Full Circle

Beneath the city of Paris, Darla and Angelus were making their way through the vast tunnel system towards the underground lair of the Order. Though engulfed in complete darkness, their vampiric eyes were able to easily pierce the gloom of the dank passageways.

They heard the voices from those within the main chamber long before they saw the first bit of light from the torches that illuminated the immense interior room.

Darla’s excitement grew with every step, knowing that the Master and Aurelius would be most pleased that she was bringing them the Slayer. She knew her reward would be great, and hoped that this would restore the Master’s confidence in her, and bring peace between him and Angelus at last. Her father was still wroth over Angelus’ cheek some years before.

The guards posted outside the chamber, caught the scent of Buffy as the couple drew near.

“The Slayer,” said one with amazement, eyeing the two in disbelief. “You found her.”

“Hands off, or Angelus here will rip them off,” warned Darla in an overly sweet voice, steering the unconscious form of Buffy away from his outstretched hands.

“You’re not trying to steal my Darla’s thunder, are ya?” queried Angelus in a low, threatening hiss.

Unnerved by the mere presence of the young, volatile vampire, the guard took a step back, shaking his head emphatically before standing at attention once again. He didn’t want a confrontation with one whose penchant for death and destruction was fast becoming legendary in the underworld.

“That’s more like it,” added Angelus with a wry smile, patting the guard roughly on the shoulder.

The guard sighed with relief when the two passed by. The Master could deal with Angelus’ incorrigibility, not he.

The room exploded with the elated voices of many, delighted to see the mighty gift that the lovers’ had brought. Luke quickly brushed the goblets of blood off one of the tables, freeing up space for an unconscious Buffy.

“The Slayer! The Slayer is here!” exclaimed one of the congregants.

“It is just as Aurelius had foretold,” shouted another.

“Blessed be this night!” cried out those highest-ranking officials within the Order.

The news quickly reached the Master, who was in another chamber at the time of Darla and Angelus’ arrival. He stepped into the room just as Darla flung the still knocked out form of Buffy onto the wooden surface of the table. A huge grin adorned his creepy demonic face. He deeply inhaled the fresh scent that invaded his den, both surprised and overjoyed that his Darla was the one that had successfully captured the Chosen One. If only she didn’t have that wretched scum with her. However, he could overlook that. At least, for the time being.

“The Slayer,” he said, his voice instantly bringing silence to the dozens gathered in his lair. In a blink of an eye, he was across the room, and standing over the still form of Buffy. The smile swiftly left his face. “She’s been tasted,” he sneered, quickly turning toward Darla, his eyes narrowed in anger.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Master,” replied the woman nervously. “I… I tried to stop him, but… ” She bowed her head in shame, as the vampire turned his wrathful gaze to Angelus.

“I should’ve known that you would be the one to defy orders,” he spat, backhanding Angelus and sending the vampire consort of his daughter flying across the chamber. “How dare you defile the girl!”

Angelus pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. Rubbing his stinging cheek, Angelus cackled, “You can’t expect me not to have a little taste when she oozes such… ”

The Master was on top of him before Angelus knew it, pounding him with his fists. “You’ve tainted her with your bite, you vile and despicable creature… ”

“Enough!” said the bellowing voice of another.

The Master immediately froze. Still clutching Angelus by the front of his shirt, the vampire’s eyes widened upon hearing the commanding voice from behind. He gave one last threatening look to his bleeding adversary before leaping to his feet. He turned, facing the newly arrived visitor.

Standing within the mouth of one of the tunnels stood the menacing form of a demon. His yellow, lizard-like skin glistened in the firelight as his red eyes darted from the spectacle to the woman on the table.

“I wish you hadn’t witnessed that,” apologized the Master, slowly making his way toward the hulking figure.

“If you cannot keep order in your own house, perhaps you are not capable of handling your duties as Master of Rituals,” said the demon, turning his gaze back to the vampire.

“No, no,” answered the Master somewhat fretfully. “That one there,” he cast a contemptuous look at Angelus, “he’s trouble. Not a member of the Order by any means - merely Darla’s new plaything of the century.”

Darla kept her head bowed, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Immortal’s emissary.

Quickly turning the conversation away from the debacle, the Master motioned toward the Slayer. “Is she the one, the one that your Lord has been searching for?”

Giovanni approached the table, his blood red eyes scanning Buffy. He placed one of his monstrous hands on her forehead. “It is.” He smiled as he pulled his hand away. “Bella has returned at long last.” Reaching into the pocket of his blue robes, he pulled out a hypodermic needle filled with a milky-like substance.

“What’s that?” asked the Master, watching as Giovanni stuck the needle into the carotid artery of the Slayer’s neck and plunged the fluid into her bloodstream.

