear positioned one of his feet against the wall, hoping that it would give him the extra leverage he needed to pry the weapon free.

The gravity of the situation hit the Valië like a ton of bricks. The injured girl couldn’t have been over sixteen, at most. Some of her sisters-in-arms ran to her side, cold-cocking the culprit that had managed to get in a lucky strike.

As the Slayers helped the whimpering girl, Buffy took a few steps forward.

“Stop,” she uttered, her voice seemingly lost in her throat. Though she spoke in a mere whisper, everyone in the room halted, mid-motion. At this point in time, the Vala Queen’s powers were at full force and even a simple word had a great effect.

At that moment, nearly all within the chamber turned their eyes to her, finally noticing her arrival.

As Buffy turned her gaze from the injured girl to the Enlightened Leader, a voice broke the stillness of the room by saying, “Oh my God, isn’t that Buffy, Buffy Summers?”

“It is!” another shouted. “She’s back! Buffy’s back!”

The man within the Bubble’s eyes lit up when they fell on the Vala Queen. His lips curled into a broad smile, revealing gleaming, straight white teeth.

“She arrives at last,” he said gleefully, revealing that he had a twinge of an Eastern-European accent. The handsome man stretched his arms out wide, in a welcoming gesture. “I’m glad you could make it, Inanna. I’ve grown quite bored with the action here.”

“Why’s he calling Buffy Inanna?” one of the Slayers asked.

“Who the hell is Inanna?” voiced another.

The man’s gaze momentarily shifted to the frozen observers within the room. While the occupants could speak freely, they were unable to move, due to the Vala Queen’s magics.

“Leave them be, my good men,” the Enlightened Leader said to his turbaned followers. “I no longer have any need for entertainment, as our star attraction has just arrived.” He nodded toward Buffy when he spoke those last words.

The man overrode Buffy’s magics, allowing his followers to make their way to the opposite side of the room from where she was standing. They then put their weapons aside and dropped onto their knees, bowing so low that their foreheads touched the cool, stone floor.

The Valië looked bemusedly at the scene. She assumed that they were holy men of some sort, but had no idea to which House, if any, they belonged.

“They’re Imams of the mosque in which we now stand,” disclosed the Enlightened Leader upon seeing Buffy’s baffled expression.

“Mosque?” repeated the Vala Queen in her confusion.

“Yes, mosque,” he answered with a roll of his eyes. “But that’s of little importance at the moment. We have bigger things to deal with.” He waved her over. “Come, Mother. I would think that you’d greet your own flesh and blood in an appropriate manner.”

From behind, Buffy could hear the others’ murmurings, shocked that the demon that had inflicted such misery onto the world had addressed one of their own, a fellow Slayer no less, as “Mother”.

The Valië stepped forward, stopping just outside the Bubble. She lifted her hand, touching the invisible barrier. Instantly, it crackled with energy, before a doorway opened. She passed through. The mystical Bubble then sealed itself shut, locking her inside with one whom she had come to recognize as one of her demonic offspring with Melkor Bauglir.

He then offered his hand, not moving from his spot on the pentagram.

Buffy inched closer. Taking his hand, she sidestepped the smoldering altar, stopping before the one whom ancient texts referred to as “The Destroyer.”

“It’s been a long time, Inanna,” he said, gallantly pressing his lips against the top of her hand. “Far too long.” With a lascivious look in his eyes, the demon looked the Vala Queen up and down.

His lustful inspection was not lost on the others.

The Vala Queen then reached out, running her fingers through his fine, dark hair. “We meet again, at last, Abaddon,” she said in a low, husky voice.

The handsome demon frowned. His free arm shot around her waist, pulling her forcefully against his body. Holding her tightly, he hissed, “You know the rules, Mother! We’re never to speak our true names.”

Buffy pouted at his reproachful words.

Abaddon’s eyes lingered on her parted lips.

“Does it really matter, especially now?” she asked, a wry smile coming to her face. She lowered her hand to his cheek, affectionately caressing his smooth skin.

“It is sacred law!” he whispered sharply.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she answered coyly, placing both of her hands on his muscular shoulders. “Maybe,” she continued, drawling out her words, “Maybe I can make it up to you.”

“Mmm,” he sounded in reply. Abaddon arched a brow as several thoughts ran through his mind, each more wicked than the last.

Buffy continued to stare into the demon’s eyes. “But don’t you think we should do what we came here to do? Hmm.” She slowly moved her hands down the length of his upper arms. “I deem it’s time to bring Daddy home,” she cooed.

That brought a smile to the demonic offspring’s face. “Almost time.”

To everybody’s surprise, Abaddon then kissed her, and not a little affectionate peck, but real tongue on tongue action. The unpleasant sound of their wet kisses echoed within the chamber.

“Didn’t he call her Mother?” someone asked, as the others watched the scene in shock and disgust.

“I don’t get it,” said a totally flummoxed Willow. “What’s she doing?”

“Will, what’s going on?” asked a panicked Xander, stepping out from behind a small group of Slayers. “Is that really Buffy?”

“I think so,” she answered apprehensively.

“But I thought you were gonna summon the Goddess of War,” he continued.

“I did!” she replied, facing him. “Buffy is the Goddess of War.” She raised her brows in doubt. “Unless her body’s been hijacked by some demon along the way. Things like that can happen, you know.” She gulped.

Xander turned his eye back to the Bubble, watching as Abaddon’s hands ran over Buffy’s backside. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” answered Willow with a shake of her head.

Xander furrowed his brow. “Who’s Daddy?”

“Huh?” replied Willow, turning her gaze toward Xander again.

“Daddy. She said it’s time for Daddy to come home. Who is that?”

“I don’t know. A demon, I guess.” A look of fear came upon Willow’s face, as she turned toward the couple making out within the Bubble. “Oh, crap! I hope it’s not Satan!”

“Satan?!” exclaimed Xander, freaking out. “You mean there’s a chance that his Unholiness is gonna make an appearance?”

“Well, all signs seem to point to that. Right?” she said in dismay.

“Man, we need to talk to Giles. Quick!”

“You go. I’ll stay here.”

“I can’t leave you here… ”

“I’ll be fine, Xander. Just go. Before it’s too late.”

Xander knew by the tone of Willow’s voice that she was firm in her resolve and wouldn’t budge one bit. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and said, “Be careful.” He instructed a couple of Slayers to accompany their wounded sister back to headquarters. Seconds later, he, along with three girls, disappeared through the portal.

The Slayers left behind remained frozen, staring at Buffy and Abaddon with their mouths agape.

The Imams of the mosque now rose to their feet, chanting something in their native tongue.

Willow was unable to understand what they were saying.

“Keep going!” she then ordered to the members of the Coven, who had stopped chanting. The women resumed their attempts to bring down the mystical barrier.

The couple within the Bubble broke apart from their kiss, yet still remained in their embrace.

“Who is it that controls my Holy Mount?” she asked Abaddon, breathless from their kiss.

“Israel,” answered the demon, slowly running his fingers over her naked shoulders. “Though, at their indulgence, the Jews allow the Muslims to maintain their mosque.”

“Hmm, guess that explains their presence,” she replied, eyeing the Imams in the room.

“We are in the bowels of the Dome of the Rock,” added Abaddon.

“Not for long,” she snickered.

“Then you are ready to begin?” he queried excitedly.

“Oh, yeah. Let’s get this show on the road,” she answered.

As the others looked on in confusion, the Imams and the Coven continued their chants.

Abaddon and Buffy went over to the altar where he took one of her arms into his hands. He straightened the appendage, surveying it with his keen, dark eyes.

Recalling a passage from an ancient text of prophecy, the demon said, “And the honor of breaking the Sixth Seal fell onto her son,” his incisors grew into fangs, “who would bring the world one step closer to its Doom.” Abaddon then sunk his sharp teeth into her delicate flesh, piercing the veins in her arm.

Buffy took a deep intake of breath when he broke her skin. She then let out a throaty moan, which sounded orgasmic to the other occupants.

Abaddon withdrew his fangs from her flesh, allowing her blood to flow onto the altar within the pentagram. The moment that first drop of blood splattered onto the stone floor, the earth beneath their feet began to tremble and shake.

The Slayers, Witches and Watchers let out a startled cry.

“Earthquake!” someone yelled.

“Oh, God,” moaned Willow, trying desperately to keep it together. “It’s the Apocalypse.”

A section of the floor on which Buffy and Abaddon stood, began to slowly rise. The circle of the pentagram was a completely different piece of the flooring, about two feet thick and eight feet in diameter. Beneath that was what appeared to be a thick block (approximately seven foot square), but was actually a box, of the whitest marble that anyone had ever set eyes upon.

When the marbled box had completely broken the surface, the rumbling stopped. An eerie silence followed, a silence that one could only assume was the proverbial calm before the storm. That was no understatement either, for that day had been long in the making, and even the Wisest had foreseen it ages before.

The Vala Queen stomped her right foot, and the uppermost slab of stone literally crumbled to dust. The impact did not disturb the implements of the altar, which merely settled onto the marble slab after the outer shell’s destruction. She and Abaddon then lowered their heads, and with only their breath were able to blow all the tiny particles off the marble case. The inside of the Bubble resembled a snow globe, the dust whirling around before settling onto the floor.

“Come,” the demon said, motioning to his Imam followers, who were now able to pass through the mystical barrier.

The Slayers remained frozen, watching the spectacle with a morbid fascination. They had no idea what was happening, and were beginning to doubt that Buffy was really Buffy. On the other hand, Willow still had faith in her dear friend, hoping that she had something up her sleeve.

“Slide it off,” ordered Abaddon.

A few Imams gathered at one end of the box and began to push the heavy marble lid despite the fact that the demon and Valië continued to stand on it. The only sounds heard within the chamber were the grunting of the men and the stone cover scraping the ridges of the box. Even the Coven had stopped their chanting, as they too were fixated on what was going on in the center of the room.

When the lid was halfway off, Buffy reached down and snatched a shimmering blue cloth out of the box. Instantly, the room filled with a brilliant gold light. She and the demon were giddy, smiling and laughing at whatever was hidden within the marble container. They then leapt off the top onto whatever was housed inside.

Before the Imams could slide the cover off the box and onto the floor, one of their kindred grabbed the bowl of incense, holding it in his hands as if it were some sacred vessel. The marble lid crashed to the floor, breaking into several pieces, and stirring up the dust which had settled there.

The Vala Queen and her cohort then kicked out the sides of the box, letting them smash to the floor.

Many gasped in awe when the object came into view.

Buffy and Abaddon stood atop a box, their feet straddling the outstretched arms of two golden figures, each grasping the other’s hands. From the looks of it, one appeared to be male, the other female. The container looked to be about four feet by six, with some type of ancient script scrawled onto the sides. The entire thing was made of gold; the bedazzling light from it illuminated the entire chamber in its radiance.

The Imam holding the bowl then stepped forth. Abaddon then guided the Vala Queen’s bleeding arm over the basin of burning incense. The moment her life force hit the container, the contents began to sizzle, the grey smoke turning jet black. The fumes became thicker, swirling around at the couple’s feet, slowly moving upward, and shadowing out the radiance of the glittering golden container.

The Imams formed a tight circle around the golden box. Turning their gaze toward the ceiling, they began to chant a phrase in their native tongue over and over again. The black smoke whirled about the couple, looking very much like a mini-tornado. The Imams’ voices grew louder and louder. The dark mass then shot out of the room, moving through the upper levels of the mosque until it left the structure altogether.

Most inside the bowels of the holy shrine were not yet aware that that cloud would spread across the skies, covering the entire world in darkness.

Once the blackness had escaped from the lowest chamber of the mosque, the Imams stopped their chant and the golden light filled the room once again.

“And so it begins,” said Abaddon happily as he went to heal his Mother’s wounds.

“No,” she said, stopping him. “Not yet.”

The demon looked at the Valië with a puzzled expression. “I don’t understand.”

She gripped his arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in his confusion.

“Shh,” she sounded. “We’re not finished.”

The Vala Queen looked over her shoulder. “Go!” she ordered to Willow and the others. “Hurry!”

“Buffy, I don’t… I don’t understand,” stammered the Witch in her confusion.

“Don’t you know what this is?” asked an incredulous Buffy, motioning toward the box on which she was standing. She then quickly regained her hold on Abaddon.

Willow shook her head.

“This is the Ark of the Covenant.”

Willow’s jaw dropped, as the gasps from the Coven filled the room.

“Believe me; you don’t want to be around when this thing goes off… ”

“Goes off?” repeated Willow, her bottom lip quivering.

“Just go!” Buffy shouted firmly. She didn’t want to tell the others that among other things, the Ark of the Covenant was a nuclear device. “NOW!”

As soon as Buffy had said that, the Slayers, Watchers, and Witches made a beeline for the portal, wanting to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

Willow hesitated, reluctant to leave her friend behind. Her eyes scanned the many Imams that remained steadfast around the Ark, and their brethren who still lay unconscious on the floor. “What about them?” she asked, referring to the holy men.

The Vala Queen’s eyes shifted to the men. “They’re on a holy mission. They’re fated to be here.” She turned her gaze back to the Witch. “But you aren’t. Go!” she added in a commanding voice.

“But… but I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” said Buffy with a look of determination on her face. “But you have to go. Please, Willow!”

The Witch gave a reluctant nod of her head before hurrying into the portal.

Not wanting to take any chances, Buffy herself closed the portal behind Willow with merely a wave of her hand. Her magics were so great now that none could stop her.

The irises of her eyes then went from green to black. She narrowed them. The Vala turned toward the Imams encircling the box. With her gaze alone, she struck them down, one by one, their throats ripping open as if by some invisible blade. Blood spurted from their wounds spraying, not only the Ark, but the couple standing upon it.

“I don’t understand,” cried Abaddon in dismay. “Mother, what are you doing?”

The Imams fell to the floor, one after the other, clutching their throats in an attempt to stop the jets of blood that squirted from their necks. They rolled upon the debris-covered surface, gurgling for breath. Only seven survived her onslaught, untouched by the magics she wielded.

The Valië shifted her eyes from the carnage within the chamber to her demonic offspring. “My blood was only the first part of the opening of the Seal, my dear boy.” She cupped the demon’s cheek with her blood-splattered left hand. “They were the second… And, you, honey, your blood is the last part.”

Before Abaddon could react, Buffy punched her right fist through the demon’s chest, probing for his still beating heart.

The demon stared at his mother in disbelief, his mouth agape. The Enlightened Leader was unable to speak. He groaned in agony, feeling his powers diminishing.

“You’re the lamb, sweetie,” she cooed softly, her fingers finally gripping the organ within his chest. “And I’m the lion!” She yanked his heart out, blood squirting from the severed veins and aorta as it continued to thump within her enclosed hand. “You are my holy sacrifice, the Key to the Door of Night.” She then flung the demon aside, his body landing with a dull thud on top of a couple of dead Imams.

Tilting her head back, she held the bleeding organ over her opened mouth, drinking the life force of her evil offspring.

As she gulped down his blood, from the corner of her eye she saw the black shadow of Abaddon’s fey rising from his hröa, trying to flee without her noticing.

“Uh-uh-uh,” she sounded, fixing her gaze on the phantom image of her evil offspring. “Come to Mommy.”

Before the demon spirit could escape, Buffy drew a deep breath. The force of it was so great that Abaddon’s fey was pulled backward. His spirit entered her pursed lips, where he became trapped as a prisoner within the Vala Queen’s body.

Breathing heavily from the rush of power from her offspring’s spirit, his heart slipped from her grasp, landing on the Ark. With her body trembling slightly, she lowered her arms, keeping them inches from her side. The knot of her toga then came undone and the gown slipped off her body and came to rest at her feet. She was naked except for her prized jewels.

The Imams averted their gaze, as a red protective covering began to materialize over her flesh, starting at her feet, and moving upward until her mystical raiment completely covered her nakedness. The blood of Abaddon that had covered parts of her flesh had been absorbed by her skin, bestowing upon her even more of the essence of his father, Melkor Bauglir.

She then turned her dark eyes to the remaining Imams standing before her. “Okay, boys. Time for a game of ring around the Ark. Seven times! Circle the Ark seven times, sounding your trumpets after each lap.” The Vala Queen smiled in triumph. Her time had come at last.

As the Imams began the final part of the ritual, the Slayer turned her gaze toward the heavens. Her Vala eyes were able to pierce through the structure, and the darkness that now blanketed the sky above.

The trumpets sounded for the first time.

Searching beyond the heights of Ilmen, she locked her gaze on the bright star, Eärendil.

The trumpets sounded a second time.

The immortal half-elf stood at the helm of Vingilot, guarding the Door of Night.

The trumpets sounded a third time.

Buffy then slowly began to raise her arms from her sides.

The trumpets sounded a fourth time.

As she moved them, a red vapor rose from the pools of blood on the floor.

The trumpets sounded a fifth time.

With a blow of her breath, an even darker red mist escaped her lungs and merged with the other, forming the shape of a blood-red arrow.

The trumpets sounded a sixth time.

The moment the palms of her hands collided over her head, the blood-red arrow shot out of the room like a rocket, exiting the mosque and speedily traveling toward its intended target. Smiling, Luinil watched as the mystical missile raced toward the Walls of the World.

“Soon, my love. You will be set free,” she whispered, knowing that Morgoth could hear her even though a vastness of space separated them.

The trumpets sounded a seventh and last time.

And with that sound, several things happened at once.

Buffy vanished as the Ark of the Covenant detonated, sending a mushroom cloud over the Holy Mount, obliterating everything and everyone within a several mile radius.

The explosion seemed to propel the blood-red arrow at the speed of light. The mystical dart went through Eärendil, killing him instantly. The first star, the Silmaril, plummeted toward the Earth, as the arrow continued on until it struck the Door of Night, blasting it open. At long last, Morgoth and his demonic armies were freed from their prison.

As the wrathful Dark Lord and his followers began their descent into the world, the remnants of the arrow spilled over the moon, turning it blood red. Those that lived in the parts of the world where the tendrils of darkness had not yet reached saw that as a sign that they were witnessing the End of Days.



Only a few moments after these things (among others) had begun to happen, Buffy reappeared in a wood-paneled chamber that had become the control center of the Watcher’s Council within Lindon Hall. Dozens of people were gathered in the room, anxiously talking, as they stared at the wall of television screens. Four rows of ten TV’s were broadcasting news from different countries. Most of the images depicted the blast at Mt. Moriah, an event that had set off a chain reaction in the Middle East.

Israel surmised that one of its foreign enemies had staged the assault, and acted in like manner by setting off their own nukes against Iran and Pakistan. Those two countries, particularly Iran, deemed that Israel had blown up their holy shrine, The Dome of the Rock, and in turn, waged their own nuclear attack on Israel.

Iran, who had not yet perfected their guidance systems, inadvertently sent one of their nukes to Poland, an act that would soon have Eastern and Western Europe deploying their nuclear arsenals into the Middle East.

While World War III had been underway for well over a year at that point, this was the first time that nuclear weapons had been used. No nation comprehended that a lone Vala Queen, an ancient Goddess from mythology, was behind the act that started it all, that she been the one to unleash hell on earth.

Buffy cleared her throat, alerting the others of her arrival.

They spun around, their horrified faces looking at the Vala Queen with utter contempt.

Willow, in tears, narrowed her eyes at the Slayer. “You started this. Didn’t you?”

“Did I?” responded Buffy, folding her arms across her chest. “Exciting, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes scanning the destruction displayed on the many TV screens.

“Who the hell are you?” spat Xander, standing protectively in front of Willow. “You’re not Buffy. She’d never do anything like this.”

The Valië laughed. “Oh, Xander, Xander, Xander,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t do this. Willow did.”

“What?” cried out the Witch, stepping beside Xander, who held his arm out protectively before the redheaded woman. “I… I didn’t do this,” she stammered through her tears.

“Oh, yes you did,” answered Buffy. “You brought me back into this world so that I could fulfill my sacred duties - to rid the world of evil.”

“Dear Lord,” said Giles, rising from his chair. “This is… this is Armageddon, isn’t it?” he stammered.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t you people know your history?” she sighed in apparent annoyance. “Armageddon is a place, a place. Jeez, you should know better, Giles.” She paused, allowing the tension to build up. “This, my friends, is the End of the World, as we know it.”


Chapter 117 - THAT OLD GANG OF MINE

The others continued to stare at the Vala Queen with loathing and fear. Most believed that she was some apocalyptic demon disguised as their friend, who had come to Lindon Hall to taunt them before the End.

“Come on, people. Rejoice!” continued Buffy excitedly. “This is a monumental moment. People have been waiting for this for millennia, especially me. The time has come for this world to get a good cleansing. Not necessarily the ethnic cleaning that those in power want… ” She paused. “Okay, well, maybe just a little. But only those with evil tendencies have anything to fear. Isn’t that what we all want - to rid the world of evil?”

Her words had no effect on the people congregated within the room. They continued to stare at the Valië in the same manner as before.

Buffy could sense their distrust, their suspicion, which hung over the room like an ominous black cloud. While she didn’t care what a bunch of strangers thought, she was a little hurt that her friends doubted who she was. How could they mistake her for a demon when she was nothing of the sort? It was time for damage control. Not wanting to share intimate details of their lives with the other Watchers, Slayers and Witches in the room, the Vala Queen spoke telepathically with Giles, Willow and Xander, telling them things that only Buffy Summers would know.

As she stood there, silently communicating with her friends, one of the Watchers motioned toward her Charge to attack Buffy from behind.

The episode happened so quickly that no one really had any time to react.

The Valië saw it coming though. A smile crept upon her face, as she sensed the girl’s stealthy approach from the rear. She could feel the breeze from the axe as the Potential turned Slayer swung the weapon, aiming for Buffy’s spine. When the blade hit the Vala Queen’s mystical raiment, it shattered into minute pieces. The wooden handle rebounded with such force that the girl winced from the pain coursing through her hands and arms.

Buffy spun around, her green eyes twinkling with amusement.

The young, chunky, brunette Slayer was horrified. She trembled as the Vala Queen took a step toward her, taking the remnants of the weapon from her chubby fingers.

The Valië inspected the handle. “Made in Indonesia. Figures. Such shoddy craftsmanship,” she snorted, sending the wooden stick flying through the air where it happened to imbed into the chest of a rather dignified portrait of King Charles I. “Huh? Imagine that,” remarked Buffy when she saw where the wooden stick had struck. With a shrug of her shoulders she added, “Well, Charlie was a vampire, after all.”

Xander then threw his arms around Buffy, nearly knocking her off balance. “God, it really is you.”

“It’s actually, Goddess, but, God’ll do,” she laughed, hugging him back.

He pulled away, keeping his hands on her shoulders, surveying her with his one eye. “Look at you! Who would’ve thought that our little Buffy would one day grow up to become the Goddess of Love and War?”

“Technically, I was a Goddess long before I was Buffy Summers,” she replied, grinning. “Long story.”

“Come on, Buff,” Xander pressed, now rubbing his hands together excitedly. “The world’s about to come to an end. Surely, we’ve got time for a good story.” He arched one of his brows. “Inquiring minds want to know: Just how did you become the Patron Saint of Prostitutes?” He leaned against the desk, waiting expectantly for her response.

“Xander!” said Willow threateningly, moving to his side. “I’m sure Buffy has more important things to… ”

“Willow’s right,” interjected Giles, who hobbled forward, supported by a cane. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss trivialities.”

The smile left Buffy’s face when she noticed her former Watcher’s limp. She went to his side. “Giles, what happened?” she asked, her eyes darting from his cane to his face.

“Ooh, not a good story,” mumbled Xander before Willow smacked his arm in an attempt to keep him quiet.

“Short leash,” the Witch hissed in reply before turning her attention to Buffy and Giles.

“It… it happened nearly a year ago, you see,” began Giles reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with the Valië. “Nasty battle.” He then sighed, looked Buffy in the eye, and in his embarrassment, confessed, “I broke my hip.”

The Vala Queen’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Which one?”

“Hmm, sorry?” replied the Watcher, his brows raised in question.

“Which… hip… did… you… break?” asked Buffy, enunciating each word slowly to clarify her previous query.

“Oh, yes. The left. I broke the left one.”

The Valië reached toward Giles’ injured hip.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Shush!” sounded Buffy, placing her hand on his hip.

As soon as she touched him, the constant pain that the Watcher had felt, instantly vanished.

“I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed, gyrating his pelvis. “The pain… the pain is gone!”

“Please, stop that,” said Buffy, shielding her eyes with her hand, none too anxious to see Giles’ provocative pelvic movements. “That’s quite disturbing.”

“Hello!” chimed in Xander with a wave of his hand. “Still missing an eye here.” He pointed to the patch covering his left eye.

“Leave us!” the Valië then ordered. “I wish to speak to my friends. Alone.”

“This is preposterous!” stated the prim, female Watcher that had ordered her chunky Slayer to attack Buffy. She scurried closer to Giles, saying, “You people are obviously under this demon’s thrall… ”

“Hey!” interjected Buffy, insulted by the woman’s comments.

“…If what Ms. Rosenberg has said is true… ”

“It’s still Harris, Mrs. Wentworth!” cut in Xander, scowling at the uptight Watcher.

“Huh?” Buffy did a double take. Her gaze shifted from Willow to Xander as the blowhard woman prattled on.

“…You people do not seem to grasp the severity of the situation,” she continued in her stern British accent, her voice getting louder by the second.

The Vala Queen now noticed the matching gold bands on the left ring fingers of Willow and Xander.

“…That demon is out to destroy our world and it is imperative that we, as Watchers, see to it that that does not happen… ”

“Holy crap!” Buffy exclaimed; her eyes widening as she stared at her two friends. “Are you guys married?!”

“Four years now,” smiled Willow, showing off her rings.

“She’s made me the happiest man in the world,” said Xander, slipping his arm around his wife’s shoulder.

“… That demon must be destroyed! NOW!” shouted Mrs. Wentworth, pointing her finger toward the Vala Queen.

Not a moment later, Mrs. Wentworth’s voice became muffled.

Buffy, having grown tired of the woman’s ramblings and insinuations, had sealed her lips together. She turned, facing the panic-stricken Watcher.

“No golden ticket for you!” declared the Vala Queen with a frown. She stepped up to the woman.

The Watcher grabbed a couple of Slayers, thrusting them before her.

“You’re a very stupid woman. You have no idea why I’m here. Not a clue,” said Buffy, staring menacingly at the Watcher. “I’ve come to remove the Elect from this world before the shit hits the fan.” She leaned in closer, as the two Slayer’s moved aside, allowing the Valië to whisper in the ear of Mrs. Wentworth. “Guess what? You’re not amongst them. You get to stay behind.” The Vala Queen then roughly patted the woman on the shoulder and gleefully said, “Think of me when the locusts are eating your flesh. Cheerio!”

The frightened Watcher then vanished from the room along with everyone else, except Buffy’s friends.

“Where… where did they all go?” queried Willow, concerned about the people she had come to care about.

“I sent them to the kitchen,” answered Buffy, facing her friends once again. “If they’re smart, they’ll enjoy one last meal.” She smiled, locking her gaze on Xander. “I can make you a new eye, you know. That is, if you want one.”

“Want one?” repeated Xander. “Of course I want one. What do I have to do?”

“Sit. Here,” she replied, motioning toward one of the couches.

“Can you really do that, Buffy? I mean, give Xander a new eye?” asked Willow, following her husband to the sofa.

“Yep, but not as easily as I healed Giles. A simple touch won’t do.”

“What kind of powers do you possess?” inquired the Watcher, taking a seat on another couch, eager to witness the Valië’s magics at work. “Mythology is just, well, mythology. I’d be interested to know how much of it is based on fact.”

“Well,” began Buffy, as she stood over Xander, removing his eye patch. “Over time, things have become distorted by mankind. Magics obviously exist and have, since before the beginning of time.” She glanced over her shoulder at Giles. “Yes, the world was created before time began. But, that’s a long story in itself.” She then turned her attention back to Xander.

“Is it gonna hurt?” he asked, staring at the Vala Queen with his one eye.

“Nah. You’ll feel a little tingly sensation is all.” She gently eased open his eye socket, eyeing the hollowed tissue. “Now, don’t get grossed out, but I need to use a mixture of my blood and saliva to make a new eyeball.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Watcher. “Blood is the key to my powers. It holds mystical properties that aid me in creation, restoration and destruction.” She turned her gaze back to Xander. “It’s always the blood.”

He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said anxiously.

Buffy then used one of her fingernails to slit the tip of her tongue. Once she tasted the blood in her mouth, she leaned over, sliding the organ into Xander’s empty socket.

“Man, that feels weird,” he uttered. “It’s like a one tongue French kiss.”

The Vala Queen rolled her tongue along the interior of the hollowed area until she felt the fibers of the optic nerve forming. She then pulled out her tongue, and gently closed Xander’s eyelid.

“It’s forming,” she stated matter-of-factly while holding her hand over his left eye. “It won’t be long.”

“I feel it! Oh, my God I can feel my eyeball growing,” said Xander.

“So, if you’re the Goddess of Love, does that mean you’re Aphrodite?” asked Giles, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“Actually, I’m Triple A,” Buffy answered with a smile, giving the Watcher a quick look.

“Triple A. The auto club?” queried Willow thoughtfully.

“No.”

“Anti-aircraft artillery?” suggested Xander.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the absurdity of his comment.

“What?” he said. “I can’t help it that I still remember stuff from my soldier days.”

“I can’t believe you still have that military stuff in your head,” she answered. The Valië could feel the eyeball beneath her hand. “For your information, I’m Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena rolled into one.” She pulled her hand away. “Okay, Xander. Open your eye.” She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for her friend’s reaction.

“It’s a little blurry,” he remarked, blinking his eyes several times. “But, it’s clearing up. Oh, man. My depth perception - it is a-returning.”

“Let me see!” said Willow, turning Xander’s face toward her. Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re perfect.”

“Thanks, Will. But I thought you said I was perfect before, when I only had one eye.”

“Well, now you’re doubly perfect.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Xander, turning toward Buffy.

“It was nothing,” she answered with a modest shrug of her shoulders. “Besides, I should’ve done the same for your forefather thousands of years ago. He lost an arm, you know. In battle.” She began to wander around the room, inspecting gadgets and things displayed on the tabletops.

“Forefather,” repeated Xander. “What the hell kind of word is forefather? That’s like Giles’ speak.” His eyes shifted from the Watcher to the wandering Vala Queen. “And just who was this forefather of mine?”

“Beren. His name was Beren,” she replied with her back to the others. She picked up a crystal decanter from a table. “He was a good man, a noble man. And you’re descended from his line.” She pulled the stopper out of the bottle, sniffed its contents before taking a mouthful of the clear beverage. She found the taste revolting. Hiding her disgust, she glanced over her shoulder at her friends who were watching her. She turned away, spitting the mouthful of vile liquor back into the decanter.

“How could you know such a thing?” asked Giles, furrowing his brows in perplexity. “I mean, if this Beren lived millennia ago, I would think it near impossible to follow anyone’s bloodline for that amount of time.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” she answered, wiping her mouth, as she continued to stroll around the room. “I’ve been following the bloodlines of Man since the days of Sumer.”

“Sumer?” repeated Willow, her face wrinkled in confusion.

“Sumeria,” answered Giles. “She’s talking about Sumeria.”

“Oh,” she answered, nodding in recognition.

“Two points for the Watcher,” chuckled Buffy. “Those were my lands long ago.” She stopped before her friends. “You know the name’s actually derived from Summers. My homage to my mortal self.”

“Dear Lord,” said Giles, pulling off his glasses. He began to rub the lenses with the handkerchief he pulled from the pocket of his tweed coat. “Buffy, did you go back in time? Is that what happened when you vanished in Cleveland?”

“Yeppers,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. “I didn’t go back to the beginning, beginning. Only about… ” She paused, twirling a strand of her golden hair as she thought about how long she had been gone. “I think it was about ninety-one hundred years or so. It’s kinda hard to say because calendars weren’t kept when I first arrived in Endor.”

“Endor?” queried Xander. “Never heard of it.”

“We’re in Endor now. That’s what the Elves called it.”

“Elves?” queried a baffled Willow. “You mean Elves really exist?”

“Of course they do. But they’re not small like man depicts them. They’re actually very tall and beautiful.” A wistful smile came to Buffy’s face. “I love the Elves, but so few wander in the world any more.”

“Where have they gone?” asked the Witch, noticing the expression on her friend’s face.

“Most have gone to Valinor,” she answered, resuming her wandering around the room. “That’s the land of the Gods, as you call them. Some dwell with me at the Sanctuary. Others in my realm, Folkvang.”

“Folkvang!” exclaimed Giles, slipping his glasses back on. “I… I don’t understand. Folkvang is the domain of the Nordic Goddess, Freya… ”

“Yeah, that’s me too,” she answered with a smile.

“Damn, Buff. Just how many names do you go by?” asked Xander, amazed to hear that she went by yet another name from mythology.

“A hundred, or so,” she replied nonchalantly, examining the calendar on the desk. Across the top, read the year 2012. The month: December. Buffy’s eyes scanned the crossed out boxes. The first unmarked box was the fifth. Her eyes followed the days, chuckling when she saw the box for the 21st marked: “End of the World?” She found that quite amusing, especially the question mark.

While looking over the calendar, Giles had continued to talk, asking her a question that she had not heard.

“… How did that come to be? Buffy? Buffy?”

“Huh,” she said, shifting her gaze to the Watcher. “What?”

“I asked, how did you evolve from one Goddess into three, in Greek mythology, that is.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” she answered, walking away from the desk. “Man, at that time, did not like how powerful I was. That was a time when they wanted to portray the female as the weaker sex. It wasn’t always that way, you know,” she continued, taking a seat amidst her friends. “They dispersed my attributes amongst the Goddesses Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena.”

“Is it true that you rose from the severed loins of… ” began Willow before the Valië cut her words off.

“NO!” she replied angrily, narrowing her eyes at the Witch. “The Greeks perverted the legends of old. Most of what they wrote is a caricature of earlier events. Complete and utter bullshit.”

“Hey! Chill out, Buffy,” remarked Xander when he saw her temper flare. “Will meant no offense.”

“Sorry,” she sighed heavily. “I get so pissed when that stuff’s brought up. I’m not fond of the Greeks for that.” She then rose from her seat and began to wander the room again.

“What happens now?” asked Giles, getting to his feet too. “If this is the End, what are we supposed to do?”

“Yeah,” chimed in Xander. “Do we just sit here and wait for the inevitable?”

“And how long until the inevitable comes?” added Willow, as both she and her husband locked their gaze on Buffy.

“Seven days,” answered Buffy, examining a bunch of framed photographs sitting on a tabletop. “The End doesn’t come on the twenty-first. It’s comes on the twelfth.”

“I guess the Mayans had it wrong,” commented Willow with a snort.

“That was deliberate,” answered Buffy, as she picked up a picture of Faith and Giles.

The Watcher now stood over her shoulder, looking at the photograph that she clutched in her hands. “Um, yes. Unfortunately, Faith is no longer with us,” he said sadly, as the Vala Queen’s finger traced the young woman’s form. “She died, saving me.”

“Where is she buried?” she asked, placing the picture back on the table.

“She’s… she’s out back, in the cemetery.”

The moment he spoke those words, all four of them vanished from the room, reappearing in the snow-covered grounds outside of Lindon Hall. All four were bundled up in thick white furs, courtesy of the Valië’s magical powers.

“That was unexpected,” said Willow, raising the collar of her coat to ward off the cold.

“Hey, Buffy! You’re glowing!” declared Xander in amazement.

Sure enough, the fey of the Vala Queen emitted a soft light in the midst of the never-ending darkness that now lay over, not only England, but all of Europe.

They all stood in silence before the grave of Faith. The stone monument was covered in a thick layer of snow. Her friends softly gasped when they saw little blue flowers begin to spring up from the frozen ground, covering the entire surface of the mound.

“She loved you, you know,” Buffy finally said, turning toward Giles. “Even though she never told you. You were good for her, the father figure she never had.”

The Watcher bowed his head. He and Faith had grown very close after Buffy’s disappearance, and her death was a big blow to him.

“She had a hard life. One that would do in most people,” she continued solemnly, turning her eyes back to the marker. “I’m glad that she got to experience what a real family’s like. She deserved that.”

The silence that fell over them was broken by the sound of many hooves beating against the snow-covered earth.

The Vala Queen lifted her head, looking toward the woods to their east.

“What’s that?” asked Xander, his eyes unable to pierce the darkness. “Someone’s coming.”

Buffy smiled, chuckling under her breath as she stepped away from the luinil-covered grave.

Giles went to her side, followed by Xander and Willow. “What is it?” the Watcher asked, sensing that she knew who was coming.

“My friends,” she whispered in reply. “The Four Horsemen.”

“The Four Horsemen!” said Giles in disbelief. “Surely, you’re not talking about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, shoving her hands into the warm pockets of her fur coat, watching as her friends galloped from the woods.

“Holy cannoli!” said Xander when the Four Horsemen stepped into the shadows of light from Buffy’s fey.

“Oh… my… God,” Willow added, her jaw hanging open when the Horsemen came into view.

“Dear Lord!” Giles said yet again.

“Enough with the Dear Lords, Giles. Can’t you come up with something else?” remarked Buffy, stepping toward the Horsemen.

“B-but, the Four Horsemen… th-they’re literally horse-men!” he stuttered, reeling in shock.

To her friends’ amazement, the Four Horsemen were centaurs, the product of genetic manipulation at the hands of Marduk long ago. The Vala Queen had grown rather fond of the centaurs and refused to let them be slain, so they had joined forces with her in the Second Age, when she had bestowed upon them great powers that would one day usher in the End of Days.

“Hail, Isis Queen,” said the foremost centaur, cloaked in pale grey. He and his brethren placed their arms in a crisscross pattern across their chests before bowing to the Valië they had served so faithfully.

“Damn! She’s Isis too,” whispered Willow to Xander and Giles.

“We see that the Sixth Seal has been broken,” he continued, his eyes darting to Willow as he spoke.

The Witch averted her gaze, still troubled that she had played a role in bringing about the End of Days.

“It has, my friends,” Buffy answered with a slight nod of her head. “In seven days, the Seventh and last Seal shall be broken, thus ending the Fourth Age.”

The white-cloaked centaur then asked, “We have completed our mission then?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Well-done, my friends. I appreciate all your hard work.”

The red-cloaked centaur then stomped forward. “Then we shall join the others in Folkvang. The battle is nigh.”

“Folkvang will fall,” replied a somber Buffy. “There is no hope of its defense. Go only if you wish to die, for only one is destined to survive the war.”

The pale grey-cloaked centaur then pulled out the scythe, the same scythe that Buffy had pulled from the stone block years earlier. “Then we will fight to the death, as it was foretold.”

The white-cloaked Horseman then morosely asked, “What of you, my Lady? Do you still intend… ”

“Yes,” she said, cutting off the centaur’s words. “The prophecy shall be fulfilled.”

All Four Horsemen looked at Buffy in wonderment, believing, without a doubt, that she was the bravest soul in all of Arda.

“Farewell, Most Holy One,” they said in unison, before turning, and galloping toward the woods until they faded from view.

“What was that all about?” inquired Xander, feeling a sudden heaviness on the air.

“Nothing,” whispered Buffy, who continued to look in the direction where the centaurs had disappeared only seconds earlier. “It’s nothing.”

The group then vanished, reappearing in an empty corridor of Lindon Hall. The thick fur coats that they had on only moments before disappeared, leaving each individual dressed in their original attire.

Two men then rounded the corner, stopping at the end of the hallway where they spotted Buffy standing alongside her friends. It was the twin Watchers, Paul and Saul, whom Buffy’s had always thought were “hot”.

Upon seeing them, she smiled. “You know, I used to fantasize about you two,” she revealed with a chuckle. “I had no idea my thoughts were so… incestuous.”

The twins exchanged a quick look before fixing their gaze back on Buffy.

“Bella?” Saul queried tentatively, taking a step closer.

“I’m back, boys,” she answered, still smiling. Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “Miss me?”

“Bella, it’s really you!” they both exclaimed in chorus, running down the corridor toward the Vala Queen. “You remember.”

She threw her arms around the two dark-haired men, hugging them tightly. “The Veil’s been removed. I remember everything,” she confessed as the three embraced.

“Then it is true. The prophecy of old?” asked Paul.

“Isn’t my being here proof of that?”

“I reckon so,” nodded Saul. “We’ve missed you. You have no idea how hard it was to pretend that we were merely Watchers.”

“There were so many times when we wanted to reveal our true identities to you, but Luthor, Luthor would’ve had kittens if we had dared,” added Paul with a laugh.

“True identities,” spoke up Giles in his confusion. His eyes darted from one twin to the other. “Just who the hell are you people?”

“Relax, Giles,” laughed Buffy. “They’re family. This is Elurín,” she said, motioning the slightly taller man, “and this is Eluréd.” She glanced at Xander. “They’re your kinsmen.”

“We go back many, many, many generations, Xander,” disclosed Eluréd, happy that he was finally able to reveal his and his brother’s common ancestry with the mortal. “Our grandfather was Beren Erchamion. You, indeed, come from a noble line of men.”

“We’re the direct descendents of Sargon the Magnificent, Bella’s mortal lover from the First Age,” added Elurín.

Xander stared blankly at the twins and the Slayer. “Who’s Sargon?” he finally asked.

“Sargon was the mighty king of Sumer and Akkad,” informed Eluréd proudly. “He united all the city-states of Mesopotamia under Bella’s banner.”

Xander then puffed his chest out. “Check me out! I come from kingly stock,” he boasted with grin. He then frowned. “Hey! Wait a minute. Where’s my fortune? Someone descended from kings should be rich, right? Hell, I don’t even have a pot to piss in!”

“You won’t need one,” answered Buffy. “Remember, the world’s about to come to an end.”

“Damn,” he murmured. “Foiled again!”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” said Willow, patting her husband’s arm consolingly. “I vowed to stay with you for richer or for poorer. I’m used to your poverty-stricken station in life.”

“Gee, thanks, Will,” he grumbled in reply.

“I don’t have much time,” said Buffy, abruptly changing the subject. “I still have a lot to do.” She began to walk down the corridor with the others.

“Have your shields been put in place?” asked Elurín.

“Yeah. I won’t remove them until I finish all my business here,” she replied to the son of Dior. “Which reminds me, where’s Dawnie? I’d really like to see her. Is she around?”

“I’ll get her,” said Eluréd with a smile. “She’s going to… flip when she sees that you’re back.” He then took off down the hallway, whistling It’s the End of the World as We Know It, by R.E.M.

The group returned to that same room with the wall of televisions, settling onto the various couches and chairs within the chamber.

Buffy had this nervous energy about her, rendering her unable to sit still. As the others watched, she walked over to the TVs, intrigued by a U.N. commercial that was playing on one of the sets.

The images were of blue-helmeted U.N. troops invading what looked like a neighborhood right out of middle-class America, rounding up people, and shooting those that attempted to resist or flee. The words, “Peace At Any Cost” displayed across the screen at the end, as the camera scanned hordes of dead men, women and children strewn about the streets and yards, their bullet-riddled bodies laying in pools of blood.

The Vala Queen glared, cursing at the TV.

“Fucking fascist bastards!” she grumbled in discontent. “I can’t understand why mortals so eagerly want to be part of an organization bent on their destruction.” She turned, facing the others. “You know that the U.N. is run by demons, don’t you? Have been from day one.” She shook her head in disgust. “Next thing you know they’re gonna have We Are the World as their anthem or something.”

“Actually,” started Willow, “the Unified World Government chose John Lennon’s Imagine as their anthem.”

“Pfft,” Buffy sounded with a roll of her eyes. “Figures.” With a wave of her hand, all the televisions went black. “I wish you people would pay more attention to history,” she preached as she ambled around the room. “Globalization is a bad thing. It’s evil. Always has been. I saw the same thing in Babel. You mortals think you’re so smart by linking your economies together. All that does is allow a select few to wield great power over the masses, dictating what you can and cannot do. Isn’t that what happened?” she queried, stopping before the group. “Hasn’t the world’s economy collapsed?”

While her comments were true, none really knew how to respond to them. Those present didn’t wield power of that kind. Even the Watcher’s Council had suffered as a result of globalization. When the World Bank seized control of all the banking systems and their assets, they funneled money to the U.N. and other internationalist organizations in order to reduce the number of people in the world in the name of “saving the environment and preserving the earth’s resources.”

“Well, yes, yes it has. But we’re in recovery mode,” spoke up Giles with trepidation.

The Vala Queen narrowed her eyes, locking them on the Watcher.

He squirmed uneasily in his chair, uncomfortable with her penetrating gaze.

“And wasn’t it World War III that got the economy going again? Isn’t that what the bloodthirsty tyrants in the world decided to do? Two birds, one stone. War has been made into an institution for profit and population control. And you people let it happen. You’ve been brainwashed into submission. With your compliance, you’ve allowed your masters to place the shackles of bondage upon you. Now, the entire world toils on the plantation to which you have all become enslaved.” She shook her head in dismay. “What a tragedy,” the Valië added, as she resumed her walk around the room.

“Since when did you become such the politician?” queried Xander, slightly unnerved by Buffy’s rant. “You never followed politics be- ”

“I most certainly did!” interjected the Vala Queen. “Buffy Summers may not have involved herself in the happenings in this world, but I most certainly did. I’m a God, Xander. Remember? I’ve been around for a very long time. I’ve seen things that you couldn’t even fathom.”

She turned her attention to an opened tome on one of the tabletops. She lifted the thick book from the wooden surface, holding it before her friends.

“This is one of the greatest history books ever written, whether you follow its doctrine or not,” she said, revealing the cover, on which the words “Holy Bible” were inscribed. “But, it’s been altered, changed with each generation, so that now lies have been intermingled with truth. The key is to be astute enough to read through all the bullshit and decipher that which is fact.”

Buffy lay the tome on her forearm, and with her free hand, opened the book, flipping through its pages until she found the desired text. She then read a passage from the Bible.

“I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet, saying, “I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and what thou seest, write in a book and send it unto the seven churches which are in Asia…”

She paused, her eyes scanning the verses until she found the one she sought.

The Valië then continued, “…And when I saw Him, I fell at His feet as dead. And He laid His right hand upon me, saying unto me, “Fear not; I am the First and the Last: I am He that liveth, and was dead; and behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death…”

When she reached that part of the passage, she snapped the book closed.

“That’s… that’s from the Book of Revelations,” stated Giles, unsure of the significance of that verse to his former Slayer.

“That it is,” answered Buffy. “That’s when it all started. The End of Days, I mean.” She thrust the thick tome back onto the tabletop, sighing as she did so. “The First spoke part of that passage to me back in Cleveland when we were battling his Turok-Han.”

She headed toward the sitting area where her friends, who continued to watch her intently, sat.

“I didn’t get it back then. It held no meaning, until recently.” She stopped, looking at the faces of her loved ones sitting before her. “I have Willow to thank for that.”

“Me?” the Witch queried nervously. “What did I do?”

“You brought me here,” answered the Vala Queen, deciding to take a seat beside Elurín. “When you pulled me from Folkvang, you removed the Veil of Concealment that my brethren had placed upon me. You gave me back my memories, the memories they didn’t want me to have.”

“By brethren, do you mean the other Gods?” asked a bewildered Xander.

Buffy nodded in reply. “Although they refer to themselves as the Valar.”

“So they, the Valar, put this Veil thingy on you? Why?” he continued.

“Because they were afraid, frightened of what I would do,” she answered calmly.

“You mean bringing about the end of the world,” said Willow, the uneasiness in her voice quite obvious.

“It’s not the end of the world per se,” Buffy replied, correcting the Witch. She paused for a moment, carefully considering her words. “It’s the end of the age, the time for the last great battle where my brethren have no other choice, but to fight. War is coming to their Blessed Realm, Valinor, whether they like it or not.” Her eyes narrowed. “They’ve sat on their lazy asses for far too long, living in bliss while the rest of us had to endure heartache after heartache. It’s time for them to experience battle on their doorstep for once, to feel the anguish that comes with the destruction of life and home, as I have so many times before.”

“What could they have possibly done to you for you to bring about such destruction?” asked Giles.

“It would take me centuries to go over my list of grievances,” she responded.

“God, she sounds like a mini-Giles,” whispered Xander to his wife, who nodded in agreement.

“Is there anything we can say or do to convince you to put an end to this, to stop this war from happening?” queried the Watcher. “People will die. Innocent lives will be lost.”

“This is fated to be,” Buffy replied, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “It’s not a bad thing, Giles. It’s a cleansing. The world won’t be totally destroyed. It will heal. It will become wholesome again. And when it does, they’ll be no evil left, not even a trace of it. Mankind will get another chance to live their lives as they should, free from heavy industry and all that entails.” She snickered. “I’m gonna knock this world back to the Stone Age. Start from scratch, so that you people have a fighting chance and get to experience the world in its pure, unadulterated state, to live amidst nature, to enjoy the beauty of the world which has become tainted and corrupted.”

“Nations will be drowned by the oceans, and new lands will rise from the sea,” murmured Elurín softly under his breath.

Buffy smiled. She took the son of Dior’s hand in her own, caressing his soft skin with her fingertips. “And paradise will return once again.”

Elurín lifted his head, and with tear-filled eyes, he fixed his gaze on the Vala Queen. “But at such a price,” he uttered, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“Shh,” she replied, pulling her beloved friend into her arms, comforting him. “This is not a time for mourning. Do not wallow in your grief, my son. Rejoice in knowing what’s to come, for that, to me, makes it all worthwhile.”

“But, it will not be the same,” Elurín wept, unable to curb his tears. “It will never be the same.”

Those in the room shared uneasy glances with one another, feeling as though they were intruders, witnessing what appeared to be a private and tender moment between two old friends. Yet, at the same time, they felt a sudden pang in their hearts, a sense of foreboding that filled them with both dread and sorrow.

“Look at me,” the Valië continued, lifting the son of Dior’s chin.

Elurín locked eyes with Buffy.

Neither spoke a single word. But it seemed very clear to the others that the two were holding a conversation between themselves, a conversation that they didn’t want any to overhear. The Scoobies solemnly watched as the Slayer gently wiped Elurín’s tears away.

After some time, Buffy whispered, “Always remember that I love you,” as she choked back her own tears. She then placed her hand on his chest. “I’ll always be with you, here, in your heart.”

“You’ve been so good to me and Eluréd,” he said, clutching her hands within his own. “You’ve loved us like your own.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re both my sons. Blood be damned.”

Elurín forced himself to smile, though his heart ached like never before. He kissed the top of the Vala Queen’s hands, as he came to the realization that the others were watching his and the Vala Queen’s exchange.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaping from the couch. He walked away from the Scooby Gang, needing a few moments to regain his composure. It was unlike him to show his emotions in front of others, especially since he had taken up the role of Watcher.

Buffy’s friends eagerly wanted to question her about the part of the conversation they had overheard, but deemed that it was best to leave it alone. They fell silent, each wondering why they felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

The Valië cleared her throat. “So,” she began, shifting her gaze to Willow and Xander. “My inquiring mind wants to know: how did you two hook up?”

The married couple then relayed the story to Buffy, telling her that it was her disappearance in Cleveland that had brought them together. After she had vanished, (they had presumed she was dead), Willow and Xander leaned on each other for support and comfort, which ultimately reignited those feelings of love that they had had years earlier.

As they shared the tale of their courtship, a little brown-haired girl, around two years old, came flying into the room, shrieking, “Mommy! Daddy! Mommy! Daddy!”

A familiar voice shouted, “Buffy!” from the corridor.

The Vala Queen instantly rose to her feet. “Dawn,” she uttered under her breath, her heart racing with excitement at seeing her little “sister” once again.

“Buffy! Get back here!” Dawnie commanded from the hallway.

The little girl ran into the outstretched arms of Xander, as the Valië stood there with her jaw agape.

Seeing her reaction, Willow then said, “This is our daughter, Buffy, Buffy.”

A smile came to the face of the Slayer. “You didn’t tell me you guys had a kid,” she said, slightly taken aback by that revelation.

“We hadn’t gotten to that part,” replied Xander between the kisses he planted on his child’s face.

“You named your daughter after me,” continued a stunned Buffy.

“Yeah,” answered Willow, as she stroked her daughter’s dark hair.

“That’s so sweet,” said a beaming Buffy.

A gasp from the doorway diverted the Vala Queen’s attention away from the happy, little family. There, standing just inside the room, was Eluréd with an older and taller Dawn. Buffy’s jaw dropped once again when she laid eyes upon the baby on her sister’s hip.

“Dawnie,” said the astonished Slayer, too shocked to say anything else.

Her sister remained frozen to the spot, staring wide-eyed at Buffy. She, too, was shocked to see her long lost sister.

“Oh my God,” she finally said. “Buffy, is it really you? You’re really back.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” answered the Valië, quickly approaching her sister. “Look at you,” she continued, her eyes quickly surveying Dawn. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Tears welled in Dawnie’s eyes, overwhelmed that the sister she had thought dead was now standing before her. “Oh, Buffy, you’re back. You’re really back,” she cried, throwing her free arm around her sister’s neck while clutching the infant firmly on her hip with the other.

“I missed you,” said the Vala Queen, wrapping an arm around her sister, careful not to crush the baby in their embrace. After a few moments, she pulled back, turning her attention to the baby. “Who’s this little guy?” By the look of the child’s clothing, it seemed obvious he was a boy.

“This is my son, Luke,” answered Dawnie, bouncing the child on her hip.

“Your son! You have a son!” said a shocked Buffy. She had assumed, at first glance, that the child was Willow’s and Xander’s youngest. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re a mommy.”

“You wanna hold him,” continued Dawn. Not waiting for Buffy to answer, she thrust the child into her sister’s arms. “This is your Aunt Buffy, Luke.”

The moment the Valië had a hold of the child, horrific images flashed in her mind with such a pounding force that it took her breath away.

“Buffy, what is it?” asked Dawn, noticing the pained expression on her sister’s face.

“Take him,” answered Buffy, handing Luke back to his mother.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” asked Dawn with concern.

The pain began to dissipate once she had handed off the child, but a feeling of doom lingered behind. “It’s okay. I’m just kinda… ” She paused, trying to catch her breath. “It’s nothing, nothing to be concerned about. I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” asked Dawn, clutching the baby in her arms.

“Yeah,” she replied, tuning away from her sister. She walked toward the couch, rubbing her temples as the last of the throbbing subsided.

Dawn shadowed her sister’s footsteps. “Is it true? What Paul said?” She quickly glanced at Eluréd whom she still knew as Paul. “That you’re a God… ”

“Valië,” corrected Eluréd. “She’s a Valië.”

“Or Goddess,” stated Buffy further. “That seems to be the more acceptable term amongst mortals. Let’s face it, Eluréd,” she continued, plopping down on the couch, “Elvish is a dead language. No one follows the old ways any more.”

Dawn stopped, confused by what she was hearing. “Whoa! Who’s Eluréd? And what’s this talk of elvish languages? What the hell’s going on?”

“Willow summoned the Goddess, Ishtar, who happened to be none other than our very own Buffy,” explained Xander, “who, in turn, blew up the Dome of the Rock, thus bringing about Armageddon.” He looked at the Slayer. “That about sums it up, don’t you think?”

The Vala Queen nodded, adding, “And Paul and Saul are actually immortal.”

“And they’re my ancestors,” chimed in Xander.

“Oh, and Xander’s descended from a noble line of kings, dating all the way back to Sumeria,” spoke up Willow enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I think that about sums it up, so far,” chuckled Buffy, amused by the whole situation.

“Oh,” said a nonplussed Dawn, as she dropped onto one of the vacant chairs, shifting her baby onto her lap.

“So, you’re a mommy too,” said the Valië, turning the conversation back to her sister. She was still astonished that all the Scoobies, except for Giles, were now parents.

“Yeah, must’ve been something in the water,” joked Dawnie.

“Are you, you know, married?” asked Buffy tentatively.

“Yep,” she replied, revealing the gold band on her ring finger. “Almost two years now.”

“Oh, God. Please tell me it’s not Andrew!” said the Slayer with a look of horror on her face.

“Eww! No way,” answered Dawn, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Connor’s a real man, a manly man… ”

“Connor?” interjected the Slayer, her brows darting upward. “That wouldn’t happen to be Angel’s Connor… ”

“The one and the same,” answered her sister.

“What are the chances?” mumbled Buffy, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Huh? What did you say?” asked Dawn, now bouncing baby Luke on her knees.

“Nothing,” answered the Valië, easing back into the soft cushion of the sofa. “So much has changed since I left is all.”

The Slayer now noticed both Eluréd and Elurín huddled together across the room, speaking in whispers. She was about to address them when Dawn continued their conversation.

“What happens now?” she asked. “I mean, if this is Armageddon, shouldn’t we be fighting or something?”

“We’re gonna sit this one out,” answered Buffy, propping her feet onto the edge of the coffee table.

“What?” queried Dawn incredulously, her eyes shifting to the others in the room. “Don’t tell me we’re just gonna sit on our butts while all this goes down? Giles?” She looked to the Watcher for answers.

“I think Buffy’s right on this,” he answered. “This war was foretold ages ago. Perhaps we don’t have a place in it after all.”

“Lighten up, Dawnie,” chimed in Xander, handing little Buffy to Willow. “We’re part of the Elect - we get a free pass.”

“What does that mean?” asked an obviously worried Dawn. “We have kids, Xander. What kind of world will they live in?”

One by one, they all turned their eyes to the Vala Queen, waiting expectantly for her response.

“It’s complicated,” answered Buffy with a sigh. “But, like Xander said, you won’t be a part of it. None of you will.” Her gaze shifted to each Scooby. “I’m gonna take you from here, to the safety of Mandos, the one place that won’t be destroyed by the war.”

“Mandos?” repeated Giles. “I’ve… I’ve never heard of that before. Just where is this Mandos?”

“In Valinor,” answered the Slayer.

“Ooh,” piped in Willow, “the land of the Gods.”

“Yep,” Buffy replied. “My brother will protect you and the rest of the Elect.”

“Brother? We have a brother?” queried Dawn, her face a mask of surprise.

That question caught the Vala Queen off guard. Since the monks had made Dawn from Buffy’s blood, she was more accurately, her daughter. Although it could be argued that it all came down to semantics. As far as the Slayer was concerned, Dawn knew her as her sister, and it was best to let her think that to the end.

“Uh-huh,” she finally answered. “Námo will protect the Elect.”

“What about you?” asked Willow. “Won’t you be with us?”

“For a time,” the Valië said with a quick smile. “But, I’ve got my role to play in this battle too. There are things I have to… deal with, that will require my leaving Valinor.”

“Like what?” queried Xander, eager to help his old friend if he could.

“That’s my business,” she answered to the dismay of the others. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but there’s some things that I just can’t share with you, things that I have to contend with on my own.”

“You’re speaking of Morgoth, aren’t you?” said Elurín from across the room, having overheard her conversation with the Scoobies.

“Morgoth?” queried a perplexed Dawn. “Who the heck is Morgoth?”

“The First,” replied Eluréd, as he and his brother joined the others. “Morgoth Bauglir.”

Buffy bit her bottom lip, turning her eyes to her feet. Morgoth was not a topic of conversation she wanted to discuss with the others. She knew they’d never understand her love for the Dark Lord or, his for her. It was a love that knew no bounds and had endured for ages untold. Their relationship was complex and could not be easily explained.

“Just where is Connor?” asked the Valië, turning the topic of conversation away from Morgoth.

