Full Circle

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…