“Something that will keep her docile.” He lifted his gaze to the vampire. “Aurelius has been given his orders. The Slayer is not to be bound by leather or chains. This is all that is needed.” When the glass tube had emptied, the demon withdrew the needle and slid it back into his pocket. “Have her brought above ground. Prepare for the anointing ceremony. My Signore is on his way.” Giovanni glanced back down at the Slayer, smiling again, before turning and leaving the chamber.

The Master’s tension lessened as soon as the demon disappeared into the tunnel from which he had stepped out of minutes before. The last thing he wanted was to cross the Immortal, who had worked tirelessly to see to it that the Slayer was in Paris at the start of the month-long celebration of St. Vigeous.

Trying to quell his temper, the elder vampire balled his fists, his dagger-like fingernails piercing the flesh of his palms. If not for his love for Darla, he would’ve killed Angelus on the spot. “Your foolhardiness nearly cost me my post, boy,” he began, facing Angelus once again. He glanced at his daughter. “Get your conquest out of my sight,” His eyes then darted to her lover. “If you cross my path again, I will kill you. Not quickly, but slowly. You cannot fathom the power I wield… ”

“Oh, yeah,” retorted Angelus, scrambling to his feet. “Looks like big and ugly nearly scared the piss out of you. You don’t seem so tough to me, pops!”

“Darla!” barked the Master. “Get him out of here, or else… ”

The threatening tone of his voice was enough for Darla to grab her lover, and flee the lair of the Order.

“Imbecile,” muttered the Master. “If that’s the future of our kind, then we’re doomed as a race.” He shook his head in disgust, then ordered his minions to take Buffy to the surface, to the Halls of Aurelius.



Buffy started to come to. She felt groggy. Her mouth dry. With her eyes still closed, she licked her parched lips. The back of her head throbbed with a dull pain.

“Sahjhan,” she mumbled, still licking her lips. “Take me home.”

As her senses became more alert, she heard many people talking quietly. She couldn’t distinctively hear what any were saying. Their voices sounded muddled. A strong odor of rotting flesh combined with vinegar invaded her nostrils. It was a putrid smell that made her stomach queasy. She scrunched up her nose in revulsion, breathing through her mouth instead of her nose.

Her thoughts quickly turned to what she had last remembered - seeing Angelus in the alley, fucking a dismembered corpse. They spoke. Then nothing. In her dazed state, she deduced that he had not been alone, that someone had crept up from behind, striking her on the back of the head. The enormous knot on her skull was proof of that.

But where was she? And why did she feel so lethargic, numb even? Had she been drugged or was she experiencing the aftereffects of the blow to her head? What horrors awaited her once she opened her eyes? Would she see others doing the same thing as Angelus - an orgy of the dead screwing the dead? And where the hell was that foul odor coming from?

She opened her eyes just a little, surveying her surroundings through squinted eyes. Her vision was blurry, not clear enough to see anything other than fuzzy blobs. The Slayer blinked several times, hoping that would clear her vision. It helped, yet her eyelids remained heavy, droopy.

No one seemed to pay her any mind. She focused on herself first, immediately noticing that her clothing was different. Instead of the fancy ball gown she had had on earlier, she now wore a slinky, red, low-cut silk dress. She found herself seated in a chair, unbound. Her hands dangled over the curve of the armrest.

Lifting her gaze, she scanned the massive room and its scores of occupants. Demons co-mingled with humans. She could sense both now. The occupants had broken off into smaller groups, drinking and talking. All were cloaked in robes of various colors. Most had their hoods pulled over their heads, hiding their faces. Still suffering from foggy-brain, she couldn’t make out what any were saying. Not one voice stood out amongst the throng.

Buffy knew that such a group of characters had to be up to no good, and that she had to get out of there, pronto. She tried to lift her butt from the seat, but couldn’t budge a muscle. No matter how much she tried, she found herself unable to move. Only her eyes and mouth seemed unaffected by whatever magicks were used to confine her to the chair. Now, she understood why there were no leather straps holding her in place. Someone or something had the power to do that instead.

Sahjhan’s earlier words sprang to mind:

“Ah, daddy dearest. He’s here, you know. Like me, he has no body, but his spirit is alive and calling the shots… He has summoned his servants from far and wide… Paris is the hub of evil… His goal is to wipe out your allies, so that you are alone.”

“Melkor,” she whispered under her breath. He had to be the one behind this. But why? Her thoughts shifted to the Valar, and their stupidity at having thrusted her forward in time, ignorant of all that had transpired during the Second, Third, and what had to be the Fourth Age.

She then remembered what Námo had said before sending her on this new journey:

“You shall be confronted with a situation similar to that of our Lord and let us see how you judge the one that we consider a menace unto the world.”

What the hell does that mean? she thought to herself. Was Námo referring to Melkor or was it Angel, or rather Angelus?