“Um, he’s in Rome with a group of Slayers, slaying,” replied her little sister.

“Rome?” repeated Buffy, her brows raised once again. “That’s not good.”

“Why? What do you know?” asked Dawn, unnerved by the Vala Queen’s comment.

“No one needs to be in Rome right now, unless they wanna die.”

“What?” replied her sister, the blood draining from her face. “What are you talking about? What’s gonna happen?”

Buffy turned to Willow. “You might want to use your mojo to bring them back, Will. Pronto. Any of your people in Rome need to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Here, Buffy,” said the Witch, handing her daughter to Giles, “Go to Papa.”

“Papa,” chortled the Slayer, as Giles wrapped his arms lovingly around the child.

Not a moment later, Willow and Dawn, still clutching her baby, hurriedly left the room.

“God, I can’t believe Dawn and Connor are together,” remarked Buffy. “That’s kinda creepy. Don’t you think?” she asked, looking at Xander.

“Nah, I’ve seen creepier things,” he replied, watching as little Buffy grabbed hold of Giles’ glasses.

“No, no, sweetheart,” answered the Watcher, trying to gently pry her little fingers from around his wire frames.

“So you don’t have any problem with Dawn being married to Angel’s son?” she queried to Xander, knowing his aversion to the vampire with a soul.

“It’s not the kid’s fault, you know,” replied Xander in defense of Connor. “He’s been good for our little Dawnie. He loves her. He’s proved that more times than I can count. I’m cool with it.”

“I trust your judgment,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I know you’ve been looking out for her since I left, and I appreciate that, really I do. But her relationship with Connor just seems… I don’t know, weird to me.”

“They’re in love, Buff,” he answered, keeping an eye on his daughter. “I’d think that your being the Goddess of Love, you’d appreciate that.”

“Yeah, right,” she mumbled, before falling quiet. Her thoughts immediately turned to the images she had seen when she was holding her nephew. As she nervously chewed her bottom lip, she thought, There’s nothing I can do. I guess the chips will fall as they may.

A hushed silence fell over the room, except for little Buffy and Giles. While waiting for Willow and Dawn to return, everyone half-heartedly watched the interaction between the toddler and her “Papa”, each lost in thought, pondering all that they had learned. Hearing that the end of the world was so near gave one cause to reflect, not to mention the anxiety it brought.

Yet the same could not be said for the Vala Queen. She sighed, pushing all thoughts of Luke out of her mind. Instead, she began to think about Rome and those there that had betrayed her. She felt her blood pressure rising at the mere thought. Narrowing her eyes, she deemed that the time was ripe for her to pay Allandro a visit, and to settle old scores…


Chapter 118 - THE KILLER IN ME

WARNING: This chapter contains some graphic imagery.



It was nearly twenty minutes later when Buffy sensed that Willow had mystically retrieved their allies from Rome, bringing them safely back to the confines of Lindon Hall. She then rose to her feet and said, “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait!” replied Giles anxiously, handing little Buffy back to Xander, and getting to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta take care of some business,” she answered evasively. “I’ll be back soon. Stay here. Whatever you do - don’t leave Lindon Hall!” She then vanished, leaving her bewildered friends behind.

Only a second later, she reappeared inside the gates of Allandro’s compound, a few miles outside the city of Rome. Just like at the cemetery, she had on a thick, white fur coat, as the weather was unnaturally cold thanks in part to the tireless efforts of the Four Horsemen.

Up on a knoll sat the palazzo, the lights within burned brightly through the frost-covered windows.

The Vala Queen closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the frigid air, hoping to pick up the Immortal’s scent. Her eyes popped open. She knew that he was not at home. At least, not yet. It didn’t matter though. She’d be more than happy to await his return. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she headed up the winding, slush-covered drive toward the mansion on the hill, wanting to savor every second of her time in Endor, despite the bitter winds blowing from the northeast.

Buffy chuckled to herself knowing that Allandro had spent big bucks on a state-of-the-art security system, a security system that would not mark her arrival. Employing one of the benefits of being a powerful Vala, she made sure that no electronic gadgets or mystical devices would be able to detect her presence. In fact, it was only a matter of time before all electronics that Man had come to rely on would be rendered obsolete.

Once she approached the front of the palazzo, the Slayer left the blacktop drive, following the path buried beneath the snow that led to the kitchen door at the side of the house. Just like an elf, her footfalls did not sink into the thick layer of white. Not a single footprint was left in her wake.

As Buffy approached the side patio, her mystical raiment reverted to her fleshly form. She did not want anyone to feel threatened or intimidated by her arrival. She looked “normal,” like a mortal, dressed in black jeans and a white turtleneck sweater.

Behind the curtained window, she could make out an enormous shadow in the kitchen, singing along with the radio. She recognized the beautiful voice, and the crappy song he was singing, Imagine.

She rolled her eyes, before tapping on the door.

The singing stopped. The shadow grew larger behind the frosted windowpanes. The door eased open, bathing the stoop in warmth and light. Standing inside, was the towering form of Giovanni, a look of surprise on his monstrous yellow face.

“Hey, Giovanni,” she said in greeting, smiling warmly at the demon servant of Allandro. “Long time, no see.”

“Uccisora!” he exclaimed, his blood red eyes wider than she had ever seen them. The demon was not only shocked to see her standing on his doorstep, but was also taken aback that she was able to bypass the security system without sending off the alarm.

“I prefer Bella,” she answered with a shrug. “Can I come in?”

“Um… er,” the hulking demon stammered, unsure how to react to Buffy’s most unexpected arrival. “My Signore is not home at the present.”

“Can I wait for him?” she asked, her teeth chattering from the cold. “I’ve come a long way, and it’s freezing out here.”

Despite his better judgment, Giovanni nodded his head, stepping back so the Slayer could enter the warmth of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her hands together, warming them. The smell of baked goods and freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. “I had forgotten how good your kitchen always smells. What are you baking?”

“Tiramisu,” he answered, closing the door behind her.

“Mmm, smells delish,” she remarked, as she slid out of her fur coat, draping the garment over the nearest barstool.

Giovanni sidled past Buffy, turned off the radio, and said, “It should be ready in about,” he glanced at the oven, checking the timer, “thirty-three minutes, if you’d like to have a slice.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a butcher knife, setting the implement onto the countertop. “We thought you were dead,” he continued, placing his palms on the smooth granite surface. His red demonic eyes studied the small woman before him. “It’s been nearly seven years since… ” Giovanni paused, trying to find the right words. “My Signore has moved on. He has a new lady friend.”

The Slayer chuckled, taking a seat atop one of the stools. “I’m not here to woo Allandro away from anybody. I just want to talk to him. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Oh.” Giovanni nervously cleared his throat. “What news do you bring? Do you have some useful information about this darkness that has fallen over the world?”

She propped her elbows on the countertop, resting her head on her linked fingers. “Surely, you know, Giovanni. It’s the End, Armageddon, some people call it.”

His eyes widened momentarily. “I see,” he remarked, scratching the side of his neck with one of his well-manicured claws. “I never thought I’d actually see this day come.”

“We should consider ourselves lucky,” she sniggered.

He narrowed his eyes, wary of her comment. “How so?”

“Oh, come on,” she answered fervently. “Hell on Earth. Death and mayhem everywhere you turn. Isn’t that what you demon-types long for?”

Giovanni was taken aback. “I have no quarrel with the mortals. I go my way, they go theirs.”

“It’s never been that way though, has it?” she answered, raising her brow skeptically.

The hulk-sized demon didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t like the Slayer’s tone, or the look in her eyes. She definitely knew more than she was willing to reveal, that much Giovanni knew.

“How ‘bout an espresso?” she asked, changing the subject in hope of easing the growing tension in Allandro’s servant. “I can sure use a pick me up. You do have some, don’t you?”

“Sì,” he replied, his eyes darting toward the knife, wondering if he should arm himself before turning his back to Buffy. With a heavy sigh, he left the blade alone and turned away. He hurriedly opened one of the cupboards, grabbed a cup from the stack before filling it with the strong, dark coffee. “Here you go, Uccis- er, Bella.”

“Grazie,” she answered, taking the small, steaming cup from his hand.

As she sipped on the hot beverage, Giovanni keenly watched her. Resting his hands back on the granite countertop on either side of the knife, he asked, “Do you mind my asking, where you’ve been all this time? None have seen hide nor hair of you for nearly seven years. Where have you been hiding all that time?”

“Don’t you know?” she queried in reply, her brows raised in question. “Allandro was the one who gave me the amulets. Surely, you know what they do.”

The demon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well, no, I do not,” he answered slowly. “I’m merely a servant of my master. He does not inform me of the powers of every amulet or mystical trinket in his possession. I have no idea what those amulets do that he gave you. All I know is that my Signore said it would help you in your war. That’s all.”

“You see, that’s the weird thing,” said Buffy, before taking a sip of her coffee. She could sense the anxiety rising within the demon as she placed her cup on the counter. “Those amulets actually belonged to me. They were part of my horde of artifacts that I had collected over the years.”

A surprised look came to Giovanni’s face. “You collect artifacts? I had no idea.”

“Huh?” replied the Slayer, incredulous in tone. “Somehow I don’t believe that.” She folded her arms on the counter. “I may have been out of the loop for a while, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t had people around who were acting as my eyes and ears,” she explained. “Turns out, the French invaded my lands back in the late 1700’s, raiding my fortress, stealing my treasures. Among the priceless artifacts taken from my Halls were twelve mystical amulets, which for some reason or another, ended up in the hands of none other than your Signore.”

Amazingly, the hue of Giovanni’s skin became lighter, a sign that Buffy clearly recognized as his body’s response to fear. The demon’s black pupils were also growing in size, a result of his mustering his strength in anticipation of a possible attack, or defense, whichever, the demon deemed more necessary to his survival.

“I can account for eleven of the amulets,” she continued, “but one, one is still out there, somewhere.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” said the demon defensively.

“Sorry, wrong answer,” she replied.

Giovanni snatched the knife from the countertop, wielding it threateningly at the Slayer.

She laughed, undaunted by his menacing form. “Ooh, I’m so scared,” she chuckled, a mocking look of terror on her face. “You won’t stab me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she continued in a calm voice, as she picked up her espresso and took another sip.

The demon’s body trembled, as he tried to fight the invisible force that had suddenly taken hold of him.

“It sucks when someone else’s will overpowers your own, doesn’t it?” she queried with a wry smile.

Giovanni didn’t respond. All his attention was focused on the blade within his grasp. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t control his hand, which was slowly moving the tip of the knife toward his stomach.

Buffy drained the last of her coffee, just as the blade slowly penetrated the demon’s gut, right above his groin area. Unable to scream or make any noise to warn the others in the house, Giovanni grimaced while plunging the knife deep into his abdomen.

“Did you ever have one of those days when you think, ‘Damn! I’ve fucked with the wrong person?’” she asked, as the terrified demon looked at her in utter shock. The Slayer’s smile widened. “I believe today is that day. Payback’s a bitch,” Buffy smirked, as she made a quick, upward motion with her forefinger.

The knife within the demon’s hand followed her movement, ripping through Giovanni’s flesh and innards. The demon remained on his feet, but hunched over the counter a bit. Blood streamed from the incision, spilling onto the granite surface, down the cabinets to the tile floor.

“Wait a sec,” declared the Slayer, thrusting her empty cup under the crimson-colored stream, filling the vessel.

The hue of Giovanni’s reptilian-like skin became lighter and lighter as the blood gushed from his body. His pupils became smaller, the closer he came to death.

Once her cup was full, she cheerfully said, “Bottoms up!” before gulping down the demon’s life force. As soon as the blood hit the back of her throat, images of Giovanni’s life flashed before her eyes. Things became clearer, confirming things that she had long suspected. While downing the warm liquid, her eyes turned black, her mystical raiment replacing her fleshly form.

Giovanni stared at the Slayer, wanting to speak, but finding himself unable to.

Buffy fixed her steely gaze on the dying demon. “I knew it!” she hissed, releasing the monster from her hold so that he fell to the floor in a heap. She rose from her stool and slowly ambled around the island that formed a barrier between her and her foe. The Vala Queen stared at Giovanni with narrowed eyes, forcing the demon to slash at his flesh with the knife that still remained clutched in his hand.

When she saw that he was near death, the Slayer deeply inhaled, sucking his soul from his body, and imprisoning his fey in hers.

Not a second later, the kitchen door swung open. “Gio- ” the maid began before stopping in her tracks. She and Buffy locked eyes for the briefest of moments, before the woman spotted the blood-covered countertop. With her eyes wide with horror, the woman let out an ear-piercing shriek as she bolted from the room.

“Damn!” mumbled the frustrated Valië. “There went my element of surprise.” She gave one last look at the demon’s body on the floor. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Oh, well. No rest for the wicked,” as she started toward the door.

None in Allandro’s household were fated to survive; no matter how determined they were to stop the Vala Queen. Since Buffy was in a vengeful yet playful mood, she arranged the dead in a morbid display as a way to welcome the Immortal upon his return home.

She was putting the finishing touches on her handiwork when the timer on the oven in the kitchen began to beep. “Ooh, cake’s done,” she said, wiping her blood-covered hands on the nearest drapery.

Buffy took off for the kitchen, eager to partake in the delectably rich Italian dessert. She turned off the timer before pulling Giovanni’s masterpiece from the oven. She set it on the wire rack to cool, deciding that she’d shower before having a slice or two.

She then took the stairway in the kitchen to the second floor, heading for the master suite. The Slayer changed into her fleshly form, as she entered the massive bathroom. Though she no longer wore her mystical raiment, her body remained covered in blood and guts. She turned on the faucet in the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, she looked at her blood-splattered reflection in the mirror and began to peel off her clothing.

When the room became steamy, she climbed in the shower, washing away all evidence of her massacre.

Once clean, she went to Allandro’s closet and pulled out a red silky shirt. She eyed the label. “Ooh, Armani. Nice,” she said, as she slid her arms into the long sleeves.

After she had finished her grooming ritual, she made her way back downstairs, straight to the kitchen. Avoiding the puddles of blood left on the floor, she cut a huge wedge of cake to take with her to Allandro’s study.

As she went through the house, she shoved heaping forkfuls of the chocolaty snack into her mouth, savoring the rare treat. Her annoyance with the maid and the rest of the Immortal’s staff for having interrupted her earlier plans was finally abating. But now, none lived, whether demon or mortal in origin, and she was free to nose around in her former lover’s mansion, to find those treasured items that had been stolen from her centuries before.

Buffy entered Allandro’s office, a beautiful chestnut paneled room, decorated wholly in blue and gold. Her eyes scanned the walls, searching for the secret door that she had seen snippets of whilst drinking Giovanni’s blood. Her eyes stopped on an old painting of the Colosseum, which depicted a very realistic fight scene between two gladiators.

Knowing that the secret door was located behind that painting, she placed her empty plate on the mahogany desk, walked over to the wall and searched for a hint of the opening. She thought that perhaps the portrait itself covered the hidden door. She grabbed hold of the frame and lifted it from the wall. The painting was much heavier than she had imagined. Buffy tossed the ancient artwork aside. It sailed through the air, landing against the edge of a coffee table. The impact tore through the backing of the frame as well as the canvas itself, destroying a priceless artifact in the Immortal’s collection.

She ran her hands along the smooth paneling, feeling nothing, not even a blemish in the wood. She then ran her fingers along the edges of the molding in hope that there was some well-hidden latch concealed within the ornate strips of wood. Unfortunately, she found nothing. There was no doubt in her mind that the passage was protected by some potent magicks, magicks that trumped her own.

She then tried teleporting herself into the secret chamber. Once again, she found herself unable to bypass Allandro’s mystical door.

Angered by her lack of success, she kicked the wall with all her might. Pain shot from her foot up to her thigh. Cursing, she hobbled away from the wall, believing that the paneling was reinforced with a least two feet of solid steel.

“Calm down, Bella. Calm down,” Buffy counseled herself. In her fury, her blood pressure had shot up; she could feel the heat emanating from her reddening cheeks.

Taking several deep breaths, she walked around the room until the pain in her leg subsided. She then turned her attention back to the wall, a look of determination on her face.

“What the hell am I doing wrong?” she asked aloud.

The moment she spoke, she knew that the door was password protected. How she knew, she couldn’t say for sure, but thought, perhaps, that that suggestion had come from the fey of Giovanni who remained trapped within her.

She began to speak words and phrases that she thought the Immortal would have found most appealing, failing in each attempt. She tried speaking in Italian, French, Swedish, German, and English. Nothing happened. She then tried Greek, Latin, Egyptian, Babylonian, and Sumerian. Still nothing.

She couldn’t believe that she was having such a difficult time getting through a measly doorway. Out of frustration, Buffy pounded her fists against the wall, enraged that some jackass Maia could out-magic her.

“Open sesame, god damn it!” she yelled, beating against the paneling. “Hocus Pocus! Abracadabra! Alohomora!” She shouted numerous passwords, but still, no luck.

With her hands throbbing, she stepped away from the wall, huffing. As she stared at the door with narrowed eyes, her thoughts turned to the Naugrim and their once magnificent kingdom, Moria.

Remembering the password used by the elves to enter through the Dwarves hidden gates, she spat out the word, “Mellon.” But, still, nothing happened.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, Giovanni,” the impatient Slayer said aloud. “If you don’t help me out here, I’ll make what’s left of your life even more miserable. What the fuck’s the password?”

In her mind, she heard the demon weakly answer, My Master’s name in Quenya. Your surname in Sindarin.

Buffy smiled upon hearing that. She stepped up to the paneling and in a commanding voice said, “Rómestámo Luinil.”

The air around the door rippled as the invisible shield vanished. The chestnut paneling then melted away before her very eyes, revealing a darkened chamber.

“Finally!” she exclaimed with relief.

She stepped into the room, and with a wave of her hand, a mystical bright light illuminated the entire chamber. As her eyes scanned the room, the Valië gasped in surprise, seeing many of her most beloved treasures that had been looted during the raid on her fortress in Switzerland a couple of centuries before.

By the looks of it, the room was a shrine devoted exclusively to her and her bloodline. There were statues and paintings of the Vala Queen and her kin, scrolls and books written by the sages in her employ, weapons of all shapes and sizes from various ages, including the bow she had used to shoot Oromë, millennia before.

Tucked away in one corner were the charred, mangled remnants of the chariot she had ridden upon during the War of Wrath. She rushed over to the vehicle, amazed to see that it had survived the changing of the world, twice. That was one treasure that she had not seen since that dreadful battle ages ago. She ran her hand over the cool, battered metal, as images of the war sprang into her mind, images that caused her heart to ache with sorrow and grief. She witnessed not only the death of Luthor again, but also that of Barathalion and Noeriel, her devoted pet lions, and offspring of Kit and Kat. All three had died at the hands of the wicked drake of Melkor Bauglir, Ancalagon, the greatest and fiercest of all dragons that had ever dwelled within the realm of Arda.

Buffy pulled her hand away, stopping the heartbreaking visions of events that had so greatly affected her life afterwards. She moved away from the chariot, squeezing between two statues, one of herself, the other, of Olofin.

On the other side, she noticed something that looked like an umbrella stand, filled with scrolls. She reached down, pulled one out, and unrolled it. As her eyes scanned the document, she murmured, “Son of a bitch,” under her breath. “The fucker even stole this!” In her hands was the original Babylonian version of The Book of the Dead, from which all duplicates had been copied. It was old, thousands of years old. Sighing heavily, she rolled the papyrus parchment back up and slid it back into the metal container.

She resumed her search of the room once again, finding the bow of Beleg and the axe of Húrin. “Shit!” she cursed, wroth that so many of her cherished possessions were housed in the Immortal’s halls.

The Vala Queen then caught a glimpse of blue out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw something against the wall draped in a blue cloth. A couple of stacks of books had been piled on top of the rectangular box. Easing her way through the narrow pathway, she stopped before the hidden object, already suspecting what lay beneath the cloth. She removed the books, placing them on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed hold of the material and yanked it off the object. She froze, too stunned to make a sound. She dropped to her knees, letting the blue cloth fall from her grasp. Buffy stared at her most valuable possession - her copper trunk. The lock on the face of the box had been pried off, the metal gnarled where the locking mechanism had once been located.

The Vala Queen’s heart raced in her chest, wondering if the things that she had kept stored in the mystical trunk were still there. She nervously lifted the lid. Instantly, the fragrant scent of luinil flowers escaped the box, the sweet smelling scent taking the Slayer back in time.

Tears immediately filled her eyes as she spotted the crown of luinil flowers resting atop the items stored in the chest. The last time she had seen the circlet, the flowers were withered, dead. Now, they were in full bloom, an obvious sign that Illyria had been reborn into the world. Two tears escaped her eyes. Turning into nuggets, they made a clanking sound as they bounced off the metal objects within the case, before settling at the bottom of the trunk. Buffy carefully lifted the crown, holding it gently in her hands. Her thoughts immediately turned to her firstborn. She smiled, knowing that she would be reunited with her eldest daughter soon.

The Slayer carefully placed the circlet back in the trunk before pulling out the Trident of Ulmo. She was more than a little surprised to see that. It was, by far, the most powerful weapon left in the world, even more powerful than the nukes ‘developed’ by mankind. She laid the Trident beside her, as she intended to use it whilst in Rome.

Looking back in the trunk, she reached in and pulled out a medallion on a chain, the Ankh of Horus, her “son” with Osiris. She traced the silver symbol with her finger, remembering, with bitterness, the anguish of her loss during that time. She quickly put the artifact back in the box, as another tear escaped her eye. She didn’t want to think of those times, and the Ankh, obviously, was a painful reminder.

Buffy then grabbed a little red drawstring pouch from the floor of the trunk. She could feel the contents inside her enclosed hand. She opened the bag and shook out two rings onto her palm. One was silver, the other gold. These were her betrothal and wedding rings from Maglor, something she had not worn for a long, long time. She closed her palm, struggling to stifle her tears. Oh, how she loved that Noldo. Out of all the lovers she had had in Middle-earth, he was most definitely the one she loved most, despite the fact that their love was doomed from the start.

The Slayer folded her arms on the edge of the trunk and wept. Her golden tears clanked against the metal implements stored in the box. Thinking of her beloved Kanafinwë caused her heart to ache with such sorrow. Especially now, knowing that their paths had crossed numerous times in the past, though she was unaware of it all those times. Before the End, she would prove her undying love to the son of Fëanor, and would keep the promise she had made to him long ago.

She lifted her head, drying her eyes on the silk sleeve of Allandro’s shirt. She stuffed the rings back into the bag and placed them in the trunk, before slamming the lid shut. Buffy needed a minute to collect herself. Her quick trip down memory lane had only convinced her that she was doing the right thing, that she was making the world a better place, free from evil.

“And the meek shall inherit the earth,” she sniffed, accepting the fact that it was she that was destined to pass judgment on those that dwelled in Arda. She rose to her feet, picking up the Trident from the floor. Glancing around the room one last time, she used her magics to remove all the items from the Immortal’s secret vault, sending them to the Halls of Mandos, which was the one place in all the mystical realms that would not be destroyed by the violence of war.

Heaving the Trident over her shoulder, she left Allandro’s office for the front parlor where she had one more thing to do before the master of the house returned. After completing her task, she retired to the Maia’s bedroom. Grabbing his copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Buffy climbed onto the Immortal’s bed, laying the weapon of Ulmo beside her. She’d read the last book in the Harry Potter series while waiting for Allandro to come back home.



Several hours later, around four thirty in the morning, Allandro’s Maserati came roaring up the drive. Buffy jumped off the bed, and ran over to one of the windows that overlooked the front yard. She peeked through the curtain, watching as the headlights twisted up the drive.

A devilish smile came to her face. She really wanted to see her former lover’s reaction when he entered his house. She watched as the car came to a screeching halt at the walkway that led to the front door. The Immortal got out of his car, slamming the door shut before hurriedly following the pathway to the front door.

As Buffy turned away from the window, she gave a slight wave of her hand. The stereo downstairs came on, the first chords of Styx’s Suite Madame Blue, came blaring through the many speakers located throughout the first floor of the house.

Allandro heard the music from outside the palazzo. He paused on the porch, as the hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. His heart began to pound wildly within his chest, the adrenaline kicking in, knowing instinctively that something was amiss. He took a few steps back, his eyes surveying his home for any obvious signs of intruders. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he marched toward the door, grabbed the cold handle and entered his abode.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw once he entered the vestibule of his home. He stopped dead in his tracks, a look of horror on his face, the putrid smell of death lingering in the air.

Gently swaying from the chandelier, suspended by his intestines, was his beloved servant, Giovanni, whose body had been horribly disfigured. The demon’s stomach had been ripped open, the organs removed. His body had been impaled on the Maia’s staff. The topmost part of the weapon that housed the crystal orb was lodged in the monster’s opened mouth. The blue light of the crystal sphere was flashing on and off. The rod could be seen in the empty cavity of Giovanni’s stomach, the end protruding from his rectum.

With his stomach queasy, he stepped around the dangling body of Giovanni, only to see the rest of his household, their bodies arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree that nearly reached the ceiling. With their arms slightly stretched out to their sides, forming ‘limbs’, one stood atop the other in a delicate balancing act, undoubtedly aided by magics. Strands of blinking lights were woven around their rigid limbs. Glass ornaments had been taken from his ‘real’ Christmas tree and now hung from various body parts, the metal hooks piercing their naked flesh, even in the most private of areas. At the top of the macabre display stood his mortal secretary, Sergio, a large, shiny, silver cross had been embedded in the top of his skull. The few beautifully wrapped presents that had been tucked under his Christmas tree in the front parlor had been neatly arranged beneath his servants, the paper wrapping already saturated with the now congealed blood.

Nausea overcame the Immortal. He turned away, running back out the front door, and vomited on the porch. To see those that he loved so dearly displayed in such a heinous way was too much for the Maia.

Time after time, I sit and wait for your call
I know I’m a fool but what can I say,
Whatever the price I’ll pay, for you, Madame Blue.
Once, long ago, a word from your lips and the world turned around.
But somehow you’ve changed, you’re so far away
I long for the past and dream of a day with you, Madame Blue.

Allandro lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his wool coat. He knew, without a doubt, who was behind this, as evidenced by the particular song blaring from the stereo. Seething with anger, he went back into the house, slamming the door behind him, the motion causing Giovanni’s lifeless body to twirl from the chandelier.

Suite Madame Blue, gaze in your looking glass
You’re not a child anymore.
Suite Madame Blue, the future is all but past.
Dressed in your jewels, you made your own rules
You conquered the world and more… heaven’s door. *

The Immortal headed to the cloakroom in the foyer, but stopped when he saw bloody writing scrawled on the white wall:

“Woe onto you, Wizard Fool, for the Whore of Babylon has returned!”

“Shit,” he groaned under his breath, starting toward the closet once again. He knew that Buffy had now regained her memories and knew his true identity. He swung open the door as the music continued to blast through the numerous speakers in the house. Allandro went to the back corner of the closet. Pushing aside several long coats, he reached down, and grabbed hold of his favorite weapon (beside his staff, which he wasn’t about to retrieve from Giovanni’s corpse). From the dark recess of the closet, he pulled out his Thompson submachine gun, moving the selector to full auto.

Dennis DeYoung’s synthesizer playing left the Immortal unnerved. The music was building up to its climax, mirroring the situation that the Maia now found himself in. With his weapon at the ready, he cautiously crept through the hallway, half-expecting Buffy to jump out at him when he least expected it. He first entered the front parlor. When he determined that the Vala Queen was not lurking within, he went straight to the stereo, and turned it off.

The mansion fell quiet, too quiet.

The Immortal let out a nervous sigh, before resuming his search of the rest of the rooms on the first floor. To his dismay, he found some of the organs of his most loyal servant. Buffy had cut incisions in the liver, lungs, etc. so that the organs would fit onto the doorknobs. The Maia had no other choice but to remove them. He used the barrel of his weapon to knock the meaty chunks of Giovanni to the floor so that he could check out the rooms.

When he reached his office, he saw that his vault had been opened, and all the contents had been removed. That sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that the Valië had reclaimed the treasures that he had stolen from her halls in Switzerland.

Allandro’s apprehension grew when he didn’t find the Vala Queen downstairs. Alert as ever, he began to ascend the stairs. With each step, he could feel Bella’s presence getting stronger and stronger. He knew that they would soon come face to face. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to convince her that he had changed, that he had seen the folly of his ways.

His feet led him to his bedroom. He knew intuitively that his search was over. Standing outside the partially opened door, he listened intently for any sound. From within the room, he could hear what sounded like a page turning in a book, followed by the clinking of a wine glass being set on a table.

A sudden coldness enveloped him. His body shuddered in response.

With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, the Immortal used the barrel of his Thompson to ease the door open.

Buffy’s eyes darted from the page in the book she had been reading to the doorway. She watched as the door slowly creaked open. When she saw Allandro, (as handsome as ever), standing at the entry, she smiled.

“Hello, lover,” she said in greeting. “Long time, no see.”

As the Immortal’s eyes did a quick sweep of the room, they lingered momentarily on the Trident lying beside Buffy on the bed.

He gave a slight nod of his head, acknowledging her presence. “Bella,” he replied coolly, locking his eyes on the Slayer. He kept his weapon aimed at her chest. “I see that you’ve been making mischief in my home, killing all my servants, displaying their bodies in morbid fashion.”

“Did you like it?” she asked, snapping the book closed. With a twinge of excitement to her voice, she added, “I was trying to stick to the theme of the season, especially since I’m gonna be all Grinch-like and take away Christmas this year.”

“A lot of children will be greatly disappointed,” he answered.

“Not really. Most aren’t gonna make it, I’m sorry to say,” she replied in a tone of feigned concern. “In the words of Jim Morrison, This is The End, my friend. Dagor Dagorath. Armageddon to some, Ragnarök to others. Doomsday. The Day of Judgment… ”

“I get the point,” interjected the Immortal. “I take it that you’re the one behind this sudden, never-ending darkness.”

The Valië’s smile widened. “But, of course. Now, everyone can come out and play. Makes things more interesting, don’t you think? I believe Melkor will be pleased by my little welcome home present.”

“At this rate, there will be no kingdom left for him to rule. Did you know that this war has gone nuclear, that the world’s leaders’ paranoia is making things worse?”

“I hate politicians,” she sneered. “The Day of Judgment draws near.” Her eyes glinted with malice as she continued, “They can run, but they can’t hide. I’ll rip the Earth apart before those charlatans escape my wrath.” She eased to a sitting position. “Before we continue this gloom and doom conversation, I have to ask you something.” Buffy waved the book she clutched in her hand. “I have the foresight to know that I’ll never finish this. How does it end? Does Harry die when he kills Voldemort?”

Allandro was baffled by her questions, wondering if she was stalling. Nonetheless, he’d be more than happy to oblige her.

“Yes,” he answered. “But, like you, he comes back from the dead.”

“Oh,” she responded with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I guess the ending’s like your typical fairy tale - Harry lives happily ever after.”

“For the most part. He marries Ginny.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing the book aside. “Such a shame. I thought that he and Luna would make a good couple, or, hell, he and Hermione.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, well.” Buffy shifted her gaze to Allandro. “That’s some artillery you got there.” Her eyes scanned the weapon, stopping on the drum. “You know you can’t kill me with that, don’t you?” She chuckled. “I’m like the Judge - no weapon forged can kill me,” she said, imitating the demon’s voice.

“You’d be amazed what this can do. Shoots eight hundred rounds per minute.” He tightened his grip on the weapon.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” she queried, snatching the Trident off the bed. “Now this, this is a weapon. Can kill thousands, even millions, with a single thrust.” In one swift motion, she was on her feet, holding the weapon in both of her hands, ready to ram it to the floor. “Wanna see?”

Her sudden motion caused Allandro to pull back on the trigger, sending a hail of bullets at his target. In the muzzle flash, the .45 caliber slugs instantly turned to doves, which then fluttered up and out of the room. The spent cartridges rained from the side of the weapon, ricocheting against an antique armoire. Within ten seconds, the Immortal had emptied the drum, as scores of doves made a beeline towards the exit.

“Told you so,” said Buffy amusedly, twirling the Trident with her fingers, much like a baton. “Here’s some magic for you.” She balanced the Trident on her opened palm. “Now you see it.” She waved her hand over the weapon, “And now you don’t.” The three-pronged spear vanished from her palm. “See, nothing up my sleeves,” she laughed, showing that there was nothing hidden within the arms of the oversized shirt.

“Where did it go?” he asked nervously, his heart beating faster and faster.

Buffy pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh. Good magicians don’t reveal their secrets.” She slowly approached the Immortal, who continued to aim his Thompson at the Slayer, despite the fact that he had no more ammo. “Speaking of secrets,” she continued, “I’ve learned a lot from your buddy hanging out downstairs.” She chuckled again, amused by her own comment. “Hanging out, get it?” Her tone swiftly became serious, the smile fading from her face. “If there’s one thing I hate in life it’s traitors.” She glared at Allandro. “Especially those that harm those I most care about.”

The Valië stopped an inch from the barrel, as the last bit of smoke dissipated in the air. She grabbed hold of the scorching barrel, the hot metal searing the skin of her palm and fingers, filling the room with the stench of her burning flesh.

The Immortal remained frozen, staring wide-eyed at the petite woman standing before him.

Buffy twisted the barrel like a pretzel. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, Pallando,” she admonished, pulling the weapon from the Maia’s grasp, and throwing it across the room. “What would Oromë have to say about one of his most trusted servants taking a walk on the evil side?”

“I’m not evil, Bella!” he exclaimed, losing his normally cool disposition. “I swear! I’ve seen the error of my ways, and have changed! I’m not the same man I once was.”

“What do you think I am, an idiot?” she shot back. “You were sent here with the rest of the Istari to help me, to help me combat evil, not help it along. For Christ’s sake, you guys ended up being pains in my ass more than anything else. Only Gandalf proved loyal to the mission.”

“I admit, I strayed from the task assigned to me, but, surely you can understand how that can happen,” replied Pallando, the desperation in his voice apparent. “You have also walked that fine line between good and evil, wandering down the road of wickedness a time or two. Of all people, you can understand how one can be corrupted by power. You’ve been there yourself. I’m not so different from you. Yes, I’ve traveled down the path of wickedness for many, many years, but I’ve changed. I’m not the bad guy here.”

If there was one thing that the Vala Queen hated, it was having her past misdeeds (as it were) thrown back at her at a time when she was to pass judgment. Yes, she had fallen from grace, but, she had managed to pick herself up and stay as true to the mission as she could.

Upon seeing her hesitation, the Blue Wizard continued, “Everybody knows that you’re the Valië that believes in redemption, in second chances. Can you not look past the things that happened long ago, and see what good I have done?” He looked pleadingly at the Slayer.

Buffy locked eyes with the Maia, attempting to search the very depths of his soul. She was unsure of what to make of his appeal, as the old adage, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’ definitely applied to his current predicament.

She took a deep breath, and turned away from the Wizard. She walked briskly back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The Slayer looked at the seared flesh of her palm. Without looking up, she said, “You broke the Treaty of the Sanctuary. You sent the French armies to pillage and destroy my home. You stole my treasures… ”

“I know, I know,” he replied anxiously, taking a few steps forward and dropping to one knee so that he was eye level with the Vala Queen. “I apologize for that.”

“Apologize?” repeated Buffy, her face wrinkled in disdain. “You gotta be kidding me. You can’t apologize for something like that.”

“You must understand, Bella, that that was the incident that caused me to turn my life around,” explained Pallando. “When I inspected your things, the things that were… taken from you, I learned about you and what you held dear - family and friends. There were traces of you on everything. I felt your triumphs, your defeats, your loves, and your losses. It… it made me want to protect you, to help you.” The Maia reached out, taking her burnt hand in his, whispering, “To ease your pain,” as he licked her palm and fingers, healing her wounds.

Once healed, Buffy awkwardly pulled her hand from the Wizard’s grasp. As much as she was loath to admit it, a part of her pitied the Immortal. She had been down that same road as he, and, in the end, had come out the wiser. Perhaps the same thing could be said for Pallando. Maybe he had learned from his misdeeds of the past. Over the years, Buffy was known to forgive, but not forget. And acts of vengeance could be a very tricky game, something that could catapult one onto the wrong path in a blink of the eye.

The Valië’s silence brought the Maia hope. He was of the opinion that she had not yet made a decision as to his fate, and believed that his words would have an effect on her. He could see it. Her facial expression had softened despite the fact that she had pulled her hand away.

“Sit, sit beside me,” Buffy then said softly, patting the vacant spot beside her on the bed. She still had many questions for the Maia, and wanted the answers before she left his palazzo.

Pallando arched an eyebrow in his skepticism, but only for a moment. He rose to his feet, and took a seat beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. She didn’t speak. She seemed aloof, as she fiddled with one of her rings, looking despondently at the floor. The Wizard could feel the Vala Queen’s weariness, the burden of her torments. However, it was her loneliness that grieved the Maia to the core. It emitted from her fey like the darkness that had engulfed the world.

After several minutes, the Maia broke the silence. “How long have you known who I really was?” he asked, watching as she played with her jewelry.

“Since the Veil was removed. Yesterday, I think,” she replied somberly.

“Hmm,” he sounded. “How did you come back?”

“Willow. She did a spell, taking me from Folkvang.”

“You don’t see many like her,” Pallando remarked. “She’s a very powerful witch.”

“Of course she is. She has my blood running through her veins,” answered Buffy, the peppiness returning to her voice.

“Does she know? Did you tell her that she’s a descendant of yours?” the Wizard queried matter-of-factly.

“No, I haven’t gotten around to it yet,” she answered with a sigh. Buffy leaned her head against Pallando’s shoulder. He instinctively wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. “I’m tired, Pallando. I’m so tired.”

“Do you want to sleep? You’re more than welcome to…”

“No,” she answered, cutting off his sentence. “I don’t have time. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”

“How long before… ” The Wizard paused, not sure how to direct his question. “How long before you have to go?”

“A few days, tops. I just have to wrap up a few loose ends before, well, before The End,” she answered dismally. They fell quiet once again. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. It seemed overly loud to the Slayer, as if to remind her that time was ticking away and she needed to hurry things up with Pallando and be on her way.

She cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” the Maia answered, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“When we first met, I mean, when you first met Buffy Summers, did you know who I really was? Did you know I was the Valië of Love and War?”

“Yes,” he answered, stroking her arm affectionately. “I did.”

“And did you know about the Veil of Concealment that the Valar had placed on me? Did you know that they had hidden my memories from me?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me,” she continued, her voice almost inaudible. “Why did you seduce me? Why did you want to be with me?”

“Because I loved you,” came his reply.

She snorted, having heard that line numerous times before. The Vala Queen never understood how evil men seemed to be attracted to her. It had been that way since the Beginning, starting with Melkor, of course.

“Do you doubt my love?” Pallando asked, slightly taken aback by her wordless response. He lifted his head, studying her face with his dark eyes. “Do you not believe me?”

“I think, like some of those before you, that you fell in love with an illusion,” she answered, shifting away from the Immortal. “You don’t really know me. How could you?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, lifting her chin so that she was forced to make eye contact with him. “I know you, Bella. I may have fallen in love with another aspect of yourself, Buffy Summers, that is, but she’s still a part of you. You and she are one in the same.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. She gave him a small smile. “I forgive you, Pallando. I forgive you for what you have done to me,” she said, catching the Wizard off guard.

The Maia sat there for a moment, digesting her words. His lips curled into a wide grin. “Thank you, Bella,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. “Your forgiveness means the world to me.”

Buffy didn’t hug the Wizard back. She wasn’t finished with her pronouncement. She eased back out of his hold.

“I’m not finished,” she continued, both her face and tone grim.

“What, what is it?” he asked, eager to dispel any doubt in her mind.

“I said that I forgive you for what you’ve done to me.” She lifted her head; the weariness that she had spoken of earlier appeared etched in her otherwise smooth and youthful face. “But, I cannot forgive you for what you did to Lalwen.”

The moment she said the elleth’s name, a look of utter terror came to Pallando’s face. Not only was he horrified that the Slayer knew he was responsible for the daughter of Finwë’s death, but, at the same time, invisible hands roughly seized hold of his body, launching him backwards until he crashed into a large mirror that hung on one of the walls. The mirror shattered upon impact, shards of glass cascading onto the hardwood floor, as the invisible force held the Wizard in place.

The Maia attempted to struggle, grunting in his efforts, but found himself unable to break free from his mystical bonds.

Buffy slowly rose to her feet and faced Pallando. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You brutally raped and defiled one of my best friends, and for that, there is no forgiveness.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If I had the time, I’d torture you in the same manner as you did her. But, for now, I’ll be content with avenging her death.”

Several shards of the broken mirror magically lifted off the floor, hovering in the air before the Maia. Pallando whimpered, begging the Vala Queen to show him mercy.

The sharp pieces of glass began to tear at Pallando’s bulky wool coat, shredding not only his outer covering, but also the clothing he wore underneath, until he was completely naked.

The Slayer turned away as the shards cut deeply into the Wizard’s flesh, his high-pitched screams echoing within his bedroom. She nonchalantly ambled over to the nightstand, picking up what was left of her white wine and downing it in a couple of gulps.

“Ah,” she sounded, noisily smacking her lips together. She spun around, looking at the blood jetting from various places on Pallando’s body. “Ew!” she remarked, her face a mask of disgust. “Now, don’t get any blood on me - I already showered.”

Buffy made a point to stand clear from the torrents of crimson, waiting for the Wizard’s heartbeat to weaken so the gushing of his blood wouldn’t splatter halfway across the room.

When his shrill cries were replaced by muted moans, she knew that death was creeping closer to the Maia. Actually, she was death, and deciding that Pallando’s time was nearly up, the Valië carefully approached her prey, avoiding the puddles and rivulets of blood that streamed across the beautiful hardwood floor.

“I just want a taste, now,” informed the Slayer, as one of the Maia’s arms peeled away from the wall, stretching out toward the place where Buffy stood. She raised her glass, allowing his blood to trickle from a deep gash in his appendage, filling her empty cup with his crimson life force.

“Cheers!” she said, toasting the dying Maia once she had an adequate amount of blood in her glass. The Valië then swigged down the crimson fluid, seeing snippets of Pallando’s life as she did so. As soon as she had finished, she licked her lips, and uttered, “Interesting. Very interesting.”

The Slayer fixed her eyes on the Immortal, watching as the strength of his fey waned. “I am a merciful Vala,” she proclaimed. “I’ll end your torments, Pallando, only ‘cause I’m in a hurry.”

The Maia tried to reply, but only managed to make a series of grunting sounds.

Buffy threw the empty glass into the fireplace, smashing it to smithereens. Placing her hands on her hips, she focused her attention on Pallando. The shards of glass that had been gashing at his body suddenly dropped to the floor. Every piece landed on its edge with the sharp ends pointing upwards. The Valië then slowly inhaled deeply, sucking the Maia’s soul from his body. As his specter-like form soared toward her, the Wizard’s empty, mutilated hröa fell, face first, onto the jagged pieces of glass, splashing blood on the legs of the Slayer.

For some reason, the Vala Queen found it amusing, laughing a lilting sort of laugh that only made her ‘prisoners’ feel greater despair.

Confining yet another fey in her hröa, the Slayer felt intoxicated for a few minutes or so. She couldn’t help but laugh, a lilting sort of laugh that only made her ‘prisoners’ feel greater despair. She gave no thought to the change in her appearance, that her mystical raiment had replaced her human form, and that her irises had turned jet black, mirroring the early morning sky.

When that buzzy feeling subsided, the red silk shirt she had been wearing vanished, only to be replaced by a nun’s habit. She lifted the silver Cross of Eru that hung on a thick gold chain around her neck. “This is for you, Lord Father,” she said, before kissing the icon, and letting it drop back to her chest.

With time ticking away, it was time for Buffy to confront her next enemy, or enemies as the case truly was.

One moment she was standing in Pallando’s bedchamber, the next she found herself standing in an empty corridor, deep in the heart of the Vatican. As her eyes surveyed her new and unfamiliar surroundings, she took a deep breath, picking up the scent of those that she had come for. Smelling her next victims, a smile came to her face.

As she started down the hallway, she began to softly sing Amazing Grace, a song that seemed befitting to her surroundings.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now I’m found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed… ”

Buffy’s song was interrupted by one of the bishops, who upon hearing her voice, had gone to investigate.

“Excuse me, Sister,” he said in Latin from behind. “I’m afraid this corridor is off limits. None are supposed to be on this floor while the meeting is taking place.”

The Slayer continued to stroll down the long purple carpeted corridor.

“Sister!” he said a bit more forcefully that time, his voice closer than before. “I must insist that you leave here at once! Please!”

The Vala Queen stopped. She could feel the man approaching from behind. When she deemed that he was near enough, she spun around, facing him.

The bishop gasped upon seeing her black eyes. Terrified, the man believed that he had come face to face with the Beast herself (as it were in this particular case).

Before he could shout in warning, the Slayer pressed her index finger to her lips. The bishop fell to the floor, dead.

“That’s what you get for interrupting my song,” she chastised, shaking her finger scoldingly at the bishop’s spirit, which had left his body. “Go on,” she continued, shooing him away. “Your time’s over. Be gone.”

The bishop’s fey was then pulled from the Vatican to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor.

“Now, where was I?” Buffy asked herself, as she started back down the hallway. “Oh, yeah…

“Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
And Grace will lead me home.

“The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.”

Buffy paused, as she stopped before the tall, elaborately carved doors inlaid with gold, (no less), that formed the barricade to the conference room where the pope and his advisors were now seated. She kicked the double doors open, sending them flying off their hinges, startling the men who sat at a long wooden table, dressed in their religious finery.

The men were aghast, and frightened, but found themselves unable to move from their chairs (courtesy of the Vala Queen).

The Slayer resumed her song, as she stepped into the chamber:

“Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.” **

Buffy stopped singing after that verse. “Morning, all,” she said cheerfully, as her eyes quickly scanned the elaborately furnished room. Seated at a long ornate table sat twenty of the most powerful men in the Vatican hierarchy.

They were flabbergasted by her sudden appearance, but when they found themselves unable to leave their chairs, their shock swiftly turned to fear.

Seated at the head of the table was the pope, flanked by two of his most powerful cardinals, whom the Slayer knew to be demons disguised as men. Apparently, that was no secret amongst the ‘holy’ men, as the banner of Morgoth, (black, unadorned), had been placed out in the open next to the banner with the crest of the papacy.

None could cry out, or move from their seats. They were forced to sit there, trembling in fear. Dressed in their religious finery, their bejeweled fingers clung to the arms of their chairs so tightly that their circulation had been cut off, turning their fingers ghostly white.

“So much for the vow of poverty, huh?” she remarked, as her eyes came to rest on the pope and his cohorts.

Many of the men were praying under their breath. Their lips moved, but no sound came out of their mouths.

Buffy then leapt through the air, a good fifteen feet, landing squarely in the middle of the table.

“I am what you people would call… an angel,” she proudly proclaimed, “sent by the Man upstairs. For too long have you charlatans, thieves and whores corrupted the masses, violating the laws set by God Himself.”

She smiled, haughtily adding, “I am St. Michael, the harbinger of Doom. Yeah, I know, you thought Michael was a man, but, alas, your predecessors changed the wording of the Good Book, discrediting women as was their wont.”

The Valië laughed, a wicked sort of laughter that chilled the members of the papacy to the bone. She stretched her arms toward the heavens. “I have been sent to Rome to pass judgment on the city of the seven hills.” As she slowly lowered her arms, the Trident appeared out of nowhere, resting on her upturned palms. She spun the weapon around, now clutching it with both hands.

“And they had the audacity to call me the Whore of Babylon. Really!” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. She then did a back flip off the table, landing on the marble floor. “See you in Hell, my friends,” she said, driving the Trident into the floor.

At once, a bright light filled the chamber. Buffy vanished, along with the Trident, as the earth began to tremble and shake.

She then reappeared in the pitch-black sky, disguised as the blue star, Luinil. The Vala Queen hovered above, watching as the earth started to rip open, devouring the ancient city and its inhabitants. The earth shook violently, bringing down the many structures within Rome. Fires sprung from the crevices, sending thick plumes of smoke into the sky. Explosions went off, people cried in despair, running through the streets as the ground collapsed beneath their feet, taking them to the bowels of Hell.

Satisfied with her mission, Buffy, the only light in the sky that had remained stationary, vanished once again.

She then appeared, in her humanly form, dressed now in white furs, from head to toe, her eyes piercing the darkness, as the snow whirled down upon her, despite the density of the forest in which she now stood. The wind howled through the trees, the bitter winds chilling the Slayer though she had dressed appropriately for the frigid weather.

In the distance she saw the Halti Mountain, which, at one time, had been part of the Iron Mountains raised by Melkor Bauglir ages ago. Buffy was in the isolated region of Lapland, in the land of Findor, or Finland, as it was known in the English tongue. It was also the home of her beloved son, Olofin. Here, he and his people lived in peace, far away from the prying eyes of Man.

Once she had her bearings, she began to make her way through the woods toward the secret entrance to her half-elf son’s Halls. In his wisdom, he had hidden the gateway so that none could happen upon his abode. As the Slayer ducked snow-covered branches, she experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, an emptiness that she had not noticed before.

She picked up the pace, hurrying through the maze-like thickets of birches and firs. When she neared the place where the doorway was, she began to search the boles of the trees, her gloved hands running over the smooth bark, looking for the emblem that marked the hidden doorway.

After some effort, she finally found it - the Star of Fëanor engraved into the silver bark of a massive birch. She placed her hand on the icon and pushed. Not a moment later, a flash of light lit up the darkness. The bole became hollow, revealing a doorway, as dozens of armed elves leapt from the gateway, led by none other than Bellason, son of Nestor.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” shouted the Green-elf to his men. “It’s Bella! Bella has returned!”

Buffy immediately noticed the black bands on the arms of the elves.

“Bellason,” she panted, her eyes scrutinizing the elf.

“Come, come out of the cold,” he said, taking her by the arm, as the others fell to one knee with their heads bowed.

“Welcome, Luinil,” they said in unison as she passed by, entering the domain of Olofin Tirnon.

Passing through the mystical gateway, they entered a stone courtyard, covered in a light layer of snow. The temperature was a lot warmer, still cold, but warmer.

“What’s happened?” she asked, rapidly walking across the rocky floor of the courtyard, her eyes glancing up at the gleaming white palace.

“I do not know if I should be the one to deliver such sorrowful news,” answered a hesitant Bellason. “I deem that you should speak with Glorfindel, or perhaps, Luthor.”

“Luthor. Luthor’s here?” she queried, looking at the Green-elf with her brows raised in surprise.

“Of course, he is. He’s been acting as Regent for years now. Do you not remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” she answered, somewhat preoccupied by the ominous feeling that was sweeping through her body. “I’ve had so much on my mind, I’d forgotten.” As they raced up the steps, she mumbled, “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

When they reached the topmost step, the two massive front doors began to magically swing outward. The doors’ façade resembled the original banner of the House of Luinil - a blue cross on a white field. In ages past, that symbol had been passed on to Olofin and his people, though it had been changed centuries ago to the symbol that currently adorns the Finnish national flag.

Once the gap was wide enough to grant them admittance, the Valië, along with Bellason and his companions, marched into the warm Halls.

A herald, standing just inside the antechamber sounded his trumpet, the notes reverberating throughout the entire castle.

Buffy didn’t need anyone to tell her where to go. She instinctively knew where Olofin was. As they continued down the wide corridor, people moved aside, whispering to one another as the group passed by. The Slayer peeled off her outerwear as she went, the warmth of her son’s Halls making her hot.

They turned a corner, then another. None of those walking with Buffy spoke a word. They were consumed by their own thoughts, knowing that things were about to become worse, much worse.

Marching down another corridor, the Vala Queen noticed two men, with long spears at their sides, standing guard outside Olofin’s Great Chamber.

Hearing the sound of many feet, they turned their gaze to the newcomers. Upon seeing Buffy, they hurriedly jerked the doors open before returning to their posts.

As she approached the doors, the others that had accompanied her stopped, feeling that the Valië should continue on, by herself. Bellason peeled away from the group, disappearing into a secret stairway hidden behind a grandfather clock.

Whilst entering the doorway, the Slayer’s eyes scanned the enormous room. When they stopped on the dais, she came to an abrupt halt. There, atop the platform, laid in state, was her beloved Olofin. Buffy’s blood ran cold; her eyes instantly welled with tears.

“No,” she cried, running across the chamber. The room seemed to become larger the quicker she sprinted. “No! No! No!” Finally reaching the bottom of the dais, she leapt up the twelve steps, landing beside the marble slab on which the half-elf lay.

Seeing his badly battered and bruised body, golden tears streamed down her face. Nearly all of his hair had been ripped from his scalp, only thin brown clumps remained. By the looks of it, Olofin had suffered horribly.

The elves had used their magics to preserve his body in the same state in which he had been found, dressing the half-elf in the finest woven cloth known to man. His sword had been placed in his hands, the cold iron blade laid across his chest, the tip hanging over his left shoulder.

Wailing in torment, the Slayer pulled her son’s lifeless body into her arms. His weapon clattered down the steps, coming to a rest at the foot of the dais.

Those outside the room could feel Buffy’s anguish. Her grief-filled sobs brought many to tears.

She slid to the floor, clutching her son in her arms, weeping uncontrollably. She had never felt such pain, such sorrow, in all her days. She had not merely lost her beautiful, noble elven son, she had lost her Light, her hope, her will. What dastardly creature could’ve killed one so holy and pure, one who was righteous from the moment he had taken his first breath?

Buffy buried her face in Olofin’s blue tunic. Her heart felt like it had been shattered into many pieces, never to be whole again. Despair was the only emotion she felt, for no loss could have been greater than losing her beloved son.

Flashes of Olofin’s life rushed to her mind, from the moment of his birth to his mischievousness that soon followed. He grew up to be a courageous and even-tempered man, driven to pity over rage. He was so unlike her, yet similar, in some ways. He was the last of the line of Finwë, and, without a doubt, the greatest, as well.

The Vala Queen had no idea how long she had sat there holding her son, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She raised her head, only to see Luthor crouched beside her, his deep blue eyes looking consolingly at her.

“He’s dead, Luthor,” she said in a broken voice, her bottom lip quivering. “My Olofin’s dead.” The golden tears continued to stream from her red and puffy eyes, the nuggets landing on the heaping pile on Olofin’s chest. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

“I know there are no words of comfort I can say to you that will ease your grief,” began the Maia sadly. “I have felt your pain many times over. Olofin was like a son to me. I loved him dearly and always will.”

Buffy turned her bleary eyes back to her son, sniffing back her tears. “How could this happen?” she asked. “He was acting Hebor, surely this didn’t happen while he was on watch.”

“No, no it didn’t,” answered Luthor, groaning as he eased down onto the platform beside the Slayer. “Olofin was not one to forgo his duties.”

“And he’s in his mortal guise,” she continued, her trembling hand stroking her son’s smooth, cold cheek. She shifted her gaze back to her father figure. “How could this happen? Where is his fey? He’s my son. He should be close by, but I can’t feel him.”

“I deem that he has gone to the Halls of your brother, as it is fated to be for so many,” answered the old man.

“But I thought he could remake his own flesh, like me.”

“Apparently not,” sighed Luthor. “None of your children possessed such an ability.”

Buffy wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt. “They’re all dead. All my children are dead. One by one, the enemy has taken them from me.”

“They’re not all dead,” countered the Maia. “Illyria lives again. And she is a new woman, much different than before.” Luthor wanted desperately to believe that that knowledge would give the Slayer hope, for her firstborn had indeed turned her life around and was nothing like the wretched creature she had been back in the day.

“I know,” she answered softly. “I found the crown of lunil flowers that she had made for me. They were in bloom again.”

“Not all is lost, my dear,” said Luthor. “Olofin is with his siblings in Aman. He will be reborn. They all will.”

“Not all,” she replied, slowly shaking her head. “Morgon’s fate is… ” The words died on her lips. Her youngest son was a touchy subject, one that was seldom brought up, even in the happiest of times.

They fell quiet, each pondering their own thoughts.

The Vala Queen was emotionally spent. She wondered if she had been a bad mother for loving Olofin more than her other children. It was something that she could not help. It just was. And, deep inside, she felt that his brothers and sisters knew that too, knew that he was her favorite, that she had come to depend on him, that he was always there for her, in good times and in bad.

Luthor’s heart ached for Buffy. He knew how much she loved her son, her only legitimate heir. Yet, he knew that soon she would be at peace when reunited with her children.

“What happened, Luthor?” she finally said, breaking the silence. “When did this happen? Who’s responsible for my beloved boy’s death? I want to know.”

The Maia chewed nervously on his bottom lip, a habit that the Vala Queen had picked up from him. He thought about her questions for a few moments before replying, “I think it’s best that you hear that from Glorfindel, for it was he that retrieved Olofin’s body.”

Buffy remained silent.

“I want to heal him,” she announced several minutes later. “I want to heal his body and have him taken back to Mandos. This flesh, his flesh, is me. It was made by me and Káno.” The Valië glanced at Luthor. “I don’t want him to have any other body, but this one. Will you help me? Will you help me restore him?”

“Of course I will,” answered the old man. He grunted as he rose to his feet. “Why don’t we put him back on…”

“No!” barked the Slayer, cutting off the Maia’s sentence. She rose to her feet with her son’s hröa in her arms. Hundreds of tear-shaped nuggets bounced to the floor, and down the steps. “I want to put him in his bed, that way, I can pretend that he’s only sleeping.” She looked at Olofin’s face. “I can pretend, for a little while.”

“Alright,” Luthor answered, nodding his head. “Let me help you.” He reached out for the half-elf, but Buffy took a step back.

“No,” she answered, starting down the steps. “I’ll carry him.”

They then took off for Olofin’s private rooms, taking the lift to the seventh floor. When they reached the half-elf’s inner sanctum, his mother gently lay him on the bed, cursing under her breath at the savagery inflicted on her virtuous son.

The ritual that Buffy and Luthor preformed was based on blood magics. They had taken enough blood from the both of them to fill a good sized bowl. Olofin was then stripped of all his garments, and his body bathed in the crimson life force of the two Ainur. The healing property of their blood was seen instantly. The half-elf’s bruises dissipated, the scabbed lesions vanished, and his hair re-grew until his head was completely covered once again. When they had completed one side, they turned him over and did the other, making sure that they covered every single spot on his body. When finished, they dressed him in his royal garb.

Luthor gathered the bloody washcloths, the near empty bowl, and started for the door.

“Luthor,” Buffy called, glancing over her shoulder. “The vial. Tell me you took a vial of his blood.”

“Oh, yes,” replied the old man. “I will get it for you.”

The Valië then took a seat on the edge of the bed, staring gloomily at the face of her precious son.

After some time, there was a gentle rapping at the door. “Come in,” Buffy said, assuming that Luthor had returned.

In walked Glorfindel, unbeknownst to the Slayer. “Bella,” he uttered. Their reunion would be bitter sweet. While the Noldo had not seen her in over four decades, and was gladdened to lay eyes upon her once again, the death of Olofin hindered what should have been a joyful meeting.

Hearing the Elf Lord’s voice brought a warmth to the Slayer’s heart. She rose to her feet, and turned, facing the Noldo. “It’s been too long, my love,” she proclaimed, forcing a smile.

“I know,” he answered, dashing across the room, pulling his lover into his arms, holding her tightly. “I’ve missed you, terribly.”

