Full Circle

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…