Her mind was racing, attempting to make sense of her current predicament. She now wished that she had asked Sahjhan who his sworn enemy was, and if that somehow involved her.

Think, Bella, think, she demanded of herself. So many thoughts were swirling in her mind that they became as muddled as the voices within the room. She was beginning to panic, realizing that she was alone in a den of foes.

Once again, her eyes scanned the room and its occupants, hoping that she’d find some clue as to what was to come next.

Gruesome and horrific portraits depicting battles waged between various demon clans and humans graced the walls of the large room. Between these paintings, tacked to the plaster walls, were various banners. There was one with a sun and three stars that she remembered represented the Order of Aurelius. If it had not been for her recent trip down memory lane in the Ring of Doom, she wouldn’t have recalled that. Another was black, unadorned. Since she was fresh from the First Age, she instantly recognized Melkor’s banner. Shifting her gaze further still, she saw a flag with a red shield trimmed in gold. That held no meaning to her, having never seen it before. Her eyes continue to scan the walls, stopping on another banner, which showed a wolf, ram and hart morphed into one. That seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen that or what it represented. Beside that was another banner. In the center of a blue field was a long, twisted staff with a silver starburst at its tip. She had no recollection of that whatsoever.

A falcon perched beside a set of double doors momentarily distracted Buffy’s examination of the massive room. It nosily fluttered its wings before settling back down.

Her gaze then went back to the crowd. She looked more closely at those that did not have their heads covered. She was oblivious to the fact that there were many notable ‘Revolutionary’ characters within the room. Her eyes stopped on one such creature. She could tell that he was a demon disguised as a mortal. He went by the name Jean-Paul Marat, and was a major force behind, not only the Revolution, but also the Reign of Terror. His paper, (the one that Buffy had found in the streets earlier) was the propaganda machine for those in power. He was also the head of the Committee of Surveillance, the same committee that arrested innocents and allowed them to be ripped apart by the frenzied mobs.

He was a disgusting individual to look at. His greenish-tinted flesh was covered with open sores that leaked a vile odor, smelling like death itself. Many had assumed that Marat was in the last stages of syphilis, when in actuality, his demonic form was beginning to manifest itself through his mortal disguise. Wrapped around his toad-like forehead was a dirty red bandana. Apparently, the strong scent of vinegar was emanating from him. The nasty looking creature was so repulsive to his comrades that none stood too close to him, not even demons.

The Slayer’s eyes then stopped on another, a mortal, a real mortal. He was unattractive and had bright red hair. That was none other than Joseph Fouché, a man that would later go down in the annals of history as the Father of the Police State. He would become a horrific lynch man for the republic, and a thorn in Buffy’s side.

Standing in another group was an attractive young man when compared to the others in the room. Yet, looks can be deceiving. Though he was an honest to goodness human being, his heart was blacker than any monster. He was Louis Saint-Just, the right hand man to Robespierre, who would soon earn the nickname, “Angel of Death,” from his countrymen.

Saint-Just was speaking with the Director-General of Finance, Jacque Necker, whose sole purpose as an agent of a powerful banking dynasty outside the country, was to destroy France’s economy from within. From what little the Slayer recalled about the Revolution, he was doing a damn good job. In their group was also huddled one of King Louis XVI own kinsmen, the Duc d’Orleans, another parasite that took great pleasure in the destruction of his kindred’s regime. He was a drunk and a notorious womanizer, who passed most of his days in the brothels of Paris. Yet, deep down, he secretly hoped that the republic would fail, and that he would take up the scepter of France.

Before Buffy’s eyes could move on to the next fellow, a set of double doors to her left suddenly sprang open. The falcon let out a startled cry before zooming out of the room, and over the heads of the cloaked figures standing in the doorway.

A hushed silence swept over the occupants, as they shuffled to the side, making a pathway for those newly arrived. In the quietness of the room, she could hear the gurgling and cooing of an infant. When the half dozen cloaked figures entered the room, she saw that one was pushing a bassinet.

The Slayer’s heart began to thump loudly in her chest, the blood rushing through her veins. She knew what the child was for, and tried once again to leap to her feet. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t move. Her body remained frozen. She turned her eyes to the ceiling, which had been painted to resemble a star-spectacled midnight sky, praying for Ilúvatar’s aid.

Breathing hard, she watched as the villains slowly approached. Their hoods were pulled so far over their faces that she couldn’t see who they were. The only part of their bodies exposed was their hands, and she could clearly see that they were not humans, but demons. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end. One of the men was chanting something. His voice was so low that it was inaudible to even her Vala ears.

The bassinet was placed a couple of feet in front of Buffy’s seat. One of the monsters reached in and pulled out the infant, which immediately began to cry. The creature then held the child aloft.