“Me too,” she stated, drinking in the Noldo’s scent.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss,” he continued, kissing the top of her head.

Buffy pulled out of the embrace, her green eyes scrutinizing the Elf Lord’s. “Luthor said that you’re the one that should tell me what happened, that you reclaimed my beloved son’s body from the enemy. How could this have happened? Who’s behind this vile act? Have the perpetrators been punished?”

“Shh,” Glorfindel answered, pulling her back into his arms. “One question at a time, my darling. One question at a time.”

“But I want to know. I need to know,” she answered, her voice somewhat muffled by the tight embrace.

“In good time,” he replied. “You’re tired. You should eat and get some rest. I deem you have a lot of work ahead of you.” The Elf Lord wanted desperately to prolong their time together, as he knew that this moment would most likely be their last.

Once again, the Slayer pulled herself free from Glorfindel’s hold. She tried to back away, but he kept his hands firmly on her waist. “I don’t want to rest!” she protested. “I want vengeance, if you have not taken care of it on my behalf.”

“I have, to a degree,” he answered. “Those that abducted Olofin are dead, yet his killer, still walks free. I have saved him for you. But, it will not be easy on you, for Olofin was murdered by an ally, a friend.”

“What?” she said, her mouth going dry. “He was killed by a friend?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” answered the Noldo with a nod of his head. “But we shan’t speak more of it, not until you’ve been fed, and rested a bit.”

The Slayer narrowed her eyes. “I can get the truth out of you, if you will not volunteer the information,” she hissed.

Her threat was not lost on the Elf Lord. He released his hold on Buffy. “And would you kill me to gain that knowledge?” he asked, his brows raised in question.

The Vala Queen stared at the Noldo for a moment or two. Her expression then softened. “No,” she finally replied, overwhelmed with weariness.

Glorfindel gave her a quick, reassuring smile. “Good. Now, come with me. I will take care of you.”

They set off for the Noldo’s room, on the fourth floor. Along the way, they ran into Luthor, who gave Buffy the vial of blood that she had requested. Her son’s life force was a vital element for one of the tasks she still needed to complete.

Buffy refused all offers of food when they reached Glorfindel’s room, although she did accept a glass of elvish wine. The Elf Lord chose a specific wine, one that would induce sleep upon his lover. When he saw her nodding off in her chair, the Noldo lifted her in his arms, carrying her to his bed. There would be no romantic interlude between the two, which was fine by the elf, as he was content holding her in his arms whilst she slept.

As she snored softly, Glorfindel wondered how much the Slayer actually knew. Olofin’s death was actually the precursory act that had led to the breaking of the Seven Seals, followed by Buffy’s disappearance back in 2006, an event that had started the Tribulation, which, in January of 2013, seven years would have passed. Undoubtedly, her arrival would end the suffering of the Faithful, who were persecuted unmercifully for clinging to their religious beliefs by the globalist regime in power.

While the Noldo knew that his beloved had been the instigator of Dagor Dagorath, he knew that, afterwards, peace and bliss would reign for many, long years. If there was one thing that Glorfindel wished, it was to return to Aman and see the re-lighting of the Two Trees. Oh, what a delight it would be to see the mingling of the Light from Telperion and Laurelin once again, and to share that moment with Buffy by his side. For it was prophesied that the Vala Queen would choose her eternal lover at the end of the war, and the Noldo so hoped that it would be he that ruled at her side. Who else, other than Morgoth Bauglir, had spent as much time with the Valië than he? Not even Maglor had been with her as long as Glorfindel had.

The Noldo let Buffy sleep for many hours, deeming that she needed the rest to restore her strength. When the clock chimed midnight, he decided that she had slept enough, and woke the Slayer.

“What time is it?” she yawned, stretching her arms over head.

“Midnight,” answered the Noldo.

Buffy jumped out of bed. “I can’t believe you let me sleep so long!” she said, incensed that she had slept so long when there was still so much that she needed to do.

“Calm down, Bella. You needed the rest,” the Elf Lord responded, unruffled by her sudden outburst.

“Fine.” Annoyed, but calmer, she folded her arms across her chest, fixing her gaze on the Noldo. “Now, tell me, Glorfindel: what happened to my son?”

The Noldo took a deep breath before beginning his tale.

As he spoke Buffy paced the room, unable to remain still. By the time Glorfindel had revealed who the killer was, the Slayer stood at the window, staring at the blanket of darkness that covered the land. For a moment, her eyes turned black, but after closing them for a few seconds, they returned to normal.

Keeping her composure, she gave her last orders to the Elf Lord, instructing him and the others to return to Mandos, and to take Olofin’s body with them. Once she had finished her business, she would join the others there.

A portal opened in the Great Chamber, a portal that would only remain open for a brief amount of time, allowing the others to depart Finland.

“Are you… are you going to destroy these lands as well?” asked the Noldo hesitantly.

“No,” she answered, somewhat absent-mindedly, preoccupied with other thoughts. “But a poisonous cloud is heading this way, killing all that comes in contact with it. Go. Be safe. Be quick. Time’s ticking away here.”

Glorfindel hoped they’d share a kiss before she left, but, much to his dismay, the Valië vanished before they could…






*lyrics by Dennis DeYoung

**lyrics by John Newton


Chapter 119 - I WILL REMEMBER YOU

Buffy reappeared only a second later in a deserted alleyway. “Crap!” she grumbled, annoyed that she had inadvertently teleported to the wrong location. She slowly turned, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. Tall buildings surrounded her on three sides, the chipped brick walls covered in rather vulgar graffiti depicting lewd and perverted sexual acts. Disgusted by the display, she closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the much warmer California air. She picked up the faint scent of Illyria.

Knowing that she wasn’t too far from her daughter, she started toward the opening in the alley when a group of fighter jets buzzed overhead, startling the Vala Queen. She caught herself only a second before she was about to use her magics to strike down the military aircraft. Buffy had become so accustomed to the peace and tranquility of Folkvang that she perceived the sudden roaring sound as a threat. Since her return to Endor, any loud noises or explosions had been brought about at her provocation, and she had long prepared herself for the predictable blasts or whatnot that soon followed.

Dressed in black leather pants and a red cowl neck sweater, the Slayer continued down the darkened alleyway, going over in her mind what she’d say to her firstborn, once reunited. With Illyria now in her thoughts, she paid no heed to her immediate surroundings. The toe of her boot hit an empty Coke can, sending the container rolling noisily along the street.

Not a second later, a van came to a screeching halt at the opening of the alley. The doors swung or slid open as a group of young men came barreling out of the vehicle, brandishing axe handles and metal pipes.

A bright beam of light temporarily blinded Buffy. She shielded her eyes until they could adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Yo! We gots us a lawbreaker here, man!” shouted one.

“Bitch is breakin’ fuckin’ curfew!” proclaimed another gleefully.

When the Slayer’s eyes had adjusted to the spotlight, she peered through her partially closed eyes to see that the young men had formed a barricade at the intersection of the two streets.

“Whadda we got here?” said one, possibly the leader, who stepped forward out of the line, slapping the pipe he clutched in one hand against the open palm of the other in a threatening gesture. “You lost, little girl?” he asked, as the others gruffly laughed, making crude comments.

Buffy was not intimidated. She continued forward toward the group of thugs. “I’m looking for my daughter,” she answered. “Have you seen her? She’s about so high,” she raised her hand several inches above her head, indicating the height of Illyria, “Has brown and blue hair… ”

“Blue hair!” snickered the leader incredulously. “What the fuck you talkin’ about? You on the pipe?”

“Pipe?” repeated the Slayer. “Oh, no. I gave that up millennia ago.”

“What the hell’s that bitch talkin’ about?” queried another one of the comrades.

“Let’s get on with it and fuck that ho.”

“Now, now,” started the Vala Queen, her eyes scanning the nine young men attempting to encircle her. “You boys best mosey along before someone gets hurt,” she suggested, amused by the whole situation.

“You’re the only one gonna be hurtin’,” answered the leader, only a few feet separating him and the Slayer. He grabbed his crotch. “My dick’s gonna have you screamin’ in pain, bitch.”

Buffy stopped, bending slightly as the others looked on with bewildered expressions on their faces. She eyed the leader’s crotch. “Hell, my son’s pee pee was bigger than that when he was born.”

“Ooh!” sounded several of the youths at the Valië’s insult.

“You gonna let that ho talk to you like that, T?”

“Fuck her up!” demanded one of his cohorts.

The others egged on their leader, T, telling him that he needed to “teach the ho a lesson”.

“You asked for it, bitch!” he sneered, raising the metal pipe over his head. As his companions cheered, the hoodlum swung his weapon at the Slayer.

Buffy moved so fast that the others didn’t know what the hell had happened. She grabbed a tight hold of the thug’s wrist and did a somersault over her shoulder, snapping his elbow.

The leader of the gang fell to his knees, crying out, “Fuck!” at the top of his lungs, as the others stood there, momentarily stunned.

Standing behind the hooligan, the Slayer still clutched the guy’s wrist with her hand. “I told you someone would get hurt.” With her other arm, she grabbed hold of the guy’s neck, jerking it until it cracked.

“God damn! She’s fuckin’ killed T!” shouted one of the hooligans, watching as the Slayer pushed the leader’s lifeless body to the ground.

“Get her!” screamed another, leading the attack against the Vala Queen.

All at once, the remaining eight charged the Slayer.

Perhaps it was instinct, but Buffy changed as she defended herself against the gang. Her mystical raiment replaced her clothing, providing her with an armor that no weapon could damage. Unlike earlier, streaks of red appeared in her golden hair, and on parts of her skin, particularly her forehead.

“Holy shit! She’s one of them voodoo witches or something,” said one, backing out of the fray.

“Just kill the bitch!” shouted another, not caring one bit what their victim was or looked like.

As the brawl got underway, a few of the thugs managed to get a strike in, although the results were not at all what they had expected. Their weapons bounced off the Slayer’s armor, sending jolts of pain though their limbs.

To the Valië, this was a fight to the death, and she did manage to kill quite a few of the hoodlums. A simple act, like a punch, broke through her foe’s skin, tissue and bone, killing him instantly, or slowly, depending on where she had struck.

“Fuck this!” said one of the troublemakers when he saw yet another one of his friends go down. He started to flee the alley when another young thug, pulled out his 9mm and fired a round in Buffy’s direction.

Everyone stopped at the sound.

Buffy faced the hooligan, who was now aiming his weapon between her eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are, bitch, but you gonna die.” He pulled the trigger, repeatedly, sending dove after dove into the air. “What the fuck?!” he exclaimed, puzzled that the bullets had turned into birds with each pull of the trigger.

A couple others then pulled their guns from the back of their waistbands of their pants and attempted to shoot the Slayer. Each one experienced the same thing: sending doves at the Valië until they had emptied their magazines.

Smiling broadly, the Slayer then said, “My turn.” Forming her fingers into a “gun”, she pointed her forefinger “barrel” at the leader. Pulling back on her “trigger” she said, “Bang!” as an invisible bullet hit the hooligan, leaving a gaping hole in his back. “Hollow point,” she snickered, as the guy fell to the ground.

“Shit!” exclaimed the last few in unison after witnessing that.

They made a beeline out of there. The Slayer pointed her finger at the fleeing men, shooting each down, one by one until only one remained. She shot out the legs of the last hoodlum, watching as he dropped to the street, attempting to pull himself along with his arms.

Blowing the tip of her smoking finger, she casually started down the alley, stepping on the bodies of the dead as she did so. When she had reached the survivor, she stomped one of his hands, crushing it beneath her foot.

The thug let out an ear-piercing shriek, sounding very much like a girl. If only his friends had heard, but alas, only the Vala Queen was there to hear it.

With her other foot, she rolled the hooligan over. “See what happens when you fuck with someone for no reason,” she rebuked. “I’ve destroyed whole countries, wiped out entire civilizations. I am death, destruction, absolute.” She then raised her foot, bringing it down upon the thug’s face, shattering his skull. “Yuck!” she groaned, looking at the blood and guts that now covered both her hands and feet. “Why does killing have to be so messy?”

She went over to the still idling van, hoping that there would be something inside with which to wipe herself clean. Seeing a purple hoody on one of the seats, Buffy grabbed that, wiping what was left of the hooligans off her body.

She then took off down the street, surprised to see no signs of life despite the fact that she was in the heart (or bowels) of Los Angeles. Everything was dark, including the buildings. The United States, much like other parts of the world, was experiencing roaming brownouts due to the high cost of electricity and a deteriorating infrastructure. The state government had decided that nighttime was an ideal time to save on their energy usage, cutting off the electricity when the citizens were most vulnerable to vampires and other beastly creatures that preyed upon innocents at darkness. Several blocks away a feeding frenzy was taking place, something that the Vala Queen wasn’t about to concern herself with.

The Slayer walked a couple of blocks. She stopped when she came to a contemporary four story brick and dark tinted glass building. The bullet-riddled sign out front read, ‘Washington Mutual Bank’, which had gone defunct during the banking crash several years before. It was now the home of Angel Investigations, and her daughter, Illyria.

As she started up the concrete walkway, her body reverted back to its humanly form. She was dressed in the same clothing she had been wearing when accosted by the thugs in the alley. When she reached the double doors out front, she pulled one open, entering a large sterile looking lobby. A few oil lamps burned on the long counter that stretched across the back of the room, where the bank tellers had formerly carried out their duties.

“Hello!” her voice echoed within the sparsely furnished lobby. “Any body home?”

There was no answer. It seemed obvious to Buffy that the “team” was out, most likely fighting some menacing demon taking advantage of the never-ending darkness and its vulnerable people.

Deciding to wait for her friends to return, she strolled across the white polished marble floor to the desk behind the counter. She took a seat in the most comfortable looking chair, rifling through the numerous papers and books strewn about.

After several minutes, the Slayer grew bored. She was restless, unable to sit still any longer. She began to wander around the first floor of the structure, ending up in the massive vault. There, she saw many of Angel’s most prized possessions - weapons, ancient scrolls and texts, and a few talismans that appeared to be centuries old. She inspected the weapons, in particular, wielding various axes and blades to help pass the time.

It must have been an hour or so later, when she heard boisterous voices coming from the lobby. She crept out of the vault, listening to what sounded like Gunn ribbing Spike.

“What are you talking about? I saved your ass back there,” laughed Gunn.

“I saw ‘em coming,” answered Spike. “I just thought I’d let you have a go at him. You know, to help your self-esteem and all.”

“Man, you’re such a liar. Why can’t you just man up and admit that I saved your sorry butt?”

“What do you want from me - my groveling gratitude?” Spike shot back.

“That’s a start,” answered the young man with a chuckle.

The vampire lit a cigarette, and stepped up to Gunn, stopping inches from his face. He blew a stream of smoke into the man’s face. “Cheers, mate!” he answered in mocked enthusiasm, slapping Gunn on the shoulder. “Appreciate you coming to my aid back there. I think we’re even, now.”

“Even?” coughed the young man, waving the smoke from his face. “What the hell are you talking about - even?”

Before Spike could respond, Buffy said, “Gentlemen, please, you sound like an old married couple.”

They both slowly turned their heads toward her voice, a look of shock on both their faces.

“Oh… my… God,” said a stunned Spike, the cigarette falling from between his fingers.

“Buffy!” proclaimed Gunn. “You’re back!”

She smiled. “Hey guys,” she replied, stepping around the long counter.

Spike rushed over to her, stopping a foot or so before her. With his head cocked slightly to the side, he gave her the once over. “We thought you were dead,” he said, the words nearly catching in his throat. He awkwardly reached out to give her a hug, pausing midway.

Wanting to put the souled vampire at ease, Buffy stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s so good to see you again.” She pulled out of the embrace. “The both of you.” She then gave Gunn at hug.

“Where’ve you been?” asked the young man. “Don’t tell me you’ve been summoned from the great beyond, again.”

She chuckled. “Sort of, in a way.”

“I bet witchy Willow’s been making with the mojo again - pulling you out of some heavenly realm,” proposed Spike.

“I’m impressed,” answered the Slayer, nodding her head. “You’ve pretty much hit the nail on the head.”

“Yeah, well, the Scoobies are a predictable bunch. Never come up with anything new,” replied Spike with a shake of his head. “So, how long have you been back?”

“Yeah,” chimed in Gunn. “You’re here to help us fight these badass demons that are calling the shots around here.”

Buffy folded her arms across her chest. “I’m afraid not. I’ve come to gather the Elect, and then I’m outta here.”

“The Elect?” repeated Spike with a puzzled expression on his face. “What Elect? What are you talking about, Slayer?”

“God, doesn’t any one read the Good Book any more?” she answered, rolling her eyes.

“The Good Book. You mean The Bible?” suggested Gunn.

“Bingo! Two points for the young black man. Or is it African-American? I haven’t kept up with the current vernacular of Man.”

Gunn looked strangely at the Slayer, unsure how to respond to her comments.

“They like to be called Dark Chocolate nowadays,” said Spike in feigned seriousness.

“Huh? Really?” answered Buffy, actually believing the vampire. “Hmm, I’ll have to make a mental note of that.”

Gunn gave a quick shake of his head, thinking that Buffy’s blondeness was finally showing itself. “Let’s get back on topic here,” he said. “What does The Bible have to do with what’s going on, and who the heck are the Elect?”

The Vala Queen fixed her gaze on the young man. “What do you think’s happening in the world? You think this is merely World War III?” She shook her head. “This is more, this is… ”

“Armageddon,” said Spike, finishing her sentence. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? The End of the World and all that.”

Buffy sighed heavily as her hands slid to her hips. “Don’t you people know your Bible? Armageddon is a place. A place!” She sighed in frustration yet again. “Yeah, but that pretty much sums it up.”

“You mean this is the End of the World?!” exclaimed Gunn in dismay.

“In a way, yes,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” answered the mortal sadly, looking down at his feet.

“It’s not a bad thing, Charles,” said the Slayer in a cheerful voice. “It’s a good thing. Evil will be ridden from the world once and for all. Mankind gets a second chance.”

“And what about us vampires? Do we get a second chance too?” asked Spike anxiously.

“I’m afraid not,” replied the Valië. “Vampires fall under the category of demons, and all demons are to be… you know, um... er… ” Buffy wasn’t too keen to finish that sentence.

“Killed,” answered Gunn softly. “They’re all gonna be killed.” He turned his gaze to Spike, a mischievous grin coming to his face. “Looks like you’re not long for this world, bud. Been nice knowing you.”

Spike muttered, “Figures,” as he pulled a pack of Marlboro’s from the pocket of his leather duster. “I knew my time would come sooner or later.” He pulled out a cigarette and shoved it between his lips, lighting it with that same butane lighter he always carried with him. The vampire took a long draw of his smoke before slowly exhaling. “Well, this is one vamp who’s not gonna go out with a whimper.” He locked his eyes on Buffy. “So how ‘bout it, Slayer, up for one last shag before the end of the world?”

“Ew, no,” she said with a sneer.

“Well, don’t act all high and mighty, love,” he answered defensively. “There was a time when you begged for it! If I recall correctly, you used to love it when I… ”

“Shut up, Spike. I didn’t come all this way to hear your, your crap,” she spat, revolted at the thought that she had ever had sex with the vampire. She shuddered as she turned away, putting some distance between them.

“Wait a sec,” spoke up Gunn, following Buffy. “You never told us about this Elect thing. They’re humans, right?”

“Yes,” she said, facing the young man.

His eyes shifted from her to the pouting vampire. “I’m human,” he then said. “Am I part of this Elect?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He grinned. “Great!” A moment later, the smile faded from his face. He then folded his arms across his chest and asked, “Now, what exactly does that mean?”

“You’re going to be removed from the earth before the grand finale, the world’s destruction,” answered Spike, finally remembering the religious term from his youth. God, how he envied Gunn! He took another long drag of his smoke.

“Is that right, Buff? I get a get of out jail free card?” asked Gunn.

“I prefer the term, golden ticket, but yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

“Hot damn!” Gunn exclaimed cheerfully, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Do I need to go home and pack a bag, or something?”

“No, there’s no time for that,” answered the Slayer. “You don’t need anything, any way.”

“How come he gets to go?” queried Spike miserably.

“Because he’s one of the lucky ones, selected from one of the Twelve Tribes of Man,” the Vala Queen responded, beginning to feel bad for the vampire.

“And who the hell gets to make that bloody decision?” he asked, fixing his penetrating gaze on the Slayer.

“I do,” she replied.

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Why you?”

“Because she’s a God,” answered Illyria, who, moments before, had entered the building with Angel, unbeknownst to the others.

“Illyria,” said Buffy breathlessly, her eyes widening as she looked upon her firstborn.

“Buffy,” uttered Angel in amazement.

As she approached the two, the leader of the group opened his arms in hopes of holding the only woman he had ever loved. He was stunned when she bypassed him for the Old One. Embarrassed, he dropped his arms to his side, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather coat.

“Look at you,” the Valië began, her eyes welling with tears as she examined her firstborn. “You’re so beautiful.”

Illyria remained emotionless, non-responsive.

“Why didn’t you tell me, why didn’t you tell me who you were when we first met?”

“Is that not obvious,” she answered. “You had no memory of our kinship.”

“Kinship?” said Angel, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on here?” He turned toward the Old One standing beside him. “Illyria?”

She glanced at the vampire before replying, “The woman you call Buffy Summers is actually my maternal parental unit.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Bloody hell!”

“I prefer Mom, or Nana,” corrected the Slayer.

“Why would I call you a term of endearment when you abandoned me in my infancy?” asked Illyria, doing the best to conceal the hurt in her voice.

“Whoa! Wait a minute,” said Angel, holding his hand up. “What’s going on here?” His eyes shifted from woman to woman. “Buffy can’t be your mother. She’s human.”

The Old One fixed her blue eyes on Angel. “Your ignorance is unflattering, Vampire. Your senses must be waning if you cannot smell an Ancient One, an Ainu, a Vala.” She turned her gaze back to her mother. “A God.”

“Bloody hell,” repeated Spike. “This definitely calls for a drink!” He pulled the flask from the pocket inside his duster, taking several gulps of the whiskey.

Both Gunn and Angel remained in shock, staring at mother and daughter with their mouths agape.

Buffy tried to ignore the others, staring imploringly at her firstborn. “I didn’t mean to abandon you. The circumstances at the time were… I mean, things were different. I wasn’t myself.”

Illyria walked passed the Vala Queen toward the center of the lobby. “You found my appearance repulsive.” She stopped, facing the Slayer. “Do not spew your lies when I know the truth. My father told me. He told me the real reason why you left. You abandoned me so that you could fornicate with that Elf,” she said with disdain.

“Elf?” queried Angel in disbelief.

Neither woman paid attention to the vampire.

“No, that’s not true,” replied Buffy dashing to her daughter. “Your father lied. He’s cunning. He has a way of manipulating facts to make himself look better.” She locked her eyes on Illyria. “I was under his thrall, bewitched, the whole time I was in Angband. Granted, when the spell wore off, I was… stunned by your demonic appearance. I won’t lie about that. But, it wasn’t really me! I didn’t know who I was. Don’t hold that against me. I’m not wholly to blame. The Aratar are responsible… ”

Illyria grimaced at the mere mention of the eight chieftains of the Valar. “Speak not of those that had condemned me to death!” she hissed in anger. “If I had my full strength, they would get their comeuppance.”

“Listen,” started the Valië again, taking her daughter’s hands. “I love you. I always have.”

“Lies! You continue to spout lies!” countered Illyria, pulling her hands from Buffy’s grasp. “You dethroned me. You destroyed my kingdom!” She turned and took several steps, before stopping. “You bested me in our contest,” she added weakly. “You humiliated me, disgraced me before the masses.”

The Vala Queen stomped across the floor, grabbed her daughter by the arm, and spun her around. “You seem to forget that I let you live when they wanted you dead. I let you keep Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. I saved your city and allowed your loyal followers to remain with you. You seem to forget that, my daughter.”

Like a scolded child, the Old One averted her eyes, looking down at the polished marble floor.

“I love you, Illyria. Just give me a chance to prove that. Let me show you that my words are not said in vain. I want to give you the world.” Buffy reached out, lovingly taking Illyria by the chin, lifting her head so that she met her mother’s gaze. “I just have to take care of some business first.” Her eyes shifted to Angel for a moment before returning to her daughter. “We’ll talk later, in private, when I get back. Okay?”

The Old One could perceive her mother’s thoughts. She nodded thoughtfully. “Make it quick, Mother… for me,” answered Illyria in a faint voice.

The Vala Queen leaned forward, planting a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. She pulled back and without speaking any command, Illyria, Gunn and Spike suddenly froze.

“Why did you do that?” asked Angel, waving his hand before Gunn’s face.

“It’s better this way,” she answered, walking over to Spike and taking the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. “You and me - we’re going on a little trip.” She tossed the smoke to the floor, crushing the lit end with the sole of her boot.

“Oh, where to?” he asked, turning his complete attention to the Slayer.

“One of my most favorite places in the world,” she answered, strolling over to the vampire. Buffy stopped inches away from him, smiling coyly. “We never said a proper hello, did we?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied with a quick smile. He stepped closer, pulling the Vala Queen into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drinking in his scent.

“Hello,” he whispered before kissing her passionately.

For a few seconds the only sound within the room was of their wet kisses, but then, the sound of waves crashing on the shore drowned out their smacking lips, as Buffy had teleported them to an isolated isle far from civilization.

Noticing the change in scenario, Angel pulled back slightly, looking toward the sea. “Where are we?” he asked, somewhat breathlessly.

“A small isle in the south Caribbean,” she answered, pulling out of the embrace, but taking the vampire by the hand. “A friend of mine brought me here ages ago. I come here when I need to think.”

“Hey, my clothes! What happened to my clothes?” he queried with a hint of dismay to his voice upon noticing that his traditional, dark-colored ‘vampire’ attire had been replaced by clothing that Don Johnson might’ve worn in Miami Vice.

“I thought it would be more appropriate considering the weather,” she replied, leading him along the shoreline in their bare feet. Even Buffy’s clothing had changed to a pink tank top and black mini-skirt. “After the whole Acathla thing happened, I used to dream of us, walking hand-in-hand on the beach,” she continued, invoking memories of the past. “I loved you so much. I still do. That won’t ever change.”

Angel stopped, facing the Slayer. He took both of her hands in his. “Is it true, Buffy? That… that you’re a God?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t understand,” he replied, his face wrinkled in confusion. “How come you never said anything? How come I didn’t feel it? Your powers, I mean.”

“I didn’t know. Not until recently. Real recently, as matter of fact,” she said, correcting herself. “My people, the Gods, as mortal kind refer to them, the Powers That Be, you call them, are actually called the Valar. They had placed a Veil on me, using their magics to hide what I really was, what I really am. We’ve been at odds for a long, long time.” She paused for a moment before adding, “I am the Vala of Love and War.”

“Hmm, that makes a lot of sense,” he answered with a chortle. “Explains a lot.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does,” she replied with a sigh, starting to lead him along the beach once again. “Sorry, I just feel like I have to keep moving. Time’s ticking away here and I can’t keep still… Any way, where was I? Oh, yeah, the Valar. In the infinite wisdom of my brethren, they decided to thrust my spirit into the infant of a young girl - I suppose it was to teach me some lesson or another, but who knows their rationale. We never really got along too well.”

“You and the other Valar?” he asked, quite interested in all she had to say.

“Yeah. Over time, the Valar became divided into two camps - those that were considered righteous, and those considered wicked… ”

“And what group did you fall in?”

“Well, that’s the thing, the problem, if you will. There’s a grey area in there, at least I like think so. I guess in a way, they think I’m wicked at times, and at others, when they deem that I’ve fallen into step with their line of thinking, that I’m righteous. But they don’t get it, the world that is. They live in their Blessed Realm where they’re seldom confronted with the horrors that plague mankind. I chose to live in the world, to experience the ups and downs that affect people. I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly. In a way, I’ve fallen under all those categories at some time or another, depending on the situation.

“I’m Love. And it’s been my love for the world and its inhabitants that has led me to war. I don’t think I’ve done it for selfish reasons, I’ve done it out of necessity, out of survival.” She paused, then chuckled. “God, I’m just rambling on and on here.”

“I like it when you ramble. It’s sweet,” said Angel, giving her a warm smile.

“Any way, the Valar hindered my powers and put me in this body, letting Joyce and Hank raise me as their daughter. I think that about sums it up.”

“But why would they think you’re wicked? I mean, there’s a pretty distinct line between good and evil,” remarked the vampire.

“True, to a certain extent. I mean look at you,” she continued, glancing up at Angel’s handsome face. “When you hooked up with Wolfram & Hart, even I wondered which side you were on. Sometimes looks can be deceiving.”

“Good point.”

“Ironically,” she went on, “and I know that this is going off subject, but I actually became the head of the House of Hart.”

Angel stopped in his tracks. “What?” he asked. If possible, his face was rapidly becoming paler.

“Long story. But, like you, I integrated myself into the most evil regime to walk the earth. I married into the line of the Ram, and had formed an alliance early on with the House of Wolf.” She laughed. “Maybe that’s one of the things that I’ve done that warrant the hostility of my kinsmen.”

He stared at her in disbelief for several seconds, stunned to hear that. “So, you’re one of the powers behind the Senior Partners?”

“Yep,” she answered. “They’re our emissaries, our representatives that carry out the tasks assigned to them.”

“But, you’re a champion. How can you be a part of something so… evil?” he queried.

“My assignment was never to eradicate evil, but to maintain the balance. Sometimes, the scale tipped the other way - where good was triumphing over evil. I had no other choice but to balance things out, to let evil, you know, get the one-up.”

Angel was speechless. Never in a million years would he have thought that the love of his life could be the instigator of such evil and mayhem in the world, especially when he was under the impression that she was merely the Slayer, an instrument used by the Powers That Be to combat evil. Things clearly weren’t black and white. That seemed obvious enough.

While the vampire was in his dazed state, Buffy, keeping her hold on his hand, continued walking along the beach.

“This war, the darkness that has enveloped the world, are you responsible for that?”

“Well,” she began hesitantly. “Mankind brought the war about on their own, with the aid of some evil Ainur, which is the name that the Valar and Maiar are grouped under. Those Ainur, guised as men and women, have infiltrated the governments around the world, big industry, corporations, financial institutions, religious entities and whatnot. They wanted this war, so I gave it to them.” She sniggered. “But they don’t know that I have a few tricks up my sleeve. They have no idea what’s coming.” She laughed again.

“And the darkness?”

“Yeah, I did that. It’s my attempt to lure the rats out of their holes. But, even if they remain hidden, I’ll get them, I’ll get them all in the end.”

“Then this is it. This isn’t just another Apocalypse, is it? This is the Big One, Armageddon?”

Buffy looked away, as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is the End.”

“Then shouldn’t we be out there fighting, doing what we can?” suggested Angel anxiously.

“Nah, the outcome of this war was foretold ages ago. Only a chosen few know what’s going to happen. Things need to run their course.” She glanced up at the vampire’s worried face. “Now’s the time to enjoy the moment, to savor what precious little time we have left, ‘cause it’s not gonna last much longer. Everything’s going to change. The Age of Aquarius quickly approaches, and, with it, a new order will rise in Eä.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked apprehensively.

“It’s a splendid thing. A glorious thing.” She smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “And to think, our bloodlines have now merged. I never would have dreamed that Dawnie and Connor would hook up. I used to wish that it would be me and you, that we’d get married and have a bunch of little kids running around.”

“You know that can’t happen,” he answered morosely.

“I know. It was just a dream, a fleeting dream. I’m just happy knowing that my bloodline continues to run through all the Houses of Man.”

Angel looked at Buffy with his brow arched, questioning her comments without saying a single word.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t, you know, procreate with all the lords of those Houses. My son, my youngest, he was quite the womanizer, planted his seed in many a fair maiden,” she said with a laugh. “Not that I was against that. I supported that wholly and completely.”

“You have other children?” he asked, slightly amazed by that revelation.

“Yep. I have six.”

“Six?! You have six children?!”

“Uh-huh. Illyria, well, Illyria’s my oldest. Then the twins, Anno and Mirë, came into being after her, then Olofin, my beloved half-elf son, and finally my baby boy, Morgon. Histories or myth, mention Horus, but technically he’s not my son, though I raised him from infancy. I still account him amongst my children nonetheless.” Buffy fell quiet. Her expression became grim after speaking of her children.

After several minutes, Angel asked, “What happened to them, to your children? I mean, other than Illyria - who, by the way, happens to be one hell of a warrior.”

The cheerfulness in her voice and mannerisms from earlier were nearly all gone, as she gloomily replied, “All of them died, were murdered, even Illyria, though she was brought back by my prayers to the Allfather.”

“You were the one who brought her back?” he asked incredulously, stopping once again.

“Of course. One mortal sacrifice for her return. That was part of the deal,” she answered.

“Then you’re the one responsible for Fred’s death,” he said, flabbergasted to hear himself saying those words.

The Vala Queen fixed her eyes on Angel. “She was the sacrifice, the holy vessel. Her death was a blessed thing.”

“And her soul, her soul has been obliterated from the world,” he continued in that same shocked tone.

“Unless another sacrifices themselves for her, yes. That’s the way things work, tit for tat, if you will.” The Slayer sighed heavily. “God, can we hold off on this depressing conversation for a while? There’re so many other things I want to talk about with you first.”

“Such as?” queried the vampire, his mind spinning from all that he was hearing.

“Well, for one thing, I remember, I remember the sacrifice you made for me.”

Angel raised his brows in question.

“You know, when you gave up your mortality for me, when the Oracles reset time. I remember.”

“You do?” he replied.

“Oh, yeah,” she answered, nodding.

“There’s been many times, when I’ve found myself alone, that I just closed my eyes and relived that day over and over. It was the happiest time in my life, or unlife.”

She placed her hand on his chest. “I remember feeling your heart beat, feeling the warmth of your skin. You were human. It was my wildest dream come true.”

“And the food. I remember the taste of food,” he added, thinking of that fond, though brief, memory.

“Like ice cream and chocolate. Yum,” she said, grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah, yum,” uttered the vampire halfheartedly, forcing a quick smile.

“What?” she pouted in reply. “Come on, Angel, don’t go all Mr. Broody Pants on me.” She pulled her hand from his chest. “Let’s live in the moment.”

“It’s not that easy, Buffy,” he answered. “You come back, drop bomb after bomb, and I’m supposed to just accept these things. It’s Armageddon! We should be out there, fighting.”

“You mean we should be helping the helpless, eh?” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Exactly. We’re champions, Buffy. Fighting - it’s what we do.” He turned his doleful eyes toward the darkened sea. “I’ll never be human. There is no future for us.”

“You’re talking about that Shamu prophecy thingy, aren’t you?” she queried, a bit more serious than she had been a moment before.

“Shanshu,” he corrected, facing her once again. “The Shanshu prophecy. And yes, that’s what I’m talking about. I signed away my claim to it. I’m stuck in this world as a vampire with a soul. And if I experience just one moment of happiness, then Angelus returns.”

“You don’t have to read me the warning label. Been there. Done that. Wasn’t pretty either!” answered the Slayer with a sigh. “That doesn’t matter any more, Angel. That’s in the past.”

“Yeah, but the past has a way of creeping up on you, biting you on the ass when you least expect it.”

Buffy stared at Angel for several seconds before breaking out in a fit of laughter.

The vampire chuckled at the sight. “What? What’s so funny?” He really wanted to be in on the joke.

“I’ve gotta have that engraved in my temple or something: ‘The past has a way of creeping up on you, biting you on the ass when you least expect it.’ Wow! That’s so profound.” The smile faded from her face. “You know why? ‘Cause it’s so true, especially for you.”

She turned, taking off along the shoreline once again, leaving a very baffled Angel behind.

“Wait! Buffy!” the vampire called out, chasing after her. Catching up with her, he grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to face him. “What are you talking about? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There’re a lot of things I haven’t told you, Angel. I’m a God, for heaven’s sake. I’m all-seeing. And when I was out of commission, living this mortal life as Buffy Summers, my people looked after me. You know, those loyal to me, bound to me out of love, those who hate to see me in pain, or worse, betrayed.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand,” answered the worried vampire, releasing his hold on the Vala Queen.

“Let’s continue my little game of ‘I Remember’ shall we?” she said, clapping her hands together. “I remember Paris in 1792.”

Angel’s face remained wrinkled in confusion. He stared blankly at Buffy.

“Oh, come on, Angel - you were there, or I should say, Angelus was there. Do you remember, do you remember me wandering upon you in that alley, the alley where you were fucking what was left of the Princess? God, how fucking revolting! You were a sick mother-fucker, there’s no doubt about that.”

She watched the vampire’s reaction. He furrowed his brows as in deep thought, his dark eyes shifting to her hair. Buffy actually could see the proverbial light bulb going off in Angel’s mind when it dawned on him that she was that same woman he had encountered centuries earlier in a dimly lit alleyway during the French Revolution. His eyes then widened, his lips parted, as to speak, yet no sound came out.

“Ah, you remember,” she said, waving her finger at him. “See, isn’t this fun!” she continued excitedly. “But, wait, it gets better. My dear nemesis, Yavanna - she’s a Vala too, thought it would be amusing to send one of her lackey’s to you, years later, to show you the perky little cheerleader that was about to become Slayer… ”

“Whistler,” he said in a mere whisper.

“You remember! See, you’re getting the hang of my little game here,” she continued, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yavanna thought it would be funny if I fell in love with that despicable creature that I saw in Paris. But, that’s not the best part. I’m getting to that. My friends, my loved ones who dwell in Folkvang - they saw what was happening. They saw us falling in love. Believe me, you’re not the first of your kind that I’ve fallen for. You’re one of many.

“Nevertheless, they believed that you really loved me, that I was your one true love… until the whole Cordelia debacle happened in L.A.” She scowled, snickering, “Jesus, Angel! Cordy?! The Queen Bitch of Sunnydale! You and her!” She put her finger in her opened mouth and made a series of retching noises. “The thought alone makes me wanna puke.”

“I… I never loved Cordy like I loved you,” he said, finding his voice at last.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “My people saw to that. That whole thing with Jasmine… ” She raised her hand, giving it a wave. “Hello! Courtesy of the supporters of the Vala of Love.”

“You brought Jasmine to this world.” The vampire could feel his mouth going dry as he spoke.

“Not me, my people. Pay attention, Angel. I think your age is catching up with you.” She whirled her finger next to her head, indicating that the vampire was losing it.

“I must say that my friends are a brilliant bunch. They know that I’m a jealous God. It’s in my nature. When they made Cordy a demon, and saw that that didn’t help - they had her screw your darling little boy’s brains out, making sure that you witnessed that act of - dare I say it - betrayal?” she revealed delightfully.

Angel stood there, mouth agape, not knowing how to respond to her shocking comments. He was bowled over.

“In the end,” she continued, “they decided it was best to have Cordy leave this world. But don’t fret, she was given a place of honor in Folkvang - she became a priestess in my temple, Tingilindë. Now, she gets paid to fornicate with men, and quite honestly, she’s happy. The act of lovemaking is a sacred rite in my kingdom. I reckon that she has some redeeming qualities after all.” Buffy laughed. “And we were friends, I suppose. Those splitting headaches - I deemed that was punishment enough. She’s in a good place.”

The vampire remained motionless, staring at Buffy in shocked disbelief. Their reunion was not at all what he was expecting. It was worse, much worse than he had ever imagined. And from the looks of it, he knew that she was taking great pleasure in revealing these things to him. A part of Angel desperately wanted to believe that this woman standing before him was an imposter, a demon guised as his beloved Buffy, but he knew deep down, that was wishful thinking. He was seeing the real Buffy in all her horrifying glory.

“Friendship,” she went on, her tone more solemn now, “friendship makes our lives have meaning, it fills us with… something, I don’t know what you’d call it - love, maybe. To trust someone completely, and they you, is a rarity in this world. There’s no better fulfillment in life that one can ask for than a true friend. I hold myself lucky that I have had many in my life that have been with me through thick and thin. And I for them.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Tell me, Angel: do you have any true friends, any that have been loyal to you, that have stood beside you through thick and thin?”

He paused for a moment, realizing that there was some hidden meaning behind Buffy’s words, but he didn’t know exactly what it was, yet. “Yes,” he finally answered, his mouth now bitterly dry.

“Hmm, interesting,” she answered.

The doubt in her tone was not lost on the vampire.

“And how many of those friends have you betrayed, hmm?”

“What?” he queried in confusion.

“It’s a simple question that requires a simple answer. A number. How many?”

Angel’s gut told him that no matter what answer he provided, it would be the wrong one. The Slayer was up to something, she was going somewhere with her line of questioning, yet the vampire still remained clueless.

“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head.

“I guess it doesn’t matter, right? I mean, you help the helpless, and that warrants your having some leeway in the betrayal department, eh?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” he replied, sweat forming on his palms and brow.

“Family,” she replied, grave in tone and face. “Family is the most important thing in the world to me. And family doesn’t have to be blood kin. Family are the people who love you unconditionally, and you them. A simple premise, but one that runs afoul time after time.”

Oddly enough, the Slayer linked her arm with Angel’s, and continued walking along the beach as the foamy waves licked at their feet.

“I didn’t want to talk about my children earlier, but now I do. My kids were all murdered, each and every one of the them. The strangest thing is - your scent was on four of them. Illyria died ages ago, of course, and even I know you weren’t responsible for that, so you get a pass there. But Anno and Mirë - whoa! Your scent was all over them.”

“I don’t know any by the name of Anno or Mirë,” he said, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, you do. I believe you call them the Oracles.”

“The Oracles,” Angel repeated, a shiver running down his spine despite the mild climate. The Oracles were Buffy’s children! he thought to himself. He stopped, forcing the Vala Queen to stop as well. “I didn’t kill them!” he protested with a tinge of panic in his tone. “I came upon them after Vocah had murdered them. The female Oracle knows that. She spoke to me afterwards.”

“I know,” Buffy answered calmly in an attempt to dispel the vampire’s fears, if only for a moment. “That was just a test. The twins are alive and kicking once again. No harm, no foul, at least where they’re concerned.”

“What are you getting at here, Buffy? I’m tired of your games,” he snarled, annoyed that she was prolonging the conversation, which was making the situation a whole lot worse for the vampire.

“Olofin,” she shot back with a sneer. “My son’s body reeked of your stench! You killed him!”

“Me?” queried a stunned Angel, his mind racing, seeing all the faces of those that he had murdered in the past. “I don’t recall anyone by the name of Olofin, nor have I ever met a half-elf.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him by his real name. In this world he went by his epessë, his nickname, and he always wore his mortal form. Perhaps, a change of scenery will refresh your memory,” she hissed, snatching Angel’s hand and teleporting them both to a new location.

When they reappeared, they were standing on a deserted bridge over a deep, dark pit. The only light came from a few torches affixed to the rock wall.

Slightly disoriented, he asked, “Where are we?”

“Don’t you know?” she replied, releasing her grip on the vampire. “You’ve been here before.”

Angel’s eyes scanned the cavernous chamber. “The Well, the Deeper Well,” he uttered under her breath.

“My son was Hebor,” she confessed.

“Hebor?” he queried, as a cold chill swept over him.

“Keeper,” she answered, her voice echoing within the vaulted chamber.

“Drogyn,” Angel said, his breathing quickening. “Drogyn was your son.”

“He was my beloved son. Pure and virtuous. The noblest of his kind - and you killed him.”

Panicking, the vampire turned, facing Buffy. “Listen, Buffy. You have to understand. I… I had to. It was the only way to gain access to the Circle of the… ”

“Shut up!” she exclaimed, backhanding the vampire, sending him flying into the railing. “I don’t care about your motivation. There’s nothing you can say to make things right. There’s nothing you can say to still my wrath! You killed my beloved child, and for that, you will die.”

Angel remained hunched over the railing, holding his stinging cheek, tasting the blood in his mouth.

The Vala Queen stood there, her narrowed eyes boring into the vampire, as he pulled himself upright once again.

A tall, cloaked figure stood in the shadows. The hood of his garment concealed his face.

“It was for the greater good, Buffy. I… I had to kill him… to save the world,” said Angel in a desperate attempt to save himself.

The cloaked man stretched out an arm. A long chain shot out of the draping folds of his sleeves, hurtling toward the vampire.

However, Angel was a seasoned warrior, and had heard the clanking sound of the metal links. With a quick look over his shoulder, he saw the chain coming his way. He grabbed Buffy, throwing them both down on the bridge, as the chain flew over their heads, passing them until it landed on the metal surface with a series of clanking noises.

When the vampire lifted his head, looking at Buffy again, her appearance had changed. Her golden hair and face were streaked with red, her eyes black as night. As he gasped at her transformation, she head-butted him, dazing him, and slid out from beneath the weight of his body.

The cloaked figure grabbed a handful of the vampire’s hair, forcing him to his feet, as the chains began to move, rattling along the grates of the bridge.

Angel tried to shake the stars out of his eyes. He growled, having changed into his vampiric form.

Standing before him was Buffy, attired in red, form-fitting garments, reminiscent of what Illyria always wore. In that brief moment, he could see the resemblance between mother and daughter.

As the cloaked figure raised his hand, the chain lifted from the floor, racing toward the trio, as Angel struggled in his captor’s grip. The hooded figure had one of his legs hooked around the vampire’s in anticipation of his captive attempting to flip or twist out of his hold. The chain went racing by the Slayer, wrapping itself around the vampire like a metal python.

A dagger then mystically appeared in Buffy’s hand. As the chain continued to wind around the vampire, from the legs up, the Slayer ripped the shirt off her former lover. She began to carve a large cross into the flesh of his torso, as Angel screamed out in pain.

The streaming flow of Angel’s blood splattered onto the nearest sarcophagi protruding from the walls below, causing a rumbling sound to reverberate within the enormous chamber. Those that had been entombed in their prison were now awakening, and would soon join Morgoth’s forces, in wreaking destruction upon the world.

Once she had finished her artwork, the chain mystically hoisted the vampire into the air.

“Vengeance is mine!” hissed the Slayer.

“Buffy,” cried Angel, dangling from above. “You don’t have to do this.”

With a wave of her hands, she set Angel ablaze, the flames quickly eating at his flesh, as his high-pitched screams echoed within the Well.

The cloaked figure went to her side. Standing together, they watched as Angel’s body turned to dust.

“I wanted to kill him slowly, but I promised Illyria that I’d make it quick,” she disclosed.

The new Hebor of the Well threw back his hood, revealing a fair face framed by long silver hair. “As long as he’s dead, that’s all that matters,” said Thranduil, taking Buffy’s hand in his.

At that moment, all the demonic spirits broke out of their tombs, several tearing apart the soul of Angel, devouring what was left of his spirit.

“This is it, then,” continued the Elf Lord, shifting his gaze to the Valië. “This is The End.”

She nodded somberly. They started across the bridge as the rumbling grew louder and louder. They then vanished, as the demonic spirits began to speedily depart the Well, all heading through the tunnel leading to Folkvang…


Chapter 120 - TO SHANSHU IN L.A.

Thranduil and Buffy reappeared on that same isle that she had visited earlier with Angel. Yet, this time, they had teleported outside a makeshift shelter constructed entirely from driftwood. The only thing inside the shack was a blue lounger made for two.

“Should we not be in Folkvang?” asked the Green-elf, as the Slayer led him toward the comfortable-looking seat.

“It’s not safe,” she replied, somewhat distantly. “Death is all we’ll find there.”

“Then Folkvang will soon fall,” he stated disheartened, settling down onto the lounger with Buffy.

“It will be the first of the mystical realms to be destroyed,” she replied in a solemn voice, “as it was foretold ages ago.”

“I would’ve liked to have gone there one last time,” he remarked wistfully, staring out at sea. For the first time ever, Thranduil felt the sudden calling of the sea, beckoning him to Aman to reunite with his wife and son after their long separation. At that moment, he realized that was why the Valië had brought him to that place, to awaken the desire to leave this world for another. That thought alone brought much sadness to his heart. He loved Middle-earth, even now, in the midst of war; for it was the only place the Green-elf had ever called home.

Thranduil turned his eyes toward the Slayer. She sat there, in silence, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks, her bottom lip trembling.

“Oh, Bella,” he said, taking her hands in his. “What is it? Is it the vampire?”

She nodded. “I loved him, Thranduil,” she croaked.

“Come here, sweetheart,” said the Elf Lord, as he wrapped his arm consolingly around the Vala Queen’s shoulder, pulling her closer. “I imagine that must have been difficult for you. But your actions were justified. He murdered Olofin. That was an unforgivable act. To kill one so virtuous and pure… You did the right thing. You avenged the death of one whom we loved dearly.”

“I know,” she wept. “But I can’t help the way I feel. I’m a terrible person.”

“No, no you’re not,” he chastised. “Angelus was a despicable human being, and even more foul as a vampire.”

“But, he had a soul,” Buffy protested through her tears. “And… and I let the demons obliterate it.”

“And rightfully so, if you ask me,” replied the Green-elf. “Having a soul makes what he did even worse. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was killing a righteous man, a man that loved him as a brother. Remember that, Bella - Olofin trusted Angelus, he loved him, and, in the end, he was betrayed by him. There can be no forgiveness for such a deplorable act. None whatsoever!”

The Slayer knew deep in her heart that Thranduil was right, although, that didn’t lessen the pain that she felt. As she sobbed, she repeatedly reminded herself of one of Hammurabi’s laws from back in the day: ‘Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.’

After several minutes, the Vala Queen regained her composure. “I know you’re right,” she said, wiping away her tears. “I just can’t help but think about the good things Angel has done. He was trying to redeem himself…”

“And he failed,” interjected Thranduil sternly. “He did a lot more harm than good, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Maybe,” she answered, looking out at the darkened sea. Her thoughts went back to Paris, recalling the abominable things that the vampire had done. “What’s wrong with me, Thranduil?” she asked in a faint voice.

The Elf Lord fixed his empathetic grey eyes on Buffy. “I do not understand what you’re asking me?” he queried in his confusion.

“I’ve seen what Angelus has done, the heinous crimes he has committed against humanity… but I still loved him.” She turned her bleary gaze toward the Green-elf. “Even Cordy was repulsed by the visions you guys showed her… but I wasn’t… And I was there. I saw what he did with my own two eyes… What does that say about me? What kind of monster am I to love someone who has committed such atrocities?”

“You’re no monster! That’s nonsense!”

“I’m beginning to wonder,” she answered miserably.

“You’re letting your grief get the best of you, Bella,” continued Thranduil. “What’s done is done. Do not dwell on it any more. There are far more important things that you must contend with.”

“You’re right, again,” she replied, leaning her head against the elf’s shoulder. She fell quiet for several minutes. “I’m tired, Thranduil. I’m so tired,” she confessed weakly.

“Perhaps you should rest a while,” he suggested.

“No, there’s no time for that. Not now, any way,” she sighed. “I think I need to fill you in on how things are gonna go down.” She shifted upright, into the lotus position, facing the Green-elf. “You need to promise me, Thranduil, that what I’m about to tell you - you won’t share with anyone else, not until… it’s over.”

The Elf Lord’s brows darted up momentarily, his grey eyes twinkling with curiosity. He then held out his pinky. “I’ll pinky swear,” he announced, bringing a much needed smile to the Slayer’s face.

She fondly recalled the way they had kept their promises back in the days of Thranduil’s youth.

The Vala Queen and Elf Lord then linked their pinkies, as he vowed not to repeat anything she said until the war was over.

Buffy then revealed how the war would end, the fate of mankind as well as the evil ones that currently roamed freely within the vastness of Arda.

Thranduil sat there, raptly listening to the prophetic words of the Valië. His heart ached with sorrow at the impending loss in the world, yet Buffy was quick to give him hope that better days were on the way. A tear escaped the Green-elf’s eye when the Slayer finished speaking, nearly an hour later.

“Don’t,” she said, wiping the tear away. “You need to be strong, for me. I’m counting on you, Thranduil.” She caressed the smooth skin of his face. “We can do this.”

“Alright, Bella, alright.”

Buffy smiled before rising to her feet. She walked to the water’s edge, her eyes scanning the sandy shoreline in both directions. “Where is he?” he murmured under her breath.

Thranduil had ambled up from behind. He placed both hands on the Vala Queen’s shoulders, gently massaging them. “He’ll come,” he remarked, having noticed her eyes scanning the vast shoreline in search of the Vala of Water.

“I guess I’m too early,” she proclaimed, resting one of her hands on the elf’s. “Let’s return to Los Angeles,” she continued, glancing over her shoulder. “You can finally see the transformation Illyria has undergone. She’s beautiful!”

“Now, that’s something I’d like to see,” he remarked with an uneasy chuckle.

One minute they were standing by the sea, the next, they were standing within the lobby of the old Washington Mutual Bank.

Buffy’s brows shot upward when she saw Illyria, Spike and Gunn huddled in a circle, talking amongst themselves. Apparently, her daughter’s powers were returning to their full strength, and she had been able to break the spell that her mother had placed upon the trio. Not only that, but it would soon become clear that Illyria had taken it upon herself to reveal where the Slayer had taken Angel, and why.

“What’s this shit about you killing Angel?” snapped Gunn angrily, marching up to Buffy and Thranduil.

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you, Charles,” answered the Vala Queen in a calm voice.

“He was our leader,” Gunn barked in his outrage, “our link to the Powers That Be, who fought the good fight, whose only goal in this world was to make amends for his past. And then you come along, all high and mighty, and take everything away from him!” Charles towered over the Slayer, his nostrils flaring like a raging bull. “You were the one person in this entire world that he ever loved - and how do you repay him? You kill him!” He shook his head in disgust. “If anyone deserves to die, maybe it should be you… ”

“How dare you speak to Bella in that tone!” interjected a fuming Thranduil, who, in turn, towered over the mortal.

Buffy held her arm out, preventing the Green-elf from attacking the young man.

From across the room, Spike snickered at the scene unfolding before him, amused by Gunn’s audacity to confront the Goddess that had just killed her former lover without so much as a second thought. Foolish bloke, he thought to himself.

“That vampire, that you called leader, killed Bella’s son and my dear friend. You should be grateful that she showed him mercy, killing him quickly. If I had my way, I would’ve torture that son-of-a-bitch for next millennia. So mind your manners when in the presence of… ”

“Are you talking to me?!” Gunn shot back, cutting off Thranduil’s sentence. He balled his fists at his side, sizing up the elf. “I’ll kick your ass from here to Timbuktu.”

“Enough with the bravado,” said an annoyed Buffy.

“Stay out of this!” bellowed Gunn, glaring at the Slayer.

Buffy’s eyes widened, stunned by Charles’ behavior.

He and Thranduil then got into a verbal sparring match, one that would swiftly lead to fists if someone did not intervene.

“Oh, this is getting good,” remarked Spike excitedly, folding his arms across his chest, watching as each man hurled verbal insults at the another.

After a moment or two, Illyria shouted, “Enough!” in a commanding voice, as an invisible force sent each man stumbling backwards. “I will have no more of this incessant posturing!” she continued, approaching the group. “This is neither the time nor the place for such quarrels.”

“Yeah, Blue’s right,” spoke up Spike. “The world’s coming to an end. Surely, we shouldn’t be fighting.” He paused; a thoughtful expression came to his face. Grinning, he added, “On the other hand, it is the end of the world. Carry on then.”

“You’re not helping, Spike,” sighed the Slayer.

“Fuck this!” said a seething Gunn. “I’m outta here.”

The young man charged toward the front doors.

“If you leave, you will die,” the Slayer revealed, her eyes locked on Charles.

He spun around, walking backwards, as he said, “I don’t fucking care any more. You can take that whole Elect thing and shove it up your ass. I’d rather die than go anywhere with you.” He turned, heading toward the doors once again.

“All this over Angel?” muttered a baffled Buffy. Raising her voice, she added, “I’d think, Charles, that you’d want to see your baby sister again.”

The young man stopped in his tracks, his right hand on the cool aluminum handle of the door. “Alonna,” he uttered under his breath.

“If you walk out those doors, you won’t see her again. Ever!” declared the Vala Queen.

Charles remained frozen, his heart thumping wildly in his chest at the mere mention of his sister.

“That’s not a threat, Charles. It’s a promise,” the Slayer went on, slowly approaching the young man from behind. “This is my game, my rules. Alonna is waiting for you, longs to see you again.” She stopped. “I’m leaving it up to you. It’s your choice. You wanna run out there in the streets and die - fine by me. Or, do you wanna be pulled from this wretched world, and join your sister? I can arrange that, with a snap of my fingers. It’s your choice, Charles.”

The Vala Queen turned, heading back toward the others.

“Wait!” the young man said, slowly turning. His expression had softened, as had the tone of his voice. “You can really reunite us - me and my little sister?”

“Yes,” she replied. “That demon may have taken control of her body, but her soul, her soul resides in the Halls of my brother.”

Gunn stood there, thinking, reflecting on his life with Alonna. He regretted the fact that he hadn’t been there to stop that vamp, to stop it from changing his baby sister into a monster. That day had haunted him ever since, especially the harsh reality that it was he that had to put a stake through her heart. That was, by far, the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. And the thought of seeing her again, the real Alonna, the little girl that had followed him around as a child, was more than he could ask for.

“I wanna see my sister. I wanna see Alonna.”

“I thought so,” answered the Slayer, giving Gunn a quick smile. “Are you ready, Charles?”

His eyes scanned the room one last time, stopping momentarily on both Spike and Illyria. He then fixed his gaze on Buffy, and gave a slight nod of his head.

The Vala Queen spoke no commands, but a second later, Charles Gunn vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Well, then,” Buffy began with a clap of her hands. “That’s one down, one hundred forty-three thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.”

“I like this new you, Slayer,” said Spike, circling Buffy as he nodded approvingly. Smiling broadly, he added, “You’ve gone all cheeky on me. I like that.” He stopped before her, looking all serious. “Just so you know, I was quite hospitable to Drogyn and Illyria here,” he continued, motioning toward the Old One. “Had them both over to my flat to watch the telly, drink some beer, play some video games. And I never fed off either one of them. Just thought I’d let you know that since you seem to be in vengeance mode.”

“I know, Spike.”

“Was ever a mate to your son,” he rambled on, not wanting to meet the same fate as Angel. “He was a decent bloke. Never said a bad word to the old chap… ”

“Now you’re pushing your luck,” warned the Slayer.

Thranduil stepped before Illyria, his grey eyes keenly inspecting Buffy’s eldest.

She warily watched the Elf Lord with her steely blue eyes.

“Illyria,” he said with a nod of his head.

She cocked her head to the side, staring at Thranduil. “You are an elf, are you not?”

“I am,” he replied with yet another nod of his head.

“I had forgotten how tall your kind are,” she observed.

Before responding, the Elf Lord glanced at the Slayer, who nodded encouragingly to her old friend.

He sighed heavily, dropping onto one knee before Illyria. “I am Thranduil Greenleaf, Lord of Eryn Lasgalen…” The elf glanced at Buffy once again.

Using only her eyes, she prodded him to go on.

Thranduil resisted the urge to roll his eyes, finding this moment difficult, to say the least. He fixed his gaze back on Illyria. “I am humbly at your service, o’ Holy One. You shall lead, and I will follow.” He then took her hand and kissed the top of it.

“What is this, some sort of Keebler courting ritual?” snickered Spike. “Oh, God, I think I’m gonna be sick!”

The Vala Queen elbowed the vampire in the ribs.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” whined Spike, rubbing his side. “I’m only making a bloody observation. Free speech still exists… well, at least in this building.”

