Full Circle

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…