“Accept our offering, Lord, for we are your most humble servants,” he stated. He then lowered the baby, holding it in the crook of his arm. The demon then pulled back his hood.

Buffy was dumbstruck when she saw that it was the Master. Her mind instantly flashed back to the time when he had killed her in Sunnydale long ago. The vampire was still able to strike fear into her heart. She looked on in horror as he sank his fangs into the pinkish flesh of the screaming infant.

“Blessed be this day,” said the others in unison.

The infant flailed its little feet and hands, his cries chilling the Slayer to the bone. The Master then snapped the child’s neck, the sound echoing within the room. He then placed the dead baby back into the bassinet. He allowed the blood from his puncture marks to spill onto his finger. He then stepped closer to the Slayer, holding out his blood-covered digit.

“With the blood of one young and pure, I anoint thee,” he said before smearing the warm blood on her forehead. “For the stars are aligned and the time of the Union between Dark and Light shall soon commence.” The Master marked a star on her skin. “And the Gods shall tremble in fear, for a glorious new power will arise, and wreak havoc upon the world. As it is written, so shall it be.” He gave Buffy a sinister smile before licking the remnants of blood from his finger.

Someone then banged a staff against the floor three times. The crowd immediately fell on bended knee, bowing their heads in reverence to the tall, cloaked figure standing in the doorway. Only the Master remained standing. He pulled the bassinet to the side, as the cloaked man made his way toward the Slayer. When he reached the side of the Master, the old vampire dropped to one knee, picked up the hand of the newcomer, and kissed the ring on his forefinger.

“All is ready, my Lord Aurelius. The Slayer has been anointed.”

“That is well,” answered Aurelius before turning to the congregants. “You may rise, children of darkness, for our time has come. We are now the rulers both above and below ground.”

The others rose to their feet.

The Master then questioned, “And he is on his way, the - ”

“He is in route as we speak,” interjected Aurelius, cutting off the words of the Master. He turned, facing Buffy once again. “It has been a long time since we’ve last met, Bella.”

The voice of the tall man before her sounded oddly familiar, but she was so traumatized by the murder of the infant that she couldn’t clearly place the voice.

“Rumor has it that you’ve been in the Colonies all these years.” He snickered. “How can you, of all people, go against the monarchies of old? It is heresy, a disservice to all that we’ve done.” He leaned closer, whispering, “Who will protect your people now that you’re gone? America will fall. I will see to that, personally.”

“Who… who are you?” she stammered, eyeing the figure with trepidation and confusion.

“Do you not know? Tell me, Bella - how can you forget me, of all people?”

The stranger lowered his hood.

Buffy gasped, shocked beyond belief to see that Mablung was standing before her, and that he was a vampire.

“No,” she groaned. “This can’t be.”

A smile came to his face. “I see that you recognize me after all.” He then backhanded her hard across the face, sending her toppling out of her chair. “Did you think I had forgotten about Randiel?” he spat, spittle flying from his lips. “I swore that I’d get my revenge and that day fast approaches.”

The Slayer lay in a heap on the floor, unable to move. She felt the burning sensation in her cheek, and tasted blood in her mouth.

“Aurelius,” said another cloaked figure in warning.

Mablung took a deep breath, instantly regaining his composure. He turned to his minions and barked, “Take her to her chamber. None are to enter, save me. I want guards posted outside the doors. Bella can be a tricky bird, and I do not want her to escape.”

Buffy was then picked up off the floor and carried out of the room.



Meanwhile, a lone carriage under heavy guard went speedily down one of the streets leading into Paris. Inside, sat the Immortal, but he was not alone. Seated opposite him was Morgoth in spirit form. The evil Vala glanced out the window, staring at the glow of the city still some miles away.

“You should’ve traveled by dragon. Much quicker.”

“It would draw too much attention, attention we cannot afford right now,” answered the Immortal.

“They will fail in their task,” proclaimed Morgoth, turning his demonic eyes to his servant. “She will flee and we will begin the game of cat and mouse, yet again.”

“Good,” replied Allandro. “Then we will kill all those that harbor Bella. The more allies she loses, the better off we’ll be.”

“I am tired of waiting. That’s all I’ve done… for millennia!” complained Melkor Bauglir.

“All I ask of you is to be patient, my Lord. The Merging will take place and the Covenant will be fulfilled,” answered Allandro, trying to conceal his annoyance with the Dark Lord. “I’ve done everything in my power to see to it that Bella would come here. And she did. She will have nowhere to run. The borders to this land are under heavy surveillance. There is no escape.”

“And these associates of yours, those mortals, they have been rounding up her allies,” continued the evil Vala.

“Yes, my Lord. They will be sentenced to death to ensure that she will no longer have their aid.”