“A word, Spike,” said Buffy with an air of warning in her voice.

“I believe you just had three.”

“Stop being a doofus and come with me,” she ordered, heading toward one of the vacant offices.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch,” he grumbled, following behind.

“You two can get reacquainted,” Buffy said over her shoulder to Thranduil and Illyria.

“We’ve never met before, Bella,” replied the uncomfortable Green-elf.

“You just did!” she answered. “I just need a few minutes with Spike. I won’t be long.”

Thranduil turned his attention to the Old One. “So,” he began apprehensively, his eyes scanning her bodily form. “I’ve got to say, I like your choice of hröa. You’re quite lovely without all the tentacles… ”

Spike took off after Buffy, his blue eyes focused on the tight, black mini-skirt that clung to her backside. He let out a startled gasp when he saw her clothing instantly change from the form-fitting skirt and tank top to tight red leather pants and a black sweater.

He inhaled, as if to speak, but Buffy blurted out, “I was chilly,” before he could pose his question about the sudden change of her garments.

“If you’re cold, I can warm you up,” he remarked suggestively with a sly grin on his face.

“Why do you have to be such a pig?” she responded with disdain.

“Just saying… ”

“God, I’m beginning to think I killed the wrong one,” she grumbled under her breath.

When she stepped into an empty office, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered on, despite the lack of electricity.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” began the Vala Queen, taking a seat on the edge of the desk.

“Don’t mind if I do,” answered Spike, plopping down on the chair that now seemed too close to the Slayer.

Noticing that the vampire’s line of vision was now fixed between her legs, she snorted in disgust, as she placed her foot on the edge of his chair, pushing it backwards.

Sensing Buffy’s discomfort, Spike snickered as his chair screeched across the marble floor.

“You’re the one putting it in my face, love.”

The Slayer sneered, making a point to immediately cross her legs once she was satisfied that there was enough space separating the two.

“Why do you have to make things so difficult? You don’t always have to be the horn-dog, you know.”

“What can I say? I’m in the presence of the Goddess of Love - isn’t this the way I’m supposed to act?” he replied, his brow raised in question.

“Pfft,” she sounded, rolling her eyes. “I must’ve envisioned this scene in my mind a hundred times. I guess I never considered that you’re the X-factor, ‘cause this isn’t going the way I expected.”

“Unlike your Scooby friends - I’m unpredictable,” he boasted.

“Ain’t that the truth,” she sighed. Buffy shook her head. “I’ve brought you in here for a reason.”

“Well, I suppose it’s not for a quick shag.”

“Will you stop with the shagging talk already?!” exclaimed the exasperated Valië. “Jeez! I’m beginning to think that I offed the wrong vamp.”

“Nah,” he replied, placing a foot on either side of the Slayer and leaning his chair back on two legs. “You killed the right one. Angel was the mopey type, and we don’t need his kind in the world now, do we?”

“Angel died because he killed my son,” said Buffy in the utmost of serious voices. “The one thing in this world I won’t tolerate is someone fucking with my children.”

Spike chortled. “Look at you - all mum-like. I would never have guessed in a million years that you were Blue’s mum.” He cocked his head to the side. “But now that I think about it, I can see a lot of similarities. Not all are good, mind you.”

“Let’s cut to the chase here,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “You know about that whole Shanshu thing, don’t you?”

The vampire’s eyes lit up. He dropped his feet to the floor; the chair’s legs hit the marble surface with a thud, as he sat at attention. “Yeah, what about it?” he asked warily.

“Well, I’m here to fulfill it, to make you mortal… ”

“I knew it!” he exclaimed in delight, slapping a hand on the arm of the chair. “I knew I was the one that the bloody prophecy was about!” He paused, relishing the moment. “I only wish Angel were here, to gloat a bit. Rub it in his face.”

“I wasn’t finished speaking!” Buffy chastised.

“There’s nothing left to say, is there?” replied a smiling Spike. He stretched his arms out wide, adding, “Alright then, make me human.”

“It’s not that simple,” she answered, both her tone and expression grave.

The smiled quickly faded from the vampire’s face. “What?” he asked in dismay. “Do I have to go through more bloody trials? Get my ass kicked by a band of demons or whatnot?”

“No,” she replied. “You need to think about this. You need to think about what this means. Becoming mortal again means that you’re susceptible to a mortal’s death. You won’t have the same strength you’ve grown accustomed to. You won’t be able to heal quickly. Your reflexes won’t be the same. You can die by disease, by bullets, by poisonous gases… ”

“I don’t care about all that, Buffy,” interjected Spike, leaning forward in his seat. It was now he that became all serious. “I want to be human again. I’ve been around the sods long enough to know how fragile life is. I want to feel my heart beat again, to taste food, to have a cold. The things that humans take for granted - I want! I want to experience those things. Don’t think that I haven’t thought about this. From the moment I learned about that whole Shanshu Prophecy, I dreamed of it being about me. I don’t need to wait. I don’t need time to think things over. I’m ready. I’ve been ready for nearly two centuries. Shanshu me, Slayer, I’m ready.”

The Vala Queen stared into the vampire’s blue eyes, searching the depths of his soul. She could see that he spoke the truth, that he was ready.

“You’re a good man, Spike,” she said with a smile, sliding off the desk and onto her feet.

He rose from his chair too. His eyes alight with excitement.

“I take it that you’ve made your mind up then,” she continued softly.

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. “I’m ready. I was born ready.”

“So be it,” she replied. Buffy raised her hand and placed it on the vampire’s chest. She closed her eyes, summoning forth her magics. A blinding white light emitted from her palm, followed by the sudden thumping of Spike’s heart.

“I feel it! I feel my heart beating,” he proclaimed joyfully.

“I do too,” she answered, meeting Spike’s eyes. “Welcome back, William.”

“I’M BACK, BABY!” he exclaimed in his excitement. The newly made human placed his hand over his heart. “Thump, thump, thump, thump,” he said rapidly, mimicking his heartbeat. “I can’t believe it - I’m human!” He fixed his eyes on Buffy. “I… I don’t know how to thank you, Buffy,” he said sincerely.

“You just did,” she replied with a smile. “Although,” she began, as she started toward the door, “someone once told me that prophecies can be tricky creatures, that they don’t always tell you everything.”

Spike stood there for a moment, trying to process her words. “What in the hell does that mean?” he queried, chasing after her. “Buffy?”

She stopped at the edge of the lobby. Turning, she faced Spike with a mischievous grin on her face. “You’ll see, love. You’ll see.” She then turned, walking toward Illyria and Thranduil. “Okay, guys, it’s about time for us to go. We gotta collect the rest of the Elect.”

“Hey! Wait a minute!” cried out Spike, catching up with the Slayer.

“What is it now, William?” she said with a sigh. “I gave you mortality. What more do you ask of me?”

“Aren’t I coming with you? I’m human now. I figured I was part of that Elect thing. You know, take me off the earth before it implodes, or explodes, whichever the case may be.”

“Sorry, William, but the Elect were chosen specifically for their bloodlines. Your name’s not on the list.” She started across the lobby toward Illyria and Thranduil once again. “You’re resilient. You’ll find your place in this world.” When she reached her daughter and dear friend, she took each one by the hand. Looking at Spike one last time, she added with a smile, “Your time’s gonna come. Take care, William.”

She and her companions then vanished from the lobby, leaving a dumbfounded Spike behind.

“Women!” he muttered, heading toward the front doors of the lobby. He stepped outside under the cover of darkness, inhaling deeply. He then coughed. The results of all those years of smoking seemed to finally be catching up to him.

Shrugging it off, he started down the sidewalk, his mind spinning from his newfound fate. Today was the first day of the rest of his life. It was a great thing. Everything seemed so different, even though it was still the same. The flowers smelled more fragrant, the air cleaner. There was only one thing that Spike wanted more than anything else in this world - to see the sun, to feel its glorious, golden rays shining down on his pale skin.

I can get a tan, he thought as various vehicles went passing by. If only the bloody sun would come back out.

He looked up to where the sun should have been in the pitch-black sky, as he reached into his pocket for his smokes. Preoccupied with his thoughts and lighting his cigarette, Spike didn’t realize that he had reached the intersection. As he inhaled deeply, he stepped into the street, directly in front of a speeding Humvee.

At the last possible moment, he turned. Blinded by the headlights of the vehicle, his final epithet as a living human being forming on his lips, he was plowed down by the Humvee. Not eight minutes had passed since his transformation.

His fey then rose from his mangled corpse, shocked by the sudden turn of events. ‘Bloody hell!’ he remarked at his misfortune. Feeling himself being drawn toward the West, and shaking his fist in the air, he shouted, ‘I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS, SLAYER!’


Chapter 121 - GUISE WILL BE GUISE

Buffy had made the conscious decision not to set foot in Aman but one last time before The End. After all that had happened over the ages, she still harbored some ill will toward the Valar, including her own siblings. She knew that war now plagued the Blessed Realm, and if she were to go there, her kinfolk would beseech her to help them in battle, something she had no desire to do. If Folkvang was destined to fall, so should Valinor.

It was for that reason, she teleported herself, Illyria and Thranduil back to the isle that she had visited twice before. She desperately wanted to see Ulmo again, to speak with him, yet the Vala of Waters was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing in disappointment, she turned to her companions. “I still have some business to tend to in L.A., so I want you two to start gathering the Elect and take them to the safety of Mandos.”

Illyria scoffed at the notion. “You wish for me to accompany this Elf to the land of murderers when you yourself refuse to set foot in those parts.”

“In a nutshell - yes,” affirmed the Slayer in her most cheerful of voices.

The Old One stood there with a scowl on her fair face, aghast at the mere thought of entering the land of the Ainur.

Having understood Buffy’s plans prior to their arrival, Thranduil followed her lead. He wrapped an arm around Illyria’s shoulder, rubbing it fervently. “Oh, come on, Illyria,” he said in feigned enthusiasm. “It’ll be fun. We’ll trek around the world, picking up the loyalists; maybe grab a bite to eat in Rome… ”

“Ah, no, hon. Rome’s been destroyed, remember?” interjected the Vala Queen. “But Sicily’s got some good fare. You gotta try the pizza. It’s to die for.” She paused before adding, “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten that you’ve already wiped Rome off the map,” replied the Green-elf. “Nevertheless, we’ve got our orders, Illyria.”

“And why are you not going?” the Old One asked of her mother. “What is so dire that you must return to that hellish city?”

“I’ve got an appointment, with an old friend, one I cannot miss,” answered the Slayer, somewhat evasively. “We’ll meet back here… say, in twenty-four hours.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Thranduil in agreement.

Illyria seemed reluctant to leave.

Seeing that, Buffy continued, “As soon as I get back, we’ll talk - just me and you. I promise. But, I could really use your help, Illyria. Thranduil doesn’t have the ability to teleport, and with so little time left, there’s still much to do. Please. Do this for me.”

“Alright, Mother. Twenty-four hours.”

“And don’t take the Scoobies.”

Both Thranduil and Illyria looked at her in question.

“My friends in Lindon Hall,” she remarked, trying to clear up any confusion. “I will escort them to Valinor, personally. Get as many of the Elect as you can, except them.”

“Will do,” said Thranduil with a nod.

“Thank you,” answered Buffy, giving her loved ones a reassuring smile.

All three then disappeared from the isle. Illyria and Thranduil were to begin their quest throughout the world, while the Vala Queen returned to Los Angeles.

Buffy reappeared in an abandoned warehouse district in the heart of L.A. While no vehicles were driving in the immediate vicinity, she could hear the early morning traffic from the nearby roadways. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the cool morning air, hoping to pick up the scent of what she was searching for. Her eyes popped open. She was not too far away. The Valië strolled down the street, ignoring the few vagrants that had taken refuge in the empty structures that had fallen into disrepair on either side of the road.

She went a couple of blocks before she found what she was looking for.

“Oh, great,” she grumbled to herself. “Of course, it’s in the sewers.” As she focused her attention on the manhole, the metal disk lifted from its position, hovered to the side of the hole, before dropping down on the pavement with a clatter. “Here goes nothing,” she said, leaping into the darkened hole. Buffy landed with a splash in the foul-smelling, stagnant water that pooled on the sewer floor. “Eww. Gross,” she groaned, sidestepping the standing water for the moldy, damp concrete to the side.

She started down the dank passageway, mumbling her discontent along the way. “What kind of proprietor places their business in the sewers? Makes absolutely no sense.” Up ahead, she could see the red neon sign illuminating the tunnel. “Thank God!” she exclaimed, glad that she didn’t have to wander too far in the reeking passageway. She hastened her pace, eager to reach her destination.

Buffy stopped outside the double steel doors. Just above was a sign that read “Caritas VI”. She stood there for a second; surprised that she heard no music or singing coming from beyond the doors. Shrugging, she tried to open them. They remained sealed shut, the doors rattling in their frame. She frowned, whimpering at the thought that she’d have to go through a series of magic spells to gain entry. After another moment, it occurred to her that the steel doors slid open as opposed to swinging open. Cursing at her stupidity, she slid the panel along its track.

The heavy smell of potpourri drifted out of the dimly lit chamber before her. Her eyes scanned the bar. On the stage, to her left, a vampire was singing, Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me. The Slayer chuckled at the irony of his song selection, as she entered the bar, closing the door behind her.

The bar was bustling with humans, vamps and demons. That stunned the Vala Queen, considering that there was no longer any daylight for the beastly creatures to fear topside. This was their time, their last hoorah before The End, yet so many felt compelled to spend what little time on earth was left to them in a karaoke bar, of all places. She shook her head as she made her way toward the bar that arced along the wall to her right.

A few demons must have picked up on her “Slayer” scent. Growling softly, they slowly backed away into the shadows of the room despite the fact that The Host had placed a spell on the place preventing any from brawling within his establishment. Or perhaps they sensed her true essence, and knew that no spell performed by The Furies could constrain her.

Behind the bar was The Host, (Lorne, to those that knew him well), busily wiping down the countertop with a damp rag. He was humming along with the vampire’s voice that blared from the stack of speakers set on either side of the stage.

“I’ll be with you in a sec, sugar blossom,” he said, giving Buffy a quick glance as she climbed upon a vacant barstool. As he wiped a pile of peanut shells into the palm of his free hand, he did a double take. “Holy Jiminy Cricket!” he exclaimed in shock. “You’re, you’re Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, aren’t you?”

“You’ve heard of me?” she asked, smiling that her reputation as the Slayer had preceded her.

“Well, sure, pumpkin,” he replied jovially. “You can’t hang around with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome and not know a thing or two about the infamous Buffy Summers,” The Host chortled. The smile left his face for a moment. “But seriously, we have a no slaying policy here at Caritas. All peoples are welcomed here, to share their love of music - which makes the world go round… ”

“Don’t worry, I’m off duty,” she confessed. “I’m not looking for a fight. Promise. Just here to meet an old friend.” She spun her seat around, her eyes scanning the room once again.

“That’s good to hear,” he answered in a cheery voice. “So, what can I get you?”

Buffy spun her chair around again, facing the green-skinned Empath Demon. “Hmm,” she sounded, glancing at the scores of liquor bottles that lined the glass shelves behind The Host.

“How ‘bout a Sea Breeze? It’s the specialty of the house,” he suggested, tossing his rag aside.

“What’s a Sea Breeze?” she asked, never having heard of the beverage before.

“Oh, honey, you’re in for one heck of a treat,” he answered excitedly. He grabbed a tall glass, filling it with ice. “We pour in a bit of vodka,” he continued, pouring the clear liquor into the glass, “some pineapple juice and a smidgeon of cranberry juice,” he said, as he added the remaining ingredients into the glass. “And there you have it.” He stuck a wedge of lime onto the rim of the glass before sliding it across the counter toward the Slayer. “Drink up.”

“Thanks,” she responded, offering the demon a quick smile. She grabbed the drink and took a swig, immediately cringing when the beverage hit her taste buds. She forced herself to swallow the repulsive tasting drink, shuddering as it went down her throat.

“Aw, I take it that you’re not a big vodka drinker, eh?” he commented with a bit of disappointment in his tone. He retrieved the drink from the counter. “Is there something else I can get you?”

As Buffy considered what she’d want next, she murmured with a sigh, “God, I’d give anything for a glass of elvish wine,” as she beat her hands on the countertop in rhythm to the music.

“Elvish wine?” Lorne repeated. “I just happen to have a bottle stowed in the back. Got mixed up in my order…”

“Elvish wine!” exclaimed the Slayer, her ears perking up upon hearing that. “You’ve got elvish wine?! How in the hell did you manage that?”

“I’ve got connections in the underworld, darling. It’s no biggie. Give me a sec, and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Elvish wine,” she said in disbelief as The Host disappeared through a door behind the counter.

She spun her chair around again, just as the vamp finished his rendition of the classic Elton John song. The patrons gave him rousing applause, as he handed off the microphone to a monstrous looking creature with scaly black skin dotted with miniature barbs. In a low, guttural voice, the demonic creature began singing, Breaking Up is Hard to Do. The Slayer shuddered at the sound as her eyes scanned the room yet again for her old friend.

“I found it!” said Lorne a few moments later, waving the bottle he clutched in his hand.

The Vala Queen spun her seat around, staring at the green tinted bottle. “May I?” she asked, holding her hand out expectantly.

“Sure thing, hon,” he replied, handing her the bottle.

Tears came to the Slayer’s eyes as she read the label. “It’s from Rivendell,” she said, all misty-eyed. She stroked the bottle as if it were some prized treasure.

“Well, I don’t know about Rivendell, but it’s elvish. I’m sure of that.”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, choking back her tears. “I want the whole bottle,” she added, handing it back to The Host. She reached for the pocket of her leather pants before she realized that she didn’t have any money on her. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. Buffy then felt any uncomfortable bulge digging into her hip, as a wad of cash mystically appeared in her pocket. She reached in and pulled out the bills, handing them to Lorne. “Here.”

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, flipping through the stack of cash. “There must be,” he paused, counting the hundred dollar bills, “a thousand dollars!”

“Is it not enough?” she asked, hoping that she had not insulted the proprietor.

“Not enough!” he repeated in amazement. “I only paid thirty bucks for it. You’re overpaying me. It’s not like its Cristal, you know.” Lorne tried handing back most of the cash.

“No, keep it,” she answered, pushing his hand away. “It’s worth it, to me.”

The Host paused for a moment, staring incredulously at the Slayer. “Alright,” he chuckled, slipping the money into his bright yellow jacket pocket. “Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, right?” He grabbed a corkscrew from beneath the counter and went to work on removing the stopper. “Let’s get this baby opened,” he continued, as his red eyes shifted to the demon on the stage. “Poor, guy,” he went on, as he twisted the corkscrew. “Future’s not too bright for him, or the rest of my customers as a matter-of-fact.” He turned his gaze back to Buffy. “What gives? Something tells me you’re not in the City of Angels for the sunshine, Sunshine.”

“You got that right,” she answered, none too eager to elaborate further.

Lorne pulled the cork from the bottle with a pop, his eyes darting between the Slayer and the amber liquid he was pouring into a wine glass. He was expecting her to say more, but she kept her eyes fixed on the delectable fluid that was flowing from the bottle.

“I’m prying, aren’t I?” he said, pressing his lips tightly together. “Here I am, acting all intrusive, and you don’t know me from Adam. Sheesh. Where are my manners? I’m Lorne,” he revealed, sliding the glass toward the Valië.

“I know,” she said, taking the glass from the countertop.

“Oh, so Angel’s talked about me, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered before taking a sip. “Oh, God, that’s so good,” she said, smacking her lips together.

“Good, I hope.”

“It’s delicious. Thank you,” she replied, giving the Empath Demon a quick smile.

“Actually, I was talking about what Angel had said, about me. Haven’t seen him in a while. So, what’s Mr. Broody up to? Thwarting this new apocalypse, I hope?” asked The Host.

Buffy gulped down the rest of her wine. “I’m sure he is,” she answered, sliding her empty glass back toward the Empath Demon.

“So, what’s going on? I thought you and Angel were pretty tight,” he continued, refilling her glass.

“Key word - were,” answered the Slayer. “Angel and I have gone our separate ways. Being around him creates too much drama. And I’m not one for the drama.”

“I can totally relate to that,” Lorne said with a chortle. “I’m not much of a drama queen myself. And let me tell you: every time Angel comes sniffing around here needing my help, my establishment ends up destroyed. I’ve already rebuilt Caritas five times. Five times! That’s why I thought it better to build down here, underground.”

“Angel knows every passageway in the sewers,” replied Buffy with a snort. “There’s no hiding from him. He’s got the nose of a bloodhound.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” he laughed. “Well, I’m out of the superhero business… ”

“Wish I could say the same,” she mumbled, fiddling with the stem of her glass.

“Got a case of the blues, huh?”

She shrugged in reply.

“Well, your aura’s a bit all over the place. Hard for me to read you unless you sing me something.”

“I’m not much of a singer. I’m more the listener type,” she responded half-heartedly.

“Oh, come on, peaches. No one sings that bad. Just a few bars.”

Buffy shifted her gaze to The Host, who smiled encouragingly at her.

“I have no idea what I should sing.”

“It can be anything, snookums, even Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

“Okay, then,” she answered, taking another sip of her wine. The Vala Queen then cleared her throat and began to sing:

“Sing me a song you’re a singer,
Do me a wrong, you’re a bringer of evil
The Devil is never a maker
The less that you give, you’re a taker
So, it’s on and on and on, it’s Heaven and Hell…” *

Lorne’s eyes nearly doubled in size as she sang. His jaw went agape before he snapped it shut, telling her to stop. “Oh, my,” he began nervously fiddling with the lapels of his jacket. “How apropos!”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” she replied grimly.

“Not much of a Black Sabbath fan, especially when Ronnie James was with the band,” he laughed nervously, eyeing the nearest exit. “That little dude’s creepy.”

“It was the first song that popped in my mind,” she said with a shrug.

“Imagine that! Hell on Earth. I see that. You’re… you’re death and destruction,” he continued with that same nervous laughter.

“Yeah,” she sighed, lifting her glass. “Sucks to be me, don’t it?” She took a couple of gulps of the amber liquid.

“Has it suddenly gotten hot in here, or is it just me?” he asked, fanning his hand in front of his face. “Feels like the temperature shot up a hundred degrees.”

“It’s just you,” she replied. “I’m not the bad guy here, Krevlornswath.”

“Oh, you know my real name,” he chuckled uneasily. “That’s, that’s great.”

“I know everything about you. It’s not chance that I happened upon your bar. It’s destiny. Our destiny.”

“Imagine that,” he answered, so nervous now that all he could do was force himself to smile. “And here I thought I was destiny free.”

“No one’s destiny free,” she said with a sigh. “We all have a part to play in the big scheme of things.”

“Well, yours is a bit freaky to me,” he whispered anxiously so that none of his other customers could hear what he was saying. “You killed Angel. And unleashed Hell on Earth. You’re behind all this craziness!”

“Someone’s gotta do it. Lucky me!” she chortled in reply.

“But, but you’re one of The Powers, one of the Powers That Be,” he remarked, his green face wrinkled in confusion. “How can that be? How can one who’s supposed to be so good, end up so… evil?”

“Hey! That’s totally subjective. The world isn’t black and white, good and bad. Things aren’t that simple - never were and never will be.”

“You killed Angel,” he said in dismay, shaking his head. “He was a champion, a champion for good.”

“Pfft,” she sounded with a roll of her eyes. “He was a putz!”

“Well, I loved that putz!” shot back Lorne. “He was a good friend.”

“Whatever.”

“No!” he countered, feeling his courage swell within him. “I can’t believe that you could do something so… so unconscionable. Angel was one of the good guys… ”

“Who wrecked your bar on a number of occasions,” she interjected.

“That’s beside the point. He… he had a soul. He was… was fighting the good fight… He… ”

“He killed my son,” Buffy proclaimed, cutting off the Empath Demon’s statement. “He killed a noble and good man, for nothing.”

“Son? What son? I never heard anything about you having a son.” The words spewed quickly from Lorne’s mouth.

“You knew him as Drogyn.”

“The Battle Brand?”

The Slayer nodded.

The Host gulped. “Oh. I see.” He coughed in his nervousness, feeling as though the temperature in Caritas was still rising. “Well, er, you know, it was, um… it was for the greater good,” he added with a stammer. Once he had spoken those words, he wished that he could take them back. By the look on the Slayer’s face, he knew she didn’t see it that way. “Oh, crap,” he winced. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Your loyalty to Angel is commendable. Regardless, he got his comeuppance,” she said, stone-faced. Buffy took another sip of wine. “Let’s forget about Angel. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, you’re looking for an old friend. You mentioned that already,” replied Lorne uneasily.

“I also wanted to see you.”

“Moi?” he queried in alarm.

“Yes, you,” she replied. “My brethren don’t understand your kind, demon-kind, in general. They see things as merely black and white. Guess what category you fall under?”

“I take it, I’m not considered one of the white hats,” he said uncomfortably.

“No, you’re not. They want your kind eradicated from this world, from all worlds - but I don’t want that to happen. You’re a good guy, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan. You’ve done good things in this world. You deserve to live on, to do what you do - to spread your brand of joy throughout the world, to teach people about tolerance and love… ”

Buffy leaned forward, over the counter. “In a few short hours, California’s gonna be wiped off the map. I’m giving you a chance to escape, to start over in another dimension, a dimension not known by my kinsmen. There, you and others like you, can carry on, can prosper. But, if you stay here - it’s over.” She leaned back in her seat with her glass of wine in her hand. “It’s up to you to decide whether the show goes on… ”

“Whoa! That’s a lot to take in,” admitted the Empath Demon, cutting off Buffy’s sentence.

He paused as the beastly creature that had taken the stage finished his rendition of the old Neil Sedaka song to scattered applause. A crestfallen Lorne looked at the stage for a moment before shifting his gaze to the nearly untouched Sea Breeze that the Slayer hadn’t cared for. He picked up the glass and took a long swig of his favorite alcoholic beverage. He then paused, looking at the drink clutched in his hand.

“I love this world. Always have,” he finally said. Krevlornswath turned his blood-red eyes to the Vala Queen. “If this ship’s going down, then I’m going down with it.” He forced a smile before adding, “I guess it’s time for my final curtain call.”

“I gotta admit: I wasn’t expecting that. I figured you’d want to go.”

“This is my home, now. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Lorne sighed. “My only dilemma is what song to sing, whether I should stick with a classic Broadway number, or go… ”

The first notes of the next song, (which immediately drew Buffy’s attention), drowned out Lorne’s ramblings of his favorite Broadway hits.

The Slayer’s eyes instantly lit up, a smile graced her face, as her heart began to pound wildly in her chest. She knew that only her lover would chose to sing that song, the same song he had sung to her over the ages, the lover she had not seen since becoming Buffy Summers.

“Lady, when you’re with me I’m smiling
Give me all your love…”

“Dear Lord! It can’t be!” said a stunned Lorne after seeing the demon on stage.

“Your hands build me up when I’m sinking
Touch me and my troubles all fade…”

“Wes killed him,” continued the Empath Demon in disbelief. “He was cut into kibbles n’ bits, with a chainsaw.”

“Lady, from the moment I saw you
Standing all alone…”

“You can’t kill one of my people, Lorne. I’ve blessed them with the gift of regeneration.”

“You gave all the love that I needed
So shy, like a child who had grown…”

Lorne stared bug-eyed at the demon on stage, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. Skip is dead.”

“Obviously, not,” answered the Slayer, spinning around in her seat so that she faced the stage.

“You’re my lady of the morning
Love shines in your eyes… ”

“Read him, Lorne,” Buffy continued, smiling broadly. “What do you really see?”

“Sparkling, clear and lovely
You’re my lady…”

Skip began to descend the steps of the stage, his eyes locked on the Vala Queen.

“Lady turns me on when I’m lonely
Show me all your charms…”

“My God! Skip was the King of Atlantis,” revealed the Empath Demon. “He was actually a Skipper.”

“He prefers Captain,” Buffy said, glancing over her shoulder. “And his kingdom was actually called Atalantë, or Númenor,” she corrected, turning her gaze back to the copper-armored demon, who was working his way through the crowd toward her.

“Evenings, when you lay down beside me
Take me gently into your arms…”

“He was mortal. Your lover,” spoke up Lorne, half-dazed by what he was reading from Skip’s voice.

“He’s my Adonis!” said the near giddy Valië.

“You’re my lady of the morning
Love shines in your eyes…”

“You had hidden him in another dimension,” revealed a shocked Krevlornswath, his face turning greener.

“To protect him, from Sargon.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Empath Demon once again. “Sargon’s the jealous type. Doesn’t like the thought of me being with anyone other than him.”

“Sparkling, clear and lovely
You’re my lady…” **

“This is nuts,” remarked Lorne, as Skip stopped before the Slayer.

“Hey, sweetie!” she said, beaming at the demon.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he said, tossing the microphone to the nearest bystander.

Everyone’s eyes were glued on the armored demon and the Slayer.

Buffy wrapped her arms around Skip’s shoulders and he pulled her from her seat. She swung her legs around his waist.

“Welcome back,” he said in greeting, kissing her deeply as the shocked spectators looked on.

“Ew,” mumbled Lorne, recoiling at the sight of Buffy and Skip in a passionate embrace. “Talk about beauty and the beast.”

“The Slayer’s doing demons now,” remarked a vamp seated nearby.

“Apparently,” answered his companion.

“Damn!” said the first vamp. “I wouldn’t mind hitting that!”

Several vampires and demons began primping and preening, hoping to get the Vala Queen’s attention. If she was now sleeping with the likes of Skip, surely they’d have a chance to woo her from the demon.

“Miss me?” Buffy asked breathlessly after pulling out of their kiss.

“Don’t you know it,” replied Skip. He glanced over to Lorne. “How’s it going, Mr. Green Jeans? Long time, no see.”

“It’s still Lorne,” answered the Empath Demon. “God, I need a drink,” he added, reaching for his Sea Breeze.

“How ‘bout we blow this joint,” suggested Skip. “My place is close by. We can, you know, get reacquainted.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” said the Slayer excitedly. “But first,” she began again, reaching for the ring that hung from his chin, “Let me see you, the real you.” Using care, she then unattached the ring from his face. Immediately, Skip’s appearance turned to that of a very attractive man, tall and muscular with shoulder-length golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Look at you,” Buffy cooed, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “You’re so handsome, my Aldarion.”

“My Bella,” he responded, affectionately caressing her face with one hand.

“Oh, wait,” she blurted out unexpectedly. She reached for the bottle of elvish wine on the countertop. “Can’t forget this.” When Buffy turned, she noticed that a group of demons and vampires had gathered around, making goo-goo eyes at her. “Pfft,” she sounded upon seeing them. “Please! I’m so outta your league!”

With that said, she and Aldarion vanished from Caritas and reappeared inside his apartment.

The Númenorean dashed toward the bedroom.

“Whoa! Hold your horses, Aldarion.”

“Come on, Bella. This stallion hasn’t had any in thirty-one years! Save the talking until afterwards!”

“You’re such the romantic,” she shot back sarcastically. Aldarion had his arms wrapped around the Vala Queen, holding her up on his waist. “Let me down,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got delicious wine, made at the House of Elrond.”

“I’ve had elvish wine before,” he groaned, setting her down on her feet. “My loins are throbbing…”

“Aldarion!” she reprimanded, marching toward the kitchen in search of a couple of glasses. “Can you think of nothing but sex?”

The Númenorean grunted in frustration, as he sunk onto the couch. “It’s been thirty-one years, Bella. That’s a long, damn time. I want me some.”

“Patience is a virtue,” she remarked, rummaging through the cupboards.

“I have no patience. Isn’t that obvious?” he said, running his fingers through his golden hair.

“It won’t be much longer. Let’s have a drink first,” she answered, settling for two coffee cups as their drinking vessels.

“Okay, but only one drink! Then you can check out my new Egyptian cotton sheets. They’re blue, you know. Just for you.”

“Fine,” she said, taking a seat beside the Númenorean. “I don’t know why you don’t keep wine glasses,” she mumbled, pouring the delectable amber liquid into their cups.

“Not much of a wine drinker nowadays,” he replied, watching as Buffy filled their cups. “I’m a beer drinker. Nothing beats a brewski.”

“Mmm, makes me wonder if you have dwarvish blood in your veins,” she chuckled, handing him his drink.

“Ha-ha,” he replied, not at all amused by her comparison of him to one of the Naugrim. “Maybe if you didn’t keep me locked away in that demonic hide… ”

“Now, now,” she interjected, attempting to quell his annoyance. “It won’t be long before we sail away from this place.”

Just the mere mention of sailing brought a wistful look to Aldarion’s face. He so loved the sea and had enjoyed sailing his whole mortal life. It had been nearly half a century since he had last cruised on the open waters, and the thought of manning a vessel once again filled his heart with such joy.

“I can’t wait for that. Just me and you on the open blue sea,” he sighed, placing an arm around the Slayer. He lifted his cup. “Now, I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their cups together. Buffy sipped her wine while the Númenorean gulped his down until he had emptied his cup.

“Okay, finished,” he announced, slamming his cup on the coffee table. He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go,” he continued, anxiously trying to drag her with him.

“Hey!” she shouted, the elvish wine spilling onto her leather pants. “Look what you did.”

“Here, I’ll lick it off,” he said, dropping to his knees. “Mmm,” Aldarion sounded as he ran his tongue over the dampness on her pants.

The Slayer pushed him away. “Go get naked. I’ll be in in a minute.”

He lifted his gaze, smiling mischievously. “That’s more like it.” He took off for the bedroom, pulling off his clothing as he did so.

Buffy grabbed a Kleenex and blotted the wine on her pants. From the bedroom, she could hear her lover singing Lady, again. She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, dreading what was to come next. She felt sick, her stomach twisting and turning uncomfortably. She took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly each time.

“Come on, Bella! I’m waiting!” Aldarion shouted from the bedroom.

“Coming, Sweetie,” she answered, pulling off her boots and socks. She stood, wiggling out of her tight leather pants. As she made her way toward the bedroom, she peeled off her sweater, so that she was now garbed in only her bra and panties.

Buffy stopped in the doorway, posing seductively for Aldarion, who lay sprawled out on the bed, eagerly waiting for her to join him.

“Oh, mama,” he said lasciviously. “Come to daddy.”

She slowly crossed the room, tantalizing the Númenorean as she took off the last of her garments.

He stared wide-eyed at her naked body, licking his lips in anticipation.

The Valië eased onto his bed, crawling ever-slowly toward him, heightening his desire. She lowered her body, just an inch from his. Aldarion could feel the heat emanating from her hröa. He groaned softly as the nipples of her breasts gently grazed his skin as she moved over his body, the warm of her breath on his flesh driving him mad with desire. His manhood ached as her flesh swept over it. She was teasing him, prolonging the moment when they would actually unite as one. He desperately wanted to throw her down and ravage her, but this was her game, her mode of seduction when they had been parted for a long while.

Buffy’s face lingered over his. The Númenorean reached up, fondling the soft supple flesh of her bosoms. Her eyes welled with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, fearing that he was being too rough with her.

“I love you so much,” she softly replied, lowering her lips to his.

Aldarion wrapped his arms around her back, forcing her naked body onto his. Her legs remained astride his muscular frame, as their kiss deepened. He could feel the warmth of her tears splattering onto his face, the taste of salt as the teardrops trickled to their opened mouths and tongues.

He groaned again, attempting to adjust her body onto his erection.

“No,” she said, taking both of his arms, pinning them over his head. Buffy slithered upright, touching her breasts as the Númenorean looked on lustfully.

“Bella,” he began, wanting her so badly he thought he’d explode.

“Shh,” she sounded, pressing her finger to his lips. He kissed it. He looked at her hungrily. She lowered her face to his. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, before kissing him tenderly on the lips.

Aldarion did as instructed, panting in his excitement.

Buffy sat up once again, staring down upon her obedient lover, as another tear escaped the corner of her eye. She lifted her opened hand, closing it after a dagger materialized within her grasp.

“I love you,” she uttered.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back to her.

She plunged the blade deep into his chest, as the Númenorean’s eyes popped open in shock, groaning at the jolt of pain coursing through his body. His wide, watery blue eyes looked at her in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, driving the knife downward, the Dwarvish blade easily tearing through ribs, organs and flesh. His warm blood spilled from the incision, as he attempted to wiggle out from beneath her, but to no avail.

Giving up, and with his lips trembling, he weakly muttered, “Bella… why?”

“Destiny. It’s our destiny,” she answered back in a mere whisper, watching as her Númenorean King took his last breath, and then died.

Buffy hastily leapt off his body, as Aldarion’s warm blood ran down her arms and inner thighs.

Only a moment later, the Númenorean’s fey rose from his hröa. He looked sadly at his mutilated body, before turning his gaze to Buffy, his face riddled with confusion.

“Go! Go to the Halls of your Fathers,” she proclaimed.

‘Why?’ his spirit asked in dismay. ‘Why did you do this to me?’

“Go!” she said more forcefully, using her Vala powers to send the phantom form of her lover to Mandos.

Unable to resist, Aldarion’s spirit moved speedily through the bedroom wall, heading to the Halls of Námo.

Buffy ran into the bathroom and flicked on the light switch, as she dashed to the toilet. Dropping to her knees, she leaned over the toilet, expelling the only contents of her stomach - elven wine.

When she had finished retching, she crawled over to the tub, leaving a bloody trail behind. She turned on the hot water tap, eager for it to heat up, as she rinsed her arms under the heavy stream. The Vala Queen became mesmerized by the pinkish-hued water swirling down the drain. Once the water was hot, she adjusted the temperature before climbing in. She closed the curtain, pulled the lever for the shower, and washed herself thoroughly, removing all evidence of her recent carnage.

After showering, she dried herself off in the steam-filled bathroom. She wrapped her hair in a towel, using another to cover her body. Stepping before the mirror, the Slayer wiped the fogged up glass clean with the palm of her hand. She stood there for a minute, half-dazed, staring at her reflection.

“I am evil,” she whispered.

Sinister laughter suddenly filled the room, causing the hair on her body to stand on end.

‘Indeed you are, Melisse. Indeed you are,’ said the delighted voice of Melkor.

Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the mirror, yet she only saw her own face staring back at her.

‘Well done, my love. You have most certainly been demonstrating your love for me, one killing at a time,’ he cackled. ‘Soon, you and I will share the lordship of Eä, for the reign of my brother has come to an end. You have but one more execution left to prove your devotion to me, and only me. Then, my sweet, we will be reunited, and the world will be at the mercy of our majesty and our wrath.’

Then there was silence.

“Melkor?” she uttered to her reflection.

Yet there came no reply from the Dark Lord. But, his ‘visit’ did enlighten her of one thing: that Manwë Súlimo was dead, and that war was indeed taking place in Valinor, which meant, that Folkvang now lay in ruins. Her kingdom was lost.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the tube of toothpaste, flipped open the cap and squeezed a generous amount of the greenish-colored gel onto Aldarion’s electric toothbrush. She washed the yucky taste of vomit from her mouth, gargling with Scope once she had finished. She then brushed her golden hair before leaving the bathroom, mystically garbing herself in a white toga and a pair of sandals.

Returning to the living room, she went through her former lover’s DVD collection, looking for a movie to watch before electricity became a thing of the past. Since she felt depressed, she chose a Christmas-themed comedy. Putting the disc into the DVD player, she then curled up onto the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest. Though she loved the movie, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, she was preoccupied by her next mission: the slaying of her favorite paramour, Sargon the Magnificent…



* lyrics by Ronnie James Dio

** lyrics by Dennis DeYoung


Chapter 122 - SHE

When the movie had finished playing, Buffy still sat there in a melancholic state. Watching the Griswolds did not lighten her heart over the dreadful deed she had committed hours before, the stench from said deed already pervading the air.

She clicked the ‘off’ button on the remote, turning off the TV. Rising to her feet, she looked around the apartment one last time, her eyes scanning the many portraits of ships that adorned the walls. Out of nowhere, a heavy blue cloak materialized onto her shoulders. After fastening the clasp on the neck, she pulled the material tightly around her body, before departing Los Angeles for good.

Only a moment later, she reappeared beside the gigantic crater formerly known as Sunnydale. The area was now under heavy military guard. A tall chain-link fence with rolls of concertina wire on top now ran along the entire perimeter, barring curiosity seekers and such from entry.

Still consumed with grief, the Vala Queen stood at the edge of the chasm, looking into the blackness of the pit, remembering that destructive battle that seemed to have taken place long ago. She remained heedless that the light of her essence cast her body in a soft glow, something that immediately drew the attention of a few nearby men on guard duty.

The Slayer didn’t move, even when one of the military men aimed his million-candlepower spotlight at her. She remained perfectly still, her cloak and long golden hair billowing in the morning breeze, giving her a ghostly appearance.

“How the hell did she get in here?” asked one of the soldiers in amazement.

“I don’t know,” answered his superior. “But it’s high time we find out.” Three men started to approach the Valië, the ranking officer shouting, “Miss! Miss! You’re trespassing on government property. No civilians are allowed on these premises without proper authorization.”

Yet Buffy remained motionless, her cheerless eyes fixed on the gaping hole.

The men did not feel threatened by the sight of one small woman. Though armed with MP5s, they kept their weapons lowered. They were used to strangers snooping around, as that place had earned a reputation reminiscent to that of Area-51. Some people, conspiracy theorists mostly, suspected that extraterrestrial life had caused the gaping chasm in the earth in retaliation for mankind’s arrogance and dismissiveness of the existence of higher beings. The men assumed she was one of those loony types, or, by the looks of her, some kind of mystic or Stevie Nicks wannabe.

The senior officer stopped beside the Slayer. “Miss!” he said again. Concerned by her non-responsiveness, he gently shook her shoulder. “Are you alright? Are you lost? How did you get in here?”

The Vala Queen turned her green eyes to the men.

They lowered the spotlight, so as not to blind her.

“Are you alright?” the man asked again. “You know, you’re not supposed to be here. This is off limits to all civilians.”

Buffy’s eyes darted to the soldier’s nametag on his camouflaged jacket. It read, “Reynolds.” She then turned her gaze back to the mammoth crater.

“I was here,” she began, speaking softly. “I was here when Sunnydale was destroyed. It was my home, once.”

“I understand, miss, but I’m afraid Sunnydale’s no more. And without proper authorization, you can’t be here,” Reynolds continued kindly yet firmly. He took hold of her arm. “We need to escort you off these premises, miss.”

“From beneath you it devours,” she uttered, her feet firmly planted to the ground.

“Excuse me?” Reynolds asked, baffled by her remark. “What was that you said?”

She turned her eyes to the military man. “From beneath you it devours.”

“Yep, she’s one of those crazies, alright,” snickered one of the other soldiers, nodding his head.

“Lawson!” said his superior threateningly.

The other man quickly averted his gaze, looking at the ground at his feet, shaking his head dismally.

“Sorry about that, miss,” continued Reynolds. “But you must leave. Now!” He tugged on her arm, but she refused to move. “Come on now, miss. We don’t have time for this. Don’t make me fling you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. Let’s be adults about this.”

“Wanna see a trick?”

“Miss, I’m beginning to lose my patience with you. And, believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

“Patience is a virtue,” she answered, sounding almost like the Buffy-bot.

“I’m telling you - she’s nuts,” grumbled Lawson under his breath.

Buffy held out her palms. “Check this out,” she said. “Nothing in my hands,” she continued, turning them repeatedly until her palms faced up again. “Presto chango!” The Trident of Ulmo then appeared on her opened hands, the metal gleaming in the light of her fey.

“Holy shit! How’d you do that?” asked the third man who had remained silent until that point.

“This is more powerful than those,” she said, comparing her weapon to the MP5s in the men’s hands.

Instinctively, they raised their weapons, training them on the Slayer.

“Put the weapon down!” ordered Reynolds. “We’re not playing games here!”

“Neither am I,” she said, her lips slowly turning into a smile as she grasped the Trident with both hands. “You people don’t know a thing. You wallow in your ignorance.” She pulled her shoulders back, standing tall, proudly proclaiming, “I’m a God, sent here to judge mankind.”

“Put the weapon down or we’ll shoot!” demanded Reynolds once again, his finger on the trigger.

Without her saying a word, the men’s MP5s suddenly grew red-hot, searing their flesh. They all cried out in pain, dropping their weapons, their hands smoldering from the heat of the metal.

Their shrieks immediately alerted the rest of the men and women at the compound. Shouts of commands rang out, as many came rushing toward the scene.

“Say your prayers, boys, and maybe you’ll get another chance in the next life… unless you’re non-believers, then woe unto you.”

Before any could stop her, Buffy rammed the Trident into the earth. A blinding white light flashed, as she disappeared. The Trident set off a tremor that would obliterate, in several hours time, not only California, but also the states of Washington and Oregon, the western half of Nevada, and portions of Canada and Mexico. The turbulent shaking would affect the sea as well, creating massive tidal waves that would drown those land areas completely, washing away all signs of life.

That one act, that one earthquake that started at the outskirts of the town formerly known as Sunnydale would set off a chain reaction throughout all of North America. The coastal areas would experience floods of biblical proportions, wiping out entire cities, and some states in the south and along the eastern coast, in mere minutes. The rumblings beneath the continent would spread in every direction, triggering one natural disaster after another.

The fault line that ran from the Mississippi Delta to the Great Lakes would rip open, devouring city after city in one of the most devastating and monumental events that had ever taken place in an epoch. The Great Lakes’ waters would spill over their banks, flooding the surrounding areas and creating an inland sea between what was formerly known as the Mid-west and Southern Canada.

The super volcano, the Yellowstone Caldera, would go off, sending plumes of lava and toxic gas miles into the air, ravaging the surrounding areas and killing off every living thing within a three hundred mile radius.

The shocks would continue under the sea, creating fissures beneath the oceans that would work their way towards Europe in the east and to Asia in the west.

A channel would form from the Pacific Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico through Northern Mexico from the combined force of the numerous tsunamis and earthquakes.

That was just the beginning of things to come, for the entire world would soon experience such devastation, the likes of which had never before been seen in Eä…



Buffy returned to the isolated isle once again, which would act as her sanctuary until The End. Yet, this time, she heard the hauntingly beautiful music of the Ulumúri. Turning toward the sound, she saw Salmar stretched out on the lounge chair in the dilapidated shack, blowing into the numerous white shells that made up the instrument. A large bonfire burned brightly on the beach a few yards away, the flames dancing slowly to the Maia’s mournful tune. Though the music stirred a sadness within her, the Slayer was delighted to see the servant of Ulmo.

She trudged through the sand toward Salmar.

The Maia continued playing his somber melody until the Vala Queen stopped at the entrance of the shack. She stood there with a smile on her face.

“Hail, Luinil,” he said after the last note had faded.

“Salmar,” she replied, nodding her head in acknowledgement. “How’ve you been?”

“Not too well,” the Maia sighed. “Things have gone awry in Valinor,” he continued with a shake of his head. “Taniquetil is no more. Sauron has raised Ar-Pharazôn and his dark, Númenorean armies from their graves, and, in their wrath, they’ve assailed Manwë’s mount, breaking it asunder.”

“Then it’s true?” she queried, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Manwë is dead.”

“Yes, and many others as well,” he replied dismally. “Varda too has perished alongside her spouse, including many from their Household. And Oromë, Tulkas, and Nessa - they also have fallen in battle.” He shook his head again. “Everything is going to change, and I fear it will not be for the better.”

“Is it over? Is Dagor Dagorath over?”

He fixed his sorrowful blue eyes on the Slayer. “It will not be over until you put an end to it. With each passing hour, more die. It is… it is the most horrific war I have ever seen.”

The Valië took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. Despite her animosity toward her brethren, she felt terrible that so many of the Aratar had perished. While she was all gung ho for them to experience what she had had to endure over many, many years, she didn’t want to see them dropping like flies. Even they didn’t deserve that.

Buffy’s heart ached with sorrow, not just for those that had died, but also for those that they had left behind. She was beginning to think that Dagor Dagorath was destined to be the event that would end her long held hostility toward those in the West. She had to force herself to fight back her tears.

“And my brothers and sister?” she asked in a mere whisper. “Have they… are they… ”

“They are alive, as far as I know,” he answered. “I have departed Aman for here, to welcome you on behalf of my Lord.”

“But, Ulmo,” she started anxiously. “Is he not coming? I… I was hoping to see him.”

“Do not fret, my dear. He is on his way. His errand took him a bit longer than expected, is all,” the Maia explained. “He asked that I keep you company until his arrival, which should not be much longer.”

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve gotta see him,” she murmured, turning toward the ocean.

“Why don’t you come and sit with me?” he said, sliding over on the lounger. “I’ll play some music for you.”

“Okay,” she answered, entering the shanty. “But, Salmar - how ‘bout playing something more cheerful. Perhaps a love song?”

“You’re still into the love songs, eh?” he chuckled.

“I am the Vala of Love,” she replied with a shrug. “What else would you expect?”

She took a seat next to the Maia, listening as he played ancient love songs from Sumer, songs that reminded her of Sargon, and the inevitable deed that she’d have to do before her reunion with Melkor Bauglir. She stared at the dancing flames of the fire, losing herself in distant memories of her past, while Salmar played one enchanting melody after another.

Buffy was so lost in thought that the Maia had to nudge her to get her attention.

“He’s here,” Salmar said, motioning toward the beach with his head.

The Valië immediately leapt to her feet, and made her way toward the Lord of Waters. The Maia resumed playing love songs on the Ulumúri.

“Déjà vu,” she uttered under her breath as she neared the Vala Lord. That moment reminded her of her first encounter with Ulmo, when she thought she was merely Buffy Summers, Slayer-in-charge. Boy, how times have changed since her first encounter with him in the dreamscape!

As before, Ulmo sat cross-legged, staring out to sea. His grey hair billowed in the breeze, his tattered garments partially concealed beneath his shimmering blue-green cloak.

Without looking her way, he said, “Hello, Bella.”

“Hey, Ulmo,” she answered, taking a seat on the sand beside him.

The Lord of Waters reached out, taking Buffy’s hand in his. They fell quiet, neither speaking a word, as they listened to Salmar’s enchanting melody.

After a long while, the Slayer finally spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “Sometimes,” she started, “sometimes I wish I were in your Halls at the bottom of the sea, again. It’s so peaceful down there, like it’s a world of its own.”

“It is to me as well,” he answered, still staring out at the ocean. “I would very much like to take you back there.”

“Ulmo,” she uttered with a hint of sadness to her tone.

“I know, I know,” he replied, slightly agitated. “Is it wrong for a Vala to dream?”

“I suppose not,” she answered, caressing his wrinkly hand. “The End is coming ever closer. I can feel it in my bones,” the Valië continued, her voice revealing her distress. “I’m scared, Ulmo. I’m really scared.”

The Lord of Waters turned his doleful blue eyes to her, his face a mask of grief. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Bella. Túrin - ”

“Túrin can’t do it alone!” she interjected, cutting off his sentence. Thinking that the tone of her voice sounded too harsh, she softly added, “He needs me.” Buffy released Ulmo’s hand, and pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms protectively around them. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing any more,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m going against everything I believe in, that I’m no better than Melkor.”

“You are merely setting the trap. You cannot draw out the likes of Melkor with honey, death is more enticing to him than all else, except… ” The Lord of Waters caught himself, stopping his sentence there.

“Except me,” she said weakly, facing Ulmo.

“Alas! I’m afraid so. You’re the one thing in all this world that he loves dearly,” he replied. “And I cannot say that I blame him.”

Buffy immediately broke eye contact with the Vala, shifting her eyes back to the sea. She could feel her cheeks flushing under Ulmo’s penetrating gaze.

“I have made you uncomfortable, haven’t I?” he queried, still scrutinizing her with those mesmerizing blue eyes.

The Slayer thought for a moment before answering, “No.” She turned toward the Lord of Waters once again. “You’re a good man, Ulmo, which makes me feel even crappier.” She paused. “I remember, you know. I remember everything. Our past. My fickle heart. My pledge. My lies. I remember it all. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for having lied to you, for hurting you.”

“It is I that owes you an apology, Luinil, for I was a part of the conspiracy. I was in on it from the beginning,” he sadly said, turning his gaze back to the sea. “I agreed with the rest of the Aratar about placing the Veil of Concealment upon you.” He looked back at the Slayer; his eyes welling with tears. “I cannot deny that that was done for selfish reasons. I am truly sorry for the pain that I have caused you.”

“It’s alright,” she answered, taking his hand once again, and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I get it now. I understand why you guys did it. I don’t hold any ill will towards any of you.”

“Fear can lead us to the extreme,” the Lord of Waters continued. “There were a few of us that foresaw this time, the return of Melkor and his dark armies, and, more specifically, the role you were to play in it.”

Buffy bit her quivering bottom lip, shifting her eyes back to the ocean. Ulmo’s anguish made her feel guilty as hell, since she was the instigator of it all. How does one apologize for being the instrument of the destruction of the world, the same world that the Vala Lord and the other Ainur labored for ages to create? A simple, “sorry” doesn’t cut it.

“We do not blame you,” Ulmo went on, seeing the miserable look on the Valië’s face. “It was your destiny from the very beginning. Ilúvatar’s will! And who can thwart His commands, eh?” He gently grasped her chin, turning her head so that she faced him. “Do not be sad, Maranwë, for good will come out of this. The sun will shine again. The stars will burn brightly in the heavens above. The fruits of my labor will endure. And the Eldar and Hildor will get to see the world as it should’ve been, free from evil. If the only way for that to come about is for Eä to be destroyed, then I wholeheartedly say - destroy it! And, together, we will make it anew.”

“I guess you could say that’s looking at the bright side of things,” replied Buffy with a forced smile.

“Do what you must do, Bella. In the end, all will rejoice in the changes made.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she answered.

Ulmo’s hand slid from the Vala Queen’s face as she turned toward the sea once again. She rested her chin on her knee, thinking, as she listened to the harmonious notes of the Ulumúri combined with the surf. Both she and the Vala Lord fell quiet again, both lost in their own thoughts.

The Lord of Waters was eager to ask Buffy a question, a question that had consumed his thoughts for some time. He scrutinized her from the corner of his eye. She looked wistfully at his greatest creation - the sea.

Gathering his courage, he faintly asked, “Do you love him?”

The Slayer faced the Vala Lord, locking eyes with him. She knew of whom he was speaking, and could tell by the look in his eyes that he had longed to ask her that question for ages.

“Yes,” she answered weakly. “I do.”

“Even after all he has done?” he queried, sounding somewhat unconvinced.

“We’re bound together, Ulmo,” she replied. “He was there for me, at the beginning. He was my first, my first love. You don’t get over that so easily.” She shifted her gaze back to the dark waters. “He wasn’t always evil, you know. He was good… though that seems like some distant memory. I can’t help but think that I’m responsible for his turn to the dark side. I betrayed his trust. I just wish… I just wish he had taken his wrath out on me, instead of everyone else.”

“Melkor’s blinded by his love for you.”

“Maybe,” she answered with a shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever know.” With her hands wrapped around her legs, she began to gently rock back and forth. While she was safe on that isle, protected by the magics of Ulmo, she knew that her departure was fast approaching, and that she would never return to that blissful place again.

“We were amazed, the other Valar and I, that, even with the Veil in place, you and Melkor had found each other,” the Vala Lord revealed, “that your love had brought forth Illyria.”

“I was bewitched, Ulmo,” she replied grimly. “I wouldn’t categorize that as love.”

“But you just said… ” He shook his head in confusion. “You said you love him.”

“And I do,” she answered, facing him once again. “Back then, I didn’t. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know of our past, only the things that he had told me. And let’s face it - Melkor’s notorious for twisting the facts around.”

“Your relationship with him befuddles me!”

“It befuddles me too!” she chortled. “It’s complicated, as so many things are. Hell, I’m complicated!” She stretched her legs out, leaning back on her arms, her hands sinking into the warm sand. She turned her gaze upwards, toward the pitch-black heavens. “I never wanted to leave the Timeless Halls. Even when I told everyone I would, that I would make my decision when we all entered Eä.”

She glanced at the Vala Lord, who keenly watched her with his deep blue eyes.

“I obviously lied,” she confessed. “I lied to you all. I never had any intention on coming down here. I knew what was in store for me, what havoc I’d create. I’m the Vala of Love, Ulmo. There’s more to love than love. There’s passion, jealousy.” She shuddered. “I possess all those unpleasant characteristics that accompany love.”

“Passion is not such a bad thing,” remarked the Vala of Waters.

“It is when you lose yourself to it.” She sat upright again, rubbing the sand from her hands. “My God, man, I know you’ve heard about some of the men I’ve been with?! Passion has a tendency to deafen us to the voice of reason. All you have to do is look at my past for proof of that.”

“You do make a rather good point there,” replied Ulmo with a chuckle. “Love in itself is a mystery, I suppose,” he continued. “You never know when it’s going to seize you, but when it does… ” The words faded from his lips. Poor Ulmo had loved Buffy for so long, and it pained him that she’d never love him as she once had. However brief their affair had been, those feelings that she had awakened in him were still there, and as far as he was concerned, always would be. After all the many ages that had passed by, no other woman in all of Arda had touched him so profoundly as the Vala of Love. If he could have but one wish, it would be to have her all to himself. Yet, the Vala Lord was no fool, a dreamer perhaps, but no fool. And he knew what he yearned for, he’d never have, that it was merely a dream, a dream that would play out in his mind when he found himself all alone.

Several bolts of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a rumbling crack of thunder that shook the Earth to its core.

“He’s almost here,” Buffy said, her eyes shifting to the sky. “It won’t be long now.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” asked Ulmo. Both his tone and facial expression revealed his uneasiness about the final confrontation between the Slayer and the Dark Lord.

The Vala Queen wanted to say that she had no other choice, but instead replied with, “Yeah, I’m sure.” She then glanced in either direction, searching the shoreline, hoping that Illyria and Thranduil would soon return.

“They’re nearly finished with their task,” Ulmo informed her. “Illyria and Thranduil shan’t be long.”

Buffy was a little surprised by his statement, but then had to remind herself that she was on his turf, this was the Lord of Waters’ sanctuary in the world above the deep blue sea.

“I do have one last gift for you,” he continued.

The Slayer immediately perked up when she heard that.

“Retrieving this was the errand that had delayed our meeting,” he declared, as he reached inside of his cloak.

A myriad of colors of blinding light radiated from the fold of his mystical garment, causing the Vala Queen’s heart to race with excitement. “Oh, Ulmo,” she said in awe, as she beheld the brilliance of the Nauglamír clutched in the Vala Lord’s hand. “You found it! You actually found it!” she added excitedly.

“Indeed,” he replied with a smile. “Such a gem cannot remain hidden from the likes of me, especially when it had fallen into my domain.”

“It was in the sea, then. It fell into the sea,” she said, staring longingly at the necklace that had caused much grief in Middle-earth.

“As luck would have it,” he answered. “And it is my gift to you.” Ulmo went to clasp the necklace around Buffy’s neck, but she backed away in fear.

“NO!” she cried out. “I can’t touch it.”

“Why not?” he asked, frowning.

“Come on, Ulmo. I know that the Silmaril was hallowed by Varda, and me and hallowed things don’t mesh.”

“That’s utter nonsense!” he countered.

“No, it’s not. Hello, just been on a hellacious killing spree,” she answered with a wave of her hand, her body still arched away from the Blessed Jewel of Fëanor.

“You’re doing Ilúvatar’s work, Bella. You are justified in your actions. Now, come on, let me put this on you.”