“I do not trust them. Mortals. They are a weak and lowly breed that can easily be swayed against us,” mentioned Melkor uneasily. “I’ve seen it too many times before.”

“Yet they constantly seek power, and wealth. Men will do most nearly anything to obtain them - even slaying their own kin. Do not underestimate those under my command. They are loyal to you.”

Morgoth looked back out the window, and sadly added, “She is the Vala of Love. They flock to her. Always have.”

“We have struck quickly at the churches. We have seized them in Paris and will throughout the rest of France. She cannot flee there. Where else will she go if those most loyal to her are awaiting their executions in prison?”

Melkor turned his gaze back to Allandro, eyeing the man suspiciously. “She has been known to turn my followers against me. Have you forgotten that, my old friend? Have you forgotten about the power she wields, magic or no?”

“You’re being paranoid, Melkor,” answered the Immortal.

“And rightly so,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve been seeking the capture of Melisse for thousands of years, yet, somehow, she always manages to slip through my fingers.”

“Well, you are non-corporeal,” Allandro replied with a snicker. “Kind of hard to grasp anything at all, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is that a joke? Was that a joke at my expense?”

“I tried,” replied the Immortal with a shrug of his shoulders. “Relax, my Lord. Bella will not escape. Not this time. The Covenant will be fulfilled at long last. I assure you of that.”

“It better, or there will be hell to pay… and that includes you, Allandro.”



Buffy was taken downstairs to a private chamber, and tossed onto the bed. Her captives then left the room. She heard the clicking latches of the many locks on the other side of the door. Her eyes scanned the sparsely furnished room. Everything was decorated in black and red. The only light came from a creepy chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The morbid light fixture appeared to have been made from a dozen human skulls. Candles burned within them, their light casting eerie shadows on the dark walls.

Directly across from her, hanging on the wall, was a portrait. In fact, it was the only artwork in the entire chamber. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the painting. She soon realized that the portrait was of none other than Daehir, the first vampire that she had encountered in Middle-earth back in the days when she had dwelt in Doriath. She found it strange to look upon his image so many years later. She wondered what had happened to him, and if he would also be making an appearance. After seeing Mablung, whom she believed dead, anything was possible.

As she lay there, paralyzed, her eyes continued to inspect every inch of the room that she could see without turning her head. From the corner of her eye, she could make out that there were two windows covered by thick, black velvet drapes. If only she could move, she could escape her prison.

Each second seemed like a minute, each minute seemed like an hour. The Slayer had no idea how much time had passed during her silent isolation. The longer she lay there, the colder she became. Goosebumps covered her entire body. How she wished she could pull a blanket over her naked shoulders and arms. Instead, she shivered in the dimly lit room, waiting nervously for the villains to make their next move.

She could do nothing else, but think. She still didn’t understand Námo’s last words to her, and she was still reeling from the blow of discovering that Mablung was a vampire. She wondered when that had happened, as she, herself, had buried him after the sacking of Menegroth.

Before long, Buffy found herself drifting off to sleep. She was almost out when she suddenly heard the latches of the locks clicking. Her eyes darted open. Someone was about to enter the chamber. She felt her heart rate increase, the hairs on her body stood on end. She made another desperate attempt to move her limbs, but remained motionless. She locked her eyes on the wooden door, expecting Mablung to enter. She watched as the doorknob slowly turned. The door let out a mournful creak as it opened. She was right. It was Mablung. He closed the door behind him. The Slayer could hear the clicking of the locks once again.

“Do not fear me,” whispered Mablung, giving her a reassuring smile. “I am not here to hurt you, but to help you.”

A puzzled expression came to Buffy’s face.

“I am not who you think I am,” he continued, making his way over to the bed. “I am a friend… well, more than just a friend… I am your ally, Ishtar.”

Buffy would’ve raised her brow in doubt if she could have. Instead, she looked at the villain with suspicion, wondering what new con job was being played on her.

“You do not believe me, I see,” Mablung continued with a soft chuckle, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I understand. Perhaps this will bring you some comfort.”

She watched as Mablung’s form instantly changed into that of a blue, scaly demon.

“Coruon,” she said softly, remembering how her offspring had helped her escape Gothmog long ago.

“I know that things must be… difficult for you at the moment, but do not worry too much. Help is on the way.” He cast a quick glance at the door before quickly adding, “I do not have much time. I fear that the real Aurelius will be down shortly.” He reached into the pocket of his robes, digging for something. “Do not think that you have no friends in Paris. Nothing is further from the truth. The cavalry is being marshaled as I speak, and we’ll get you out of here very soon.”

“Why am I here?” she asked, perplexed by her newfound predicament.

“Here?” he queried distractedly, as he pulled a small round box from his pocket.