“Uh-uh!” she protested, frantically shaking her head. “I don’t want that thing burning any parts of my flesh.” She anxiously looked around. “Do you have a box, or, or a satchel I can put it in?”

Ulmo actually rolled his eyes, groaning softly under his breath. “You have no reason to fear this,” he went on. “I’ll prove it to you.” The Vala Lord quickly grabbed Buffy’s arm (despite her struggling in protest), and placed the Silmaril in her hand.

She had squeezed her eyes closed, horrified what the Jewel of Fëanor would do to her delicate bronze skin.

“See!” said Ulmo. “You’re flesh is not searing. It has not turned black.”

Buffy peeked open one eye, looking at the Jewel that the Vala Lord kept pressed in her palm.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, astounded by that revelation.

“I told you. You have only done what had to be done, what Eru wanted you to do.”

With a sigh of relief, the Slayer used her other hand to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead. She then ran her fingers along the bejeweled chain while the digits of her other hand closed around the Silmaril. The light of the Jewel of Fëanor felt warm, its rays shining through the flesh of her hand.

“The Nauglamír,” she uttered in stunned disbelief, not having seen that necklace since the days of Ossir.

“Or Venus, to some,” added Ulmo with a smile. “You are now the rightful owner, Bella, for it is my gift to you. But nothing would make me happier than to see you adorned with that magnificent Jewel.”

Buffy handed the necklace back to the Vala Lord. Her heart was still rapidly beating in her chest as she lifted her hair so that he could clasp the necklace on her. The myths of old had been accurate. Despite the weight of the numerous gemstones on the chain, and the Silmaril itself, the Nauglamír felt light as a feather, as the Jewel of Fëanor dangled between her breasts.

Tears came to her eyes as she admired the Silmaril. “You’ve come through for me again, Ulmo. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”

“Just seeing you wreathed in the beauty of the Light is thanks enough for me. You are fairer than any that has ever walked in Arda.”

Buffy giggled at his words. “I can feel it, the Power of the Light.”

“Indeed. The Two Trees were Yavanna’s greatest creations,” he remarked.

“I guess,” she answered, having only seen the Trees in visions.

“Pray tell me,” Ulmo then said, “that you will not be giving the Blessed Nauglamír to Melkor.”

“Of course not,” she snapped back, her brow furrowed at the mere suggestion. She picked the Silmaril off her chest, staring at the magnificent Jewel. “I’m going to return it to the House of Fëanor,” she disclosed. “I’ve finally fulfilled my promise to my beloved Káno.” The Valië shifted her gaze to the Lord of Waters. “Who would’ve thought that it would take ages for me to do that?” She smiled. “But it’s done. My quest is over.”

“There is no doubt that Fëanor and his sons will be pleased to look upon the greatest heirloom of their House once again.” He eyed the Silmaril. “It has always amazed me that such a blessed thing could bring so much pain and misery into the world.”

“But that’s over, or soon will be. My heart tells me that Telperion and Laurelin will be revived, and will bloom fairer than before.”

“I believe you’re right, Bella,” Ulmo said, nodding his head in agreement. “I deem Fëanor has learned well from his time in Mandos. He will come out a new man.”

She lifted her gaze to the Vala Lord. “They all will.”

“Indeed,” he replied. The Lord of Waters’ eyes then scanned the vast sea before them. Sighing heavily, he added, “I reckon our tête-à-tête has come to an end.”

Buffy giggled at Ulmo’s use of French. She had never heard him speak any other language than the tongues of old.

He rose to his feet before helping the Slayer to hers.

“I have so enjoyed our time together, Luinil,” he said with a smile, “though I find it rather bittersweet… ”

“Now, now, let’s have none of that bittersweet talk,” she said, taking the Vala Lord’s hands in her own. “Dwell on the sweet part, Ulmo.”

Though sadness filled his heart, he forced himself to smile. “I will do that.”

“You’ve been a great friend to me, and incredibly loyal. I’m grateful for that.”

A tear escaped the Vala Lord’s eye. “I dread this part.”

“Stop! I’ll have none of that,” she chastised, wiping the tear from his old, wrinkly face. “This isn’t the time to be sad. It’s a new beginning, a time to rejoice… or will be, soon enough.”

Buffy locked eyes with Ulmo, and spoke words of comfort telepathically to the Vala. (The conversation between the two was meant to be private, and was never recorded in any form).

Before Ulmo departed with Salmar, the Vala Queen embraced each one of them, thanking them again for their loyalty and friendship. She and the Lord of Waters exchanged kisses (on the forehead), before he and the Maia ambled into the water. The Maia resumed playing the Ulumúri. The Slayer could still hear the musical notes of the mystical shelled instrument, even after Salmar and his Lord had disappeared beneath the dark blue sea.

Despite the events taking place in the world, Buffy felt elated to possess the Nauglamír once again. She danced along the shore, the light of her fey and the Silmaril causing the gemstones of the necklace to illuminate her hröa in a rainbow of colors. It wasn’t until the arrival of Thranduil and Illyria shortly thereafter that she finally stopped dancing.

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Thranduil upon his return, seeing the Valië dancing amidst the myriad of colors of the Necklace of the Dwarves. He ran over to her, staring wide-eyed at the sparkling jewels around her neck. “It’s the Nauglamír! I cannot believe it! How’d you get it?” he asked excitedly.

“Ulmo. Ulmo brought it to me,” she answered breathlessly.

The smile slowly faded from the elf’s face. “Then that is it,” he replied. “Your quest has been completed.”

“Yeah. Finally!” she said, glancing at Illyria as she approached. “It took a helluva long time, but it’s done.”

“Is that the Silmaril?” asked the Old One, eyeing the Jewel dangling from her mother’s neck.

“It is,” answered a beaming Buffy.

“That is father’s greatest work. How did you come by it?” she queried with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Morgoth’s greatest work?!” interjected Thranduil incredulously, a look of disgust on his handsome face. “Morgoth didn’t make the Silmarils. Fëanor did!”

“The Elf?” she said, her tone full of doubt.

“Yes, the Elf,” answered the Slayer. “And my father-in-law.” She paused, furrowing her brow. “Well, one of my fathers-in-law.”

“And what of the other two Jewels? Where are they? Father had three Silmarils in his iron crown,” she probed further.

“I have those as well,” replied Buffy happily. “They’re tucked away in a secret vault.” Noticing how quiet Thranduil had become, the Slayer then said to her daughter. “Give us a minute, Illyria. I’ve gotta talk to Thranduil.” She then took the Green-elf by the hand and stepped out of earshot of her firstborn. “Did you guys finish collecting the Elect?” she asked.

“Yes. All have been taken to Mandos except those in Lindon Hall, just as you had requested,” he responded dismally.

“Cheer up, little man,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “Things will get better. I promise.”

“But, but,” he stammered, facing the Vala Queen, “it’s all going to change. And I hate change!”

“I know,” Buffy answered, taking his other hand. “Change can suck, but this time will be different. It’ll be Heaven on Earth. And who wouldn’t want that?”

The Green-elf sighed, hanging his head low.

“Hey!” she said. “Look at me!”

Thranduil lifted his head, his face a mask of sorrow.

“You’re a great man, and even a greater King. That won’t change. You still have a huge role to play in things to come. And you will rise to the challenges before you, as you’ve done so many times in the past. I love you. And I believe in you. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” She smiled. “I’ll kick their ass if they do!”

The Green-elf chuckled at her comments. “So this is it, then?”

“It’s almost time for the showdown at the O. K. Corral,” she chortled. “But, seriously, I want you to be safe, with the others. Our mission in Middle-earth is over, little man. Go to your family. Enjoy them… ”

“But I want to keep on helping you… ” he started to protest before the Slayer cut him off.

“…And you have, a million times over!” she interjected appreciatively. “I couldn’t have made it this far without you. But, this last task is for me, for Túrin and me. Your part in this tale is over. For now.” She placed her hands on Thranduil’s cheeks, lowering his face so she could plant a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll see me again soon enough. Promise.”

Thranduil held out his pinky.

Laughing, Buffy wrapped her digit around his. “I pinky swear.”

“Good,” the Green-elf replied with a smile.

With a wave of her hand, a portal materialized.

“See you on the flip side,” said Thranduil before stepping into the whirling mass of air, vanishing from the isle.

The Vala Queen then turned to her daughter. “Walk with me,” she said joyfully, waving Illyria over.

The Old One went to her mother’s side.

Buffy linked her arm with Illyria’s before setting off down the beach. “There are some things that you need to know about your father and me, the truth of what really happened back in the days of Angband.”

Her daughter made no comment, but was willing to listen to what her mother had to say.

“Ages ago, and I mean that in a literal sense, not figuratively,” she began lightheartedly, “I was this young woman, oblivious to my true nature, thinking I was merely a Slayer, thrust into this unknown world called Middle-earth.”

“You are going to tell me your life story, are you not?” moaned the Old One.

“Honey, it’d take me an eternity to tell you about my whole life,” said the Valië gently. “I just want to give you a bit of back story of how my life was before I met your father.”

“That makes no sense. You’ve known my father since before the beginning of Time.”

“True. But what you don’t understand is the role the other Valar have played,” she continued. “Quite frankly, they’re a meddlesome bunch. Granted, Eru Ilúvatar assigned them as Guardians of this world, but, I swear to God, they took great pleasure in screwing with my life, seemingly fucking with me every chance they got!”

Buffy could feel her anger mounting. She paused, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

“Any way,” she went on, as the foamy waves rolled over their feet. “They blinded me to my past, placing this Veil of Concealment on me so that I had no knowledge of who I really was or of my past.”

“Why would they do that?” she queried, too eager to wait for Buffy’s explanation.

“Selfish reasons, mostly,” she answered. “Look how much things have changed since I got my memories back. The greatest war amongst men is taking place. Natural disasters left and right - not pretty things to the Valar, especially since they had toiled for a long, long time to perfect this world, to fulfill the visions of Ilúvatar. Your father marred their creations from the very beginning, out of jealously, I suppose.”

She glanced at her daughter, as they continued their stroll, deciding that she might need to take her story back further, to the very beginning, to before the world was made.

“Your father was the eldest born of our kind, who felt that he should have been Lord of all Arda. However, in the wisdom of the Allfather, that honor went to Manwë because of his gentle nature, his ability to see the good in people, whereas your father was the jealous type, envied what the others had created, the beauty of their works. He didn’t possess the right kind of skills. I think there was always a darkness within him. As a matter-of-fact, I’m almost positive of that. It’s what drew me to him from the very beginning.

“Before the world was made, ages and ages ago,” she explained, “I traveled the vastness of the Timeless Void, searching the darkest recesses that existed, in hope of finding something to diminish the Light of my essence.” She glanced at Illyria again, and admitted, “I never cared for the brightness of my fey. It blinded me. I sought to shroud it, so that my Light would be more tolerable to me. Does that make sense? Can you understand that?”

“I believe so. Is that how you found father?”

“Yes,” she replied, recalling those times with fondness. “Ironically, Melkor was searching the Timeless Void for the Secret Light, the Imperishable Flame of Ilúvatar, from which all life sprang, and seeing me, he believed that I was what he sought long for. And when I saw him, an even greater darkness amongst the blackness of space, I rejoiced, knowing that, I too, had found what I had been searching for. We had found each other, at long last!” revealed a misty-eyed Buffy.

“Then we merged, combining our essences as one. His Darkness subdued my Light, and it was pure bliss. I had never felt such joy. It was the first time I had felt that way since my birth. He made me feel complete, whole. Melkor was my counterpart - the yang to my yin,” she added with a snort. “I loved him. I loved him dearly, and he loved me too. We were content, being alone, traveling the dark places the others feared to go. We did that for many ages until he grew weary. Your father came to realize that there had to be an even brighter Light out there, and he left me in search of it. Then I was once again blinded by the radiance of my fey, and it made me sad, and of all our kind, I had no joy. I was alone.”

The Vala Queen closed her eyes for a moment, stifling back her tears. Remembering those times caused her heart to ache with such sorrow.

“Did he come back? Did father return to you?” she inquired.

“Not for a long, long time,” the Slayer replied sadly. “As time passed slowly by, I grew despondent, mourning my loss. My anguish, my suffering from the dreaded Light of my fey, attracted others to me… ”

“Thus creating the Vala of Fornication,” grumbled Illyria, none too pleased to hear where the story was going.

“That’s not fair,” answered Buffy, frowning at her daughter. “Don’t judge me when you don’t know the whole story.”

Illyria stared blankly at her mother for several moments, as they continued their stroll. Then, like a ton of bricks, she homed in on the despair that the Valië had felt at the time. The Old One quickly averted her gaze, looking down at the foamy water lapping at their feet. “I apologize for making my hasty conclusion. Your response was accurate. It was unfair of me. Continue with your tale.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this,” the Slayer sighed, feeling that perhaps her story was too intimate of a subject to share with her daughter. “I sometimes forget what it’s like to be a daughter. Daughters don’t want to hear about their mother’s relationships with men other than their fathers.”

“If your past… relationships have some bearing on who you now are, then I would like to hear more. I know so little of you as it is. I would like to hear the truth, but more importantly, I would like to hear it from you.”

Buffy glanced at her daughter, who, in turn, nodded her head encouragingly.

“Okay,” the Vala Queen sighed. “But it’s not pretty… You may be right, maybe that was the time when I became the Vala of Fornication, though, technically, we didn’t have bodies in the physical sense, to copulate... ”

“Pfft,” sounded Illyria with a roll of her eyes. “Do not attempt to deceive me. I know that the merging of two feys is, in essence, the act of copulation.”

“Fine. You got me. Okay?” replied the Slayer curtly, her face flushing at her daughter’s remarks.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out in the open, you may continue your tale,” continued Illyria, unruffled in demeanor.

“I don’t even remember where I was,” answered Buffy, still discombobulated by her firstborn’s comments.

“You were speaking of others being attracted to you, to your Light,” replied Illyria without missing a beat.

“Oh, how sweet of you to remember,” mumbled the Vala Queen in her discomfort, nervously fiddling with the bejeweled chain that hung from her neck.

“I find your past rather intriguing. I would like for you to continue,” urged the Old One, sincerely interested to learn everything she could about her mother’s life.

“Um, yeah. Okay.” She sighed before resuming her story from where she had left off. “I assumed that if I merged with another, I would undergo that same blissful, Light-diminishing experience as I had with your father. So, Aulë stepped up to bat next, and being the maker of things deep in the earth, I was content, for a while. But then, after some time, my essence grew brighter, which made absolutely no sense to me - so I fled to the next fellow waiting on the sidelines. That was Ulmo, the Lord of Waters.”

The Slayer turned her gaze to the open waters. Speaking of how she and Ulmo had gotten together made her feel horrible. He had remained true to her even after his descent into Arda, never forgetting the love that he had felt for her. But, sadly, she had never returned it, had never felt the same thing that he had.

“What happened next?” asked Illyria, looking to her mother for more information.

“I did find contentment with Ulmo. But with so many other Ainur around, I asked him if we could go to the Timeless Void, to get away from my other suitors, and to relish the darkness of the Abyss. And he gladly agreed. So we returned to the place that only your father and I had dared to travel, and Ulmo didn’t fear that place. I was content, that is, until Melkor finally returned.”

“I take it father was displeased,” remarked the Old One.

“Displeased? No, no, no,” Buffy answered. “Pissed was more like it. Enraged. I had never seen him that angry before. But Ulmo stood his ground. He didn’t cower from Melkor. Yet, I found myself wanting your father, for he was all I had ever wanted.”

“He took you back?” she queried in disbelief.

“Yeah, he did,” she replied solemnly. “He never found what he was looking for, and came to the conclusion that I was the Imperishable Light. And he wanted me all to himself. I’m of the opinion that that was the turning point for him, that his evil tendencies came about at that time. He felt that I had betrayed him, and his wrath towards our kin was ignited at that time. He found none of them trust-worthy and has looked upon them with contempt ever since.”

“Yet he trusted you?” Illyria asked, her tone full of doubt.

“After I explained myself, he said he understood. It was he that had deserted me, not vice versa. I was lonely. What else was I supposed to do?” she remarked, somewhat defensively.

“You could have waited until his return,” suggested her firstborn.

“That’s easier said then done. When you’re talking millennia upon millennia… ” The Vala Queen paused, shaking her head. “I did wait, but I guess it wasn’t long enough. I just wanted to find peace and contentment. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?”

“I suppose not,” replied Illyria. “Though I could have waited.”

“Hmm,” sounded Buffy. “Maybe you could’ve, but, remember, you’re not me. I kinda think that my nature, being the Vala of Love and all, led me astray. I could be wrong, but… ” She shrugged, never finishing that sentence.

“What happened next? Father said that you did not come with him into Arda. Why was that? Why was it that you stayed behind while the rest of the Ainur entered this world?”

“Well, it wasn’t long after that, that Ilúvatar summoned all of us to the Timeless Halls. And with so many other Ainur there, even more were attracted to my Light, which stirred your father’s wrath even more. Then the Great Music of the Allfather began, revealing His designs, as each one of us had our part to play in the making and guardianship of the world.

“After the music was over, many suitors approached me, asking for my hand in marriage. I gotta admit that seeing your father’s jealousy made me feel good. He had made me feel guilty for some time. It was sort of like payback. Bottom line is - If he hadn’t left me, none of what happened afterwards would’ve come about. I’m not solely to blame for what transpired. I accept some of the responsibility, but not all.”

“But you did not enter Eä,” remarked Illyria.

“No, I didn’t,” she sighed. “Unfortunately, I told one of my biggest lies at the time, that I would choose a husband once we had descended into Arda.” Buffy glanced at her daughter. “Your father assumed I would pick him and eagerly came into this world. One by one, most everyone left, except me. I begged Eru to let me remain with Him, that I wasn’t ready to enter Arda, that I didn’t like all that I saw in the Visions he sent, that they frightened me.

“He agreed, and allowed me to stay behind for a while longer. But He told me that the day would come when I had to enter Eä, that I had a major role to play in the world, and if I didn’t come, the world would suffer as a result. In the meantime, He shut this world off from the outer world so that none could come back to His Halls once they had left.”

“So you were given a reprieve,” she stated incredulously.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” the Slayer said with a chortle. “While your father sought to mar the labors of the Ainur, I traveled the Timeless Void with a new companion, Menelwë… ”

“You took another mate!” her daughter said, sneering.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Buffy snapped back. “You don’t know what it was like, what I was feeling, what tragedies awaited me.” With her eyes narrowed, she added, “You really need to stop jumping to conclusions. It’s unflattering!”

“Sorry,” answered her daughter weakly.

They both fell quiet for a while. The Vala of Love was steaming over her daughter’s condescension, and Illyria was disgusted by her mother’s promiscuity.

After a while, the Old One finally asked, “How is it that you ended up in this world?”

“I was forced here, basically,” she answered. “When Eru asked me to enter the world a second time, I begged Him not to make me go. I was distraught, nearly beside myself. Thankfully, Tulkas came to my rescue, and came in my stead, which granted me more time to savor the peace and tranquility I had found.

“But the third time Ilúvatar summoned me to His Halls, He demanded that the time had arrived and that I had to enter this world.” She glanced at Illyria. “It wasn’t a matter open to debate.”

“Ilúvatar forced you to enter this world?” queried the Old One incredulously.

“Oh, yes,” replied the Valië. “Eru had informed Manwë that the time had arrived when I would descend into Eä.”

“Why would He do that? What was Manwë’s great concern?” asked a bewildered Illyria.

Buffy chuckled. “Several of those suitors that had courted me had come into this world. The Allfather feared that my arrival would rouse the jealousy of those Ainur vying for my affections, that wars would be fought amongst our kinsmen, with me as the prize.”

She chuckled in her uneasiness.

“The Aratar held a council to discuss how they should deal with my arrival,” she continued. “And, my brother, Námo, having listened to the Great Music, as opposed to singing along with it like most of us had, had foreseen a lot more than the others had. It was he that came up with the idea to place the Veil upon me, to hide my memories once I entered this world. The others agreed. But Námo didn’t want me to come in totally blind, so they chose to give me the memories of a young woman not yet born into the world, a Slayer, who would one day play a pivotal role in the End of Days - me, incarnated in a human form.”

Seeing Illyria’s face wrinkled with confusion, Buffy sighed, “It’s rather complicated and hard to explain. But, this shell you see me wearing,” the Vala Queen motioned at her bodily form. “They chose this form for me from the very beginning. The Valar gave me the memories of the mortal, Buffy Summers when Ilúvatar thrust me into this world, into the wilds of Nan Dungortheb many long years ago.”

“I do not understand how the Valar could give you the memories of a lowly being who had not yet been born into the world.”

“Hey! Knock it off with the lowly being stuff, will you?” chastised Buffy. “Mankind is stronger than you give them credit for. They’re not lowly beings. They’re beautiful and brave… ”

“And that is why the world is plagued with war, hmm?” replied her daughter.

“It’s not all their doing. We were the ones that introduced war to Men. They didn’t devise it. We did, particularly your father.”

“Perhaps there are some of that race worthy of appreciation,” remarked Illyria, which was her manner of complimenting the younger children of Ilúvatar. “However, I find that most men are weak, that they easily succumb to temptations, that they are easily corruptible.”

“The same can be said about all races,” corrected her mother. “Even those of greatest stature have yielded to fortune, fame and power, present company included.”

Buffy made a good point, a point which happened to apply to both women.

“You speak truly,” answered the Old One. “Yet you have not told me how the Valar gave you the memories of a mortal child not born into the world.”

“Oh, come on, Illyria,” replied her mother. “They’re powerful, magical beings. It didn’t require that much effort. I believe that they choose to give me the memories of the Slayer so that I could help the peoples in the world against your father, who, at the time, ruled all Middle-earth with an iron fist.”

“Did father know that it was you that had arrived? Did he see through the Veil?” she inquired anxiously.

“Not at first. As luck would have it, one of the first creatures I encountered in Middle-earth were his Orcs. Nasty, beastly creatures they were,” she said with a snicker. “I fought them. Those that escaped went back to Angband and reported to your father that there was a new player in town - me.”

“So you were not compelled to go to him?”

“No way,” shot back the Slayer. “I met the dwarves and they took me to Doriath, the realm of the Elf Lord, Thingol and his Queen, Melian the Maia.”

“Father said they were parasites,” revealed the Old One. “He was not fond of the Elf or Melian.”

“Color me surprised,” mumbled Buffy with a roll of her eyes. “Granted, Thingol could be an ass, but Melian was a great woman. She wasn’t privy to the councils of the Aratar, but she saw that there was more to me than met the eye. She noticed that from the very beginning, and helped me every chance she could.”

“If you dwelt with the Elves, how did you come to reunite with father again?”

“Well, I first saw him in the Mirror, I believe, then in dreams. The dreams were vividly crazy! He somehow managed to pull me from my home in Doriath and bring me to Angband. It was bizarre, to say the least. That’s when he realized who I was. But I had no idea who he was, other than the Dark Lord. Then he bewitched me, wove his magics about me until I became his lapdog, his horny lapdog at that!”

“I take it that is when he impregnated you, when I was conceived,” said a dejected Illyria.

“Yes,” Buffy answered, rubbing her daughter’s arm consolingly. “I know that’s hard to hear, but that’s how it happened. Looking back, I’m glad it did. I want to get to know you, Illyria. You’re a good person and deep down, you know you are too. Don’t be afraid to show your emotions. Don’t be afraid to admit your weaknesses.”

“I am not weak! I am strong,” she countered, looking icily at her mother.

“No one is strong all the time. We all have our weaknesses.”

“And what is your weakness, Mother?” queried her daughter.

“Isn’t that obvious?” laughed the Vala Queen. “Men!”

“I should have guessed that,” said Illyria with a derisive snort.

“What about you? What are your weaknesses?” asked the Slayer.

“I find it presumptuous of you to put your query in plural form!” snapped the Old One. “Now that I have regained my powers, I have no weaknesses.”

“Bullshit!” exclaimed Buffy. “We all have weaknesses, whether you think so or not. No one is all-powerful except for Eru Ilúvatar. So, come off it. Tell me what you think is your weakness.”

Illyria thought for a minute or so, thinking back over her years of life. “There was this one time,” she began, “after my resurrection. I remember it well. I was holding the Watcher, Wesley in my arms, as he lay dying. It pained me to see him bested in battle. This clear, salty liquid came from my eyes, my nose ran with a foul substance… ”

The Slayer shook her head. “That’s tears, sweetie, and mucus. What you felt wasn’t weakness, it was strength.”

Illyria stopped, staring at her mother, not wholly understanding what she was saying.

“What you felt was love,” the Valië explained. “And love is something that gives you strength. It doesn’t make you weak.”

“What I felt was the remnants of that Burkle woman’s lingering essence. It was not my feelings, but hers.”

“Is that what you convinced yourself of, eh?” asked Buffy with her hands on her hips. “There’s nothing wrong with loving someone, even humans. You need to learn that, to embrace it. It’s a part of who you are.”

“If love is such a good thing, then why did I feel such pain, such sorrow when he died?” queried the perplexed Old One.

“Because love is a many-faceted thing. It comes in different forms, different degrees.”

Illyria continued to look bemusedly at her mother.

“For example, I love chocolate, but not in the same way as I love, say - you. My love for you is greater than chocolate, but I still love chocolate, but to a much lesser degree.”

“Your words are confusing to me. It sounds very… mortalish.”

Buffy laughed. “Mortalish! See - you’re even beginning to sound like me, coming up with crazy new words. That’s what we women do. Helps pass the boredom,” she added, linking her arm with Illyria’s once again, and taking off down the beach. “Love is the most powerful of emotions. Don’t fear it. Embrace it. In the long run, you’ll derive strength from it. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Perhaps I’ll heed your advice,” answered Illyria, “though I still find the concept strange and unsettling.”

“That’ll pass, with time.” Buffy turned her gaze to her firstborn. “You know that a shift in power is about to happen, don’t you? The reign of Manwë Súlimo has ended, and a new power will soon rise. The Lordship of Arda will come to my House, the House of Luinil, and you shall be a significant part of that, my daughter. You will soon become Queen.”

“Queen?” repeated a stunned Illyria, her face then mirroring her thoughts. She then suddenly became suspicious of her mother’s words. “Why would I become Queen when you are the head of our House?”

“Our House,” Buffy whispered. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that - for it is our House.” She smiled, as her daughter kept her eyes on her, waiting for the Vala Queen to divulge what she knew. “I have no desire to rule anything or anyone,” the Vala of Love admitted. “Been there, done that. It’s time for the next generation to ascend to the throne.”

“Then what is it you desire, if not the lordship of the world?” asked her daughter.

The Slayer shifted her eyes to the heavens. “To return to the dark recesses of the world with your father,” she whispered wistfully. “That was the only place where I had ever found complete and utter bliss.”

“You are going to leave?” questioned Illyria with a puzzled expression on her face. “I do not understand. Why would you want to leave if Heaven will be on Earth?”

“Heaven on Earth is my gift to those left here. It’s not for me. The darkness, that’s for me,” she revealed in a quiet voice. “It calls to me, begging for my return.” She looked at her daughter. “And I will soon answer that call, and finally, I’ll be free.”

Illyria glanced up at the pitch-black sky, unable to understand her mother’s fascination with the dark vastness of space that lay beyond. “I do not understand this longing of yours, but if that is your heart’s desire, then so be it.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, so be it.” She then stopped. “I’m afraid our little reunion has come to an end.”

“So soon? We have had too little time.”

“I know. Another thing about living in this world - sometimes, life sucks. But you get over it, and move on.” The Vala Queen cupped her daughter’s cheek. “I’m proud of you. I’m proud that you’ve picked a side and fought along with the good guys. Keep it up.” She planted a kiss on Illyria’s forehead. “But, now, I’ve got to go. I’ve got some last business to tend to… ”

“Can I go with you?” she asked, not wanting to part from her mother so soon.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Not this time. You need to go to Mandos with the others. Your uncle will keep you safe, safe from the impending doom.”

“No,” the Old One replied, shaking her head. “I wish to go with you. We have only just been reunited and my heart tells me we will soon be parted. Let me assist you with your final errands. If it’s war you are going to make, then I can help. I am a mighty warrior.”

“I know you are, but this is something I’ve gotta do on my own.”

Buffy waved her hand, opening a portal on the sandy beach.

Illyria glanced at the mystical gateway, none too eager to enter it.

“You have to go, honey,” said Buffy, gently nudging her daughter toward the portal. “I’ll see you soon.”

The Old One stepped forward, stopping before the entrance. Slowly, she turned, looking sweetly at her mother. “Nana?” she said, speaking Sindarin for the first time.

“Yes,” replied Buffy, delighted to hear her firstborn utter ‘mother’ in Elvish.

“I… I love you,” she said.

Tears came to the Vala Queen’s eyes upon hearing that. Smiling, she softly answered, “Thank you. Thank you for telling me. And I love you too.”

Illyria gave her a warm smile before turning, leaping into the portal, and disappearing from the enchanted isle of Ulmo.

Only a moment later, Buffy, too, departed that place, never to return again…


Chapter 123 - LIES MY PARENTS TOLD ME

The Vala Queen was on cloud nine! Not only did she now possess the Nauglamír, (which was one of the greatest relics ever made), but she had also heard the words “I love you” from her firstborn, something she had waited ages to hear. She was so elated by the recent turn of events that she didn’t consider the power of the Silmaril nor the effect its blinding rays would have on mortal eyes. That is, until a second later, when she reappeared in the room that served as the base of operations in Lindon Hall.

Immediately, everyone in the room dove for cover, hiding their eyes in the crook of their arms or burying their faces in their hands. Thinking that The End had truly come, many shrieked in fear, or uttered prayers of deliverance.

“Shit!” the Slayer exclaimed, horrified by their reaction. She pulled her cloak over the Jewel of Fëanor, yet the Blessed Light of the Silmaril still shone through her garment in a brilliance of blue. Her fretful eyes scanned the chamber, watching as some of the residents of Lindon Hall collided with one another in their attempts to escape through the door. Others tripped over some of the furniture, landing flat on the floor with their eyes firmly shut.

Eluréd and Elurín, who happened to be in the room at the time, sprinted toward the Vala Queen, doing their best to avoid those scrambling for refuge.

“Bella! Mortal eyes cannot take the power of the Silmaril,” informed a panicked Elurín, throwing his arms over her chest.

“We need something to hide it in,” shouted his twin brother over the din.

“I’m sorry,” the Slayer apologized in a wounded voice. “I forgot.”

“We need a box!” declared Eluréd, running over to the desk, and rifling through the drawers.

As Eluréd searched frantically for some type of container, his brother shouted to the others to calm down. “It’s not the End of the World, people. Buffy has merely returned - ”

“Hey!” interjected the Slayer, feeling slighted by the remark.

“ - Keep your eyes shielded until I tell you it’s okay,” he continued, ignoring the Vala Queen’s comment altogether.

“I said I was sorry,” she said huffily to the son of Dior.

“You should’ve known better,” reprimanded Elurín. “They’re not the Edain of old! The Silmaril can blind these people! That ought to be something you shouldn’t forget.”

Buffy mumbled another apology under her breath, as Eluréd came dashing over, emptying a briefcase full of papers onto the floor. “This was all I could find. Hurry, Bella! Put the Nauglamír in here!”

She quickly undid the clasp, gently placing the bejeweled necklace on the felt lining of the case. Eluréd then slammed the box closed, stifling the mystical Light.

“Okay, okay,” shouted a relieved Elurín. “We’ve taken care of the problem! You can open your eyes now.”

The others cautiously peeked over the crook of their arms or spread their fingers apart on their faces just enough so they could glimpse the interior of the room.

Disgruntled grumbling then broke out, as many rubbed their sore eyes feverishly or wiped the tears that had streamed down their pale faces, as a result of the blinding Light of the Silmaril.

“Sorry!” the grimacing Valië apologized yet again, regretting the she had caused her friends a few moments of utter terror, not to mention, physical discomfort.

Dawnie stomped across the room, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear her vision. She stopped before Buffy, her arms folded across her chest, anger etched on her youthful face. Breathing hard, she narrowed her eyes, staring at her sister for a moment. Then, out of the blue, the young woman slapped Buffy; the sound of her hand striking the Vala Queen’s face drew gasps of shock from some of the bystanders.

“What the hell was that for?” queried the startled Slayer, rubbing her stinging cheek.

“That’s for leaving me!” barked Dawnie, shaking with rage. “You said you’d be right back. That was five days ago!”

“Um, Dawn,” chimed in Xander, hesitantly approaching from behind. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea to hit Buffy.” He stopped. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “She’s a God! She might turn you into a toad or something.”

“I’m not gonna turn her into a toad,” answered the Vala Queen, rolling her eyes at the mere suggestion.

“You said you’d be right back,” Dawn repeated, revealing the hurt in her voice this time. “How could you leave me like that?” she added, her eyes brimming with tears.

Buffy’s facial expression softened, her right cheek red with her sister’s handprint. “I’m sorry, Dawnie,” she responded, pushing back the stray strands of hair that had fallen across the young woman’s face. “I’ve had a lot to do. I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

Dawn stood there, sulking, blinking the tears from her eyes.

“Oh, come on. Don’t do that,” whimpered the Slayer. “I’m back now. See!” she added, waving her arms animatedly before the young woman.

Connor came to his wife’s side. “Give her a break, Dawn,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure your sister’s been under a lot of stress with destroying the world and all.” He turned his gaze to the Slayer. “Hey! I’m Connor,” he said, introducing himself to his sister-in-law.

“Hey!” Buffy answered back, giving the young man the once over. She couldn’t help but notice how remarkably similar that he and Dawnie looked. They had many of the same features. “I’m Bell-, Buffy,” she corrected herself.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, as his eyes slowly swept over her. “You know, I thought you’d be… bigger.”

“Hmm,” she sounded. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

“What was with that Light?” asked Willow, who had joined the group along with Giles. “Was that like your true form?” she queried excitedly. “‘Cause I remember reading about Zeus, and how he had… ”

“No, it wasn’t my true form,” Buffy interjected, cutting off Willow’s sentence.

“Oh,” the Witch answered dejectedly.

The Valië promptly turned her attention back to Dawn. “Are we okay?”

The young woman looked at her for a moment or two and then nodded her head. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Buffy smiled. “Good,” she replied. With her relationship with her sister mended, she was now ready to get back to business. “If five days have passed since I left, then, today’s the tenth, the tenth of December.”

“Meaning only two days left ‘til the world goes kaboom!” chimed in Xander, dramatically emphasizing the word “kaboom.”

“Actually… ” began the Vala Queen, who was willing to go into detail about what was transpiring in the States, but was unable to, as Giles cut her statement short.

“We’ve been doing some research into The End of Days, studying the Book of Revelation and, and the other numerous texts at our disposal,” he commented, now in Watcher mode.

“What else could one expect at Stuffy-Suit Central?” the Slayer quipped, as her eyes scanned the many prim, tweed-clad Watchers in the room.

“This is serious, Buffy,” replied Giles, grabbing the book out of one of his fellow Watcher’s hands. “If my calculations are correct, we’re talking about eighty percent of the population being wiped off the face of the Earth.”

The Watcher fixed his eyes on the Vala Queen as she counted with her fingers, her lips moving silently along. “Move the decimal point over,” she mumbled. “Carry the one.” She pursed her lips together, her face wrinkled as if in deep thought. “According to my calculations, it’s eighty-five percent - give or take a few hundred thousand. But I could be wrong! Math hasn’t always been my strongest subject,” she added with a shrug.

“This is preposterous!” exclaimed Giles. “How can you sit idly by and allow billions of people to die?”

“I’m not sitting idly by,” she shot back. “I’m bringing it to fruition. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Giles has a point,” said Xander, eager to put in his two cents. “I mean, it seems wrong for us to do nothing, to not stop this war. We’re the good guys here. We’re supposed to nip evil in the bud.”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do here?” said the annoyed Valië. “Evil will be punished! Evil will be eradicated from the world. I can’t put it any simpler than that.”

“And at what price?” queried a perturbed Giles, shoving the book back into his fellow Watcher’s hands. “The blood of the innocent? Women? Children? It seems needless for so many to die.”

Buffy groaned in frustration. “You people just don’t get it!” she moaned, walking away from the group. “They are the sacrifice! You don’t rid evil from the world without sacrifices!” she preached, as those nearest to the Slayer backed away at her approach. “Have you people built a cocoon around yourselves? Do you not see what’s taking place in the world? It’s Hell on Earth out there! Humans have become overly arrogant. They’ve done away with the laws that were supposed to govern them, allowing themselves to become ruled by id.”

She stopped, facing her friends.

“And for your information id is short for idiot! It’s chaos out there. People have allowed themselves to become ruled by depravity, doing the unthinkable in its name. All in the name of id.” She shook her head in disgust. “It’s Sodom and Gomorrah all over again, only this time, the depravity has spread world-wide.” She snorted. “And I don’t think I need to remind you all of what happened to those two cities.”

“But, but the children,” stated a female Watcher by the name of Mrs. Stillwell, her big brown eyes full of concern.

“The children have become as tyrants unto their parents,” the Vala Queen replied coolly. “They’ve been brainwashed, dominated by the id. The disease has spread even to the youngest.” She paused. “There is no hope of changing things. Only with the world’s destruction do we have any chance of hope. Believe me, if there was another way… ” The words faltered on her lips. She turned away from her friends, eyeing an old painting of Queen Victoria that hung on the wall.

There wasn’t really anything else Buffy could say. Either her friends believed in her, or they didn’t.

The others exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether they should drop the topic of conversation or continue questioning the Valië further.

“I believe in you,” said Elurín amidst the quiet that fell upon the room.

“As do I,” spoke up Eluréd, who continued to clutch, in his hand, the briefcase which contained the Nauglamír.

A smile crept upon the Slayer’s face as she slowly turned, looking at the twin sons of Dior. “Thanks, guys,” she said, happy to have their support.

“None of us are against you, Buffy,” Willow tried to explain. “It’s just strange that we’re not a part of things, the war, that is. Normally, we’re trying to take down the Big Bad, not… well, you know, helping ‘em along.”

The Vala Queen narrowed her eyes, locking them on the Witch. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m the Big Bad?”

Willow’s eyes widened in response to the Slayer’s questions. She feared that her friend was taking her words out of context. “No, no, no, no! That’s not what I meant at all,” she said, frantically shaking her head. “I mean, I was a part of it. I’m the one who brought you here, triggering this whole Armageddon thingy. I never meant to imply that you were… you know, bad.”

“I think what Willow is trying to say is that we’re scared, Buffy,” piped up Dawn, stepping forward from the group. “This is the only world we know, and to think that it, along with the majority of the people, are going to die.” She shook her head in dismay. “It’s scary. We love this world and the people in it.” She paused, cocking her head to the side, and added, “Well, for the most part.”

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened,” replied the Slayer in an attempt to reassure her friends.

“Yes, the Flood. We’re well aware of that calamity,” remarked Giles.

“Not just the Flood,” refuted the Valië. “There have been others, hundreds of cataclysmic events, if not thousands. Granted, not to this degree, but still… ” She smiled warmly. “You guys have nothing to worry about. I’ll keep you safe. And when you see the world as it should be, you’ll be thanking me.” She chuckled. “Believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

“The thought of the Earth becoming a heavenly realm gives me the warm fuzzies. Anyone else?” said an enthused Xander, his eyes shifting to the others in the room.

“Warm fuzzies,” uttered Buffy. “What the hell does that mean?”

Laughing off her comments, Elurín added, “The new world will be spectacular! Bella’s right about that. Just you wait and see.”

The Vala Queen eased past the others in the room, rejoining her loved ones. She leaned in close to Giles and whispered, “You do realize that most of these people aren’t going with us, don’t you?”

Apparently, the Slayer didn’t realize how loud her voice actually was, as the others in the room that were not part of her intimate circle began to freak out after she uttered that statement to Giles.

“What?” cried out one young girl, no older than fifteen, on the verge of tears. “We’re gonna be left behind!”

“What is this nonsense, Rupert? You said that we were part of the Elect too,” proclaimed an uptight-looking Watcher by the name of Mr. O’Malley.

“I… I… well, I…,” stammered Giles nervously, his eyes darting from Buffy to his panicking colleagues from the Watchers Council and their Charges. He had assumed that all in Lindon Hall were going with the Vala Queen, and had assured the others, (except Mrs. Wentworth), that they’d be departing England for the Blessed Realm before The End. He looked at Buffy and moaned, “Help me out here.”

“No problemo,” she answered, nodding her head. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” she said, as she made her way through the crowd to the desk. She leapt upon the wooden surface, facing the occupants of the room. “May I have your attention, please!” she continued, as the murmuring in the room died down. “Thank you!”

She cleared her throat. “There’s only a certain number of people allotted to take the journey with me to Valinor. That includes my dear sister, Dawn and her husband, Connor, and little Luke.” She shifted her eyes to her sister, smiling at her and her spouse. “Xander, Willow, and little Buffy, of course,” she went on, turning her gaze to those two. “Mr. Giles,” she said with a nod of her head before fixing her eyes on the twin sons of Dior. “Paul and Saul, as you know them. They too got Golden Tickets.”

Buffy then searched the scores of people in the room, pointing to a redheaded girl in the back, she added, “You too, Heather. You’re gonna come with us. And Amanda. Um, who else? Who else?” she mumbled, her eyes scanning the group. “Oh you too, Mr. Hannon, and… ” She clicked her tongue as she searched for the last person. “There you are,” she continued, locking her eyes on a middle-aged woman. “You’re coming too, Ms. Warwick.” She smiled, chuckling. “What a cool name - Warwick!”

“That’s it!” bellowed an old Watcher by the name of Sinclair. “What about the rest of us? What happens to us?”

“Well,” began the Slayer, folding her arms across her chest. She debated whether or not to tell them the truth. After a few seconds she continued, “Well, in a few hours time, England’s gonna get bombarded with neutron bombs. One of them is gonna hit the area nearby.”

“What?” exclaimed several people at once.

Others wailed, terrified at the prospect of a nuclear strike.

“Now, now don’t panic!” she continued, motioning for the crowd to settle down. “Your deaths will be quick. Nearly painless.”

“Nearly painless?!” shouted one of the Slayers, in tears. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, your flesh will bubble from the wicked heat. Your inner core temperature will rise until your insides burst… ”

Shrieks of despair drowned out Buffy’s words, as the bawling grew louder.

“It won’t be that bad!” insisted the Vala Queen, raising her voice over the clamor. “It’ll only last a couple of seconds! Then you’ll be dead.”

Giles frowned at her, wishing she hadn’t have been so graphic in her details. He shook his head, as arguing and fights broke out within the room.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders before leaping off the desk.

Giles immediately rushed to her side. “Did you have to be so forward? They’re people for God’s sake,” he hissed, shooting her a disapproving look.

“They say honesty’s the best policy,” she answered, with yet another shrug of her shoulders. She glanced around the room at the numerous rows taking place. “Guess that’s not really the case, huh?”

“You think?!” he shot back.

“Oh, well. Let’s be off then,” she said with a clap of her hands. “I’ve gotta make a trip to the basement first, then we’ll be on our way.”

“So, that’s it!” spoke up an upset Dawn. “We’re just gonna leave these people behind to die!”

Those whose names the Vala Queen had called out quickly made their way through the throng, eager to be at her side.

“What do you want me to do?” queried the Slayer. “There’s a finite number of people on the list. I just can’t go changing it on a whim.”

“But you’re a God,” countered Xander, somewhat exasperated. “Can’t you use your godly powers or something? Give these people a break, Buff. They’re our friends.”

“Rules are rules,” she snapped sharply in reply. “After they die, Námo will judge them. And if he so commands it, they’ll be released from Mandos. It’s out of my hands. Really it is.”

She glanced at the disheartened faces of her friends. “There’s nothing more I can do. Let’s go.” She shifted her eyes to Eluréd. “Don’t lose that!” she said, pointing to the briefcase in his hand.

Eluréd nodded, patting the case, as they pushed their way through the crowd, leaving the bickering and brawling members of the Watcher’s Council behind.

Once they had reached the hallway, Dawnie said, “I need to get Luke.” She was still rather upset by the recent developments.

“I’ll get him,” answered Connor, giving his wife’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before he took off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

“Hey! Wait up, Connor. I need to get Buffy,” shouted Xander, taking off after Angel’s son.

“Meet us in the basement!” Buffy shouted over her shoulder.

“I can’t believe this,” said a nervous Willow, walking beside the Slayer. “I mean, this is it. The End of the World. It’s kinda scary, like Dawnie said.”

“It’s the end of the age, not the world,” corrected the Vala Queen.

“Yeah, but so many people are gonna, you know, die.”

Buffy sighed heavily, not wanting to argue with anyone about the impending doom, especially her friends.

“I’m not blaming you. Not for a second,” Willow continued, seeing the frustrated look on her friend’s face. “I just can’t believe that it’s happening now.”

“Yeah,” chimed in Dawn. “I always figured it’d happen after we were long gone.”

“People have been trying to predict this time for thousands of years,” added Giles. “Who would’ve thought that the Mayans were nearly spot-on in their predictions?”

The Slayer waved her hand, answering, “Me. Except I inverted the numbers so that when the time finally came, people wouldn’t realize that The End would happen sooner rather than later.”

“Where’s the logic in that?” queried the perplexed Watcher.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “Made sense at the time, I suppose.”

They began to descend the stairway.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” remarked Willow.

“Yeah. And what’s that?” answered the Vala Queen.

“Well, I was always taught that the Jews made up the Elect, that we were the Chosen Ones.”

“You’re talking about two different things, Will,” came the Slayer’s reply. “The Elect are comprised from the Twelve Tribes of Man. The Jews are merely one tribe, and are greatly outnumbered when you take into account the other eleven.”

“So how were we chosen?” she queried. “I mean, the Elect, that is.”

“Your bloodline. The Elect are descended from the Ainur,” she replied, glancing at her friend. “The Gods and… and their helpers. I hate the word servant. Sounds too demeaning.”

The Witch nodded in agreement.

“Any way, the Valar and Maiar are what my brethren are called in the elvish tongue,” Buffy continued to explain. “Some of them mated with mortals, mingling their blood with mankind.” They took off down another corridor. “I’ve followed the bloodlines of Man for ages, tracking them, recording their names… ”

“Then there really is a Book of Life?” interjected Giles in surprise.

“Absolutely! The Elect were chosen by their bloodlines.”

“So, who am I descended from? I know Xander’s descended from that guy Beren, and I assume that Dawnie’s descended from you, since she came from your blood… But what about me?”

“You’re descended from me as well,” Buffy replied, as they reached the stairwell to the basement.

Willow stopped in her tracks, the blood rushing from her face. “Come again?”

The Slayer faced her friend, smiling. “You’re descended from my youngest son, Aeneas, Aeneas Morgon.”

“Aeneas! I’m descended from Aeneas of Troy?!” she exclaimed, bug-eyed.

“Actually, he was of Númenorean descent. History has been distorted a lot,” explained Buffy. “But, yeah, they’re one and the same. My youngest bedded lots of women,” she chuckled. “Not that I discouraged that. I was delighted to have my blood running through the race of Man.”

The Witch stood there with her mouth agape, staring at the Valië in disbelief.

Buffy folded her arms across her chest as the others stood around, wishing that she would hurry up and finish her business so they could leave England before the destructive nuclear attack.

“Do you think it was mere chance that we met at Sunnydale High?” asked the Slayer, her eyes twinkling with knowing. “We were destined to meet - me, you, Xander, and even Giles here,” she continued, motioning toward the Watcher with her head. “Our bloodlines called out to each other, brought us together. It was destiny.” Her smile broadened. “You’re like my great-great-great-… well add about fifteen more greats - granddaughter.”

“Huh? Imagine that,” Willow gulped, floored to hear that her best friend was also her distant foremother from many generations back.

“Come on, we need to get a move on,” the Slayer remarked, seeing the eager faces of their companions. “Time’s ticking away,” she said lightheartedly, as they started down the dimly lit stairway.

“I can’t believe we’re related,” said a stunned Willow.

“Small world, isn’t it?” laughed Buffy. “Any way, The Elect were chosen for the bloodlines… ” she continued, as she descended the steps. She then stopped, looked over her shoulder and saw the redheaded woman standing several steps higher, her arms stretched from wall to wall, blocking the others from following.

“What? What’s wrong?” the Slayer asked, her face wrinkled in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

Willow stared at the Slayer with a troubled look on her face. “How can I be part of the Elect when I had gone all evil? I’m not worthy.”

“Bullshit!” countered the Valië.

The Witch looked unconvinced.

Buffy climbed up a couple of steps, stopping one stair below her redheaded friend. “It’s all about the bloodlines, Will. Your past - pfft, that’s nothing,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Willow still looked unconvinced. “But I killed a man. I killed Warren.”

“Oh, God! Please tell me you don’t harbor any guilt over that,” answered the Slayer. “He was a piece of shit, Will. He deserved what he got. Consider it justifiable homicide. I do.”

“Yeah, but I also tried to destroy the world. I’m… I’m a bad person,” she groaned, overwhelmed with guilt.

“Once again I say - bullshit! You’re nothing of the sort.” The Vala Queen looked keenly upon the Witch. “I’ve done some pretty horrific things in my day, Will… ”

“Did you ever try to destroy the world?” queried the redheaded woman anxiously.

A smile came to the Slayer’s face. “What the hell do you think I’m doing now?” she chortled. “You’ve taken a walk on the dark side. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, I’m of the opinion that that gives you a greater understanding of the world, of the motivations of the bad guys. And you haven’t done anything like that again. You’ve learned from that whole ordeal and moved on. Just remember those times, because you just might find that they’ll become useful one day. Okay?”

Willow gave her a small smile. “Okay.”

They started filing down the stairway again.

“But, you know, Buffy, I did bring you back. So in a way, I’m kinda playing a part in the destruction of the world,” continued the Witch, half-amusedly.

“I suppose you could say that,” the Valië replied thoughtfully. “Though, if it makes you feel guilty, just put it all on me. I’ve gotten pretty good at handling the burden of guilt.”

“Nah,” said Willow. “I think I want to be associated with the Earth’s destruction, especially if it creates a heavenly realm. Like Xander said, it gives me the warm fuzzies.”

The Slayer didn’t comment, having reached the basement, which, over the years, the Watchers had used as a storage room. She stood there for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She then squeezed her way through the old furniture and dust covered crates.

“What are you looking for?” asked Dawn, following behind Willow.

“A secret door.”

“Secret door?” repeated Giles. “I’m not aware of Lindon Hall having a secret door.”

“Ergo the word - secret,” she responded, slightly distracted with her search.

“Yeah, Giles,” Willow chuckled. “You think there’s gonna be a big flashing neon sign on the wall, saying, ‘Secret Door.’”

“I just assumed that we Watchers were familiar with all the secrets contained within this castle. It has been our refuge for centuries,” he answered irritatingly.

“It’s like Hogwarts,” remarked Amanda. She then added excitedly, “Ooh, you think there’s a Room of Requirement down here?”

“Nah,” answered Buffy. “Just a secret vault.”

From the top of the stairwell, Xander shouted, “You guys down there?”

“Yeah!” yelled back Dawn.

Both Xander and Connor came barreling down the stairs, toting their children on their hips.

“Crap,” the Vala Queen murmured, finding the wall that she had been searching for blocked by an old bookcase, laden with useless junk. “Stand back!” she then ordered to the others with a quick glance over her shoulder. “I’ve gotta move this thing and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Back up. Back up. Back up,” repeated Ms. Warwick, as Mr. Hannon, the last in the queue, shuffled his feet backwards.

Checking to see that everyone was a safe distance away, the Valië then focused her attention on the barricade. Slowly, the bookcase lifted from its spot, the items stored on the shelves falling onto the stone surface of the floor, as the cabinet levitated higher and higher into the air. The piece of furniture then turned on its side and sailed through the air until the Slayer let it drop onto some nearby crates.

She then kicked the stuff blocking her way, as the Light of her fey intensified, but not so much as to blind the others.

Her companions watched in interest, whispering amongst themselves.

Buffy then placed her hands on the stone blocks, running her palms over the cold, rough surface of the wall. When she felt an imperfection in one of the blocks, she smiled, knowing she had found the right one. With her back to the others, her incisors grew to sharp fangs. She sank one of the teeth into her index finger, breaking the skin, and tasting blood. Her teeth then returned to normal as she ran her bloody finger along the mortar that surrounded that block. When the stone was framed with blood, the mortar glowed red for a few moments, to the oohs and ahhs of the others. One by one, the blocks began to disappear, revealing a narrow, arched gateway.

“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” snorted Xander upon seeing that.

“Wouldn’t that be so cool,” remarked Amanda, craning her neck to see what lay beyond the doorway.

Smiling with delight, Buffy stepped into the pitch-black chamber, the only light coming from her essence.

“Ow! Watch it!” said Willow, as Dawnie stepped on the back of her feet, eager to see what was housed in the secret vault.

“Sorry,” answered Dawn. “Hey! Stop pushing!” she said to Giles, who was knocked into her, as everyone was anxious to see what treasures lay beyond the doorway.

“Sorry, Mr. Giles,” apologized Heather. “But, it’s not my fault. They’re pushing behind me.”

The Vala Queen ignored the others, who gradually made their way into the darkened chamber. The only light came from the Valië’s fey.

“Um, Buffy,” started Dawn, looking around the dimly lit corners of the chamber. “I think you’ve been robbed. I don’t see anything in here.”

“All is as it should be,” answered the Slayer, walking toward the center of the room.

“Yeah, there’s nothing in here but a crap-load of dust bunnies,” commented Willow, as her eyes scanned the dimness of the chamber.

When Xander entered the chamber carrying little Buffy, he too surveyed the room. “I think I’m having flashbacks of Al Capone’s vault,” he quipped.

“Mortals,” grumbled Eluréd under his breath, as he bypassed the others to get to Buffy. “You people have no idea how great a treasure is locked away in here.”

“They soon will, my brother,” added Elurín, following behind his twin.

“You guys need to stay back,” ordered the Vala Queen. She stopped, standing in the center of a pentagram etched into the stone floor. Its markings were so faint that the others could not make out the symbol.

Elurín went to Buffy’s side. He took her punctured finger in his hand, inspecting the small hole in her flesh. “I don’t think you’re bleeding enough. Need a knife?”

“Yeah, that would help,” she answered, not wanting to “fang out” in front of her loved ones.

The son of Dior lifted his pant leg, revealing a sheathed blade strapped to his limb. He reached down and pulled out the knife.

“Where shall I slice?” he queried, grabbing hold of her arm once again.

“Hit the wrist. It’ll bleed faster,” she answered, before Elurín ran the blade across her flesh.

“What is it with all the blood?” asked Xander, hiding little Buffy’s eyes from the ghastly sight.

“It’s always the blood,” replied Dawn, staring almost trance-like at the life force dripping from her sister’s arm.

“Step back, my dear,” Buffy then said to Elurín. She then squatted down, slowly turning as her blood streamed from her wrist onto the outer circle of the pentagram.

“I don’t get it,” whispered a perplexed Connor.

Dawn looked at her husband. “The vault’s obviously beneath the floor, and from what I gather, Buffy’s blood is the key.”

“Half of the key,” remarked the Slayer, looking up at her sister with a big grin on her face. “You know, you’d make one hell of a Watcher.”

Her sister smiled in reply.

“If your blood is only half the key, what’s the other half?” queried Giles thoughtfully.

“The blood of my son,” answered Buffy. Having completed the circle, she stood, licking her wound, and healing it instantly. “My son decided long ago that it was best to use both of our life force’s to open the vault,” she explained as she held out the palm of her hand. Suddenly, the vile of blood that Luthor had taken from Olofin in Findor appeared in her hand. “We hoped that none would figure that out. Guess we’ll find out soon enough if that was the case or not.”

The Vala Queen removed the plug on the vile and carefully poured Olofin’s blood in the same manner as she had poured her own. With the circle complete, she tossed the empty vile aside, but instead of it hitting the floor, it vanished in mid-air.

“Stay back!” she proclaimed in a loud voice. The blood glowed red like lava, warming up the rather cold chamber, as the life force of both mother and son ran along the engraved symbol on the floor.

The Elect backed away toward the walls of the room, watching with trepidation.

Once the blood had run through the entire hollow of the pentagram, it burst into a wall of blue flame. The fire licked at the Slayer’s flesh, but with no ill effects. The flames gradually died down, as the star within the circle began to rise from the floor, the sound of stone scraping against stone reverberating within the chamber.

The Valië leapt off the slab, watching in delight, until the star-shaped block came to a standstill. She then ran her hands down the length of two of the points. The rock then began to crack, forming a rectangle that, when complete, ejected itself from the larger stone mass, revealing an opening about six inches by twelve inches. She reached her hand inside the encasement, as the twin sons of Dior eased closer, standing on either side of her.

“I feel it,” she announced excitedly, grabbing hold of the wooden box.

The twins anxiously looked on, reveling in yet another rare moment that Buffy allowed them to share with her. The others in the room whispered amongst each other, wondering what rare artifact was housed inside the stone star.

The Vala Queen pulled out the mallorn box. On the lid was etched the Star of Fëanor.

“You guys might want to shield your eyes,” said the Valië, her eyes scanning the mortal occupants in the chamber. “I wanna make sure the Silmarils are still in here.”

Quickly, the others turned around, covering their eyes with their hands.

Buffy snapped the lock open on the box, her heart pounding in anticipation. It had been centuries since she and Olofin had locked the Jewels away. Giving a quick look at Elurín and Eluréd, she opened the lid. Immediately, the two Silmarils illuminated the chamber in a blinding light.

“All’s well,” she said with a smile, quickly closing the lid. Dimness filled the room once again. “Okay, people. My business in Middle-earth is now officially over.”

“So, so what happens now?” asked a nervous Dawn once she faced her sister again.

“We’re going to Valinor, to Mandos.”

“Ooh, this is so exciting,” said Willow, grinning from ear to ear.

“It won’t be, at first,” answered the Slayer, holding the box firmly in her hands. “Valinor has seen its share of war too,” she sighed. “In fact, the battle still rages on.”

The smile on the Witches face faded fast.

“Don’t worry,” continued the Vala Queen. “I’m gonna put an end to it.” She smiled. “It’s my destiny. Always has been.” She turned her gaze to Elurín and Eluréd, her eyes glistening with tears. “Ready to go home?” she asked.

They choked back their tears, merely nodding in reply.

“Let’s go then.” She shifted her eyes toward the others. Without her uttering a single command, they all vanished from Lindon Hall, reappearing in the Hall of Mandos only a second later.

Buffy’s friends looked around the massive chamber with awe-filled eyes. Though the room was dimly lit by numerous torches, the majesty of Námo’s Halls filled them with wonder. Never before had they seen pillars carved in the likeness of trees, every intricate detail seemed to come alive with magic. Tapestries adorned the walls from floor to ceiling, the images capturing the most important events that had taken place in Arda since the very beginning. Everything was constructed from smooth black stone, except the ceiling, which glimmered like diamonds in the firelight.

Seated upon his throne atop the dais was Námo himself. He looked upon the newcomers with keen interest.

Immediately, Eluréd and Elurín fell to their knees, paying respect to the great Lord. The others looked at each other in question, before awkwardly following suit, dropping to their knees in homage to Buffy’s brother.

Námo fixed his gaze on his sister. Whether they spoke telepathically to one another, none truly know. But they remained silent for some time, their eyes locked on each other.