“Yeah, here. In Paris. What is it that I’m supposed to do? I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Ishtar, but I do not have time to get into details,” Coruon replied while unscrewing the lid. “Olofin has given me orders to… ”

“Olofin? Olofin’s here?” she interjected anxiously, excited to know that her son was nearby.

It was the demon that now looked at the Slayer warily. “My dear Lady, Olofin traveled with you on the ship from America. How could you forget such a thing?”

“No, no he didn’t,” she protested. “No one seems to understand that the Valar brought me here. They brought me here at the start of the Second Age. I was in Valinor before I came here.”

Coruon jerked his head with start, listening intently to something that Buffy could not hear.

“What? What is it?”

“He’s coming.” The blue demon quickly lifted the Slayer’s head from the pillows. “This is not the time or the place for explanations. Olofin made this remedy for your ailment. It is derived from the coca plant and will counter the effects of the poison that was given to you.” He placed the box of white powdery substance beneath her nostrils. “Sniff. Sniff hard.”

As she snorted as hard as she could, she could see that Coruon had changed back into Mablung’s form.

“It will take a little while for the effects to kick in. Just be on guard. Be at the ready,” the demon advised as he gently rested her head back on the pillows, wiping all evidence of the powdery substance from the outside of her nose. “I must go.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, searching his eyes with her own. “Don’t leave me.”

“I must. I’m sorry.” With that, Coruon got up and made his way to the door. He gave three loud knocks before twisting the lid back on the circular box and shoving it into his pocket. Only seconds later, the door creaked open. Buffy’s demonic offspring disappeared without so much as a backward glance.

An uneasy feeling swept over her. She wasn’t sure who was coming. But, if it were Mablung, wouldn’t the guards posted outside the room question his returning so soon? The Slayer feared for Coruon’s safety. It seemed obvious to her that he was acting as a spy for her side, and worried that his visit with her would expose him as a traitor amongst the Order.

In the meantime, all she could do was wait, and hope that Olofin’s powdery substance would swiftly revive her languid limbs. She kept her eyes fixed on the door, expecting to hear latches clicking open at any moment.

Several minutes later, she finally heard it - the door unlocking. Her heart began to race once again, but this time it was from the remedy, not anxiety. The middle finger on her right hand twitched ever so slightly. She took that as a sign that her mobility would soon return.

Sure enough, Mablung entered the room. Once again, the door closed, followed by the sound of the clicking locks.

“I see that you’re sill resting comfortably,” began Mablung, clutching his hands behind his back. “Good. Good.”

The Slayer made no reply, but looked at the vampire in the most hateful way.

He smiled, revealing his fangs. “Do not fret, Slayer. You will not be alone much longer. Soon our esteemed guest will arrive and The Covenant will finally be fulfilled.”

“The Covenant?” she repeated.

As he walked slowly toward the bed, he said mockingly, “Did I stutter? Or is it that you’ve become denser with age and no longer recall the pact you made with Melkor?”

“Is that what this is all about?”

“Indeed,” he answered, stopping at the foot of the bed. “My Lord has waited many long years for the heir that you promised him. And tonight, of all nights, that shall come to be.”

“Morgoth can’t father a child, dumb-ass” she snickered. “His fey can’t procreate.”

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, my dear,” said Mablung with a malicious glint in his green eyes. “Melkor’s essence is quite powerful. He only needs to merge with one of his most trusted servants, one who’s from the race of Ainur. Then he will be able to fulfill his part of The Covenant, and the miracle child will be born.”

“What’s in it for you, huh?”

“Why, my sweet, I get you… after the birth is complete, of course,” he added quickly. He turned, facing the portrait on the wall. “Then I will have my turn to cause you the same pain that you’ve brought to me and my kindred over the years. St. Vigeous will be most pleased to see his killer brought to justice.”

“St. Vigeous?”

“Daehir,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “You remember when we hunted him down like some rabid beast? How unwise I was back then. Young and foolish.” Mablung shook his head, before turning his gaze back to the painting. “Vigeous’ death will be avenged. Finally.”

While Mablung’s back was turned, Buffy discovered that she was able to flex her foot. She remained cool and collected, not wanting the vampire to know that her strength was beginning to return. She needed to keep him distracted, to buy her some time.

“You were a good man once. I’m sure Thingol would be saddened to see what you’ve become.”

“Thingol,” he repeated with a snort. “I haven’t heard that name in ages.” Mablung turned to face the Slayer, a contemptuous look on his face. “He was a fool. How it sickens me that I willingly sacrificed my life protecting his treasure. He was no noble Elf. He was greedy. Lustful. And that cost him his life, and mine. The Naugrim did the world a favor by killing him. As far as I’m concerned, it’s good riddance!”