As the others clamored to their feet, they watched as brother and sister continued to stare at one another. Each one of the Slayer’s companions felt a sudden pang in their hearts, a feeling of overwhelming sadness that they didn’t quite understand.

“Hail, Luinil and company,” said the Lord of Spirits after several minutes, rising to his feet.

“Um, Hail,” said Xander, the only one of Buffy’s friends that seemed to find his voice.

The others stared in awe at Námo, dumbfounded that they were in the presence of one of the most powerful of Gods.

The Fëantar began to descend the twelve steps of his dais, his eyes remaining locked on his sister. “I must say that I have waited long for this moment, a moment that I consider both bitter and sweet,” he said solemnly.

The Vala Queen made no reply, but continued to stare at her brother.

“And these are your friends, I take it, the last of the Elect,” he continued as his eyes swept over her companions. Námo’s brows briefly shot up when his gaze came to a rest on baby Luke, who remained clutched protectively in Connor’s arms.

“They’re brave and loyal, and deserve the highest honor afforded,” answered the Valië as she shifted her gaze to her friends.

“Indeed,” replied Námo with a nod of his head. “It will be done.” He approached his sister, stopping before her. “And do you, Luinil, have no greeting for your brother?”

Buffy looked up at the Lord of Spirits, who was much taller than she. After a few moments she said, “Why is it that everyone kept from me that you’re my twin, my twin brother?”

“We felt it was best, under the circumstances,” he answered. “And Ilúvatar agreed.”

“You’ve lied to me. Everyone’s lied to me,” she whispered softly in a pain-riddled voice.

“We only did it to protect you, my sister,” he answered.

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You did it to protect yourselves.” Her eyes welled with tears. “You didn’t come to my defense. You let the others believe untruths. How could you do that? How could you do that to me?”

The pain in Buffy’s voice filled the Vala with grief, something, which in itself, was a rarity. “I did what I thought was best,” he replied, his eyes too beginning to water.

A golden tear escaped the Slayer’s eye, trickling down her cheek and onto the black stone floor.

“I’m sorry, my sister,” continued Námo. “I’m sorry if you felt that I had betrayed you. That was not my intent. I did what I thought was best, but, alas, I deem that that was not good enough.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she answered. “You don’t know what it’s like out there. None of you do. You don’t know what I’ve been through… ”

“I do know,” he interjected. “We are bound, you and I, Maranwë. I have felt what you have felt. I know your pain, your anguish. I have tried to ease your sorrow, when I could. The Valar are not the personification of perfection. We are fallible. We make mistakes… and so do you.”

Buffy shifted her eyes to the box clutched in her hands, sniffing back her tears.

Námo gently lifted her chin. “My sister,” he said softly, locking his teary eyes with hers. “Let us put an end to our quarreling. I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused you, and I only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, to forgive us all for not truly comprehending the horrors you’ve had to endure. We have now witnessed it firsthand in Aman. We have lost our Lord. We have lost many. We understand that grief, your grief, for it has hit us at home.”

The Vala Queen handed the silver mallorn box in her hand to Elurín. “Hold this a second,” she said, offering him a quick smile. She then turned her attention back to her brother. She placed her hand on his chest, over his heart, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, said in a commanding voice, “The link is broken.” For a split second, a flash of white light emitted from her hand.

Only a moment later, Námo fell to his knees, weeping, clutching his sister’s hands in his. “You did not have to do that, Maranwë. I was willing to go with you.”

It was now she that lifted the Vala’s chin. “This journey’s just for me,” she sniffed. “I hope this proves that I forgive you. And that I’m sorry for having been such a… bitch.”

“You truly are merciful, my sister, to have taken such pity upon me… ” he wept.

“You’re my brother, my twin brother. And I love you, even though I haven’t always shown that,” she confessed before placing a kiss on his forehead.

Námo wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face in her chest, sobbing. “I love you, Luinil. Oh, my Luinil,” he cried, repeating both her name and his proclamation of love for her.

The Valië embraced her twin, holding him comfortingly in her arms, assuring him that everything would soon be alright.

“Bellaseth!” bellowed a voice from behind, causing her friends to jump with a start.

She turned, only to see Irmo and Nienna standing together with Vairë (Námo’s wife), and Estë (Irmo’s bride).

“Irmo, Nienna,” she said, nearly blinded by her tears. She freed herself from Námo’s grasp and ran to her siblings. She leapt into Irmo’s arms, having been closer to him than her other siblings. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done,” she cried.

“No, Bella,” her brother answered, holding her in his arms, “It is I that should apologize… ”

She pulled away, reaching for her weeping sister. “No, it’s over. I hold no grudges against any in Valinor.”

“Maranwë,” wailed Nienna, wrapping her arms around her sister for the first time since they had assumed bodily forms. “Your presence brings me much comfort. It brings comfort to us all.”

“It’s almost over,” answered Buffy, reassuringly, wiping the golden tears from her eyes. “It’ll soon be over.”

Námo joined his siblings, who remained huddled together. He then said, “There are many in my House that wish to bid you farewell. Your children await you, for I have kept them safe, including Illyria.”

She turned her bleary eyes to her twin. “Thank you, Námo. Thank you for protecting them.”

“I shan’t ever stop, my sister. I will always be here for them,” he vowed.

“I believe you.”

“Let me take you to them,” declared the Lord of Spirits, “and to the chamber where Fëanor and his kin await you.”

Buffy had nearly forgotten about her friends who were beginning to understand what was happening. They stood there, most crying, sensing that they were about to say good-bye to their loved one, that she was leaving them, for good.

The Slayer, surrounded by her siblings and kin, turned toward her mortal friends. “Do not weep for me,” she said, sounding more queenly than ever before. She approached them with a smile on her face. “A new dawn will rise, and the world will be as it should’ve been, at the very beginning.”

Dawnie stepped forward, towering over her sister. “But… but you’re leaving us, again. You always leave us.”

Buffy cupped her sister’s cheek. “It’s the only way, Dawnie. I’m making the world a better place for you all, not for me. I’m tired. I’ve lived a really, really long time. My work here is done. It’s time for me to find my peace. Haven’t I earned that?”

Dawn’s bottom lip quivered, as she tried to restrain her tears. “I guess so,” she answered in a small voice. “But, it still hurts. You’ve only just come back into my life, and, now you’re leaving me just as suddenly. I only wish we could spend more time together, that you could get to know Connor, and watch Luke grow up.”

“But I’ll always be here,” she replied soothingly, sliding her hand near Dawn’s heart. “I’ll live on, in here.”

“That’s so sappy,” Dawn chuckled through her tears.

“I thought it fit the moment,” Buffy answered with a shrug. She then hugged her sister, whispering, “Mom’s here, Dawnie. You can see mom again.”

A look of surprise came to her sister’s face. “Mom? Mom’s here?”

“Yeah,” the Vala Queen nodded. “Mandos houses all the spirits of the dead. She’d really like to see you again.”

“What about you? Won’t you come with me?” asked Dawnie hopefully, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her shirt.

“I can’t, honey. I don’t have the time,” Buffy answered with a heavy sigh. “There’s still a lot that I have to do, and I don’t have much time left.” She turned to the others, as Dawn clung to her hand. “I’m not so great with good-byes.” She locked her eyes on a weeping Willow.

“We were supposed to grow old together,” reminded the Witch though her tears.

“Oh, but Willow, that’s the best part - you won’t grow old, ever. You’ll always be young, thirty-three to be exact… ”

“God! This sounds like a scene from The Lost Boys!” remarked Xander, attempting to make light of the situation.

“Take care of each other,” Buffy continued, her eyes scanning her loved ones. “You’re gonna have to look out for one another. Don’t forget the past. That’s important. Remember those days. You’ll need that in times to come.”

Giles, in particular, looked at her with a baffled expression, trying to decipher the hidden meaning of her words in his typical Watcher fashion.

With a grin on her face, Buffy began to slowly step backwards. “Bye.”

“No!” Dawn cried out, shaking her head in despair. “Buffy! Don’t leave me!” She kept a hold on her sister until the Vala Queen’s hand slipped through her fingers.

“It’ll be alright, Dawnie. I promise,” Buffy said in her most reassuring voice, as she continued to step backwards. Her kinfolk and the twin sons of Dior gathered around her. “You’ll be fine. You’ll all be fine.”

She then turned, walking between Námo and Irmo and suddenly stopped. “Oh, Willow,” she said, looking over her shoulder at her redheaded friend. “I forgot to mention that the Jews weren’t the Chosen Ones – it was the Sumerians. The Jews claimed their lore as their own.” She chuckled. “When the world is healed of its hurts, speak with my friend, Thranduil, the Elf Lord, he’ll tell you all about how he defeated Goliath.”

A flash of white light lit up the chamber, momentarily blinding the mortals. That was when Buffy made her escape with her immortal loved ones.

Only a few short seconds later, the room returned to normal. Some of the Maiar from Námo’s Household went to the Scoobies, offering them comfort in their time of distress…



Buffy and her kin had taken off down one of the corridors. Námo had allowed the deceased housed within Mandos to exit their “cells” so they could see the Fëantári in the flesh as she headed for the deepest chamber that held Finwë and his descendents.

The phantom forms had lined up along either side of the passageway. All were on bended knee, praying and weeping for the Vala Queen, reaching out to touch her with their ghostly hands. The Slayer touched some of the specters that she passed by, her mere touch bringing them comfort in their time of sorrow.

Some of those from the Slayer’s own Household had met up with them on the many mile journey to the deeps of Mandos, including Glorfindel. Setting eyes upon him after everything that had happened was one of the most gut-wrenching moments in her life. The golden-haired Noldo sobbed, knowing that the Vala of Love’s time in Arda was nearly up, and that, soon, he’d never see her fair face again.

She took his hand in hers, asking him to walk with her. The group’s number swelled, the deeper they went, as many from the Households of Námo, Vairë and Nienna had joined them, wanting to be a part of the train of the most holy Maranwë Luinil.

Midway down, they took a break, gathering in one of Námo’s private chambers for Buffy’s last meal. Amongst the one hundred and forty-four attendees were the forefathers of Man, dating as far back as the days of Sumer, as well as the Edain of old, including the fathers of the Three Houses (except Bëor), many of the Eldar, though mostly those from the Slayer’s Household, with the rest, Ainur from her own House and that of her siblings. She had also requested that her children be present, and was saddened when all came except Olofin, who wished to stay with his father’s kinfolk until her arrival later that day.

To the jubilation of the others, the Vala Queen showed the Silmarils to those in attendance. And, at their urging, she wore the Nauglamír as they ate. She took advantage of that time, speaking with most, asking them to deliver messages to those that she would not have the time to meet face to face.

It was during this time that she bequeathed her most prized possessions to her loved ones. Those honored enough to receive one of her treasures were left speechless, dumbfounded to be the recipient of an heirloom from the House of Luinil.

After three hours, the meal and gift giving came to an end. Buffy asked to make the final leg of the journey alone, wanting to meet with those of the House of Finwë in private. Her parting brought much sorrow to those in attendance, for most knew that they would never see her again. As she took off down the passageway, carrying the box with the Silmarils, the Edain, Eldar and Ainur sang Sweet Madam Blue, their voices resonating throughout the whole of Mandos, even reaching the tomb where Finwë and his children waited.

As the Vala Queen descended deeper into Mandos, those lined along the passageways were jubilant to see her wearing the Nauglamír. The deceased viewed that bejeweled necklace as a sign of hope, and knew in their phantom hearts that their time of solitary confinement would soon be ending.

When Buffy had finally reached the lowest level, she was surprised that Míriel, mother of Fëanor, was the only one waiting for her. The elleth was the first in Valinor to die, having succumbed to death shortly after the birth of her only son, ages before. However, she had regained her fleshly form under the condition that she never set foot outside of Mandos until after the Breaking of the World.

“Well met, Luinil,” she said, curtseying before the Valië. “What an honor it is to finally make your acquaintance at long last.”

The Slayer smiled at Maglor’s grandmother. “Hello, Míriel,” she replied, happy to see the woman of whom she had only heard in tales.

“I have come to escort you to the tomb of my kin,” the elleth continued, clutching her hands before her, “And to show you the numerous tapestries that I’ve woven in tribute to the legendary House of Finwë.”

Now, the passageway that the two women were about to embark down was extremely long, a couple of miles or so, and all the walls, from floor to ceiling, were covered with Míriel’s embroidery, which seemed so life-like it was eerie.

The elleth narrated the tale behind each work of art, starting with the awakening of the Elves at Cuiviénen, including her Lord, Finwë. She spoke of how the patriarch of the House had won her heart at their first meeting, and proudly showed her needlecraft marking that occasion. Their wedding, the journey to Aman, the birth of her only son - all of those significant moments were captured on fabric, displayed on the walls as blissful memories for the matriarch of the House of Finwë.

However, there were also some sorrowful images depicted on Míriel’s tapestries. Her languishing after Fëanor’s birth was the first of many to come. With profound skillfulness, the elleth had captured the sorrow and despair that she had felt at the time, particularly in her eyes. It was tragic, really, to see her holding baby Fëanor in her arms, her face weary of life.

“I came to regret my decision to abandon my hröa,” she explained. “I had felt so utterly exhausted, as though I could not go on a moment longer.”

Buffy stared at the tapestry, listening to the words of Míriel and finding herself relating to the elleth.

“My heart tells me that you are feeling the same as I did, back then,” the woman continued, her eyes fixed on the Valië, who continued to stare at the life-like artwork of her husband’s grandmother. “I can see it in your eyes, on your face. You are languishing with each passing day, are you not? You have grown weary of this world.”

The Vala Queen could feel her eyes watering. God, how she didn’t want to cry any more! She turned, facing the elleth and said, “Yes,” in a faint voice. “Life is becoming more unbearable by the minute.” She then turned her gaze away, staring at the next portrait, that of Finwë, meeting his second wife, Indis.

“It will pass, you know,” said Míriel thoughtfully. “It did for me. I regret it every day, my decision to leave my Lord and only son.” Her eyes scanned the tapestries that featured the births of Fëanor’s sons. “I should have been there, to love them all. Perhaps things would have happened differently… ”

“Everything happens for a reason. We can’t change the past,” answered the Slayer softly.

“I suppose you’re right,” the elleth sighed, shifting her grey eyes to the Vala Queen once again. She studied Buffy for several minutes, looking upon her with understanding, for she could see the weariness imprinted not only on the Slayer’s face, but also on her soul.

Míriel had dwelt long in the Houses of the Dead and had learned to read people pretty well. She could see a shadow lingering over the Vala Queen, a curse that had been placed upon her by none other than Morgoth himself, a hex that followed the Slayer soon after entering Arda, dooming her and those whom she loved. Considering that, the elleth deemed that the Valië fit in well with her family, as each member of her House had been damned by the guile of Morgoth Bauglir, or so she believed. Her heart went out to the wife of her grandson, Kanafinwë Makalaurë, whose cursed life had only recently ended a few years before.

The woman then took Buffy’s free hand in her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The Slayer turned to Míriel, who then motioned toward another tapestry on the wall.

“There he is, my second grandson, Kanafinwë, as a babe,” she said, pointing to the portrait.

The Vala Queen followed the elleth’s gaze, smiling when she set eyes upon her beloved Káno as an infant. “He was such a cutie pie,” she cooed with a smile. “Káno didn’t have any portraits of himself as a baby when he came to Beleriand.”

“You can see that Olofinwë takes after him a great deal,” Míriel commented, beaming with pride. “My Lord is quite fond of your son with Kanafinwë. We all are.” She leaned in closer, affectionately gripping the Slayer’s arm with her other hand, a smile on her face. “I cannot tell you how delighted Finwë is that his name lives on in Middle-earth to this very day. He is overjoyed that there is a land named in honor of his House.”

“Yep, Finland still stands,” remarked the Slayer, “And will continue to, even after the Breaking of the World.”

“And to think that your son has bestowed such an honor upon us,” she continued, her grin widening.

“He’s a good boy, er, man,” Buffy corrected herself. “I keep forgetting that he’s a grown man. He’ll always be my baby.” She sighed heavily. “I’m gonna miss him a lot. I’m gonna miss everyone.”

“That does not have to be, my Lady,” said Míriel with a glimmer of hope in her grey eyes. “You can remain here, if you so desire.”

Buffy faced the elleth. “It doesn’t work that way,” she answered, shaking her head. “I don’t belong here.” She turned back to the tapestries adorning the wall. “I never belonged here.”

“With all due respect, my Lady, there are those that would strongly disagree with you,” she countered firmly. “You have enriched the world with a bounty of blessings.”

“I take it that Fëanor inherited his ability of persuasive speech from you, Míriel,” the Vala Queen chortled. “You make things sound nicer than they really are. I’ve only done what had to be done.”

The woman took a breath, preparing to speak again, but the Slayer continued before she could say another word.

“There’s no point in discussing this any further. My mind’s made up.” The Valië looked at the heartbroken elleth. “I’m old, Míriel, a lot older than I look. I’ve died on several occasions, so I’ve experienced death too. I know what I’m leaving behind. My legacy will live on, through my children, my loved ones, my friends. This is their time, your time. Enjoy it. Consider it the last of my blessings. The world is going to be a better place. There won’t be any Morgoth types to ruin it. I’m taking them all down, every last one. None can hide from my wrath.” She smiled. “Come on. Let’s get a move on. I’m eager to see your kinfolk again.”

“Our kinfolk, my Lady,” corrected Míriel. “Our kinfolk.”

“Call me Bella.” replied Buffy as they started down the passageway again. “I’m so over the formality crap.”

While they went along, the elleth pointed to specific tapestries that she thought would greatly interest the Vala Queen. These, of course, depicted the Slayer’s early life in Beleriand with Maglor and his brothers, and eventually, Olofin. Recalling those times before the Western Lands were utterly destroyed brought a wistful smile to the Vala Queen’s face. To the very end, she would consider those memories her greatest treasures.

Then, she heard it, the sweet melodic voice of her beloved.

Maglor, sensing his wife’s presence, began to sing her a love song, a love song that he had written about her long ago.

Buffy froze in her tracks, spellbound by the Noldo’s serenade. Her heart began to pound frantically in her chest; her legs becoming weak, as though they had been turned to Jell-o. She reached out for Míriel, leaning on the elleth for support.

“Bella? Are you alright? Bella?” asked the concerned woman.

The Slayer didn’t reply. Her eyes filled with tears, her stomach twisted in knots as her beloved sang his beautiful tune. His lyrics took her back, back to the first time when she had encountered the Noldo in the dreamscape, and had become enamored with him by his voice alone.

Míriel gasped in amazement, as she saw golden tears streaming down the Vala Queen’s face, the tears turning to nuggets before they hit the stone floor.

Buffy could barely breathe. She had longed for this moment for thousands of years, and, now, found herself both anxious and terrified. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady her nerves. Once calmer, she hurried toward the House of Finwë’s prison. Míriel crouched down, scooping up the handful of golden nuggets from the floor, shoving them into her pocket, before following the Vala Queen.

When the Slayer reached the end of the corridor, she stopped, drying her eyes on her cloak. She then lifted her trembling hand, placing it on the cool stone facing of the door. Slowly, the stone gate began to open. As it widened, the Light of the Silmaril poured through the opening, illuminating the darkened chamber that housed those from the line of Finwë.

When the door had finally opened all the way, Buffy stepped inside, followed by Míriel. There, she beheld the phantom forms of Finwë, first King of the Noldor, Fëanor, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras as well as Celebrimbor, (Curufin’s son), and, of course, the Valië’s son with Maglor, Olofin, (the only one from the group that had had his hröa made anew).

A stunned silence enveloped all from the House of Finwë. The Blessed Light of the Silmaril captivated them all, leaving them speechless for several minutes. It had been ages since any had last beheld the Jewel of Fëanor, a Jewel that had brought much heartache upon their royal House.

Olofin was the first to speak. Coming to his mother’s side, he hugged her, and said, “Nana, you’ve come at last.”

“My boy,” she uttered, choking back her tears as images of his badly beaten body flashed in her mind. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He pulled out of the embrace. “You have nothing to be sorry for… ”

“If only I had known. If I had known, I would’ve stopped it,” she said in dismay. “I would’ve done… ”

“Shh,” he sounded, placing his finger to her lips. “Do not fret about the past. What’s done is done! And I hold no one to blame for my demise. It was fated to be. And I have accepted that, and now you must do the same.”

“But… but… ”

“Leave it, Mother,” he said with an air of finality to his voice. “I’m fine. My flesh has been made anew, and since being here with my kin,” Olofin’s eyes darted to the ghostly occupants in the chamber, “my soul has also been healed.” He gave her a reassuring smile, taking her hand in his. “Perhaps this reunion will heal yours as well.”

He led her to her beloved. She looked upon Maglor’s fair form, her heart all aflutter.

“Káno,” she uttered breathlessly.

A warm smile came to his face. “Bella,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her, yet, much to his disappointment, his ghostly hand merely passed through her flesh. The smile quickly left his face. “How I wish that I could hold you once again,” he sighed.

Buffy fought back the tears forming in her eyes. “I think I can do something about that,” she said, handing the mallorn box in her hand to Olofin. Using her magical abilities, she wove her spell about Maglor and his kin, remaking all their fleshly forms.

Maglor and Maedhros, in particular, were moved by having their hröas once again. Each marveled at his newly made hand, the one that had been painfully burned from the theft of the Silmarils, ages before. The eldest son of Fëanor wept, for he now had two unmarred hands. He stared at them, slowly rubbing them together, delighted by the return of his sense of touch, which had been denied to him for so long. He was not the only one to feel that way, as all the members of the House of Finwë rejoiced in having their bodies back.

Míriel then hurried deeper into the room, to the bench-like seat that protruded from one of the walls. There, she picked up the stack of neatly folded robes that Olofin had brought when he had first returned to Mandos. The elleth was indeed a woman prone to modesty, and felt compelled to cloak her loved ones’ nakedness as quickly as possible.

After a quick inspection of his right hand, Maglor turned his tear-filled eyes to his wife. Though he was gladdened to return to his body, (something he had longed for since he had faded from Middle-earth), he also felt a great sorrow in his heart. His intuition told him that this moment was bittersweet, that the embodiment of him and his kin was indicative of something tragic, the loss of his beloved Luinil.

Maglor reached out, cupping Buffy’s face with his trembling hand. She automatically closed her eyes in response, her breathing quickening as his thumb caressed her warm, soft skin.

“Oh, Bella,” he whispered, stepping closer, longing to kiss her. He pressed his lips softly to hers, losing himself to the love that he felt for his beloved. Slowly, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body against his. He buried his face in her long, golden hair, drinking in her scent, as the tears flowed from his eyes.

A vision suddenly sprang into the Vala Queen’s mind, a vision of her and Maglor standing barefoot on the lush green grasses of Ezellohar. They were exchanging their wedding vows amidst the blending of the silver and golden Light of the Two Trees. It was a magical moment witnessed by all the Children of Ilúvatar, as well as the Ainur and offspring of Aulë. For a fleeting moment, Buffy thought that she was seeing a snippet of the future, but, alas, it was not so. A black shadow then appeared on the scene, and in its lust, devoured the idyllic image, thus, taking away the last shred of hope she had of a brighter future with the son of Fëanor. Tears streamed from the Slayer’s eyes, as she realized that the vision was merely a mirage, an illusion of her deepest desire.

Though she had loved many, all her relationships had been doomed from the start, for Morgoth had always been lurking in the background, using his guile or his agents to destroy those whom Buffy loved most. Poor Maglor had been punished more than the others, as Melkor hated the fact that his beloved Melisse had loved the Elf so deeply. It was the evil Vala that had prevented the Noldo’s hröa from fading over the years. Morgoth had come to him in dreams, and guided him on his travels. One of the Dark Lord’s favorite means of tormenting the Elf Lord was to have the son of Fëanor come upon his wife throughout the ages, only to witness her in the arms of her many lovers.

It suddenly dawned on Maglor that there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, that his hope of a new life with Buffy would not come to pass. Things were becoming clearer to the Elf.

He pulled out of the embrace. The Slayer wiped his tears away with the back of her hand.

“You’re not staying, are you?” queried the brokenhearted Noldo. “You’re leaving me.” He glanced at Olofin, adding, “Leaving us.”

“I’ve only come to say good-bye, and to bring you this,” she answered, unclasping the Nauglamír from around her neck. “I had promised you that if I could retrieve the Silmarils, I would.” She placed the Jewel of Fëanor into her husband’s palm. “I have all three. I have fulfilled my promise to the House of Fëanor.”

Maglor stared at the bejeweled necklace in his hand, amazed to see that the Silmaril did not burn his flesh.

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” asked Olofin anxiously. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He stepped closer to his mother. “This is your time, Nana. Our time. This is what you’ve been waiting for, what you’ve been fighting for.”

She fixed her sorrowful eyes on the half-elf. “I’m sorry, my son. But this isn’t my time. It never was. My time’s over, finished. This is your time…”

“NO!” he protested, shaking his head emphatically. “You’re destined to become the Lord of Arda. It was prophesied… ”

“No, honey,” she answered with a shake of her head. “You’ve mistranslated the ancient text. The scepter of Kings is to pass onto my House, not me.” She forced herself to smile. “You, my son, are destined to become King.” She reached out, caressing his cheek. “You shall become the next Lord of Arda.”

Olofin was dazed. He wasn’t expecting to hear those words, and would gladly have forfeited any claim to the throne if his mother would only remain in Arda. But, the half-elf knew his mother well, and could see the determined look in her eyes that confirmed that she would not remain in Eä for any reason.

“How cruel and deceptive fate can be,” he uttered under his breath.

“The box, Olofin,” Buffy said, abruptly changing the subject. “Open the box.”

The half-elf obediently complied with his mother’s wishes. He lifted the lid, filling the room with more of the Blessed Light of the Silmarils.

The Valië then took the box from his hands. She walked over to Fëanor, who was surrounded by his parents and sons. “Take these, Curufinwë Fëanáro,” she said, handing him the mallorn case, “for they rightly belong to your House. May the Silmarils ease your heart, and bring healing, not only to you, but to the world.”

With his mouth agape, Fëanor looked upon his greatest treasures with tear-filled eyes. After his long confinement in Mandos, he had come to realize that his pride had led to his undoing, and to the downfall of his noble line, from his father to his grandsons. How long he had dreamed of having the Silmarils back in his possession! Yet, now, as he looked upon those magnificent Jewels that he coveted so, he did not find that their return brought him the joy he had always expected.

“I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited for this moment, how many times I’ve dreamed to have my greatest works returned to me,” he said, still staring at the Silmarils in the box. “I now see how much grief they’ve brought to, not only those of my House, but to others in the world.” He shifted his grey eyes to the Vala Queen. “The dark cloud over my House in dissipating, and my heart tells me that you’re the one to thank for that, that you, my dear Luinil, have brought peace back to my kin.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” she answering with a warm smile.

“Indeed. Words alone cannot express my gratitude, my Lady,” Fëanor said. “If you could stay but a little longer, perhaps I could create some magnificent treasure for you… ”

“There’s no need for that, Fëanor,” interjected Buffy kindly, shifting her gaze to Olofin. “Olofinwë Tirno is treasure enough. I can’t ask for any more than that.”

Fëanor looked fondly upon his oldest grandson, a smile coming to his face. “He has made us all proud, and has restored honor unto the House of Finwë.”

The Noldo Lord realized then that his greatest treasures weren’t the Silmarils, but the love of his family, something that he deemed priceless in the scope of things. And he would claim, in after days, that it was the Vala of Love that showed him that…


Chapter 124 - CHOSEN

Maglor continued to clutch the Nauglamír in his hand. Holding that bejeweled necklace caused those feelings of grief and regret to resurface again. Eager to rid himself of the hallowed object, the Elf Lord offered the Necklace of the Dwarves to his father.

Fëanor handed the mallorn box containing the two Silmarils to Celegorm before taking the necklace from his second son. He looked upon the Nauglamír in wonder, admiring the craftsmanship of the dwarves.

“So this is the renowned Necklace of the Naugrim, hmm,” he remarked.

“Yes, Father,” answered Curufin solemnly, as he too had come to regret the treacherous acts he had committed in the Silmaril’s name.

“The Dwarves’ craftsmanship is remarkably similar to that of their father,” continued Fëanor, inspecting the intricate details of the necklace and its numerous gemstones. “One can clearly see that much time and effort went into the making of the Nauglamír, and the jewels set off the beauty of the Silmaril. This, undoubtedly, was a labor of love.”

“So true,” said Buffy. “The necklace was made for Finrod, whom the Dwarves loved dearly.”

Fëanor glanced up at the Slayer. “And it now belongs to you?”

“No, it belongs to you,” she reminded the son of Finwë.

The Noldo’s eyes shifted back to the necklace. “The Nauglamír has been a beacon of hope in the world, and it should remain so in days to come.” He turned his grey eyes to Olofin. “Come forth, my son.”

The Vala Queen stepped aside, allowing her son to stand before his grandfather.

“Yes, Grandsire.”

Fëanor placed a hand on the half-elf’s shoulder and looked fondly upon his most noble descendant. “Your mother speaks truly when she says that you are the greatest treasure of the House of Finwë. Though you are descended from a cursed House, you have remained pure, untainted in heart, mind, body and soul.” A smile came to the Elf Lord’s face before he added, “A feat which is quite impressive in itself.

“You have brought honor back to the House of Fëanor,” the eldest son of Finwë continued. “And I do not doubt that your wisdom and gentle-spirit will be paramount in the healing of the world and its people. They will look to you as the beacon of hope, and it is only befitting that the symbol of hope, the Nauglamír, should become the heirloom of your House, my son. There is no other in all of Eä worthy of such a prize.”

The son of Finwë then clasped the Necklace of the Dwarves around Olofin’s neck, as the rest of the Household looked on with tear-filled eyes. Everyone knew how much the Silmarils had meant to Fëanor, and to see him bestow that bejeweled necklace upon Olofin was a very touching moment.

He then kissed his grandson on the forehead, before dropping to his knee, saying, “All hail the King.”

All followed suit, including the Vala Queen. In unison, they repeated, “All hail the King.”

“I am humbled by your praise,” proclaimed Olofin, his cheeks flushing at the gesture, “but you are my kinfolk, and need not bow to me.”

“Yet, you are now King of Arda,” answered Finwë, raising his eyes to his great-grandson. “And it is ancient custom that we follow protocol, kin or not.”

“Then perhaps that is why I have been granted the lordship of Arda,” replied the half-elf with a smile. “Out with the old, and in with the new. I view all the peoples of Arda as my equal, with no one person or being valued greater or lesser than myself.”

“That’s my son,” said Maglor, about to burst with pride.

“Please, my dear folk! Rise! Up on your feet!” declared Olofin once again, assisting his mother to her feet.

“He gets that from Bella, you know,” Míriel informed her husband in a mere whisper. “She’s so over the formality crap!”

Finwë’s brows shot up upon hearing his wife’s words. He found her last statement quite strange.

“My time’s nearly over,” announced Buffy only a moment later.

“So soon, Muinthel?” queried Maedhros in dismay. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“I know,” she answered dismally. “But this war won’t end until I stop it.” Her eyes scanned the forlorn faces of her loved ones. She gave them all a reassuring smile. “Let’s head on out. We’ll walk back up to Námo’s meeting chamber. That’ll give us a chance to catch up on things.”

Maglor took his wife’s hand in his, as the descendants of Finwë and Míriel left their prison cell after what had seemed to them to be an eternity. For the first time, Fëanor and his sons were able to look upon the elleth’s handiwork, examining her life-like embroidery that adorned the walls on either side of the passageway. None, other than Finwë had ever seen the portraits, for Námo had granted the Lord of the Noldor permission to leave his cell from time to time, to see what deeds or misdeeds his progeny had committed since the patriarch’s murder.

Námo had offered to return the Noldo King to his hröa, unlike Fëanor and his sons, so that he could resume his mortal life in Valinor, but, after Finwë had reunited with Míriel in Mandos, his love for her had become even greater than before, and he had refused to depart those Halls until she could accompany him. Consequently, he remained in captivity, voluntarily, for thousands and thousands of years, waiting for the day when Míriel could leave the Halls of Mandos at his side. And now, after their long wait, that day was finally drawing near. Never in a million years would they have guessed that the Vala of Love and War, the wife of their second grandson, would be the one to set these things in motion.

They all took their time, walking and talking, pointing out the various portraits that had had a great effect on their lives, or afterlives, as it was in some cases.

Much of the needlework at the beginning of the corridor captured Olofin, in his various incarnations, in one heroic form or another. Fortunately, the half-elf possessed only the positive traits from the lines of Finwë and Luinil, without any of the negatives. As they all looked upon his many deeds of valor depicted on the tapestries, each could see how Olofin truly deserved the title, King of Arda.

Everyone believed that he would rule with the same evenhandedness that he had demonstrated throughout his whole life, that the half-elf always wanted to see the good in people, no matter what the circumstances were, including his own death at the hands of Angel. Not only did Olofin hold no animosity toward the vampire, but he also felt that Angel’s actions were justified. If not for the half-elf’s death, the Circle of the Black Thorn would still be thriving to that very day. Buffy’s son, the Drogyn, understood that. He viewed his demise as a noble act, something he had learned from his mother, for she had sacrificed herself many a time for the greater good.

Once Buffy had listened to Olofin’s explanation of his death scene (which Míriel had depicted all too well), she felt sick to her stomach. She now realized that she had been too hasty when she passed judgment on Angel, that she had allowed her emotions to blind her with rage when she should have taken a step back and examined the vampire’s actions from all sides. She had blown it. She had made a huge mistake that ended up costing Angel his soul. And to make matters worse, Olofin had spoken to his kin about rewarding the vampire by appointing him to a prominent position in his cabinet after he officially took the scepter, unaware of the fact that Angel was no more.

Maglor noticed the change on his Vala Queen’s face, which had turned pale while their son had spoken. He believed that seeing the tapestry of Olofin’s death had brought about her sudden bout of melancholy and wanted to ease her pain by comforting her.

“Our son yet lives,” he said soothingly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “His is alive, alive and kicking.”

She forced herself to smile, knowing that her beloved did not comprehend what really troubled her. Wanting to keep her former lover out of her last conversation with her husband, she lied, answering, “I know. It just… it just pains me to see him like that.” She quickly turned away from the portrait of Olofin’s death, deciding that it was best not to mention Angel in any way, especially to Maglor.

While the others conversed over another one of Míriel’s pieces of art, Buffy and Maglor wandered down the passageway so they could speak together, alone.

Still feeling glum, she stopped, and faced her husband.

He, in turn, smiled warmly at his wife.

Buffy looked deeply into his grey eyes. “Why did you leave me, Káno?” she asked, her voice cracking as she spoke.

The smile rapidly left his handsome face. “I had to,” he sighed. “I had betrayed you, yet again, and could not face you after all I had done. I did not want to see the look of disappointment on your face, the pain that I’d caused you… ”

“But I would’ve forgiven you!” she interjected. “I love you… ”

“I know you do, my sweet Bella,” he answered, caressing her cheek with his hand. “I was ashamed. I had brought dishonor to my House, again. There was no way that I could face you after that.”

“We searched for you,” she continued, her eyes welling with tears. “We searched all the world for you, for decades, centuries. None of my people or spies could find you.”

“Alas! That was how it was fated to be,” he answered sadly. Maglor shifted his downcast eyes to the floor. “In penance I wandered the wilderness in solitude, regretting my misdeeds, and longing for you.” He turned his gaze back to his wife. “I thought about you every day, you and Olofin, and what we once had. I deem it was the Curse, the Curse that was placed upon us both… that we were only allotted a brief time together, and that that time was over.”

The pain in Maglor’s voice caused her heart to ache with sorrow. Golden tears streamed down her face.

“But, I did see you. I did see you on several occasions,” he continued in that same morose tone.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you let me know?” she cried.

“How could I?” he answered, tears filling his eyes. He paused. “The first time was in the East, on your wedding day to Osiris.”

Buffy’s heart felt as though it had dropped to the pit of her stomach. “Oh, God!” she uttered, horrified at that thought alone.

Maglor looked off into space, recalling that day, thousands of years before. “I was in the crowd as your carriage went by. You seemed happy. I knew then that you were lost to me, forever.”

“Oh, Káno,” she wept. “I… I… ” she stammered through her tears.

“Shh,” he sounded, pulling her into an embrace. “You don’t have to explain your actions to me. It was I that left you. You should’ve moved on. That was the right thing to do.” The Noldo didn’t have the heart to mention that witnessing her with Osiris, as well as many of her other lovers, had only added to his misery. Over the years, he had convinced himself that his misfortune was the result of the Curse, and that the thing that brought him the greatest woe was seeing his beloved Bella in the arms of others. Those painful memories caused the tears to escape Maglor’s eyes.

Husband and wife clung to one another, crying, as the others in the passageway did their best to avoid watching the gut-wrenching scene, wanting to give the couple their privacy.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” moaned Buffy with her face buried in his shoulder.

“I told you, Bella, you do not have anything to be sorry for. You moved on with your life, as you should have,” he countered, rubbing her back while he held her. “Now, come on. We need to stop all this blubbering,” he continued, pulling out of the embrace. “This is a joyful moment that should not be ruined with tears.”

The Slayer nodded, trying to get a grip on her emotions, which was easier said than done.

“So tell me, Bella,” the Noldo went on, wiping the tears from her face, “when did these tears of yours turn golden?”

“When… when you left me,” she sniffed.

He pulled off one of many nuggets that clung to the fabric of his robe. “Extraordinary,” he remarked, quickly drying his eyes on his sleeve. “Is this real? It looks real,” he said, examining the tear-shaped nugget.

“Yeah,” she replied, knowing that her beloved was attempting to change the subject. She decided to go along, none too eager to have her final meeting with Maglor to be one of total despair. “You should’ve seen how the dwarves reacted when they first saw me cry golden tears,” she said in a more lighthearted voice. “After that, they tried to get me to cry every chance they could - they’d even pinch me, or accidentally hit me on occasion,” she chuckled, emphasizing the word ‘accidentally.’

“Well then, I best keep these,” he responded, pulling the nuggets from his robe, “ as mementos of this day.” A mischievous grin came to the Noldo’s face. “I imagine the Naugrim would be more than willing to barter for these in days to come,” he added, slipping the handful of nuggets into his pocket.

“Nay!” Curufin said, having approached the couple with the rest of the group. Between his fingers, he clutched a stray nugget that he had found on the floor. “Father and I will make something splendid out of Bella’s tears, something worthy of her memory.” He smiled. “We owe that to the one who has brought redemption to the House of Fëanor.”

Curufin’s words touched Buffy deeply. He was not one to freely give out compliments, which is how she viewed his statements.

“I’d like that,” she answered. “Just make sure it’s something pretty. I like pretty things.”

“Ah, Bella, you’re speaking with a great artisan,” he said boastfully. “Undoubtedly, anything created by Fëanor or his sons shall be beyond beautiful. I deem we will make something that will rival the works of the Silmarils.”

“I am eager to work with my hands again,” announced Fëanor wistfully. “I have many ideas, but I will need some time to think of something spectacular to make with my daughter’s golden tears.”

Hearing Fëanor call her daughter brought tears to her eyes, yet again. However, this time, she bit her lip, forcing herself to refrain from crying.

“Perhaps we could make some type of broach,” suggested Celebrimbor, as he too was eager to busy himself with some new projects.

“Ooh, I like that idea,” replied the enthusiastic Slayer.

“The world will need mending long before any can start on such projects,” proclaimed Olofin in a lordly voice.

“God, you’re not even officially King, and you’re already being a buzz kill,” remarked Buffy teasingly.

Everyone laughed except Finwë, who had no idea what the words ‘buzz kill’ meant.

The group then started on their journey through the passageways of Mandos, heading toward the meeting room some floors above, where more of the Vala Queen’s loved ones waited. Yet this time there would be some that she had not seen earlier, including Aldarion, who insisted that he see Buffy before she departed the Blessed Realm.

They had not even reached Námo’s grand meeting hall when the Slayer felt another pang in her heart. She knew that another day had passed, and that her time in Arda was quickly nearing its end. In less than twenty-four hours, her mission in Middle-earth would be complete, ushering in the next age, an age of unequivocal bliss.

Scores and scores of boisterous voices filled the chamber when they entered. At first, it seemed that none had noticed the arrival of Buffy and those from the House of Finwë. She smiled, surveying the room, seeing that many from her Household were still present, as well as many newcomers. Several appeared battle-worn, having withdrawn from combat in need of food and rest. Here, in this chamber, they were offered both, as well as an opportunity to say a final farewell to the Vala of Love and War prior to her departure.

Gradually, the talking was replaced with sudden gasps from the occupants, for it had been ages since any had laid an eye upon Fëanor and his sons, not to mention Buffy herself.

“Carry on! Carry on!” exclaimed the Slayer as she made her way through the throng with her husband.

Many of the Eldar quickly surrounded those from the House of Finwë, anxious to speak with those that had been lost to them for so long.

Nienna brought her sister and Maglor glasses of wine, knowing of Buffy’s fondness for the drink. “It’s not elvish wine, but it was made by the Maiar with the finest grapes in Lórien.”

“Thanks, Nienna,” the Slayer replied at her sister’s thoughtfulness. “As long as it wets my whistle - that’s all I care about.” Her eyes scanned the room as she took a sip of her drink. She couldn’t help but see that everybody was much more jovial then earlier. “Everyone’s in a rather pleasant mood,” she observed, locking her gaze on her sister. Raising her brow, she added, “I daresay it seems almost… unnatural.”

“How right you are, my dear sister,” laughed Nienna. She leaned in closer so that none could overhear her, despite the fact that the room was noisy. “Irmo spiked the drinks. Námo told him that you would not like to depart on a somber note, and would prefer that everybody was more… merry.”

“Námo knows me oh so well,” the Vala of Love chortled. “And he’s right! I’d rather everyone party than mourn my departure. There’s much to celebrate.” She looked at Maglor, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

A male voice then shouted, “Bella!” amidst the din. “Bella!” the man called out again.

Buffy searched the crowd as that same fair voice continued to call out to her. She then spotted a silver head bobbing through the throng, coming closer and closer. A smile came to her face as she finally recognized the voice as one whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two ages.

Only a second later, the silver-haired elf stepped out of the horde, his disheveled appearance revealing that he was fresh from battle.

“Legolas,” she said delightedly, quickly handing her drink to Maglor.

“Bella!” the son of Thranduil repeated yet again, although this time there was much relief in the sound of his voice. He was glad that he had found her before she left.

They embraced. “My godson,” she said, affectionately rubbing his back.

“I feared that you would be gone before I arrived,” he continued. “I’ve been on the battlefield.”

Buffy stepped back, her eyes quickly sweeping over the Elf. “How goes it out there?” she asked with trepidation.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” he replied sadly. “We are greatly outnumbered by the enemy and their hatred knows no bounds. All the elvish cities have fallen, and Valimar has also been lost.” His facial expression turned even grimmer as he added, “Eönwë perished during his attempt to defend Aulë’s Halls.”

The Slayer bit her trembling lip. Things were much worse than she had originally thought. Feeling her husband’s penetrating gaze, she reluctantly asked, “And Aulë, did he escape? Did he escape with the sword?”

Legolas’ eyes hastily darted from Buffy to Maglor, then back to her again. “He’s here. And he has the sword,” the Elf answered.

The Valië let out a sigh of relief, just as Thranduil popped out of the crowd, his hand tightly clutching that of his wife’s.

“Meldis!” Buffy exclaimed, delighted to see her old friend again.

“Oh, Bella!” the elleth replied, slipping out of Thranduil’s grasp and running to the Queen she had so loyally served.

The two women hugged. “I’m so glad you came,” the Slayer whispered to her former handmaiden.

“Come hell or high water, there was no way that I was going to miss you. Not for the world, Bella. Not for the world.”

“You’re already sounding more like Thranduil,” Buffy said with a smile, pulling out of the embrace and looking over the elleth. “I’m sorry that I kept your husband from you for so long.”

“Ah, my Thranduil,” she sighed, turning her eyes toward her husband, who was now engaging Maglor in conversation. “He wished to serve you to the end, and who am I to deny him that?” She smiled. “Besides, I had Legolas with me.”

Thranduil was now introducing the Noldo to his son.

Legolas seemed in awe to finally meet the son of Fëanor whom he had only heard about in tales.

“Your father was quite the rascal in his youth,” Maglor revealed to the younger Greenleaf, his grey eyes twinkling at the memories of old. “Dare I say that that ran in the family?”

“Of course not,” answered Thranduil with a broad grin. “My son was always mindful.”

“Pfft,” sounded Meldis, with a roll of her eyes. “Legolas was as mischievous as they come, very much like you, my dear husband!”

“I can recall numerous pranks that Thranduil pulled off as an elfling, particularly the one on my wedding night… ” remarked the son of Fëanor as he handed Buffy back her drink.

“Oh, it was all in good fun, Maglor,” interjected Thranduil with a chuckle. “Just trying to liven up your special day was all.”

While the others continued their conversation, Buffy surveyed the crowd once again. This time she spotted Aldarion watching from afar. She locked eyes with the mortal, the sadness in his eyes caused her stomach to twist and turn uncomfortably within her.

“I’ll be back in a few,” she said to the others before taking off, disappearing into the throng of people.

Seeing her approach, Aldarion stepped into an alcove at the far end of the room that would offer them some privacy. He slid a large urn containing a fragrant flowering tree toward the opening, hoping that would obscure any chance that Maglor would see the Númenorean with his wife.

Buffy ducked under one of the white blossomed limbs as she entered the alcove. She beheld a grief-stricken Aldarion standing in the corner.

“Hey,” she said half-heartedly.

“Hey,” he replied with a sigh.

She could feel the tension coming from her former lover.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make things right between… ”

“You don’t have to say anything, Bella,” he interjected, cutting off her words. “Námo explained things to me.”

“I don’t think Námo really understands what’s going on,” she answered.

The Adan continued to look at her with those big, blue, doleful eyes, waiting for her to elaborate further.

“Killing you was the last thing I ever wanted to do,” she explained. “But, I had no choice. I have to make Morgoth believe that he can trust me, explicitly. If he doesn’t, then everything that’s happened will be for nothing.”

“I just wish you would’ve given me the heads-up, had let me know that you were gonna… off me,” he replied, somewhat dejectedly.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” she asserted. “But you’ve gotta understand that he’s watching me. The link between Melkor and me has been reestablished. He knows everything that I’m doing. He sees everything.”

“And what about now? Is he watching us? Can he hear us?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “He’s not strong enough to overcome the powers of the Ainur. Right now, he’s weak. But whenever I’m outside their domains, he can see me, he can hear me.” She paused, her face etched in sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” she continued, taking his hand in hers. “I wish things hadn’t gone down the way they did… ” She turned her eyes to her feet, not knowing what else to say. Hell, what could she possibly say to make things right between her and Aldarion? His death was horrific, even by the Slayer’s standards, pretending to seduce him before gutting him. That was a new low, even for her.

The Adan knew how difficult this was for the Valië. He had known her for a tremendously long time, and loved her even longer. And despite his misgivings over some of the tasks she had assigned to him, he carried them out, without question. Though she always tried her best to do the right thing, sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Aldarion took the glass from her hand, and downed the last of her wine. He then sat the empty glass beside a statue in the niche of the wall.

“I’m not pissed at you,” he said, lifting her chin with his free hand. “In fact, I pity you.”

For a moment, her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t want your pity,” she hissed.

“Don’t get all hot and bothered,” he countered apologetically. “The way I see it - you’re the one getting screwed.”

She snickered in reply.

“I mean, come on, Bella, after everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been through - it’s gotta suck to be you.”

“There’s the Skipper I know and love,” she grumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“I just calls it the way I sees it,” he answered lightheartedly. The Númenorean wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling Buffy closer. “If I had my way, I’d build us a ship, and we’d sail the hell away from here… ”

“Life doesn’t work that way,” she responded.

“Yeah, well, we just never seem to catch a break, do we?”

The Vala Queen shrugged. “We had our time.”

“Pfft,” he sounded. “It wasn’t nearly long enough! We didn’t get to spend as much time together as I’d have liked.”

“Time’s something we take for granted,” she answered morosely, truly comprehending those words. “My advice to you, my dear Skipper, is not to let that happen this time around.”

“I’ve always lived life to the fullest,” stated Aldarion. “Yet time still seemed to slip through my fingers.”

Buffy made no comment, but fiddled with a loose string on the Adan’s shirt.

“You know, Bella, we still have some time before you have to go,” he said, smiling suggestively. “We can sneak out, find an empty room… ”

She playfully slapped his chest. “Is that all you think about? God, you act like such a whore-dog!”

“It’s been a long time, and you did get me worked up before you killed me,” Aldarion continued in that same tone, his hands sliding lower, grabbing her behind.

“Don’t!” she chastised, grabbing his hands and moving them back to her waist. “If you’re that horny - then go find Erendis!”

A scowl came to the Númenorean’s face. “I wouldn’t fuck that miserable bitch if she was the last woman on Earth!”

Buffy coyly smiled. “But, Sire, she was your beloved Queen,” she remarked teasingly, “a daughter of Uinen… ”

Aldarion tightened his grip, forcefully pressing her body against his. With an impish glint in his eyes, he softly growled, “Need I remind you that it was you, my dear Luinil that insisted upon my marrying that wretched woman so as not to break the bloodline of Elros.”

His aggressiveness left the Valië momentarily breathless, and sent her heart aflutter. She always loved it when he took command like that; it was one of the things she adored about him. As she looked deeply into the blue eyes of her ex-lover, her mind flashed back to ages past, when she had first set eyes upon Aldarion in the early days of his youth. She found it remarkable that the young man was able to ignite her lust despite his young age, and (wisely) hid their affair from her loved ones for a long time, knowing that they would perceive her affections for the young man as unwholesome and sinful.

And they were right, of course, as she would later discover. For it was Buffy’s affair with the future King of Númenor that brought the first black cloud upon that isle, cursing not only those from the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but also those from the other noble Houses. By demanding that Aldarion take a wife and bring forth an heir, she doomed him and his kinsmen, creating strife amongst the mighty Lords, which ultimately paved the way to Númenor’s downfall.

A shadow fell over the Slayer, something that Aldarion noticed immediately. “I’m only joking,” he said, wondering if his comments were to blame for the sudden gloom that seemed to come over his lover. “Well, not so much about Erendis, but about blaming you. You did what you thought was right. And it was! My line had to continue.”

Buffy placed her head against the Adan’s chest and closed her eyes. Her thoughts turned to their son, as Aldarion wrapped his arms comfortingly around her.

“Don’t despair, Bella. Not now. Not here, at the end,” he whispered, trying to console her.

After a moment or two, she asked in a sullen voice, “Do you forgive me, Aldarion, for what I did to Aeneas? I shouldn’t have babied him the way I did. Maybe things would’ve gone differently… ”

“We both overindulged him! But neither of us is to blame, that burden lies with… ”

The Slayer quickly lifted her head. “Don’t speak his name!” she said sharply, a look of horror on her paling face. “Never speak his name in my presence!”

“Forgive me, my darling,” apologized the Adan. “I should’ve known better. Let’s speak no more of our son.”

“Agreed,” she answered, nodding her head. She then rested her head upon the Adan’s chest once again; content to be in his arms one last time.

“I beg your pardon,” said a voice from behind.

Buffy turned, only to see Horus, standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable to be intruding upon the two lovers.

The son of Osiris nodded. “Forgive me for intruding, Isis Queen, but Kanafinwë is searching for you.” His eyes darted to her lover. “I thought it best that I inform you lest he comes across you in… ah, a rather compromising situation.”

“Thank you, Horus,” she replied, as her eyes scanned the room in search of the Noldo.

“No,” said Aldarion. “It’s too soon. We’ve only had a few minutes. We need more time.”

Buffy faced the Adan. “See what I mean? It’s slipping through our fingers yet again.”

“But it’s not fair!” he moaned in protest.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet Skipper,” she answered, cupping his cheek. “Life’s not fair. Never was. You know that. Don’t take time for granted this time around. Cherish it, for dark days will come back.”

Aldarion furrowed his brows upon hearing her words. He assumed that they were prophetic in nature. “What do you mean?” he queried, narrowing his eyes.

The Vala Queen smiled. “You’ll know, in time, sweetie, in time.”

“I thought you hated those two words, ‘in time’,” Aldarion remarked with a sly grin.

“Not any more, now that I know what it means.” She embraced the Adan, whispering, “Don’t change, my Skipper. Remain true to yourself and think of me when you seek your next adventure on the high seas.”

Aldarion held her tightly in his arms. “I will think of you every time I hear the gulls cry or taste the salt of the sea on my lips. You’ll always be with me, my Queen, my love.” He took a deep breath before looking into her green eyes one last time. “Go kick some Vala ass. Take that fucker down.”

“Hey!” she rebuked. “Don’t call him that.”

The Adan held his hands up. “Sorry! Don’t bite my head off. I had forgotten your love for the Dark Lord.”

“Men,” she groaned under her breath, glad that her last chat with Aldarion hadn’t brought her to tears. She gave him a peck on the lips. “Take care, sweetie.”

“That’s it! All I get is a measly kiss on the lips.” He leaned in closer. “How ‘bout a quickie before you go?”

Horus, having overheard the Adan’s words, scowled, thinking his remarks were rather crass.

“I’m saving myself, you know, for that fucker, Morgoth,” the Slayer snidely answered.

Aldarion grunted, “Lucky bastard,” as Buffy turned, and started to leave the alcove with Horus.

“Oh, and Aldarion,” she said, coming to a halt and glancing over her shoulder. “Do me a favor and make peace with Sargon, okay?”

“Pfft,” he sounded with disdain. “I’d rather swim in the lava of Orodruin than be friends with that buffoon!”

“He’s not that bad!”

“He killed me! Dozens of times, in fact, or do those memories happen to escape you?”

“I told you he was the jealous type,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He hunted me down like a rabid animal!” exclaimed the Adan bitterly.

“C’mon, Skippy, that was ages ago. Just make peace with him. For me.” Buffy looked pleadingly at the Adan.

“Fine,” he spat. “But, I’m telling you now - that if he crosses me the wrong way - ” He ran his finger along his throat. “ - He’s dead meat.”

“Just play nice,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. She then blew him a kiss before taking off with Horus.



Buffy decided that she’d stick around for one more feast, one that included all those from the House of Finwë, and their descendants. Indis and her children also attended, along with their spouses, their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and so forth. Though she wasn’t a bit hungry, the Slayer wanted to spend as much time as she could with her family during her last day on Earth. Unlike the Scoobies (whom she loved and cared about dearly), most of those gathered had remained by her side through thick and thin for millennia.

She finally got to speak with Finrod, whom she had missed terribly since his death. Though the Noldo had attempted to correspond with her from Valinor, her hectic life in Middle-earth had left her unable to write back as much as she would’ve liked. His letters had meant a great deal to her, especially when she learned that he and Amarië, his wife, had named their first daughter after her. That gesture touched her deeply, and she was thrilled to meet her namesake who had the same golden hair as her mother, and Buffy.

The feast lasted several hours, yet to the Vala Queen it was over all too soon. Saying good-bye to her loved ones, particularly her children and Maglor, was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life. Her parting with the son of Fëanor ended up causing her the greatest pain. She wished that the Noldo could stay by her side while she tended to her last duties in Aman, but with her needing to meet with Aulë, she felt that the whole situation would be awkward, considering her past with the Vala Lord.

Buffy and Maglor did speak privately. However, their last conversation has been omitted from this tale and only survives in the writings of Kanafinwë Makalaurë…



With her farewells said, the Slayer left that hall with her Vala siblings. The passageways of Mandos were swelling with people, as the Captains of Valinor had called a retreat. All the survivors now remained locked away in the mystical caverns, as the enemy combatants tried relentlessly to break into the fortress. Numerous explosions took place outside, shaking the stronghold to its very foundations, yet Mandos remained impenetrable, no matter what magicks the enemy used against it.

The Vala Queen and her siblings entered another one of Námo’s private chambers where Aulë had been waiting. He rose from the couch when they entered, the weariness of grief on his face. Buffy already knew that his only child was dead, and that his wife, Yavanna, remained in isolation within Mandos, mourning the loss of both her children.

“I’m so sorry,” said Buffy, approaching the grief-stricken Vala. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Bitter is Dagor Dagorath,” he said solemnly, towering over the Slayer. “Valinor has never before seen such death or destruction. I do not think I have any tears left in me, and only wish to see this miserable battle brought to an end.”

“That’ll happen soon enough, Aulë,” answered the Vala Queen, sickened to see the Vala Lord suffering so.

“With you here, I know that that time is upon us,” he replied, trying to put aside his anguish whilst he met with his old flame. He reached down, grabbing a belted scabbard from the sofa. “I have re-forged Gurthang,” he announced, pulling the blade from its sheath.

The Slayer felt a sudden lump in her throat as she laid eyes upon the infamous sword wielded by Túrin back in the First Age. She had never before seen the blade wrought by the Dark Elf, Eöl, not even when she had dwelt in Menegroth long ago. She stared wide-eyed at the blade, the outer edges burning with a pale white fire.

Aulë offered her the weapon.

Swallowing hard, she reached out with a trembling hand, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. As she tightened her grip on the heavy weapon, visions sprang into her head, showing her the history of Gurthang from its inception.

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, her stomach queasy from merely touching the object.

“The Vala Bane,” she mumbled under her breath.

To her surprise, the blade hissed, “Indeed! And how I long to quench my thirst with Vala blood.”

Shocked, Buffy dropped the weapon. Unlike most swords, it did not clatter to the floor. The blade turned in mid-air, the tip embedding into the stone floor. She rubbed the tingly sensation from her hand, listening as the black blade softly cackled at her reaction.

“Gurthang is sentient,” remarked Aulë, extracting the sword from the floor.

“You don’t say!” said the rattled Slayer, aghast at how the weapon had affected her. She turned to her twin. “A drink, please, Námo.”

“Of course,” he answered, strolling to the sideboard to pour her a drink.

Aulë sheathed the weapon, and placed it against the leg of the couch. “Are you alright, Luinil?” he asked with concern.

“I’m sure I will be after a good, stiff drink,” she answered, taking a seat on a vacant chair. “I don’t like that weapon. It’s unwholesome.”

“Yet it has its role to play in The End,” commented Aulë, slumping back down onto the sofa.

“It’s Melkor’s bane,” added Irmo, taking a seat beside the Smith.

Buffy found it difficult to take her eyes off the blade, in spite of the ominous vibes that emitted from it.

She forced herself to look away, shifting her gaze to Aulë. “I wanna thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the years, all the beautiful things you’ve made, especially Folkvang. I loved Sussrúmnir, my home away from home,” she said in a faraway voice.

“It gladdens me to know that you appreciate the fruit of my labors, though my heart tells me that Sussrúmnir still stands,” he answered.

“Barely,” she answered in that same distant tone. Although the Slayer had not returned to her Blessed Realm, she could picture it in her mind’s eye. “Many of the wings have been destroyed, burned. My temple is in ruins, the whole isle is surrounded by a lake of burning flames.”

Námo handed his sister her drink. “I hope this is strong enough.”

By the smell of the clear beverage, it most certainly was. “Thanks,” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie, and taking a sip of the potent drink.

Once everybody had taken their seats, Buffy turned to her twin and asked, “So, what’s going on with Túrin? Has his body been remade?”

“Yes,” answered Námo with a nod. “He is waiting for you, elsewhere.”

“Then I guess it’s nearly time,” she said, nervously swirling the clear liquor in her glass.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied glumly.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” spoke up Aulë, his dark eyes scanning his brethren in the room.

The others took his cue and began to rise from their seats.

“There’s no need,” the Slayer said to her kinfolk. “There’s no need for secrecy any more, is there?” She turned to Aulë. “Unless you want them gone.”

“I would feel more at ease if they were. I would rather like to speak with you alone.”

“Oh, okay. I’ve got no problem with that.”

Immediately, her siblings left their seats. As they made their way toward the door, Irmo said, “We’ll be just outside the door.”

“Thank you, my friends,” said Aulë, offering his fellow kinsmen a quick smile. As soon as the Vala Queen’s siblings had left the chamber, the Smith turned his full attention to her. “Will you come and sit beside me?” he asked, patting the empty cushion to his left.

“Of course,” she answered, joining the Vala Lord on the sofa.

Aulë appeared anxious, as he fiddled with the long, gold chain draped around his neck. “Have you ever wondered how things would have been if you had entered Eä with us, at the beginning?” He shifted his gaze to the Slayer, eager to hear her response.

Buffy took a sip of her drink; the penetrating eyes of the Vala Lord made her feel uncomfortable. She had had a feeling he’d want to bring up the past, their past especially, a topic that filled her with dread.

After a long pause, she finally replied with a firm, “No. I wish… I wish I had never come. I never wanted to come here. I’ve known no peace since I entered Eä.”

The Vala Lord sighed heavily. “And I deem that we are partially to blame for that. We never meant to cause you any pain or grief.”

“I know that, now. But, back then, I didn’t,” she confessed. She snickered. “I used to blame you guys for all my woes, pictured you all suffering like I did, wanting you to know the same grief I had to endure… ”

“Perhaps you envisioned this time, the End of Days, and the sorrow that has befallen us all. Bitter it is to drink from the cup of woe!”

She locked eyes with the Vala. “I am the cup of woe,” she declared.

“That’s not true,” he contested. “You are the epitome of love, and without you, the world would know no joy.”

She snorted. “Happiness will return to the world again, even with me not in it.”

“I cannot see that,” whispered Aulë, furrowing his brows.

“I can,” she answered. “The world will be healed, as will its inhabitants. In time.”

It was now Aulë who snickered at her comments. “In time, eh?” he repeated, knowing the Slayer’s aversion to those two little words.

They both fell quiet. Buffy continued to sip on her drink as the Vala Lord watched her with his scrutinizing eyes.

“We never had a chance, did we?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

The Slayer lifted her head, meeting his gaze once again. “It wasn’t our destiny. You have Yavanna. She needs you.”

Holding her gaze, the Vala Lord replied, “Yavanna never loved me the way you had,” he answered softly. “She can be critical, especially when it comes to my woodcraft.” His voice grew louder, revealing his annoyance. “She has this unnatural affinity for trees and abhors it when I use wood in my work. For the love of Eru, there are times when that woman of mine guises herself as a tree, and stands out in the garden for decades on end! How queer a thing is that?”

Though Aulë was speaking from the heart, sharing his innermost heartfelt feelings with Buffy, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Whether it was hearing him use the term ‘queer’ or the fact that she could picture Yavanna in tree form, she didn’t quite know.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I don’t mean to laugh at your… misfortune.”

“Misfortune, indeed,” he replied with a snort. “I have, many times, thought about what it was that attracted me to Yavanna long ago. We do not have much in common other than our love for Arda. I imagine that is the same for you and Melkor, that you do not have much in common.”

Buffy’s mirth ceased the moment the Vala mentioned Melkor’s name. She shifted her eyes toward Gurthang, dismayed that Aulë had to bring up the subject of Morgoth.

Seeing her reaction baffled the Vala Lord. “You do not have anything in common, do you?”

The Slayer finished the last of her drink. “We have things in common that very few can understand,” she replied thoughtfully. “He wasn’t always evil. You know that, Aulë.”

“Melkor’s descent into darkness happened long ago. He only knows evil.”

“If that’s so, then does that make me evil too?” she queried in a small voice. “No one knows me better than he.”

“I do not believe that, not for one moment,” challenged the Vala Lord.

“Believe it,” she answered resolutely. “He’s always been there - ”

“ - Causing mayhem and mischief!” interjected Aulë, before she could finish her sentence.

“He’s saved me more than you ever did! More than any of my brethren had!” she spat, her eyes narrowed in anger. “He doesn’t so easily believe the lies, the tales that have been spun about me. He loves me!”

The sudden volatile change in the Vala Queen’s demeanor left Aulë taken aback. He now thought that perhaps she did have some things in common with Melkor, namely her temperament. Her outburst left him momentarily speechless. He sat there, staring at her with his jaw agape.

“Forgive me if I have crossed a line. It was not my intent to drum up any hostility,” he answered, somewhat defensively. “I do not look upon you, Luinil, with contempt, but surely you must see that Melkor is nothing but evil incarnate.”

An irate Buffy leapt to her feet. “What’s the point in having this conversation?!” she barked with disdain. “Melkor will be dead in few hours time. Problem solved. You guys won’t have him to worry about any more. You’ll be free.”

She went to leave the room, but Aulë jumped up, and grabbed her by the arm. In one swift motion, he spun her around so that she now faced him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place. “Please, Bella!” he said, nearly distraught. “Do not leave like this. I could not live with myself knowing that we parted on such bad terms. I am truly sorry if I offended you and disregarded your feelings.” He looked at her with his sorrowful eyes. “You are right; too few understand your relationship with Melkor. I have overstepped my boundary and hope you will forgive me.”

“I don’t want to leave this way either,” she replied, her facial expression softening. “I don’t want to speak about Melkor any more.”

“Alright. We shall talk about something else then,” he suggested hopefully.

The Slayer shook her head. “I need to go. But, we’re okay. All is forgiven.”

“Please! Do not hurry off. We can have a drink together,” he proposed in the same hopeful voice.

“I can’t. The sooner I get this over with the better,” she answered. “I just ask one thing of you Aulë. Make me a promise. Can you do that?”

“Anything, Luinil. I will promise you anything,” he answered eagerly.

“Promise me that you’ll stop looking upon the Noldor with scorn, especially Fëanor and his sons. They’ve all suffered enough. It’s time to start over with a clean slate. Can you do that? Can you do that last thing for me?”

The Vala Lord dropped his arms to his sides, not expecting that would be her last request of him. “I will.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt if you would teach them more stuff. Work with them again. Invite them to your Halls as you once did,” she added.

“Well, now you’re just pushing me to the limits!”

Buffy smiled at his remarks. “I’m a woman. That’s what we do.”

“Indeed!” Aulë laughed heartily. “Perhaps now I see the similarities between you and Yavanna.”

“Maybe,” she replied with a shrug. “Just so you know - I never had a beef with her. It was she that came after me. And I’m no wuss. I’m not about to take anyone’s shit. I could’ve snapped her neck like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“You are the Valië of War, who would expect anything less?”

“Your wife,” she said with a chortle. There was an awkward pause then Buffy added, “You take care of yourself. And I really appreciate all the pretty things you’ve made for me over the years. They did bring me great joy.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Farewell to you, my old friend.” He took her hand in both of his. “May you find the peace you have so desperately searched for.” He kissed the back of her hand.

“Take care,” she repeated. She turned and started for the door.

“Maranwë?” he shouted.

The Valië looked over her shoulder. “Huh?”

“Gurthang,” he said, bringing her the sword. “You’ll need this, or rather, Túrin will.”

“Thanks,” she answered, taking the weapon from the Vala Lord.

“One more thing,” Aulë added. “I really appreciate the love and friendship you have shown my children, the Naugrim. Not many of our brethren have taken a liking to them the way you have. They deem them uncouth.”

“What the hell do they know, right?” she replied with a chuckle. “I loved your children. They’re good people, and loyal as hell. I imagine they get that from you, Mahal.”

The Vala Lord beamed when he heard Buffy use his dwarvish name. “Farewell to you, Lady Freya. You may be leaving this world, but your mark will remain on it. We will praise your name in glory.”

“I’d like that,” she responded, giving him one last smile before she turned and left the chamber.

The Slayer joined her siblings in the passageway before setting off to the room where the son of Húrin was waiting.



A restless Túrin paced the small room to which he had been confined, thinking that his time for revenge was finally upon him. He had waited for this moment for years untold, honored that he was chosen to deliver the fatal blow to Morgoth Bauglir, his bitterest of foes. It was that knowledge that kept him from slipping over the brink of insanity, even in the afterlife. Tragic had been his mortal life, the Dark Lord haunting his every step, twisting every good deed into something wicked, particularly where Nienor Níniel, his sister, was concerned. He would like nothing more than to restore his sullied name and to kill Morgoth would be his greatest triumph, for he would be ridding the world of the most calculating and malicious creature to ever set foot in Arda.

As soon as Námo had remade his body, the son of Húrin regularly worked out with the Vala’s Maiar, eager to strengthen his limbs and his mind. He had learned of the Dark Lord’s fall at the end of the First Age, and his subsequent return into Eä, after having been cast out into the Void. Túrin was not at all surprised to hear that Morgoth had found a way back, as he deemed that no Power, save Ilúvatar himself, could hinder the malice that reeked from the evil Vala. He viewed the Dark Foe as a plague upon the goodly races in the world, and as such, both his body and soul had to be completely destroyed or else the Lord of Darkness would somehow find his way back and continue to spread his deceit and cruelty upon the inhabitants of Arda.

Though Túrin didn’t exactly know how things would go down, he had been told that a Vala would accompany him, to assist him on his most noble of errands. The Maiar of Mandos were not forthcoming in revealing the identity of the Vala, and it took much prodding on the Adan’s part to finally get them to disclose that bit of information. Túrin was stunned to discover that it was none other than the Valië of Love and War, the same Vala that had delivered the Edain from evil back in the dark days of Mesopotamia.

While he had learned some from his father about the legacy of Inanna Ishtar in the East, most of what he knew came from the elves of Menegroth and Nargothrond, who always referred to her by the name they had given her - Bellaseth Dagnir. Túrin had never met the Valië, though he had seen paintings and statues of her when he dwelt in Doriath. Both Thingol and Melian had spoken highly of her, and reckoned that she had a couple of things in common with the Adan - she too was a mighty warrior (perhaps even the mightiest!), and she had also been cursed by the Dark Lord. He assumed that was why she had been chosen (like he), to aid in the death of Morgoth, for her life had been doomed much like his own.

His heart began to beat rapidly as the door to the small chamber started to open. He stopped, fixing his gaze on the entryway. In walked Námo, followed by Nienna, (who had come to Túrin soon after his arrival in Mandos, to counsel him and give him comfort). Two others walked in behind them. He was unsure of who the man was, but immediately noticed that the woman cloaked in blue was none other than Bellaseth Dagnir.

Following protocol, he dropped to one knee. “My Lords. Ladies,” he said, bowing his head in reverence to the Powers.

“Good evening, Túrin,” greeted the Lord of Mandos. “You may rise.”

The Adan complied.

“I would like to introduce you to two of my siblings that you have not yet had the honor to meet,” continued Námo. “This in Irmo, Lord of Lórien,” he said, motioning towards his brother.

Túrin nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“And this is my sister, Maranwë Luinil,” he went on, motioning to his twin.

“Maranwë Luinil,” whispered the Adan, not at all familiar with her first name.

“Bella,” spoke up Buffy, as she stepped deeper into the room. “Call me Bella.”

The Adan nodded his head, but found himself unable to take his wide-eyes off the Slayer. His brows automatically shot up, as he surveyed the Vala of Love and War, taken aback by how tiny she was. Her size left him perplexed, and it showed on his face. Túrin couldn’t understand how this small woman could possibly be the acclaimed warrior he had heard about, or how she could match the strength of one as mighty as Morgoth Bauglir.

Túrin’s reaction did not go unnoticed. “Yeah, yeah,” Buffy said with a laugh. “I’m not at all what you expected, am I?”

The Adan nervously cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed that she could so easily read him. “Forgive me, my Lady,” he answered, bowing his head yet again. “It’s just that… you are very small… and dainty.”

“Dainty?” the Slayer laughed, looking to her siblings. “I haven’t been called dainty in a very long time.” Amused, she turned her gaze back to the Adan. “I already like you, Túrin,” she continued, surveying the man. “You look like your mother’s people. I can see the blood of Bëor in you.” Her smile widened. “And that’s a good thing! I’ve always had a special love for those from the First House.” Not wanting the man to feel that she was disrespecting his paternal bloodline, she quickly added, “Though I have nothing against those from the House of Hador, and many from that noble line dwelt in my kingdom, Folkvang, including your father. I am a lover of all the Edain.”

“That is all well and good,” answered Túrin, “but that does not change that fact that you are so small. I cannot understand how you can rival Morgoth in strength or might, even though you are kinsmen.”

“Do not underestimate Bella’s abilities, son of Húrin,” replied Námo. “Looks can be deceiving. There is more to my sister than meets the eye.”

“And there is no one else in all the world that knows Melkor as well as she,” added Nienna.

Buffy approached the Adan. “Do you know why my appearance is as it is?” she asked, making a sweeping gesture of her body with her free hand (the other still clutched Gurthang).

Túrin shook his head.

“Because I don’t intimidate the enemy with my size. That makes them underestimate me. That makes me more deadly.” She chuckled. “While that might not work with Melkor, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Together, we’ll get the job done. Promise.”

With his tone riddled with doubt, Túrin replied, “If you say so, my Lady… ”

“Bella,” she corrected. “Just Bella.”

“Alright, Bella,” the Adan answered. He took a deep breath and then said, “What happens next? Where will this final battle take place? What is my part in it? How am I…”

“Whoa! Hold your horses there,” said Buffy, cutting off the man’s many questions. “One at a time, one at a time.” She looked up into Túrin’s eyes. “You and I will be going to my mystical realm, Folkvang, and that is where… ” She paused, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She then whispered, “That is where it will take place.” The Vala Queen could feel her stomach becoming queasy at the notion of her time in Arda ending. She lifted the sheathed blade in her hand. “Gurthang shall soon taste Vala blood.”

“My sword,” uttered Túrin. A mournful look came to his face as he looked upon the sheathed weapon.

Seeing the look of sadness on his face, Buffy placed her hand comfortingly on his arm. “You, Túrin, will avenge not only you and your kin, but all those that have suffered tragically at the hands of Morgoth.”

He raised his gaze, searching the eyes of the Vala Queen.

“It is no longer my past that grieves me, Bella,” he answered somberly. “It is my future.”

Buffy took the Adan’s hand. “Your future will be brighter than anything you’ve ever known. That’s a promise.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeezed. “It’s time for us to go.”

She then turned to her siblings. “Well, I guess this is it.”

Nienna buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

The Slayer could see the anguish on both Námo’s and Irmo’s faces, but they didn’t cry. She then said her final farewells to her siblings, before vanishing from the chamber with Túrin at her side…


Chapter 125 - TWO TO GO

Only a second later, Buffy and Túrin reappeared in the Hall of Judgment in Sussrúmnir. Her eyes did a swift survey of the massive room. She was quite surprised to see that everything within the chamber remained untouched by the enemy. The room was dead silent, the only light coming from the two burning vats of flame at the bottom of the dais.

“Normally, my Valkyrie chieftains would greet me, and garb me in my ceremonial attire,” the Vala Queen announced in a somber voice, which echoed within the enormous chamber. “But, my heart tells me that they didn’t survive the battle.”

“I’m - ”

“Bella?” another voice queried from somewhere within the room, stopping the Adan mid-sentence.

Both she and Túrin turned toward the sound.

Daeron was peeking around a tall marble pedestal situated next to the wall at the back of the hall. A look of relief immediately came to his face. He ran across the chamber saying, “Oh God, Bella! I’m so glad you’re finally back!”

“Daeron,” she said in shock, surprised to see that the Sinda still lived.

The Elf threw his arms around Buffy, nearly knocking her off balance. He clung to her, while trying to catch his breath. “I’m a coward, I know,” he said, his tone revealing his shame. “This was the only room in all of Sussrúmnir that the enemy would not dare enter. I’ve been hiding in here since the onslaught. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for my cowardice?”

The Vala Queen pulled out of the embrace, but still clutched Daeron’s arms. “You’re no coward! You did the right thing.”

“The enemies numbers are great, the likes I’ve never seen before!” he exclaimed in a panicky voice. “The mountain gates on the mainland have been opened, the Deeper Well emptied. The enemy crashed over the island in a bloody wave!”

The Slayer shuddered when she heard that.

“They’ve slaughtered our people! Even the Valkyries are dead!” His eyes darted to Túrin. “The Edain, the Edain did not survive either. Tingilindë has been destroyed. Most of Folkvang is engulfed in flame! Sussrúmnir barely stands!”

“Calm down, Daeron. Calm down,” Buffy said, trying her best to put the Elf at ease.

“How can I calm down when all whom I love are dead and everything now lies in ruins?” asked the grief-stricken Sinda. “It is over! The black clouds have devoured our fair lands. The darkness will take us all!”

Whack!

The Vala Queen slapped the Elf in an attempt to calm him down.

Daeron, slightly dazed, stared blankly at the Slayer for a few seconds, his trembling hand reaching for his stinging cheek.

“Chill!” she barked, grabbing hold of his forearms once again. “I’m back. I’ll take care of things. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing’s gonna happen to you! I promise.”

“But… but… ” Daeron stammered.

“Come,” she continued, pulling him along to one of the benches set against the wall. “Sit!” she ordered, helping him onto the seat. “Look at me.”

The Sinda looked up into Buffy’s green eyes.

She waved her hand in front of his face, uttering a single word, “Sleep.”

The Elf immediately nodded off.

“Why did you do that?” asked Túrin, now standing over the Slayer’s shoulder.

“Because he wasn’t calming down,” she answered, before turning, and facing the Adan. “Besides, we have much to talk about and Daeron will only be a distraction,” she continued, as she made her way over to the sideboard.

Túrin remained behind, staring curiously at the sleeping Elf.

“Is this not the same Elda of Doriath? The minstrel of Thingol?” he queried thoughtfully.

“It is,” replied Buffy, as she propped Gurthang against the table before pouring them both a glass of wine.

“Legend has it that he wandered into the wilds in search of Lúthien, and was lost,” continued the son of Húrin.

“That’s true,” answered the Slayer. “That is, until I found him and gave him a new home. He ended up here, as my minstrel.” She paused. Looking up, she cocked her head, listening hard. She sadly added, “This is the first time that there’s been no music in my Halls, no love songs being sung.”

The Adan walked over to Buffy, who appeared crestfallen. “Should we not fight back?”

Túrin’s voice startled the Vala Queen.

She jumped with a start.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” apologized the son of Húrin.

“I’m a little on edge,” she responded with a snort. Buffy gave a quick shake of her head, before placing the bottle in her hand back on the sideboard. She faced the Adan, handing him his drink. “Let’s sit and talk awhile.”

Túrin nodded in reply, following the Slayer to a comfortable looking blue and gold settee.

They sat down, each taking a sip of the drink.

“You had mentioned earlier that my father was here,” the Adan said. “Is he still here?”

“Only his hröa, I’m afraid,” the Valië sighed, leaning against the back cushion of the seat. “Your father’s spirit has left my realm. He now resides in Mandos with the rest of his kin.” She shifted her gaze to the Adan. “Well, except for you.”

“So he is dead then.”

Buffy slowly nodded. “Yes. Other than Daeron, only one more still lives in Folkvang.”

Túrin fixed his eyes on the Slayer. “And who might that be?”

“Sargon, my beloved still lives,” she revealed, turning away from the Adan’s penetrating gaze. “He hangs on to life by a thread,” she continued in a softer voice, “waiting for me.” The Slayer fell quiet, her eyes beginning to well with tears. After a moment or two, she shook off her melancholy. “I don’t want to talk about him any more,” she added, sipping her drink once again.

The Adan realized that Sargon was a sore subject with the Vala Queen. He too took a drink of his wine, waiting for her to direct the topic of conversation.

After several minutes had passed, the Slayer asked, “Do you know why you’ve been chosen to carry out the deed, Túrin?”

He pondered her question for a bit before answering. “I deem it was because Morgoth had cursed me in life.”

She snickered. “You’re not the only one he had cursed,” she replied, turning toward the Adan. “Personally, I would’ve chosen your father as executioner. His torments were great… ”

“Perhaps,” interjected a disheartened Túrin. “But my father’s doom was unlike my own.” He paused, biting his quivering bottom lip. “He did not wed his sister.”

Buffy grimaced when the Adan said that, feeling his pain. “Good point,” she replied. Seeing the look of dismay on his face she quickly added, “You didn’t know. Neither of you knew.”

“That does not change what happened. I unknowingly wed and impregnated Nienor.”

“Unknowingly is the key word there,” remarked the Slayer, emphasizing the word ‘unknowingly.’

Túrin turned his solemn grey eyes to the floor, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Do you think you’re the only one that unknowingly had an incestuous relationship?”

The Adan looked back at the Slayer, his brows raised in question.

She nodded her head.

“You?” he queried in disbelief. “You had an… ”

“Don’t say it!” she interjected, not wanting him to say the word ‘incestuous.’ Sighing heavily, she went on. “I mean, it was a really, really long time ago. And despite the rumors that have persisted over time, it wasn’t with Námo.”

“I’ve heard that. I’ve heard that you and Námo… ” the Adan didn’t say any more, leaving his comment there.

“Yeah, well, I think that was started by Morgoth, or maybe, Sauron. I’m not too sure which one was behind that, but people still believe it.” She took another sip of wine, as Túrin waited expectantly for the rest of her story.

Resigned into revealing more, she continued. “It was my grandson,” she confessed. “Granted, I didn’t know he was my grandson at the time… ” She paused, shuddering at the memory. “And to make things worse, it wasn’t the result of some curse or anything.” Buffy locked eyes with Túrin. “Unfortunately, I had a tendency to go through what I call cycles of promiscuity, and ended up bedding my… ” The Slayer stopped, shuddering once again.

“How could you not know he was your grandson?” asked the perplexed Adan.

“My son, my mortal son, slept with a lot of women. Some were only one night stands.” She shrugged. “Needless to say, I happened to have an… encounter with one of his children. Like I said, I didn’t know he was a blood relative.”

“How did you find out?” asked Túrin, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“Luthor,” she answered. “My father-figure. He could see what I could not.”

The Adan looked at Buffy with a baffled expression.

“When one is blinded by passion, they don’t see what should be very obvious to them,” she continued. “When I found out - I high-tailed it back home, and swore off men, or, at least, mortal men, after that. It definitely put an end to my promiscuous ways, that’s for sure.” She took another sip of her drink. “I’ve stuck with elves since then.”

“My heart was won by an elf-maid,” Túrin said wistfully. “Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth.” The Adan stared into space, remembering his time in Nargothrond long ago. “If only I had not been so headstrong, perhaps things would have gone much differently.”

“Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. It doesn’t really matter any more, does it?” remarked the Slayer brazenly.

The Adan found her comments slightly offensive, almost as if she was mocking his love for the elleth. He slowly turned toward her, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, a frown on his ruggedly handsome face.

“Oh, come on, Túrin,” she said upon seeing his expression. “The past is the past. We can’t change it. We can only hope to learn from it. You and Finduilas will get a second chance at love. There’s no need to get pissy with me.”

“Pissy?” he queried, not wholly understanding what she meant by that.

“Attitude,” she drawled. “I don’t have time for that.”

“I would think a Vala would not be so crass.”

She snickered. “You obviously haven’t been around any of the Valar for long periods of time, have you?” He went to answer, but the Slayer abruptly spoke up before he could. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“I would think that you would be overjoyed that this day has finally arrived, that Morgoth is finally going to get what is coming to him,” stated the Adan. “I cannot understand why you seem so hostile, especially towards me.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered derisively, as she rose to her feet. “This is a glorious day, isn’t it?” Buffy made her way over to the sideboard with her empty glass in hand. “I suppose that all depends on whose perspective you view things from. The Edain, the Eldar, the Ainur will most certainly rejoice at the death of Morgoth. I imagine that December twelfth will be a day of celebration for many years to come.”

She popped the cork on the wine bottle and began to fill her glass as the Adan looked on.

“And is that not a good thing? Should we not celebrate the death of the Dark Foe who knows only evil in that black heart of his?” queried Túrin.

Though several feet separated the Slayer from the Adan, she turned, facing him once again. “And, of course, you think that Melkor Bauglir doesn’t understand that concept of love or compassion, that he knows only cruelty and hatred… ”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” interjected Túrin, rising from his seat. He looked incredulously at the Vala Queen. “Surely you must be jesting. Morgoth is the epitome of evil. He knows of nothing else and is ruled by his hatred and contempt for others. He is the despoiler of all in Arda, whether it be the works of your kindred or the Children of Ilúvatar.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she answered, uncompromising in tone.

Túrin was aghast. “I fear that you have been beguiled by the Enemy, for how else could one come to his defense?” he queried in disbelief.

“And who are you, son of Húrin, to make such a judgment on one whom you’ve never met?”

The Adan stared wide-eyed at the Valië for a few moments before bursting into laughter. “Yes, you are jesting!” he laughed in his amusement.

Buffy remained unmoved, looking at the mortal with a straight face.

When Túrin noticed the Slayer’s expression, his laughter died down. “What? Surely, you cannot be serious!” he remarked in the same incredulous tone that he had spoken in only moments before. “He’s the Dark Lord, a menace unto the world! How could anyone defend such a wicked creature?”

The Slayer took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and slowly exhaled as she took several steps toward the dais. “You don’t know my history with Melkor, do you?” She stopped, waiting for the Adan’s answer.

“I am aware that you have contested his will throughout the ages of the world, hampering him and his followers every - ”

“No!” she interjected, her eyes fixed on the burning vats of flame. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then I do not know what you speak of,” he answered, taking a few steps forward.

After a long pause, the Vala Queen proclaimed, “I love him.”

Though she spoke softly, her words reverberated within the chamber, leaving Túrin speechless. He stood there with his mouth agape, shocked to hear that any could love such a fiend.

“He was not born evil,” the Slayer continued. She slowly turned, facing the Adan. “I made him that way.”

“You?!” Túrin replied in a stunned voice. “I cannot believe that,” he added with a shake of his head. “I do not believe that!”

“It’s true,” she answered somberly. “I was the reason for his… metamorphosis. I had betrayed him, awakened his jealousy and wrath towards, not only me, but also my kinsmen.”

“How could that be?” queried the flabbergasted Adan. “What could you possibly have done to bring about such a dramatic transformation of the mightiest of the Valar?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she replied. “I am the Vala of Love, after all. Use your head, Túrin. It’s not rocket science.”

The Adan looked deeply into the Valië’s eyes and, like in a dream, he saw visions of her past. When the images stopped, he stood there for a moment, digesting all he had seen.

“Your heart was turned to another,” he said in a mere whisper.

“That was my folly,” he answered sadly.

“NO!” he said in protest. Sensing the Slayer’s guilt, he quickly dashed to her side. “It was not your fault, my dear Lady, for it was Morgoth that abandoned you! He left you!”

“I should have waited,” she moaned. “I should’ve waited for him to return.”

“NO!” Túrin countered again. “He should have stayed! He had found what he was looking for but was too thick to see it. As you said, sometimes our passions blind us to what is right before us, what we’ve been searching for. Do not carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders any more. That burden should be on Morgoth, and rightly so, if you ask me.”

The Adan placed his hand on her shoulder, offering her comfort.

Buffy turned her gaze to her glass, feeling the tears forming in her eyes.

“I now see that there was love between you and him, Bella,” continued Túrin. “It was wrong of me to doubt your feelings, or his, for that matter. I merely find it strange that Morgoth could love anyone other than himself, but also understand how easily he could fall in love with someone like you. Your fey exudes love and compassion - two qualities that are far too rare in the world nowadays, or so I’ve been told.”

The Vala Queen lifted her head, staring up into the grey eyes of the Adan.

“Thank you,” she answered, giving him a quick smile. The Slayer took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Because of my love for Melkor, our fates are bound together. I will be with him at the end, though bitter it will be.”

Túrin furrowed his brows, not wholly comprehending the meaning of her words.

She forced herself to smile again. “Come with me, son of Húrin,” she continued, motioning with her head. She led the Adan to the dais, stopping between the two vats. “These contain what Melkor has been searching for - the holy Light of Ilúvatar.”

“The Imperishable Flame,” whispered the Adan in awe, staring at the flickering, bluish-white flames.

“Yes indeed. The Flames are the very essence of Eru Ilúvatar, and is a part of all life, whether that life has done good or evil,” she disclosed. “It is extremely powerful and will be useful to you.”

Túrin shifted his gaze to Buffy. “Useful? How?” he queried.

A small smile crept to the Vala Queen’s face. “Do you really think you possess the strength to kill the likes of a Vala?”

“I… I just assumed… ”

“You assumed wrong,” she said with a shake of her head. “You can’t do it alone. The Imperishable Flame is the key to your victory. It has the power to destroy a Vala’s hröa, permanently.”

“How?” asked the baffled Adan.

“You’ll see, soon enough.” The Slayer then began to ascend the steps of the dais while Túrin waited at the bottom. “I’d like to sit upon my throne one last time,” she continued morosely, looking up at her lapis lazuli chair gleaming in the firelight.

“It does not have to be the last time,” remarked Túrin, feeling a sudden heaviness upon his heart.

“I’m afraid it is,” she replied, sinking into the cushioned seat of her canopied throne. She placed her glass on the small table beside her seat before gripping the arms of the chair. She closed her eyes for a few moments, as images of upcoming events played out in her mind.

“I’m sorry that I was bitchy earlier,” she apologized, her eyes popping open. Buffy fixed her gaze on the Adan. “This day… I’ve been anticipating it for a long time… and now that it’s here… ” She paused, sighing heavily. “I don’t know…. All these emotions seem to be spewing from me. I don’t mean to be harsh. Don’t take it personally, Túrin. It’s just been…. a weird day.”

“I have waited ages for this day, the moment where I exact my revenge upon the Dark Lord for all the ills he has done, not only to me, but to all those that dwell within Eä,” confessed Túrin with an air of sadness to his voice. “But now, I find myself dreading the deed, that it is not going to be at all as I had envisioned it during my confinement in Mandos. Why is that, Bella? Why am I feeling this way?”

Instead of answering the Adan, the Valië replied wistfully with, “You know, only one mortal has ever sat upon my throne - Sargon the Magnificent, my beloved.”

Túrin looked questioningly at the Vala Queen, wondering why she was avoiding his queries.

“Come up here, son of Húrin. Today, today I grant you the honor of sitting upon my beautiful canopied throne.”

The Adan was hesitant. Never before had any asked him to sit upon such a mighty seat. It was an honor indeed!

“Come,” she said again, motioning him forward.

Túrin began to climb the steps, marveling at the spectacular chair that the Vala Queen sat upon. When he reached the top, Buffy stood, and took the glass from his hand.

“Sit, my friend, sit,” she said, moving to the side and placing his empty glass on the table beside hers.

The Adan hesitated yet again, causing Buffy to grumble under her breath. She grabbed him by the arm, spun him around and forcefully pushed him down onto the lapis lazuli chair. She placed his arms onto the rests of the chair, holding them down in place.

A look of utter horror came to Túrin’s face as visions of his deadly deed flashed in his mind. He struggled under the Slayer’s grasp, but found himself unable to overpower the small woman whose strength exceeded his own. He then went limp. Sweat poured from his forehead and neck, tears streamed down his face.

He cried out, “NOOO!” in a bellowing voice that echoed throughout the chamber.

“Shh,” said the Valië in a comforting voice, gently stroking the clammy skin of the Adan’s face. “Now you have seen with my eyes what is to be, the ending of the tale… ”

“NOOO!” he cried out again. “That cannot be!”

The Vala Queen lifted Túrin’s chin, locking eyes with him. She then spoke telepathically to the son of Húrin. Though the Adan felt horrified by what he had witnessed, he did, however, find her words soothing, offering him comfort in his moment of despair.

“There is a price for everything,” she said at last. “And I am willing to pay my part. Are you, Túrin, willing to pay yours?”

With his arm now free, he wiped the tears from his eyes, nodding in reply, unable to find his voice.

“Good,” she said, smiling warmly at the Adan. “It is nearly time, my friend. I can feel Melkor coming closer and closer. He’ll be here very soon.” She then turned and descended the steps of the dais.

Upon reaching the bottom, she quickly glanced at the sleeping form of Daeron before shifting her gaze to Gurthang. She stretched out her arm, and in a loud, commanding voice said, “Gurthang! Come to me!”

“Yes, Mistress,” the black blade answered with a hiss before soaring through the air and into her waiting hand.

She tightened her grip on the hilt, feeling her palms beginning to sweat. With her other hand she removed the sheath, staring at the flaming blade wrought by Eöl in ages past. Buffy tossed the sheath to the marble floor. Testing the sword, she made a series of slashing motions, whipping the blade through the air. Satisfied, she then placed the tip of the Gurthang into one of the vats of Flame.

“Drink in the Flames, Vala Foe, endow yourself with the essence of Ilúvatar,” she said in a commanding voice.

“Happily will I oblige thee, o’ mighty Vala Queen,” the blade hissed in reply before sucking the Flames from the vat.

The left part of the chamber fell into shadow as the Fire diminished, leaving only one vat of Imperishable Flame to illuminate the entire Hall of Judgment.

Buffy then raised the sword, turning toward the remaining vat of burning Flames. She stuck Gurthang into the Fire and repeated her previous command.

Once again, the black blade eagerly obliged, devouring all the Flames until the room went dark. The only light came from Gurthang, which now burned with a dim bluish-white light.

The Slayer picked up the sheath from the floor, and slid the sword back into its case. The chamber immediately went pitch-black.

Túrin’s eyes darted toward the double doors, despite the darkness of the room. He anticipated that the enemy might enter the Hall since the Fires that had kept them at bay had now been extinguished. Before he could voice his concern, he heard the Vala Queen clear her throat. His eyes immediately shot back to her. He looked on in awe as she exhaled golden particles of light from her lungs. The Adan’s jaw dropped, watching the tiny, glowing particles floating on the air, filling the chamber with their golden radiance.

“This light will protect you,” she finally said, slowly starting up the steps of the dais. “It’ll keep the enemy from entering this Hall.”

“What are these things, these glowing particles?” he asked, reaching out, trying to catch the golden specks that seemed to dance away from him.

“They’re part of my essence,” she answered, feeling a bit weaker. Buffy could feel those trapped within her attempting to escape, yet her strength had not waned enough for them to break free.

“You’re bleeding,” said the Adan with concern, rising to his feet.

The Slayer could feel the blood trickling from her nose. She blotted the stream with the back of her hand, uttering, “Crap” under her breath.

Túrin looked anxiously around for something to help staunch the flow. “Why don’t you sit, and hold your head back,” he suggested, helping her onto the canopied chair.

Buffy handed him Gurthang as she sat down. While the Adan continued his search, the Valië pulled the bottom of her cloak to her nose, using the blue material to stem the flow.

“Just what I need,” she grumbled, her voice muffled from the fabric covering the bottom part of her face.

“Keep your head back,” advised Túrin. “That should help.”

The Slayer eased her head back, which forced the blood to stream down her throat. She immediately began to gag. She lowered her head, coughing up the crimson fluid into her cloak.

It took several minutes for the bleeding to cease.

“I think it’s stopped,” she said, glancing at the soon-to-be stain on her blue cloak. The Vala Queen checked her nose, making sure her nosebleed had indeed stopped. Once she determined that it had, she let the material fall from her hands. She reached for the clasp around her neck. “I hate that I got this bloody. It’s at the bottom so it won’t be that bad.”

Túrin looked at the Valië with a puzzled expression.

She rose to her feet. “You’ll need to wear this,” she continued, removing the garment. “No one will mess with you while you have this on.” She offered the cloak to the Adan.

He took it, examining it closely. “It is magical then?”

“No, not really,” she answered with a shrug. “But, no one will bother you as long as you wear it.” She motioned for Túrin to sit once again. “When the clock strikes midnight, come to my rooms on the thirteenth floor. You know the way.”

Túrin’s eyes scanned the room as he answered, “What clock?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he suddenly heard a distinctive ticking sound. An enormous grandfather clock had appeared between the two empty vats at the bottom of the dais, revealing the current time: four minutes past ten.

“Oh, I take it you mean that clock,” continued the Adan without missing a beat.

The Slayer smiled, looking at the clock. She sadly mumbled, “I wish I had more time,” with a heavy sigh.

“We can hold off the inevitable,” suggested Túrin. “If you need more time… ”

She quickly turned her gaze back to the Adan, interjecting, “This has been pre-destined. The exact moment - everything. I could not undo it, even if I wanted to.” She forced another smile, looking at the man who reminded her so much of her beloved Sargon. “You know what to do, Túrin. Don’t let me down.” She leaned closer, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

As she eased back, Túrin grabbed her, stopping her. “I do not know if I can do this,” he revealed fretfully, his frantic grey eyes searching her own. “I do not think I have it in me.”

Buffy’s face hardened. She replied with, “I killed your father. I gutted him on the shores of the sea.”

A look of disbelief came to Túrin’s face. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No!”

“Yes, my friend. It was I that killed Húrin Thalion, the Steadfast and Elf-friend.” She narrowed her eyes. “Use that! Use that when the time comes.” She then stood upright. “Farewell, Túrin. May you see better days in this next life.”

Buffy turned, and descended the steps, leaving a dumbfounded Túrin behind. She crossed the chamber over to Daeron.

“Wake up, my friend,” she whispered, caressing the Elf’s cheek.

Daeron’s head shot up, his eyes quickly coming into focus. “Bella, wh- what happened?” he stammered.

“It’s time for us to go,” she said, taking him by the hand and helping him to his feet.

“I… I don’t understand,” he answered in his confusion.

“I want to hear music in my Halls one last time, and who better than Daeron, the fairest minstrel in all of Arda, to serenade me on this day.”

“But… but the enemy!” he said in panicky voice. “The enemy will kill us!”

“No they won’t, sweetie. They’ve been waiting for this, waiting for us.” She led him across the chamber to the double doors. Without giving Túrin a second look, she and the Elf left the Hall of Judgment for the last time.

They had only taken a few steps into the corridor when the enemy, Maiar of Melkor Bauglir, had them surrounded. Some had taken upon a monstrous form, while others looked rather pleasing to the eye, a mere disguise that hid their true wicked nature.

A terrified Daeron clung to the Vala Queen’s arm, fearful that he was about to meet his grisly demise. His jaw went agape when the foes dropped to their knees, bowed their heads in reverence, and proclaimed in unison, “Hail Inanna, Queen of Darkness!”

“Good evening, my friends. Welcome back,” she said in greeting, stunning Daeron with her words.

One from the score of demons raised his head, and in a hoarse voice said, “Blessed be this day. We thank you, o’ great Inanna Queen, for releasing us from our prison.”

“You’re most certainly welcome. Please, rise,” she continued in her queenly voice.

The wicked Maiar then rose to their feet and looked at Daeron for a moment, wondering if he was yet another lover that needed to be killed, as they could smell fear emitting from the Elf.

As if reading their minds, the Valië said, “Daeron is my minstrel and shall sing in honor of my Lord’s return. Do not give him any grief or you will contend with my wrath.”

“Of course, my Lady,” answered the handsome spokesman for the group with a nod of his head. He turned to one of his henchmen and in his gravelly voice barked, “Take the Elf to the thirteenth floor!”

“Right away, my Lord,” answered a skeletal-looking creature covered in dry, flaky skin with fiery red eyes.

“Bella!” cried out Daeron nervously as the monster gripped his arm.

“It’s okay, Daeron. No one will harm you. I promise.”

“But… but where are you going? Are you not coming with me?” he queried anxiously, as he was being led away.

“I’ll join you shortly. I have something - ” she paused, turning to the demonic spokesman of the group for a moment before fixing her gaze back on the Elf Lord, “I have something to attend to, then I’ll be up.”

The demon gripping Daeron’s arm took off down the corridor with the Sinda in tow.

The demonic spokesman then went to introduce himself. “I am - ”

“ - Malphas,” said Buffy, cutting off the handsome Maia’s words. “I know.”

The demon smiled at her remembering his name. “Then it is true, the Veil has been lifted?” he asked in an astonished voice.

The Slayer looked incredulously at Malphas for a second or two. “Is not my breaking the Door of Night evidence of that, or the fact that you still live after destroying my kingdom?”

The Maia chuckled in that gravelly voice of his. “You speak truly!” he replied. His tone immediately turned serious. “Then you know what you must now do, my Queen.”

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I do.”

The wicked demon smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “This way, my Lady. This way,” he said, motioning toward the corridor in the opposite direction that Daeron had gone.

As Buffy walked through the halls, she looked around with a heavy heart at the state of her sanctuary. Dead bodies of both friend and foe littered the floor. Blood and innards were splattered and smeared on the once gleaming white walls. Gaping holes were in some of the barriers, allowing her to see into the adjoining chambers and the carnage that lay within. It was a tragic sight for the Vala Queen to behold, but one she had foreseen many years ago.

Their feet crunched on the broken glass that covered the floor as they continued on their way. Down some of the corridors, the rooms from above had broken asunder, collapsing on each level below. Entire wings of the castle had been demolished in the battle, and to the victor had gone the spoils. Melkor’s men were rifling through her possessions, taking her treasures for their own.

She and Malphas had climbed up several flights of stairs in the only part of Sussrúmnir that remained intact and in perfect condition. With each step that she took, her feet became like lead blocks. The feeling of dread weighed down on her, knowing that in only a few minutes time, she’d have to commit the most heinous act of all - the killing of her beloved Sargon.

But he’ll be the last one, she thought to herself. Sargon will be the last one.

There was a moment during that trek through her Halls when she had second thoughts, when she thought of slaying her companion and waging war against the numerous foes of Morgoth with only Túrin at her side. However, that thought was fleeting, for she knew that she had to face her doom with the utmost courage or the entire world would fall into the abyss of despair.

At last, they had reached their destination - the healing quarters of Sussrúmnir. Buffy found it somewhat ironic that her last feat would happen in such a place. She tried to convince herself that her actions would actually release her beloved from his torments and the unconscionable suffering she knew he had already experienced at the hands of Melkor’s minions.

The corridor was packed with the enemy, who were gleefully waiting for the Valië’s arrival. They reminded her of carrion fowl, waiting eagerly for the death of one whose flesh they longed to devour.

You can do this, she thought to herself, feeling her palms becoming sweaty. Be strong! You have to be strong!

The demons moved aside, making a pathway for both her and Malphas. The beastly creatures bowed their heads, uttering her praises as she walked by.

Buffy felt her mouth go dry. Her heart began to beat frantically in her chest. She wiped the trickle of sweat that ran down the side of her face with the back of her hand, noticing that she was now trembling. Terror was beginning to seize hold of her. The last meal she had eaten churned uncomfortably within her stomach.

One of the monsters flung open the door to the room occupied by a dying Sargon.

The Slayer paused, taking a deep breath before entering the chamber.

Malphas gave her a little nudge forward. She turned toward the Maia, who smiled encouragingly at her, his dark, piercing eyes glinting with the malice in his heart.

“For Melkor,” she said in a throaty whisper.

“For Melkor,” he replied, ushering her into the chamber of horrors.

Several beastly creatures surrounded the table on which her lover lay, obscuring her view.

“Step aside for the Queen!” demanded Malphas.

The demonic creatures immediately scurried away from the table, leaving a bloody trail of footprints in their wake.

The Slayer gasped, causing her guide to give her a menacing look with his narrowed eyes.

She coughed in an attempt to conceal her shock.

Lying upon a long wooden table was Sargon. His badly beaten, naked body was held in place by iron rods inserted beneath his shoulders and in his hips. His arms, which from the looks of it had been broken, had been tied at the wrists and were stretched awkwardly over his head. His feet had also been bound, one overlapping the other. An iron rod penetrated both, firmly fixing his lower limbs to the table’s surface. Welts and gashes covered his glistening muscular body, as the enemy chose to torment him with barbed whips. Blood drained from his many wounds, trickling over the edge of the table into small pools of crimson on the marble floor. His breathing was shallow, raspy, as he struggled to take each breath. In actuality, his injuries were far worse than what the Slayer could see.

“Leave us!” she commanded in a low voice, her body trembling even more than before.

“But, my Lady,” Malphas began to protest.

She turned her narrowed eyes to the evil Maia at her side. “You will get your sacrifice,” she hissed angrily. “But I will carry out the deed, alone.”

Malphas glared at her for a moment. His lips then turned upward into a lopsided grin. “As you wish,” he answered, bowing his head. He then shifted his gaze to his comrades. “Out, you scumbags!” he shouted to his henchmen. “The Queen can deal with her quarry without the likes of you!”

The nefarious foes hastily made a beeline for the exit. One of the beasts offered her his whip, something she rejected.

“You too, Malphas. Leave us,” she said after all the others had left the room.

“Yes, my Queen,” he replied happily, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as she heard the door latch, she ran to Sargon’s side, nearly slipping on the slick floor. She reached for the table’s edge to keep her from falling. Once she had steadied herself, she was able to see the extent of the Adan’s injuries. She winced upon seeing a few of his ribs sticking through his skin on the other side of his body, something she hadn’t noticed from the other end of the room.

Slowly, Sargon turned his head toward her. “I… I knew… you would… come,” he said in a weak voice, struggling to speak each word.

Buffy stroked his sticky forehead, her heart breaking as she looked into his bleary eyes. All she could do was nod, stifling back her tears.

“I… I remember,” he continued in gasps. “I… I know… who I am… who I really… am.”

“I know. I remember too, Menelwë,” she answered, still caressing his face.

He licked his parched lips. “I am… Vala,” he gurgled.

And indeed he was. Like Luinil, Sargon was, in fact, a Vala, a Vala who had been sent to Middle-earth by Eru Ilúvatar, and had been born unto mortal parents. He too had remained in the Timeless Halls after most of their kinfolk had descended into Eä ages ago. It was Menelwë who had brought her comfort and eased her sorrow after Melkor’s departure. He had become her constant companion and lover until Ilúvatar deemed that Buffy had to enter the world to fulfill her destiny.

Menelwë had watched in despair all that had transpired in his beloved’s life in Arda. He had voiced his concern to the Allfather numerous times, beseeching Eru to permit his descent into Eä so that he could fight for and protect the one whom he loved dearly. He had no idea that, when Ilúvatar had finally answered his prayer, he would be sent into the world in the guise of a mortal with no memories whatsoever of his past life. Yet, just like in the Timeless Halls, Menelwë and Maranwë found each other again, even though neither had any knowledge of their previous life together.

“You fought valiantly, my love,” the Slayer said soothingly.

“But… but… I failed,” he wheezed. “I failed… to protect… our home… and… our people,” he confessed in his weakening state.

“No, my love,” she countered. “You’ve done more than any one else. We were not fated to win this war. Not this time.”

He groaned softly from the pain.

“Shh,” she sounded, leaning closer to her beloved. “I’ll ease your pain, my love,” she said, caressing his cheek. “Close your eyes.”

Menelwë looked at her before his lids slowly closed.

She bent down, kissing him gently on the lips. “I love you,” she whispered. As she rose, her hand on his face slid over to his nose, pinching his nostrils shut. Her other hand swiftly covered his mouth, as she planned to suffocate her lover.

Immediately, Sargon’s eyes darted open, his wide glassy eyes staring at Buffy in shock. His muscles stiffened, as he vainly attempted to writhe within his constraints, his innate instinct to survive kicking in.

Nevertheless, the Slayer kept her hold, preventing him from taking another breath.

With his numerous injuries, it did not take long for Menelwë to die.

Once dead, Buffy fell atop her lover and began to weep. Killing Sargon was, by far, the hardest thing she had ever done. She had betrayed one who had remained loyal to her for ages untold. No greater sin could she commit.

Feeling the bile rise to her throat, she eased off the corpse of her lover, her trembling hand covered her mouth. She stared at Sargon’s lifeless body for a few minutes, uttering, “I’m sorry,” under her breath.

Wiping the golden tears from her face, she then turned, and fled the chamber.

As soon as she left the room, Malphas, who was waiting for her, said, “I take it the deed is done.”

She could only nod in reply.

“Good, very good,” he answered with a smile. The evil Maia gave her shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Melkor will be delighted that you saw it through, my Lady.” Malphas then maliciously spat, “That Menelwë was nothing but filth and deserved death for the seduction of my Lord’s wife. Good riddance, I say!”

Buffy felt numb and didn’t know how to respond to his comments.

“Ammut,” he then barked.

Immediately a fair maiden eased her way through the throng.

“My Lord,” she said, standing before the Maia.

“Take Inanna to her rooms.” Malphas eyes scanned the Slayer’s blood splattered white gown and skin. “Get the Queen cleaned up. Melkor will be arriving shortly.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the woman replied with an obedient nod. Ammut linked her arm with the Vala Queen’s before leading the dazed Slayer down the corridor.

Melkor’s minions rejoiced in the demise of Sargon the Magnificent, hooting and hollering as they entered the room, devouring the Holy Vala’s flesh.

As Buffy was ushered to her private rooms, Daeron’s first song rang out throughout all of Folkvang:

“I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line
I used to think that everything was fine
Sometimes I’d like to sit and gaze for days through sleepless dreams
All alone and trapped in time
All alone and trapped in time

I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me
Or am I even in it’s mind at all
Perhaps I’ll get a chance to look ahead and see
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball

Tell me, tell me where I’m going
I don’t know where I’ve been
Tell me, tell me won’t you tell me
And then tell me again
My heart is breaking, my body’s aching
And I don’t know where to go
Tell me, tell me won’t you tell me
I’ve just got to know

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know
Crystal ball
There’s so many things I’ve got to know
Crystal ball

If you should see me walking
Through your dreams at night
Would you please direct me
Where I ought to be
I’ve been looking for a crystal ball
To shed the light
To find a future in me…
To find a future in me…

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know
Crystal ball
There’s so many thing I’ve got to know
Crystal ball” *

The Sinda had just finished his first song when the Slayer and Ammut entered Buffy’s rooms on the thirteenth floor.

A morose Daeron looked up at the Vala Queen when she entered, his eyes glistening with tears. She could see the confusion etched on his fair elvish face. Buffy stopped, locking eyes with the Elf.

Ammut’s eyes darted back and forth between the Queen and her minstrel.

Clearing her throat, she announced, “I will draw your bath, my Lady.”

The Slayer didn’t reply, but remained transfixed, staring into the grey eyes of Daeron.

Ammut disappeared into the adjoining room, leaving Buffy and Daeron alone.

“What’s going on, Bella?” asked the crestfallen Sinda. “How can you fraternize with the enemy like this? I cannot begin to tell you how wrong it is - on so many levels. I feel like I am in a nightmare, a nightmare from which there is no waking.”

Even though the Slayer was trying to deal with her own grief, she strode over to Daeron’s side, taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

“It’s complicated,” she finally answered.

“My ass!” the Sinda shot back in defiance, causing the Valië’s brows to shoot upward at his cheek. “I’m not some child. I’m a grown man.” His tone was riddled with anger. “How can you let these unsavory types have free rein in these lands? They should be put to death, not glorified and amused.”

“Welcome to Bizarro World,” she answered in a calm voice.

“Bizarro World?” he repeated with disdain. “This is insanity… ”

“Ergo, bizarro,” she interjected with a snicker.

“I cannot believe that you find this amusing!” Daeron ranted. “The enemy has killed your people! Your sanctuary is in ruins and you are not doing a damn thing about it. I cannot understand, by the life in me, how you can take a leisurely bath after all that has transpired here. Perhaps it is you that has gone insane.”

She snorted at his comments, believing that maybe he was halfway correct in his assessment of the situation. Maybe she was insane. That would make a lot more sense. Hell, it would even make her feel better to believe that.

“There are forces at work here that you cannot even fathom, Daeron. You’re a minstrel, a master of lore, not a warrior. You have no comprehension of my true powers and what’s actually taking place as we speak.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me,” he snapped back heatedly.

Buffy stared at the Elf for a moment or two, watching his nostrils flare with each breath he took. She couldn’t help but smile at his ire.

“Okay, Daeron, I’ll let you in on shit,” she finally said, rising from her seat.

“Good! I deserve to know. You owe me that,” he replied with an air of triumph to his voice.

“Slide over,” Buffy said, standing beside the sofa on which the Elf sat.

He did as he was told.

She took a seat next to him.

Daeron looked impatiently at the Slayer.

She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand. “See with my eyes,” she whispered, locking eyes with the Sinda.

The blood quickly drained from the Elf’s face as he saw the images in his mind’s eye. She was showing him images of things that would soon transpire, not only in Folkvang but in all the world. His body began to tremble as he witnessed one horrific event after another, until, ultimately, he saw visions of the future, of heaven on Earth.

“Happy now,” she said mockingly, withdrawing her hand from his pale face.

Daeron tossed his harp aside on the couch, grabbing Buffy’s hand with both of his.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my insolence. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for doubting you?”

“Of course.” The Vala Queen gave him a reassuring smile. “The world is in chaos, everything’s been thrown off balance. I would expect you to be emotional, but it’s almost over, my dear Daeron. It’s almost over.”

“Is there any other way?” he queried in anguish. “Is there any other means to accomplish this task?”

The Slayer shook her head. “I’m afraid not. This is the only way.” She placed her free hand on top of his. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, the way I want it to be. I want this! My time’s over. But yours, yours is about to begin.”

“God, I feel like an ass!” he said, the color starting to return to his cheeks.

She chuckled. “We all feel that way sometimes.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Just sing for me, Daeron. I want to hear music and your sweet voice. I need that right now.”

“What would you like for me to play?”

Buffy thought for a minute. “I don’t care,” she answered, “Except for the last song. I want you play Don’t Fear the Reaper, at midnight.”

“Don’t Fear the Reaper,” he repeated, furrowing his brow. “Is that the song by the Cult of the Blue Oyster?”

She chuckled again. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Alright, Bella. I shall save that one for the last.”

“Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door leading to her bedchamber, hearing Ammut’s movements in the next room. “I better get a move on. Time’s ticking away here.”

“I would tell you to take care, but I reckon that’s a moot point.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she answered morosely.

“Thank you, Bella. Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me. You brought me healing when no one else could. And you gave me a home, a new lease on life… ”

“What are friends for?” she replied with a smile.

The two embraced, saying their last farewells.

Buffy then rose and disappeared through the bedroom door. As she made her way to the bathroom, Daeron began playing Sweet Madam Blue. It would be the last time she would ever hear that song.

Returning to her zombie-like state, she disrobed before climbing into the tub, allowing the evil Maia to bathe her in preparation of Melkor’s return. The Valië barely spoke to her newly appointed handmaiden, as she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay any mind to Ammut, despite their turbulent past.

After her bath, she washed her teeth thoroughly, including rinsing her mouth several times with mint water to ensure there was no scent of any other man on her. Instead of dressing in some fancy gown, she slipped into the black silky robe that had already been laid out for her.

“Can I get you anything, my Lady?” asked Ammut once the Valië was readied.

The Slayer thought for a minute. “Wine,” she answered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Get me a bottle of Rivendell Red, from 1882, Second Age. You’ll find it in the next room.”

“Yes, my Queen,” replied the woman with a nod, before leaving the chamber.

Buffy knew that Melkor would notice her sorrow upon his return, and it was imperative that her mood change or else all the sinful deeds she had committed recently would be for naught. She had come too far to allow her plans to go awry over her grief. The bottle of wine she had requested would be the perfect remedy for her depression, as the spell cast upon the vineyard of that year lifted one’s spirits, filling them with joy and bliss.

As she waited for Ammut to return, Daeron then began to sing the lengthy Lay of Inanna Ishtar, a song that chronicled the Slayer’s life during her first years in Mesopotamia. It was a beautiful, yet tragic piece written by her mortal followers (the Edain) in ages past.

Minutes later, Ammut returned with the bottle of wine. Once she had poured the Vala Queen a glass, she made a hasty retreat, leaving the Slayer alone to await Melkor’s return.

From the first sip, she could feel the effects of the magical brew, something she desperately needed. Buffy’s gaze shifted from the deep red beverage in her hand to the French doors that led to the balcony. She had not yet set eyes upon her kingdom since its destruction and now felt compelled to do so.

Slowly, she crossed the chamber. With each step, her trepidation grew. She pulled open one of the doors. A red glow immediately filled the chamber. The Vala Queen stepped out onto the balcony. Leaning against the railing, her eyes scanned the fires and destruction for miles on end.

The entire lake that encircled the isle burned with a bright flame, something that the Oracles had foretold long ago. Back in the day, the twins had referred to the “Lake of Fire” in their visions, (a term that survived not only the annals of the First Age, but also, The Holy Bible that is still read today).

Morgoth’s forces were still busy wreaking havoc in her lands. After looting what treasures they could find, the enemy gleefully used her own war machines to destroy the structures before burning the remnants to the ground. To her right, she could see that her temple had been demolished to its very foundations, a sight that should’ve brought her to tears, but, instead, she merely shook her head and chuckled.

The only thing she found disturbing was the carnage that always accompanied war, especially when on the losing end of the battle. Mutilated bodies were everywhere - the streets, gardens, even the fountain below her window, which spewed blood instead of water. She could make out her loved ones remains at the foot of her Halls, their hewed body parts arranged in a macabre display, (reminiscent to what she had done to Pallando’s Household in Rome).

The stench of death lingered heavily on the smoke-filled air. Buffy gulped the remaining contents of her glass, desperate to drink away her anguish. As she drank the last drop, she spotted Morgoth’s looming form racing across her lands in a pitch-black mass amidst the darkness and reddish-glow of her city.

“Melkor,” she uttered under her breath, her heart beginning to pound with excitement.

This was the first time that she had seen him since the Veil had been removed, and to see him in the same form as she had when they had initially met, brought back all those memories and feelings of old. She retreated to her quarters, checking her appearance in the mirror before setting her glass aside.

Standing by the foot of her lapis lazuli bed, she waited with bated breath for Melkor to enter.

His cronies outside chanted the Dark Lord’s name, whooping it up as their Master soared overhead.

The French door that had remained closed suddenly flung open as Melkor’s fey entered her bedchamber.

Immediately, Buffy dropped to her knee, bowing her head in reverence to the first man that she had ever loved.

“Melisse,” he said, his large form hovering just above the marble floor.

She lifted her head, her eyes welling with tears. “My Lord,” she whispered, “How long I’ve waited for this moment.”

“Our time has come at long last.”

“Indeed it has,” she answered with a smile. The Vala Queen raised her arms toward the heavens, calling forth all her magical powers. A loud crack of thunder sounded in the night, a flash of lightning illuminating the pitch-black sky, as she released her energy, remaking Melkor’s bodily form.

Utterly spent, she collapsed forward onto the floor. A prickly sensation coursed through her body from head to toe. Blood streamed from both of her nostrils; her head pounded ferociously. She tilted her head to the side, allowing the crimson fluid to spill onto the marble floor.

In her weakened state, those spirits trapped inside her could now flee, but out of fear of the Dark Lord, they decided to remain in their prison.

With his flesh remade, a naked Morgoth dashed to his beloved’s side, squatting beside her. He tenderly pulled her into his arms. He spoke not one word, but ran his tongue along her nostrils, healing the Slayer instantly.

“Let us get you cleaned up,” he said, helping her to her feet.

“I’m exhausted, Melkor. My powers have diminished,” she answered feebly.

The concerned Vala Lord then carried her to the bed where he gently laid her down. He went into the bathing chamber and brought back a wet cloth, carefully wiping away the blood on her face.