“You don’t mean that. I know there’s a part of you still in there, Mablung, a part of you that… ”

The vampire quickly moved to the Slayer’s side, towering over her. His long, silver hair shimmered in the candlelight. “Mablung is dead! He has been for ages. I am Aurelius now and it would do you good to remember that. Speak not that foul name to me again or I shall rip your tongue out.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s one part of your body that Melkor has no need of.” He let out a derisive laugh.

“You’re nothing, nothing but Morgoth’s lackey,” she hissed in reply.

His green eyes flickered with anger, as he made a move to strike Buffy, stopping himself just shy of making contact. He quickly withdrew his hand, shaking his finger scoldingly instead. “You almost had me there.” He stood tall, clasping his hands behind his back again, proudly proclaiming, “I am the leader of my kind. The Order of Aurelius is the largest and most powerful vampire sect in all the world. I am The Great Prophet to those in the underworld.” Mablung smiled, cocking his head slightly to his left. “I owe a bit of that to you and your tales of old. But, that’s beside the point. Soon the time will come when I will have the opportunity to try out my new methods of torture… on you. You see, you’ve managed to evade capture for forty forevers, but what the others fail to realize is that in order to kill the Slayer, you have to love her. And in that respect, I’m the Chosen One.”

A sudden rapping on the door interrupted Mablung’s boastful ramblings. As he made his way across the room, Buffy couldn’t help but think that he was nothing remotely like the Elf that she had once loved. He was nothing more than a demon, plain and simple. She had to keep that in mind. The real Mablung was long gone, and had been for thousands of years.

The door cracked open, allowing a falcon to come zooming into the room, circling above the bed, near the ceiling. The Slayer assumed the bird was looking for a place to perch itself as the door slammed shut.

“Come to daddy,” coaxed Mablung, wrapping the bottom of his cloak around his arm several times for additional padding. The falcon landed on his outstretched arm. With his free hand, the vampire Elf pulled a neatly folded paper from the leather pouch attached to the bird’s leg. The falcon then flew across the chamber, landing on the curtain rod above one of the windows.

Buffy watched as her captor carefully unfolded the note, his eyes scanning the message.

A wide smile came to his face. He shifted his gaze to the Slayer. “It shan’t be long, my sweet. I’ve just received word that Melkor and his emissary are only minutes away. The Merging draws near.” He closed his eyes for a moment, softly uttering, “Blessed be this day.”

The Slayer was beginning to freak. She still couldn’t move more than a fraction of an inch, and now Melkor was nearly there. She hoped that she could play to Mablung’s ego in an attempt to save herself.

“So that’s it. All this effort to get me and you’re just gonna hand me over to Morgoth,” she said, the desperation in her voice evident. “I remember you, Aurelius. You’re a legend. Not just a great seer, but a mighty warrior.” She paused. “But it’s not you. Morgoth didn’t choose you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“This Merging thingy that’s gonna happen. He didn’t choose you to merge with. What does that say about what he thinks of you? You’re nothing to him. We can change that. We can unite together, against him.”

Mablung walked over to the side of the bed, laughing. “I’ve always said that you’re a tricky bird. You fail in your attempts, Bellaseth. You may have the gift of persuasion when it comes to mortals, but it does not work with me. I am loyal to Melkor and will do his bidding, for my reward will be great.”

The falcon flapped its wings, taking off from the curtain rod. It landed on the floor behind the vampire.

“Melkor’s the Master of Lies. You know that,” she continued, looking at Mablung from the corner of her eye. “How can you think, for one minute, that he’s just gonna hand me over to you. And you call me dense?” she added with a snicker. “You’re the one who’s become stupider with age, not me.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” he exclaimed, puffing out his chest. “I am the Lord of Vampires, the greatest of my kind.”

“You’re a dope. A puppet. And Melkor’s pulling the strings. How does that make you feel, Mablung?!”

A look of hatred came to the vampire’s face. “You shall die for you insolence, whore! I am no… ” The words died on his lips. He gasped, his eyes bulging bug-eyed. Standing behind Mablung was Lalwen, wearing Buffy’s old falcon coat. Her hand clutched the end of the stake that she had just plunged through the vampire’s back, piercing his heart. A second later, dust rained down onto the floor.

“Hello, Bella. Good to see you again,” said the elleth cheerfully, twirling the stake in her hand before shoving it into her pocket.

“Lalwen!” Buffy gasped in surprise.

The woman brushed the dust from her coat before sitting next to the Slayer. “Can you move yet?”

“Not really. Just a little.”

“Alright. We have to get you out of here. Melkor’s on his way.” She reached back into her pocket, pulling out a syringe. “Olofin said that if you weren’t strong enough to give you a little bit of this juice.” She grabbed Buffy’s arm, sticking the needle into her flesh.

The Slayer winced.

“Sorry,” said Lalwen. “We don’t have much time.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“We have that figured out.” She pulled the needle out. “We need to change clothes.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about all this,” continued Lalwen, pulling off her coat. “Our timing was a bit off, but we’ve mustered our strength.”

“I… I don’t understand… what’s going on,” said Buffy struggling in her efforts to move.

“Long story,” replied Lalwen, now pulling off her clothing.

“How bout telling me the condensed version?”

“Melkor’s here. What more do you need to hear?” She pulled her sweater over her head. “Can you move yet?”

The Slayer pulled herself into a sitting position. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. She touched her aching head, feeling the lump at the back of her skull. She winced again.

Before she knew it, Lalwen was naked and was now helping Buffy out of her gown.

“What’s going on Lalwen? I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to trade places, Bella. You take the coat and flee, and I’ll remain here… ”

“But they’ll see that you’re not… ” Her words faltered as she watched Lalwen change into her double. She looked just like the Slayer except for the blood on her forehead. “Damn! Is everyone a shape shifter?”

Lalwen chuckled, pulling her sweater over Buffy’s head. “Haven’t you heard? It’s all the rage nowadays.”

When the women were dressed, the elleth pulled the Slayer to her feet. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Her equilibrium was a little off, but she felt her strength returning more than before.

Lalwen began fastening the buttons on the coat, starting at the bottom. “There’s an opened window on the fourth floor at the end of the hallway. Make your way there. Fly one block east, and that’s where you’ll find the others, waiting.”

“But what about you? I can’t leave you here.”

“Oh, Bella,” smiled the elleth, cupping Buffy’s cheek. “You’re always thinking of others before yourself. You’re needed in this world more than me. My time is over. I willingly lay down my life for yours.”

“No! Absolutely not!” protested the Slayer. “I forbid it! I’m not leaving you.”

“You have no other choice. If you’re here when Melkor comes, then a new evil will rise, destroying the world and all that inhabit it. We can’t escape together. There are too many guards. More and more have arrived throughout the night.”

“Then we wait for reinforcements. If they’re only a block away… ”

“No, Bella. That’s not the plan… ”

“I’m not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me.”

“But what a noble death that will be.”

“That’s crazy talk, Lalwen,” countered Buffy, grabbing the woman by the shoulders. “We’ll leave together. We’ll fight together, like old times.”

The elleth smiled, looking deeply into the Slayer’s eyes. She pushed her, sending Buffy flying backwards onto the bed. “You’re weak. You’re not ready for a fight. Not yet, but you soon will be.” She helped her friend back to her feet. “Damn, I nearly forgot.” She pulled a dagger from the pocket of the falcon coat, and pricked the tip of her finger. As she squeezed the blood out, she looked at the star on Buffy’s forehead. “I have to be a perfect replica of you.” She then smeared her blood on her own forehead, copying the symbol exactly.

Tears filled Buffy’s eyes. “Don’t do this, Lalwen. Please!”

“Don’t cry. If they see golden nuggets falling, they’ll know what happened. Be strong. Be safe. But most importantly, make your way to the fourth floor hallway.” The woman let out a sigh. “I love you, Bellaseth. I love you more than life itself. Kick some demon ass for me.” She then gave Buffy a kiss on the cheek, before clasping the final button.

The Slayer instantly turned into a falcon. She flapped her wings, keeping herself in the air in front of the elleth.

“There’s not time to waste. When you leave the chateau, go one block east. Good luck, Bella.”

The woman then quickly went to the door and knocked three times. She remained concealed behind the door, as the many latches began to click open. She motioned for Buffy to fly out as soon as the door cracked opened, wanting to make the guards think that Aurelius was only sending his messenger back out.

The Slayer stifled her tears, but her heart ached with such pain knowing that Lalwen was going to sacrifice herself to save Buffy.

When the door started to open the elleth once again quietly motioned for the Slayer to leave. Buffy hesitated for a moment, but Lalwen gave her a stern look. She then flew out the door before the woman slammed it shut.

Buffy flew down the corridor in the same direction that she had come. But once she reached the upper level, she didn’t know which way to go. There was a horde of people in the house and she became disoriented and confused. She flew down corridors, looking for the staircase to the upper floors, unaware that Melkor and Allandro had already entered the Halls of Aurelius and were hastily making their way downstairs.

When she finally found the stairway, she heard a loud shriek that caused her to ruffle her feathers in flight.

“SHE’S ESCAPED! SHE’S ESCAPED!” The Immortal’s voice rang out throughout the Halls.

“LOCKDOWN!” shouted the Master, as he ran through his house. “FIND HER! FIND THE SLAYER!”

Buffy quickly flew up the stairway over the heads of those running to and fro, desperate to reach the next floor. She glided above the heads of the enemy, none really noticing her, until she reached the fourth floor. She found the window barred. Morgoth’s minions were everywhere, searching for their prisoner.

She was trapped…