“That’s more like it,” he cooed, tossing the bloodied cloth to the floor.

Buffy reached up, caressing his handsome face. “I can’t believe you’re here, that we’re finally together.”

“We have waited far too long for this moment,” he replied, brushing the damp strands of hair from her face. “Those that have kept us apart shall rue the day for now they must contend with the wrath of Melkor, the mightiest of the Valar.”

A weak smile crept to the Valië’s face. “They have paid, Melindo. Manwë is dead. Valinor is in ruins.”

“My brother is dead, eh?” he sniggered. “What a shame! I’ve longed to see him cowering before my throne, begging for mercy… ” He chuckled again, continuing with, “… to have him kiss my feet in servitude to his only Master and the true Lord of Arda.”

“I will take his place if that is your desire,” answered Buffy, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. “I will happily kiss every square inch of your body.”

Melkor laughed at her offer. “It is not my feet I would have you kiss, Melisse!” His laughter died down, as he caressed the smooth skin of her cheek. “You shan’t ever cower before me, but shall rule at my side, as it is destined to be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be with you. Forever.”

“And so it shall be.” Morgoth inched lower, kissing her softly on the lips. He slowly eased back, studying her face with his dark, penetrating eyes. “You have made me the happiest Vala in all Eä, my sweet.”

“I take it that you are pleased with your homecoming,” she remarked coquettishly.

“Ah, yes, indeed,” he replied with a huge grin. “Nothing could welcome me more than the death of millions of heathens! And those that survive the war must repent of their old ways and worship me, or they shall pay dearly.”

The smile gradually faded from his face. “However, I can see that there are still some amongst our kindred that still live… and that displeases me,” he continued disappointedly.

“Who, Lord? Who is it that you wish to die?”

“Ulmo and Aulë,” he replied, his face wrinkled in disdain.

Buffy felt her stomach twist in knots upon hearing those two names.

“They should not live. They have seduced my wife and will be punished for doing so.” A sly smile came to his face, as he envisioned that confrontation in his mind’s eye. He shifted his gaze back to the Valië. “And I deem it is only befitting that you should be the one to slay them, my love. I will have them brought before my throne and you, my dear Melisse, you will honor me - honor our love, by killing those parasites in the most brutal and heinous of ways.”

“I will do whatever you ask of me, Melindo,” she vowed.

“I know you will, Melisse. I know you will.”

Feeling a twinge of guilt, she said, “Can you forgive me, Melkor? Can you forgive me for my past… indiscretions?” Her tone revealed her shame, as she continued, “Our brethren blinded me to our past, of our love… ”

“Now, now, Melisse” interrupted Melkor, arching his brow at her comment. “You are not being completely truthful here. The Valar had not blinded you of my love when you began your affairs with my foes. You were very much aware of my feelings. You chose to… ” His eyes narrowed, momentarily flickering with rage, “copulate with the enemy whilst I was on my journey.”

You idiot! shouted the voice of Abaddon, speaking for the first time since his imprisonment within her hröa. You walked right into that! Fix it! Fix it fast or we shall all feel father’s wrath!

Buffy was beginning to panic. She had to change the subject, and quick, but was unsure of how to do that without being so obvious.

Instead, she tried to explain herself. “You left me, Melkor,” she said in a small voice. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”

“When it comes to you, Melisse, I will always come back.”

“I thought you had deserted me, deserted me for someone… better,” she added, the hurt in her voice apparent.

A smile came to the Dark Lord’s face. “There is no one else for me, but you, my sweet,” he said softly, caressing her face once again.

“I can make it up to you,” she responded hopefully. “I can give you the heir you’ve always wanted.”

“A son?” he queried, excited at the thought. “I would like that very much. But do you have the strength, Melisse? Your strength has waned and I would want you at your strongest… ”

“Miruvóre,” interjected the Vala Queen.

“Miruvóre?” Morgoth repeated, his brows raised in question.

“In the crystal decanter on the sideboard - by the blue chair,” she replied. “If you bring me a glass, it’ll renew my strength.”

As Melkor rose from the bed, Buffy inched backwards toward the pillows stacked invitingly against the headboard. She believed that she had successfully diverted what could’ve been a foul situation, tempting the Dark Lord with the promise of a son.

“Is this it?” he queried, holding the crystal decanter in question.

“Yep, that’s the one,” she answered, relieved.

She kept her eyes locked on the Dark Lord as he poured the clear, invigorating liquid into two glasses. He prattled on about setting up their kingdom in Valinor and the enslavement of all those that still dwelt there, no matter what race they might be.

“They are weak!” he said in disgust, referring to the surviving Ainur. “Our kinsmen know nothing about the world beyond their borders.”

Melkor handed Buffy her drink as he climbed onto the mammoth bed.

“You do know, lover, that Valinor has been pulled from Arda, that it exists on another plane,” she remarked before taking a gulp of the rejuvenating concoction.

“I am well aware of that, Melisse,” he answered, leaning against the pillowed headboard. “I have spent years untold wandering the many planes of existence, even to Aman the Blessed.” He bitterly spat out the name of the land of their kindred, still angered over the fact that they had had the audacity to cast him into the Void millennia ago.

“From what I hear, the lands will have to be remade. War has ravaged the beauty… ” The Vala Queen stopped speaking mid-sentence, as the first chime of the grandfather clock in the Hall of Judgment rang out throughout Sussrúmnir.

Daeron immediately stopped singing the Lay of Inanna Ishtar, and began to play the first chords of Don’t Fear the Reaper on his harp.

“What is it, Melisse? Is something wrong?” asked Melkor, upon seeing her paling face.

She didn’t have much time. Buffy downed the rest of her miruvóre in a couple of gulps.

“What is it?” Melkor continued to query.

The clock chimed a second time.

“This song, this song makes me… amorous,” she said in her most seductive voice.

A wicked grin crept to Morgoth’s face. “Is that so?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding her head. She tossed her empty glass across the room. It shattered against the marble facing of the fireplace. While Melkor took a sip of his drink, she pulled it from his grasp, the clear beverage trickling down his chin. She threw his glass aside before climbing on top of him, suggestively licking the miruvóre from his face and neck.

“I will make a mental note of this song,” he moaned as her kisses moved up his neck to his jaw line.

“It’s a beautiful love song,” she purred before covering his mouth with her own, kissing him deeply.

Feeling reinvigorated, Buffy used her magic to dim the moonstones in the lamps throughout the chamber, casting the entire room in a faint silver light.

Morgoth’s hands busily undid the belt of her robe as he hungrily kissed his beloved. The Valië helped him ease the silky garment from her body, as his excitement grew. Once she was naked, he rolled on top of her, preferring to be in the dominant role when it came to their lovemaking.

Like clockwork, the moment Melkor penetrated Buffy, Daeron began to sing.

“All our times have come
Here but now they’re gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun and the rain, we can be like they are
Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper
Baby, I’m your man… ”

Túrin flew up the main staircase, taking three steps at a time. Buffy’s blue cloak billowed behind him, not a demon of Morgoth’s was in sight. Clutched in his right hand was Gurthang, the fiery bluish-white blade eager to drink Vala blood.

The passageways of Sussrúmnir seemed to be deserted, the enemy busy celebrating, en masse, outside the once glorious Halls of the Vala Queen. There were moments when the Adan thought he saw shadowy movements from the corner of his eyes, but whenever he turned for a better look, nothing was to be found.

By the time he heard Daeron’s voice, he had already made it to the seventh floor.

“Valentine is done
Here but now they’re gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity, Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday, like Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday, we can be like they are
Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper
We’ll be able to fly, don’t fear the reaper
Baby, I’m your man…”

Túrin had reached the thirteenth floor. Everything looked exactly as it had in the visions he had had whilst sitting atop the canopied throne of Maranwë Luinil. He knew which way to go. The sound of Daeron’s harmonious voice grew in intensity the closer he got to the Sinda. Door after door, room after room, until finally, he came face to face with the Elf Lord, sitting upon a couch in the room that adjoined Buffy’s bedchamber.

Daeron and Túrin locked eyes, each having their part to play in the final saga of good versus evil. The Adan felt nervous and excited, yet saddened, all at the same time.

The Elf nodded, motioning to the next door, behind which the enemy would be found.

The Adan took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. He then started across the chamber, as Daeron started singing the last verse of the song that Buffy had requested.

“Love of two is one
Here but now they’re gone…”

Túrin stopped at the door, shifting Gurthang into his left hand.

“Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on…”

He gently eased the door open, silently slipping into the bedchamber.

“Then the door was opened and a wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared… ”

The Adan froze, stunned by the sight before him. The hideous beastly form of Melkor was ravaging the beautiful and delicate form of the Vala Queen. Unbeknownst to Túrin, Buffy never saw Morgoth in this form whenever they were intimate. Her love for the Dark Lord had blinded her to his true countenance, a form he had always worn since his exodus from Valinor ages ago.

“The curtains flew and then he appeared, saying don’t be afraid…”

‘Time is ticking, son of Húrin,’ he heard the Valië’s voice say in his head. ‘Two to go, and then it’ll be over.’

Túrin tightened his grip on the hilt, slowly approaching the massive lapis lazuli bed.

“Come on baby, and she had no fear… ”

He stopped beside the bed.

“And she ran to him, then they started to fly…”

Holding on to the blade with both hands, he raised Gurthang over the adjoined bodies of Melkor Bauglir and Maranwë Luinil.

“And she ran to him, then they started to fly… ”

Túrin then mustered all his strength.

“They looked backward and said good-bye, she had become like they are… ”

He thrust the blade downward, the sharp point of Gurthang penetrating the flesh of both Valar.

“She had taken his hand, she had become like they are… ”

Melkor howled in pain, his ear-piercing shrieks shaking the remnants of the castle, much like an earthquake. Buffy’s fingers dug into Morgoth’s back. Her jaw hung open, but she did not cry out. She stared at the face of her lover, his face a mask of anguish.

“Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper.” **

Gurthang eagerly drank of their blood, until both Buffy and Melkor’s bodies turned to ash…




* Lyrics by Tommy Shaw

** Lyrics by Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser


Chapter 126 - JUDGMENT

Buffy’s phantom arms remained tightly wrapped around Melkor despite the fact that their bodies were no more. Morgoth was shocked beyond belief, not truly comprehending what had just taken place. Those souls that were trapped within her, now sought their escape, speedily fleeing out of the French doors and into the night. They would not get too far.

“GO!” she shouted to Túrin, who remained frozen beside the bed, staring at the gleaming, black blade of Gurthang, which remained lodged in the thick feather mattress.

The Halls fiercely rumbled and shook. Chunks of the ceiling broke apart, raining down upon the lovely chamber.

Daeron flung open the bedroom door, holding onto the doorframe to steady his balance. “Túrin! Come on!” he screeched, anxious to depart Sussrúmnir as soon as possible.

The Adan shifted his gaze to the two spirits hovering just above the bed. Time seemed to be moving so slowly, yet so quickly at the same time. Coming back to his senses, he snatched the hilt of Gurthang, pulling it from the bed, before fleeing toward the doorway.

“Come on!” shouted the Elf again, as more of the ceiling crashed down onto the marble floor. Daeron reached out, grabbed Túrin by the arm, and pulled him toward the portal that the Valië had opened in the adjoining sitting room. Trying to protect their heads from the falling debris, the two hastily crossed the chamber as the whirling mass of energy began to shrink in size. The Slayer had begun to remove her magics from the rooms, desperate to direct them elsewhere. The two men dove into the portal, as the window snapped shut behind them. They both made it safely back to Mandos where they would be protected from the devastation that would soon come.

Like a rocket, Buffy and Morgoth shot out of Sussrúmnir, the power of their feys breaking through the roof of the ancient dwelling. For the first time in a very long time, she felt liberated - free, released from the bonds of her bodily form.

With their essences combined, she and Morgoth resembled a blue fireball, ringed in white. The blue color was from her essence, combined with the Flame Imperishable, of which she had gained mastery when the Fires shot through her and Melkor’s adjoined bodies. The Fires formed a white light around them, a barrier, so that any that entered the ring, could not flee, unless it was the will of Eru Himself.

As they rose into the sky, the Slayer was able to look down upon her kingdom. The fiery lake boiled like lava, crashing over the shoreline in waves. The remnants of Sussrúmnir collapsed before her phantom eyes, the dust from the demolition of the mystical dwelling mixing with the thick plumes of grayish-black smoke that hung over the entire island.

Amidst the gloom, Morgoth’s minions were running wild, crying out in fear, scrambling for cover from the mayhem that was taking place. They had no idea that things were about to get much worse, as many had forgotten the ancient lore, a lore that they had so eagerly twisted to their own device, forgetting the true words that were foretold ages ago.

The real Rapture was about to take place, but it would be very much unlike that which some theologians had misinterpreted from the Good Book, for the Holy had already been removed from Eä to the confines of Mandos, and their number was small, only one hundred and forty-four thousand, when compared to those that remained left behind in the world. Those evil doers in Folkvang were the first to experience the Rapture, their foul and malicious spirits driven from their bodies, forced to rise to the blue mass of fire, where they would be trapped within the ring until they faced the judgment of Ilúvatar in the Timeless Halls. Those feys that had escaped from Buffy’s body were also overpowered, compelled to join their brethren in their new, temporary prison.

The higher the fiery blue orb rose, the larger it became, as more and more spirits joined the core forms of Buffy and Melkor.

Men (and women) - the ultra-wealthy, the powerful, the heads of mega corporations, those politicians and religious dictators that took pleasure in oppressing their fellow Man - the Elite they called themselves, felt that they were safe, housed deep below the earth in their fortresses of thick steel and concrete. Yet, they could not hide from their fate - for the power of the Allfather could reach far and wide, even to the deepest recesses of the earth.

Those horrible and despicable people sipped on their expensive wines, delighting in the fact that the population of the world was dwindling more quickly than they could’ve ever possibly imagined. The Elite had long made their preparations to take over the world, to dictate how each and every person should live, from what job they could do in the serfdom that would arise, to when and if they could marry and bring forth children. Things would have become much worse in the world than they already were, for these monsters would not be content until they controlled every aspect of one’s life.

Never in a million years, did they think they would be subjected to a force that money could not buy, for they lived in the world of their own making, delusional and blinded by their greed and corrupt and distorted views.

In one such compound, many were congregated. Their enormous sanctuary (if you will) was located in the bowels of Brussels. One minute, those parasites of society were sipping their pricey, delectable wine from their fancy crystal flutes, the next, their glasses crashed to the floor, followed by their limp and lifeless forms. Their frightened spirits were forcefully expelled from their hröas, soaring upward toward the heavens to join the others of their ilk.

Episodes such as this were happening all over the world, but not only with the Elite. Millions upon millions of villains, including murderers, rapists, pedophiles and the like - any whose heart had been turned black with hate and malice, were thrust from their bodies, uniting with others of their kind.

Greater and greater in size the fireball became. People throughout the world could see the fiery mass climbing toward the heavens, bathing the lands below in a blue glow. Some had assumed it was something to do with the moon, having seen it turn from silver to red in days past. However, none could explain how or why this blue orb of fiery light appeared to be rising from the Earth. Such an event had never before been recorded in the annals of history. Those that witnessed the episode could only surmise that it was an act of God, since they could find no other rational explanation.

When the fireball of spirits passed through Ilmen into the Firmament, a loud booming sound could be heard all around the world, the sound reminiscent of a sonic boom, only a hundred times greater.

At that point, the fabric that had kept the other dimensions separated tore apart, allowing all the other planes of existence to merge into one on Arda, (including Valinor). Foul beasts, monsters, evil of all kinds that had been hidden from this world were now forced to enter it. Those nefarious beings assumed that their time had arrived, that they had been handed all of Eä as their feeding ground, to introduce their appalling brand of thralldom onto its inhabitants. But that was not to be the case. As the vile creatures entered into this realm, their essence, the very core of their being, was driven from their beastly forms, rising upward to the blue fireball from which the cries of despair of their fallen comrades could be heard.

So great in size the fireball of spirits had become that Buffy was finding it difficult to direct the group to the Timeless Halls. Ilúvatar, knowing this, sent out a group of Ainur from His Halls, to help guide the treacherous company to His throne to face judgment of their past deeds.

Seeing the other Valar and Maiar, the Vala Queen’s friends of old, brought Buffy much comfort and joy. With the assistance of the Ainur, the fireball stayed on course, sailing across the pitch-black sky toward the Timeless Halls.

The closer they got to the throne of Ilúvatar, the more agitated the wicked spirits became. Their wailing shrieks were nearly driving the Slayer crazy, as the evil ones knew they would never again know peace. And, in her opinion, they didn’t deserve it. If she had her way, she would punish them according to their deeds on earth - eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Yet, Eru had something else in mind, something far worse than any torturous act that the Slayer could devise (and that was saying something as Buffy had a knack for doling out horrific punishments).

Then she saw it: the splendor of the Timeless Halls, a beacon of light amidst the blackness of the Firmament. The sight took her phantom breath away, as it had been ages since she had last beheld the beauty of the Halls of Ilúvatar. No words could describe the magnificence of the Timeless Halls.

A number of Ainur had lined up outside the doors to Eru’s dwelling, forming two lines so as to allow room for the massive blue orb to pass by. The aura of each Ainu radiated in varying shades of color, their beauty far greater than anything in the world beyond. Love, kindness and hope emitted from their essences, as these beings were the most devoted to Ilúvatar. They had refused to forsake the Allfather by departing His Halls in times past, desiring to bask in the holiness of His presence and to serve Him for all eternity.

The Ainur rejoiced upon seeing Luinil again. Her arrival meant that things were about to change, and that all the peoples of Arda would now get the opportunity to see the world as it should’ve been - pure and unsullied by the likes of Melkor Bauglir, the one Vala for which the Holy Ones had very little love.

The wicked went into a frenzy the instant they crossed the threshold of Eru’s Halls. Ilúvatar, being all-powerful, forced each individual, whether Vala, Maia, Elf, Dwarf, Man, or combinations of any of those races, to see their dastardly deeds in life played out before their very eyes. This caused the blasphemous, in particular, the most anguish, as they had done everything in their power to denounce the existence of the Allfather. Over time, they had indoctrinated Man to believe that His existence was myth rather than fact. They had done a fine job of swaying people to their line of thinking, and those that hadn’t been swayed were persecuted and subjected to cruel and inhumane punishments at the hands of the morally depraved.

Unfortunately, Buffy was forced to witness many of those people’s past lives, the images playing out in her mind’s eye, filling her with loathing and dread. Since most of these acts had transpired whilst she was not of the world, Eru wanted her to be privy to the heinous acts committed by the wicked.

When the massive fireball of spirits finally stopped, having come face-to-face with Ilúvatar, the Allfather raised his right hand, immediately stilling the voices of the depraved. Tears streamed down His fatherly face. No one’s anguish was greater than Eru’s at the choices His children had made. Though He gave to them the gift of free will, it hurt Him terribly to see how many had chosen to walk down the path of wickedness. Being Omnipotent, He spoke to each and every soul simultaneously, telling them of His disappointment in how they had led their lives on Earth.

The wicked made no response, but trembled in fear at what Eru had in store for them.

The Allfather then fixed his gaze on Melkor, who was frightened as much as the others were.

The evil Vala bowed his head in shame, as Ilúvatar was the only one that could make him feel that way. None could hide their true feelings from the Allfather, and his penetrating eyes could see through whatever façade one put up, perceiving their true feelings and thoughts.

“I am very disappointed in you, my son,” He revealed with a heavy heart. “You were the first of my Children, the greatest of all the Ainur, yet you chose to use your gifts to spread evil throughout the world, marring the works of your brethren and subjugating my younger Children to follow your will. It pains me to see the path that you have chosen, Melkor. You have led all those here before my throne astray, to folly… ” Ilúvatar stopped there, wanting His words to sink in with His eldest child.

With his head still bowed, Morgoth wept, not out of repentance, but out of fear. The Vala Lord feared Eru more than anyone else in the world, for who else had greater power than The One? Yet, to Melkor’s amazement, his beloved spoke up in his defense.

“Forgive me, Father,” interjected Luinil, “but with all due respect, your words are absurd.”

The Allfather turned his solemn gaze to Buffy.

She then continued with, “How can you say that Melkor chose to be evil when that’s the way you made him? You never intended for the world to be free from evil. You wanted your Children to have a choice - to have the free will to choose which path they wished to tread upon, that of evil or that of righteousness. How could one make that choice if evil didn’t exist in the first place? It was your intention for Melkor to turn to the dark side since you’re responsible for the creation and workings of everything that has come into being.”

Morgoth lifted his head upon hearing her statement. He looked at his lover with a newfound respect, for she made a very good point.

“I have granted all my Children the gift of free will,” countered the Allfather gently, “including the Ainur.”

“Bullshit!” protested the Slayer. “Maybe your Children have a say-so in the mundane trivialities of day to day life, but when it comes to the big things - there’s always been a higher force at work, a driving force behind one’s decisions - and that’s you, Father. It’s always been you. All of our lives are predestined, as we all have our part to play in the big scheme of things.” She snickered. “Hell, you knew we would have this conversation, didn’t you? This is all a part of your plan.”

If there was one thing that Buffy felt sure of, it was her belief in pre-destiny. Back in the First Age, she and Finrod had debated the topic on numerous occasions. The Noldo firmly believed in free will whereas the Slayer believed in pre-destiny. How else could one foresee events that would play out in ages to come? The gift of foresight was undoubtedly linked with that of predestination.

Now, Ilúvatar knew of the Vala Queen’s long held belief in predestination, but could see that, deep down, hidden by her defiant nature, she still had lingering doubts, though she refused to say so in her stubbornness.

“I deem that you would agree, Maranwë that this conversation is long overdue. I will not deny that there are some people that are destined to do more in the world than others, that their lives have been predestined to a certain extent. However, it’s the choices that they make in life that ultimately lead to their greatness, or folly, whichever the case may be.”

Buffy looked incredulously at the Allfather.

Ilúvatar smiled in his amusement. Seeing the Valië stand up to him actually lessened the heaviness in his heart. She was actually the only Vala with the nerve to do so.

“As proof of my words, I shall give you a choice, my daughter. I will change both the fates of yourself and Melkor and allow you to return to Eä to rule, not only it, but also its people, as long as the world endures… ”

Morgoth’s ears immediately perked up when he heard that option. He deemed that his fate had been sealed and to hear that Eru was offering him the very thing that he so desperately wanted - he couldn’t believe it. It was his wildest dream come true!

Luinil stared silently at the Allfather for a moment or two.

“Look onto the world, Luinil, and see what could be yours,” He continued with a wave of His hand.

The Slayer looked down through the clear floor of the Timeless Halls. Her Vala eyes were able to penetrate the vastness of space, piercing the thick, dark clouds that covered all of Eä. At that moment, Ilúvatar stopped time on Earth, suspending everything within it while his favorite daughter got to glimpse events that would one day come to pass - if she chose to return to Arda.

She saw herself and Melkor in Valinor, which was even fairer than before as all the Children helped in its remaking. As the years appeared to roll by, her beloved would become disillusioned again, restless, seeking that which he already had. He would one day leave the Blessed Realm to explore the vastness of Arda, leaving Buffy behind and alone. In turn, she would seek solace and comfort in other men, starting a cycle that would bring wars into the world as her many lovers vied for her affection. It was a depressing sight, and something she would not allow to come to be.

She turned her mournful eyes back to the Allfather. “I am utterly spent and have no desire to return to my body or to Eä,” she confessed.

“No!” whispered Melkor, shaking his ghostly head.

“It grieves me that you would so hastily forfeit the kingdom that you have rightly earned,” declared Ilúvatar sadly.

“I am not a great ruler, nor would I like to be. I have passed the scepter on to my son, Olofin Tirion, the Drogyn, as he exemplifies what a true Lord should be.”

“No easy task will it be for Olofinwë to govern the peoples in the world. Do you believe that he can handle the responsibilities that go along with the holding of the scepter?” inquired the Allfather.

“Absolutely. He’s smart and patient, and can see the goodness in all creatures. He’s a seasoned warrior and is not easily deceived.”

“Melisse, this is our time,” spoke up a shocked Melkor, unable to remain quiet any longer. “This is what we’ve always wanted.”

Buffy shifted her gaze to Morgoth. “No, my love. It’s what you’ve always wanted, not me.” She looked back down on the world below, seeing that paradise would not always last on Arda. With a heavy sigh, she looked back at her beloved. “This is their time - our children’s time - ”

“What children?” he cried out angrily. “You’ve betrayed me, Melisse! You promised me an heir, a son - ”

“ - And we have one,” she interjected. “Our child has already been born. Your blood and my blood are in the veins of one that already lives. He lives, Melkor! Our son lives!”

The Dark Lord looked apprehensively at his beloved.

“Luke, my sister’s son… I mean, Dawn Summers, my so-called mortal sister,” she said, correcting herself. “She was the vessel, the vessel that brought him to life.” Buffy was slightly taken aback that Melkor hadn’t seen the obvious. She had assumed he knew, but, apparently, by the look on his face, he was oblivious to the true nature of both Dawnie and Connor. “Luke’s parents are our children. Connor’s your son. And Dawn is in fact my daughter. Our bloodlines have united through those two beautiful mortal creatures - and Luke was born unto them, unto us. Your blood runs through his veins, as does mine. He’s our heir! Our son! The Light. And believe me, he will make you proud, my Lord. Make no mistake about that.”

“But I thought… ” began a baffled Melkor, stunned by what he was hearing.

“No, my love, you thought wrong,” she answered, gently caressing his face with her phantom hand. “I was never destined to carry another child for you. Luke is the one. Our legacy will live on through him, and Illyria. Don’t forget our daughter. She’s destined to become greater than ever before, and will bring forth many children. Take comfort in knowing that our children will carry on without us.”

“Without us?” he queried in a mere whisper.

The Slayer nodded in reply. “Our time’s over. You knew this day would one day come.” She glanced at the Allfather, who sat solemnly upon his throne, watching his two mightiest children before him. Luinil looked back at Melkor. “Evil’s reign has ended and will be banished from the world.”

“No!” Morgoth whimpered. “I will not leave you. I promised that I would never leave you and I have no intention on breaking that vow - ever.”

“There’s no need, Melindo,” she replied softly. “We’re bound together, you and I. We have been since the beginning. Your fate is mine. I will be with you, to the end.”

She leaned closer, placing her spectral forehead against his. They both shifted their eyes downward, looking at the world beneath them. Using what magics Buffy had left, she showed Melkor images of things to come in Arda, things that eased the Dark Lord’s apprehension in regards to their impending fates.

Melkor smiled, wrapping his arms around his beloved. “It is easy to see why I fell in love with you, Melisse. You were always the only one for me.”

“And you for me,” she answered, clutching his ghostly form. “Show no weakness, my love. Let’s go out with a bang, not a whimper.”

Morgoth laughed, “Then we shall make such a bang that the world shan’t ever forget Melkor Bauglir and Maranwë Luinil.”

Buffy smiled at hearing Melkor call her by her true name. “That’s the Melkor I know and love,” she cooed. Feeling a sense of relief at having calmed Morgoth down, she turned her gaze to Ilúvatar. “Since I’m relinquishing any claims to the lordship of the world, I humbly request a couple of things in return, Father?”

“And what might they be?” asked Eru, not surprised by her comments.

“First, I would like for those that have died at my hands, or by my orders, to be given another chance, to have them be a part of the world again so that they can experience how Arda should’ve been.”

“Those that have died are dead and cannot easily be brought back to life,” answered the Allfather.

“But it can be done,” she insisted. “And you have the power to do it.”

“There is a price to pay for such a demand, Luinil,” continued Ilúvatar.

“And I’m willing to pay it. You gave me the option of life and I choose to forfeit it. If my sacrifice isn’t enough, then take into account all those going with me.” She turned, scanning the millions of spirits trapped within the ring with her.

“It grieves me to think of the world without the Valië of Love in it,” Eru replied with a heavy sigh. “However, if that is your prayer, then I will answer it.”

“Thank you,” she answered with a small smile. “And, Father,” she added, more serious in tone, “a thousand years is just not enough time for the people to enjoy the beauty and bliss of what’s to come. The humans will be granted immortality and will soon realize that a thousand years is fleeting. Please, I beg of you, give them more time before you test them again.”

After a long pause, Ilúvatar gave a somber nod of His head. He would grant His Children one age of peace in the Heavenly Realm before He again, would test their faith.

Buffy immediately shifted her eyes back to Melkor. “It’s time,” she said softly. She could see the flicker of fear in Morgoth’s eyes, as he tightened his grip around her waist. “Together, forever,” she whispered.

She leaned in closer to give Morgoth a kiss.

“Farewell, my children,” murmured Ilúvatar grimly.

The moment Buffy and Morgoth’s phantom lips met, Eru sent them, along with all the wicked trapped within the ring, from His Halls. The blue orb rolled across the Firmament before blowing up in a huge explosion, obliterating all the souls trapped within the ring. And so ended the lives of Maranwë Luinil and Melkor Bauglir, two of the mightiest Valar, each an epitome of good and evil, that had ever walked the Earth, and all the evil beings that were bound to them.

By Eru Ilúvatar’s design, all evil creatures were immediately written out of the Book of Life, with the exception of Morgoth, since his ties to Luinil were far too important to dismiss. No person on Earth, except for some of the Powers, which now included Olofin, would have any memory of the evildoers. While that punishment may have been seen as inadequate to some, the Allfather believed that wiping out all knowledge of the wicked from history would be beneficial to His Children in times to come. The wicked always reveled in the fact that the mere mention of their names instilled fear into the masses, even long after they had departed the world. No longer would their names or exploits survive in the Fifth Age and beyond. Only in the Diaries of Bellaseth Dagnir would their names appear, but those tomes would be kept housed, under heavy guard, in the vaults of Olofin’s Halls, and only a select few would be granted permission to peruse them.



Now the destruction of all evil in the world caused disastrous results on Arda. The force of the explosion knocked the Earth off its axis, which, in turn, brought forth great cataclysmic events in the world. Eä shook ferociously, destroying the remaining cities in the world. Many of the mightiest mountain chains crumbled. Volcanoes erupted, spewing forth magma and poisonous gases miles high. The seas raged, drowning great expanses of land, while new lands rose from the ocean floor.

The waters violently shifted and whirled around the pinnacle of Meneltarma, which began to rise from the sea, as was foretold ages before. Not only did the entire island of Númenor break the waters’ surface, but also new lands with it. A vast plain rose from the depths, which connected Western Middle-earth with Númenor, and Númenor to Tol Eressëa, and Tol Eressëa with Valinor.

Aman was now situated off the eastern coast of Canada, where Newfoundland had once stood (before the floods). A great bay separated it from Quebec, which, for the most part, still remained intact.

Every continent on Earth was affected, a few totally disappeared only to be replaced by newly risen lands, while others lost vast portions of their landmass.

For nearly fifteen minutes, the world shook uncontrollably, the winds howled and the seas lashed at the landscape. Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. A deafening silence followed.



From the Halls of Mandos where all were gathered, everyone listened intently. Deeming that the upheaval was over, many dared to leave the Halls to inspect what was left of Aman. With the Nauglamír around his neck, Olofin led an assembly of Valar, Maiar and Elves through the newly changed Blessed Realm. By the Light of the Silmaril, they saw the gloomy desolation of Valinor. The slain had vanished, their bodies no longer lying in heaps upon the once green grasses, which had wilted from the heat and tumults of war.

The group ventured further east, eager to look upon the city of Valimar. As they continued on their way, more of their kinsmen departed Mandos, the flickering light of their torches and silver light of their lamps dotting the barren landscape.

The many bells that had hung above the entrance of Valimar lay broken on the ground outside the once magnificent golden gates, which had been severely damaged during the final battle. The entire city lay in ruins, saddening those that had long dwelled there.

The Ring of Doom was no more; the mighty pillars that had once held up Máhanaxar were destroyed. The collapsed roof had demolished all the thrones of the Aratar.

Yet, on the mound, Ezellohar, still stood the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin. Many were surprised to see that Yavanna’s greatest works had survived the terrible battle. Though the branches remained twisted and withered, looking very much like a skeleton reaching out toward the heavens, desperate for new life, the sight of them brought new hope to those that looked upon them. The Two Trees were the only things, other than the Halls of Mandos, that had endured the destruction of Valinor.

Olofin approached Telperion and gently touched one of its shriveled branches. So frail was the limb that it snapped when his hand made contact with it. Picking up the twig, he said to those gathered around him, “Soon Telperion will bloom again.” He shifted his gaze to Laurelin. “And so will the Golden Tree. They will produce the first real Light to be seen in Arda since the beginning of Dagor Dagorath.”

“My Lord! My Lord!” exclaimed a Maia scout in spirit form, having speedily returned from the region where the Pelóri had once stood.

“What news do you bring, Varno?” asked the new King.

“The eastern borders have changed, my Lord!” Varno answered excitedly. “A great stretch of land has risen from the waters. It stretches as far as the eye can see!”

Olofin forced a smile. “I deem that the world has gone through another Changing.” He surveyed the landscape from atop Ezellohar. “There’s much work to be done yet.”

Unsure of how to proceed, Olofin shifted his gaze upwards, hoping to find answers. He knew that, as the newly appointed Lord of Arda, Ilúvatar would be there to guide him. Yet, he heard no all-knowing voice speaking consolatory words to his grief-stricken heart. The half-elf knew his mother had died. He had felt it the moment she perished. Though he knew death was what she had wanted, he already missed her terribly, and longed for her counsel in these most troubling of times.

It would not be long before he would hear from the Allfather, who was still dealing with His own grief at the demise of His favorite daughter and firstborn son.

Despite his anguish, Olofin ordered that his uncle release all the souls from Mandos, including those of the Naugrim and Halflings, who were not truly the Children of Ilúvatar, but would be granted a new, immortal life just the same.

Once all had assembled, filling all the plains with a sea of people, Eru made His presence known. From the heavens came a great and glorious Music, more beautiful than any melody ever heard on Earth before. The Great Theme permeated each person’s fey, filling them with hope and gladness and inspiring them to lift their voices in song. The Ainur, Elves, Men, and even some of the Dwarves and Hobbits joined in, singing in harmony. Like long ago, only Námo and Ulmo refrained from singing, choosing to listen to the Music and lyrics, and seeing what the future held in store for the peoples of Middle-earth.

The Music revealed to each individual his or her part in the healing process and remaking of Eä. Visions of the future Heavenly Realm appeared in their minds, showing them what an unmarred Arda would look like. Without the likes of Melkor to create any discord with the melody, things would be much different this time around, as Arda would be perfect and far more beautiful than any had ever seen before. It would be Paradise on Earth.

When the Theme of Ilúvatar ended, all fell quiet. For a brief moment, those assembled had seen the Light, but now all was dark except for the torches and lamps carried by their fellows and the Silmaril that hung from Olofin’s neck. There was an air of sadness amongst the people, as the visions were far lovelier than the desolate wastelands that now surrounded them.

Olofin then addressed the crowd. “For those who do not yet know of me, I am Olofinwë Tirion, the Drogon to some. I am the son of the benevolent Valië of Love and War, Maranwë Luinil, and Kanafinwë Makalaurë, the mighty Noldo from the House of Finwë. I am the newly appointed Lord of Eä, as the scepter has passed from Manwë Súlimo to the House of Luinil. To those of you that have been housed in Mandos for time untold and do not know wholly what has taken place - we are looking upon the aftermath of Dagor Dagorath, the Last of All Battles, a battle which has wrecked Arda from here to the Hither Lands.”

There were rumblings amidst the crowd.

“Great have been our losses,” he continued, “but in the end - good has triumphed over evil.” Olofin’s eyes scanned the hordes of people. “All evil has been ridden from the world thanks to the tireless efforts of my mother. Because of her love for us, the peoples of Arda, she has expelled every evil creature lurking in every dimension, pulling them from our world and taking them to the Firmament above.

“And knowing that she was bound to the greatest evil of all - Melkor Bauglir - ”

Some in the crowd winced upon hearing Morgoth’s name.

“ - she has sacrificed herself so that we may live in peace.”

Cries of anguish rose from the masses, disrupting Olofin’s speech, as most did not know of Buffy’s sacrifice.

“Do not despair, my friends,” the King went on, putting aside his own grief. “Luinil was wiser than some here gave her credit for and understood that as long as she lived, so too would Melkor. By her noble sacrifice, we have been given a second chance, a chance to see the world as it should have been - free from all evil. We will never forget her honorable sacrifice, and shall commemorate this day from here on out, not seeing it as an end of what once was, but as a beginning of things that shall be. Let us have a moment of silence, to honor, not only Maranwë Luinil, but also the other goodly people that have perished in battle and are no longer with us.” Olofin was speaking about the Ainur that had died, as he did not yet know that most would one day return to Valinor.

Everyone bowed his or her sorrowful heads, as silence fell across the plains.

After a minute or two, Olofin then continued. “Heavy are our hearts, but soon our sorrow will be turned into joy, for we must not forget to live.” He let out a heavy sigh, shifting his gaze toward the heavens and the thick, black clouds that loomed overhead. The Lord of Arda then looked upon Telperion and Laurelin before addressing his people again. “The darkness that encompasses the world will remain for the next twelve years, blocking out the sun, moon and the stars.”

Murmurings of apprehension erupted in the crowd.

“Fret not, my friends,” he continued, “for we, in Valinor, will not suffer the dark much longer.” Olofin turned his gaze to the Valar, who stood together on Ezellohar to Olofin’s left. “Yavanna, please come forth.”

The grief-stricken Valië mournfully approached the King.

“And Fëanáro, will you also join me?”

Fëanor, who stood to Olofin’s right with the rest of his kin, gave a quick nod of his head. He crossed the withered grasses on the mound, clutching the box containing the two Silmarils in his hand.

The King smiled warmly when both the Elf and Vala Queen reached his side. “I deem the time has come for us to begin the healing process,” announced Olofin, gesturing toward the Valië and the Noldo.

Gasps and whisperings broke out in the masses, as those that had lived long ago, during the Darkening of Valinor, had waited ages for this moment. Not only were they seeing Fëanor at long last, but they knew that inside the box he was carrying was housed the last two Silmarils.

Fëanor stepped before the Vala Queen, and dropped to one knee. “Forgive my insolence from long ago, my Lady, for I was consumed with both grief and pride. I am not the same man that I once was,” proclaimed the son of Finwë. “Let us begin the Healing together, so that others may look upon the glorious works of Yavanna Kementári and Curufinwë Fëanáro.” The Noldo then opened the lid of the box in his outstretched hands.

The Light of the Silmarils illuminated the Vala Queen’s face. She smiled upon seeing the Jewels, the last two objects that contained the Holy Light of Telperion and Laurelin.

“Long have I waited for this moment, Fëanáro. It gladdens my heart that your treasures have endured the tumults of the world so that my Blessed Trees can once again bloom, cutting the Darkness with their Holy Light.” She reached into the box and pulled out the first Silmaril. “I would be most honored if you would assist me with this task, son of Finwë.”

“Gladly will I help you, my Lady,” answered Fëanor, rising to his feet.

They walked over to Telperion, the eldest of the Two Trees, as the spectators looked on with bated breath.

Fëanor cracked open the first Silmaril, as Yavanna sang a song of power, using her magics to direct the Light to the deep roots of Telperion. And Nienna, as before, approached the tree in silence. She sat on her folded legs beside Yavanna and watered the roots with her tears. From the ground up, the bark began to turn white, as it came to life once again. Green shoots sprang from the newly healed boughs. Gradually, they grew in size. The newly formed leaves opened, appearing dark green on the surface while the bottom shimmered in silver. From each blossom fell his silvery dew, its intensity increasing as each bud opened, filling all of Aman with his radiance despite the lingering darkness above.

The people rejoiced at the sight. The Eldar started to sing an ancient song about the Trees of Valinor, while those that had never seen Telperion in bloom looked on in awe.

Once Telperion was alight, Fëanor, Yavanna and Nienna moved on to the younger Tree, following the same method as they had with the elder Tree. Laurelin then came to life. From the shoots sprang light green leaves, edged in gold. Clusters of horned-shaped flowers glowed like a yellow flame, her golden dews raining down from the buds, forming pools on the ground of her warm Light.

At the first commingling of the Light of the Two Trees, something strange happened that most were not expecting. Every one of Eru’s Children (as well as the Dwarves and Hobbits) were transformed to appear the same age - thirty-three, including infants, toddlers and teens. The younger people were bestowed with the wisdom of their elders, so that they were not ignorant of the world and the things in it. This sudden turn of events shocked and dismayed many.

But Olofin soothed their fears by proclaiming, “With no death, there will be no new life and all that dwell in this Heavenly Realm shall live at the age when their bodies and minds are at their strongest.”

And so the healing process began in Valinor on what became the first day of the First Year of the Fifth Age.

Soon afterwards, each person began his or her task in mending the world. All the Children participated, including those of Aulë and Buffy (the Naugrim and Periannath, respectively). They began their labors in Valinor first, as it would take many, many years for them to complete the Visions that Eru Ilúvatar had sent them.

Not forgetting the twenty percent of the population in Middle-earth and the Hither Lands that had survived the Wrecking of the World, Olofin sent out emissaries to bring those mighty people back to Aman where the Light of the Blessed Trees shone the brightest. While those hearty people loathed departing their homelands, they knew that with the world encased in darkness, they would not be able to provide enough sustenance for their families to last twelve long years. They were told that once the black clouds were gone, they could return to their homelands, and with the aid of their kinsmen in Valinor, the rebuilding in the Outer Lands would begin.



When twelve years had passed, the dark clouds finally dissipated, revealing the sun, moon and stars once again. In memory of Buffy, the star, Luinil became the most prominent star in the night sky, outshining all of Varda’s other creations in times past.

Those souls obliterated by the Slayer’s orders or by her hands then descended into Arda. Most were Ainur, including the Valkyries, Eönwë, Tulkas, Nessa, and Oromë. Yet some were also once mortal. Two significant people were Winifred Burkle and Angel, who was now human once again, an immortal human, but human nonetheless.

Yet there were a few that were reborn that refused to return to Middle-earth. The most prominent of those Valar were Manwë Súlimo, Varda Elbereth, and Menelwë Sargon. While they still lived, they remained removed from the world, choosing to dwell in the Timeless Halls with Eru Ilúvatar instead.

There was much joy in the Blessed Realm at the return of those righteous people, who gladly assisted their kinsmen with the rebuilding of the world.



As the years swiftly rolled by, it soon became clear that one individual found no joy or peace in the Heavenly Realm. Ulmo found it most difficult to let go of his sorrow, for he loved Buffy dearly and, with her dead, he was devoid of all happiness. For a while, he had attended the annual celebration marking the removal of all evil from the world by the Slayer’s sacrifice, but, in time, he had even forgone attending the yearly festivities, despite the fact that they honored his one true love.

Long he stayed in his Halls at the bottom of the sea, thinking of times past and what the future held. The Lord of Waters knew that the bliss in Middle-earth would not last forever and that in the Year 2820, a new Dark Lord would arise in might, contesting the will of Olofin and the Valar, and convincing others to follow his wicked ways.

For years, Ulmo pored over Buffy’s old Blue Diaries and the map of Beleriand from the First Age. He used both tools to figure out the exact moment when the Valië had entered Middle-earth, guised as the Slayer. If he could figure out the precise moment when she had arrived in Nan Dungortheb, then perhaps, when the next battle arose, he could put his theory to test and be there, waiting for her in those Dark Lands, and hopefully change everything that was to happen afterwards. It was a risky plan, but one that the Vala Lord felt was worthwhile.

Seated at his desk, Ulmo was jotting down notes from Buffy’s Diary when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said, hastily scrawling the last of his sentence.

In walked Salmar, his long, wet, silver hair slicked back from his face, a damp towel draped around his shoulders.

“Ah, Salmar, my friend,” Ulmo said in greeting, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement at this servant’s return. “I take it that you have completed your task.”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered the Maia, closing the door behind him.

“Good. Good,” responded the beaming Lord of Waters, rising from his seat. “I daresay, this calls for a drink. Care to join me?”

The Maia gave an apprehensive nod of his head, as his Lord poured them each a glass of white wine. Salmar was having second thoughts about his Master’s plan, and was looking for an opportunity to express his misgivings.

“It shan’t be long now, my friend,” continued Ulmo delightedly. “I will soon right the wrongs in the world.”

Salmar shifted uneasily from foot to foot, seeing now his perfect opportunity to voice his opinion. “Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, my Lord, but is it not wrong to contest the will of Ilúvatar? I deem that things are supposed to go according to His plan, not yours.”

The Vala laughed upon hearing his servant’s concern. Handing him his drink, he answered, “We all have our part to play, surely, and I am doing just that, my old friend, I am carrying out Ilúvatar’s will.” Ulmo returned to his seat behind his desk.

Feeling his courage rise, the Maia countered, “With all due respect, my Lord, you cannot change Bella’s heart. As sad as it may be, she was bound to Melkor from the utter beginning. She always had a fickle heart and - ”

Ulmo slammed his clenched fist on his desk, causing Salmar to jump with a start. The Maia’s wine sloshed out of his glass and over his hand.

“ - That’s where you’re wrong,” barked the Lord of Waters, his narrowed eyes boring into his servant. “Luinil did not become bound to Melkor until they… copulated in this world, in Angband. That’s when he marked her, and she him. That will not happen this time around.”

Salmar busily wiped his hand dry on his towel, doing his best to avoid his Lord’s penetrating gaze.

Ulmo sighed, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of his drink to calm his frazzled nerves. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, and feared that his insomnia was beginning to take its toll.

“Forgive my outburst, Salmar. I am weary and in need of rest,” Ulmo apologized to his servant.

“I understand, my Lord, but I wish you would hear me out. As your friend, I ask that you reconsider this scheme of yours. I fear that you are blinded by your love for Luinil. Life goes on. She’s in a better place… ”

“She’s dead, Salmar. Dead,” interjected the Vala Lord, his voice riddled with sorrow. “She’s not merely outside of Eä, dwelling with Ilúvatar in the Timeless Halls. She’s dead. Gone.” Ulmo’s eyes welled with tears. “I cannot let go of my grief no matter how hard I try. I no longer find contentment in my domain, but remember the times when Luinil dwelt with me, here in my Halls. I see her face everywhere.”

The Maia’s brows shot up. Of course Ulmo saw Buffy everywhere, as his Lord’s private rooms were filled with tapestries, paintings, statues and memorabilia of the Vala of Love and War. How could he end his mourning when his Halls were filled with reminders of her. However, Salmar was not about to suggest to the Vala Lord that he relinquish his treasures. That would most certainly be a foolish thing to do.

“Do you not think that Bella would be most… distressed by being brought back?” the Maia queried hesitantly.

Ulmo’s eyes shifted from the papers scattered upon his desk to his servant. “It will be as before, Salmar. Bella will have no memories of the past, only that of the Slayer.”

Before the Maia could voice his concerns further, the Vala Lord continued, “I think I need to rest, Salmar. I am spent and in need of sleep.”

Thus ended Salmar’s discussion with Ulmo. He dutifully left the chamber, wondering how his Master’s plan would affect the world in days to come.

Ulmo rubbed his tired eyes, eager to go to bed. Though the Vala Lord intended on getting some sleep, he also planned to utilize that time of rest by entering the dreamscape to put his plan into motion. He rose from his chair and gingerly strode over to his bed, concentrating on the next part of his plot.

He lay down on his bed, clasping his hands together on his stomach. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths as he concentrated on the person’s mind he wished to enter. Several minutes passed before he found himself in the most unpleasant of surroundings:

On a vast battlefield lay thousands of corpses. The smell of their decaying flesh was heavy on the air. The carrion fowl were already hungrily pecking at the rotting flesh of the slain. Fires had ravaged the terrain. Plumes of smoldering smoke still rose from parts of the field, leaving the entire landscape charred with a blackish hue. Dotted here and there were the remnants of once magnificent trees, their naked limbs twisted and scorched, hanging down in defeat, much like the armies strewn about the combat zone.

Ulmo made his way through the paths amidst the dead, noticing that the deceased were the Hildor and Eldar that would perish in the first war in Arda. Already, the one’s mind which he had entered dreamt of this day, the day when he would rise in power, claiming the lordship of all the world.

A mournful howl of a lone wolf some distance away broke the silence. The Lord of Waters quickly turned, his eyes scanning the vast open plains in search of the animal, but his Vala eyes saw nothing but a sea of carcasses of Men and Elves.

Sighing heavily, he continued toward the menacing mountain chain towering over the carnage. Though he saw no one, he could feel a presence watching him closely.

He stopped when, at his feet, he saw a Númenorean banner, its singed cloth partially buried and stained with blood. It saddened the Vala Lord to see such bloodshed, especially those that had been mutilated by the enemy out of mere pleasure. He saw many of the mighty from the House of Elros in the immediate vicinity, a sight that brought him much anguish.

“No,” he murmured to himself. “We shall do this on my terms.”

Suddenly, Ulmo’s surroundings changed. He found himself standing on the sandy shore beside a clear blue sea. A flock of gulls cried overhead as they flew toward the West. He lifted his gaze, following its path until the cries faded in the distance. He found the sound of the surf soothing, the smell of the salt refreshing.

“This is more like it,” he sighed, content with this new setting.

Once again, he felt the looming presence of the individual whose dream he had entered. The Vala Lord could feel him approaching. Turning, he faced the man.

“What was that? What was that that I saw? How could such a massacre take place in our Heavenly Realm?” asked the alarmed man.

“Come now! I deem that you’ve been having that same dream for some time now. My heart tells me that you’ve been staging the war for years,” answered Ulmo in that all-knowing voice of his.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered the man, feigning innocence.

Ulmo took a few steps toward the tall, strapping, youthful-looking man. He then said, “You think you know… what’s to come… what you are. You haven’t even begun.”

A wicked grin then came to the young man’s face, his eyes glinting with malice. “That’s where you’re wrong, old man,” he proclaimed with a sinister cackle. “I’ve already arrived.” With a wave of the man’s hand, Ulmo felt himself thrust out of the man’s mind.

The Lord of Waters’ eyes popped open, only to find himself in his bed at his Halls at the bottom of the sea. “It’s begun,” he muttered. With his heart racing, he leapt out of bed and dashed over to his armoire. He threw open the cabinet doors and popped open the hidden compartment. He reached in, grabbing the pouch wedged at the back of the drawer. With the object now in hand, he fled his Halls as quickly as he could…



Back in Valimar, the recipient of Ulmo’s mind invasion awoke as well. He was breathing heavily, his body covered in a cold sweat. Turning toward the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was two minutes past two in the morning.

“Shit,” he grumbled, slipping out of bed. He glanced at the sleeping form of his lover as he reached for his pants.

His mind was racing as he pulled on his britches. The dreams that had haunted him for years had taken a sudden turn, for never before had Ulmo appeared in them. It now seemed painfully clear that the Lord of Waters was aware of his deepest and darkest thoughts. The time had arrived for him to make his move, to set his plans into motion, and to make the Valar pay for their misdeeds.

For the good-looking man had never gotten over the fact that he hadn’t been granted the right to enjoy his youth, to experience the carefree days that the Eldar and Edain spoke of with such fondness. He went from infant to adult in a matter of seconds. How cruel of a thing that was done by Olofin and Mandos, two of the sorriest creatures to walk the Earth. Since they had taken from him what he so coveted, he would take from them something of equal value - the Two Trees, along with the bliss of the Heavenly Realm.

He pulled his tunic over his head, and with his powers of telepathy, he summoned his followers from all over Valinor. The time had arrived for them to start their war, something he had been planning for centuries.

The woman stirred awake when the man sat back down on the bed, pulling on his boots.

“Luke,” she yawned, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. “Where… where are you going?”

The man glanced over his shoulder at his lover. “I’ve gotta go. Get back to my wife before she realizes I’m gone,” he lied.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “You promised that you’d leave her, that we’d be together. Forever.”

Luke sighed heavily, annoyed by the desperation in his lover’s voice. Hadn’t she realized that she was one of his many concubines?

“We will be together, Lalaith,” he answered, making his way to her side.

She eased over, allowing Luke to sit beside her on the bed.

“You just have to be patient with me.” He smiled warmly, attempting to reassure her. “I would think a daughter of Húrin would have a bit more patience,” he continued, gently caressing her cheek.

“It’s just that I love you so,” she replied, throwing her arms around him.

Luke embraced her. “And I love you too.”

“But you do not love me as you love Arien. It’s because I’m only an immortal and she’s a Maia, isn’t it?” she whined.

“Yes, my love. You’re right,” answered Luke, stroking Lalaith’s long dark hair. “I am the Wielder of the Light and who else would I want as my bride but she who can withstand the heat of the holiest of Fires.”

He tightened his grip around the woman’s waist, causing her to yelp.

“I am the Light!” proclaimed Luke with a hiss. “And the rightful heir of Melkor Bauglir and Maranwë Luinil. And you, my sweet, shall be the first to taste my wrath.”

“Luke! NO!” she cried out, attempting to wrestle out of his hold.

Crack!

The man snapped his lover’s neck. With her body still pressed close to him, he added, “Yours is the first death of many to come.” He let her limp body fall back onto the mattress.

Lalaith’s wide, lifeless, grey eyes stared blankly into space, a single tear rolling down her flushed cheek.

“Whore!” spat Luke. He snickered as he took a few steps, then vanished from the chamber.



Luke then reappeared on Ezellohar, between the Two Trees. Already many of his followers had assembled there, their drawn weapons gleaming in the silver Light of Telperion. Two men from the group came forth, dragging along a lone figure, a black hood placed over the person’s head, concealing the captive’s identity. The cries of the individual were muffled, the prisoner having been gagged by Luke’s co-conspirators.

As most of the people in Valinor lay nestled in their beds, sleeping, the greatest of many evils to come was about to take place.

Arien, blinded by her love for her husband, sprinted up the green slope of the mound to her beloved’s side.

“Luke,” she said breathlessly.

“You made it, Melisse,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “I’m glad you came. I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she answered, pulling a dagger from the sheath attached to her leg.

“Thanks, baby,” Luke replied, taking the weapon from her hand, and turning his gaze to the cloaked figure before him. He gave a slight nod of his head.

One of his minions pulled off the hood, revealing a confused and horrified Dawn standing there. Cords bound both her arms and legs. A gag was stuffed into her mouth.

With tears streaming down her face, her bleary eyes looked beseechingly at her son. She struggled with her captors, as her muffled voice pleaded with her son to stop.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said with a pout, tracing her jaw line with his blade. “But I need a little of your blood to open the Hellmouth.” Luke paused, then cackled with glee. “Who the hell am I kidding? I need all your blood.”

In one swift motion, he slit her throat from ear to ear. Blood spurted from the incision, bathing him and Arien with the warm, red liquid. Luke opened his mouth, drinking in her life force.

“Such power,” he gasped. “The blood of Luinil is most delicious.” He turned toward his wife, who was also catching the jets of blood in her mouth. Seeing Arien’s blood splattered face turned him on. He grabbed hold of her waist, pulling her close, sharing a passionate kiss with his beloved.

Arien pulled out of the embrace, her chest heaving in excitement. “We have need for haste, my Lord,” she said huskily. “Your mother’s blood is not enough.”

“How right you are, my sweet,” he answered with a smile.

Luke then ran the blade of the dagger across his palm, allowing his blood to spill into the pool of Dawn’s life force. When his stream made contact with his mother’s blood, the earth began to rumble and shake.

“Glory be this day, my good fellows,” he roared to his followers. “For the day has arrived when the world shall get its first taste of my wrath, and I, alone, will wield the Holy Light.”

His people cheered in delight, banging their weapons against their shields.

The tremors woke the good people in Valimar and in the other cities of Aman. In confusion, they hurriedly leapt from their beds. Many darted out of their homes, searching for the cause of the commotion.

The earth began to split around the perimeter of Ezellohar. The minions of Luke that had not yet reached the apex of the hill sprinted up the slopes before the fissure completely surrounded the mound.

Ulmo speedily neared the scene in his swan-drawn chariot. The last of the amulets hung from around his neck, its mystical light already illuminating the Lord of Waters in a brilliance of white.

The enemy down below saw the sudden arrival of the Vala and sent a hail of arrows in his direction.

Luke merely watched with amusement.

The crevice had made its way around the entire mound.

“Ta-ta,” he said with a sneer, waving to the Vala Lord.

Ulmo’s jaw dropped when he saw all of Ezellohar sink into the earth. “No!” he cried from above the crater. He did not know that Luke had followed in Melkor’s and Luinil’s footsteps by creating a Hellmouth, or Hellmouths as it were. Desperate, the Vala Lord dove off the back of the vehicle, plummeting head-first into the gaping pit. This was not the way he had expected things to go. He uttered his spell nevertheless, hoping that his magics would put things back on course.

He lost sight of the Two Trees and the rest of Ezellohar as the light from the amulet blinded him. He then passed through a rippling vortex and then he saw it: not far ahead, a black mass amidst the light.

Bella! he thought to himself.

His heart thumped madly in his chest, eager to reach the dark cloud. The light from the amulet suddenly extinguished itself, horrifying Ulmo. He continued to mutter his spell, hoping that that alone would change things.

As he and Buffy neared each other, he reached out, straining to grab hold of her. But the black mass had formed a force field around her, something he was unable to penetrate. Instead, the light from both his and Buffy’s amulets shone at once, causing both him and Luinil to stop in mid-air, but only for a moment. Ulmo then felt himself falling until he came crashing down onto the earth, knocking the wind out of him.

Moaning from the force of the impact, the Vala Lord tried to regain his bearings. He struggled to his feet, his eyes surveying his new surroundings. He found himself on the edge of a massive crater. Not too far a way, he saw a large sign wedged crookedly in the ground. It read: “Welcome to Cleveland.”

“NOOOO!” he bellowed, falling to his knees.

He then heard Salmar’s ominous words in his head: “Is it not wrong to contest the will of Ilúvatar? I deem that things are supposed to go according to His plan, not yours.”

Ulmo wept, for his plan had failed. He was now stuck in Cleveland, Ohio in the Fourth Age. He wondered where his beloved was, if she was alright, and if, by some chance, his actions had changed the past.

Unfortunately for the Lord of Waters, things were going exactly according to Eru Ilúvatar’s plan.

Buffy was brought back to the First Age in the same spot she always arrived in - Nan Dungortheb.

In her fighting stance, she surveyed the darkness that surrounded her, her side throbbing from the weapon in her duffel bag she had landed on. In an attempt to give herself some confidence, she quipped, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more... ”


******************************************************************************************

And there you have it. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you, dear reader, for giving my story a chance and reading it to the end. To those of you that were kind enough to leave me feedback, I most humbly thank you. Your support has meant a lot and kept me motivated to finish this epic tale.

As you can see this story was designed to spin-off into two more stories, one where Buffy is brought back to the Second Age, and one about Luke’s rise as the Dark Lord of Middle-earth in the Sixth Age. Perhaps one day I will revisit this world, but for now, I want to take a break from Middle-earth to work on some other projects.

I’d like to give a special shout out of thanks to the following people for their assistance with some of the elvish translations: Ailinel, Fíriel, Gwendeth, Gilbrethil, and dirk_math.

I’d also like to thank my beta, Enki, who has proofed most of this story, but not all, (hint, hint), and who thinks that commas are way underused in modern literature and that unspecified pronouns are the work of the devil. (His words, not mine) Lol!!!
------------------------------------------------------------------

Printed from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net) on Sat Nov 14, 2026 8:13 pm