Full Circle

Cries of, “AURELIUS IS DEAD! AURELIUS IS DEAD!” rang out throughout the chateau. That news seemed to inflame the vampire’s loyal followers, adding to the confusion and chaos within the Household. Demons and mortals frantically searched the Halls, peering under furniture and emptying storage closets in search of the Slayer.

It took all of five minutes before the accusations began to fly. Some pointed their fingers at their brethren, accusing them of being accomplices to Buffy’s escape. Brawls broke out amongst the members of the Order. Weapons were drawn, and bloodshed became the name of the game.

The Master quickly took charge of the situation, as he was the next in command within the Order. For an old vampire, he was able to act swiftly, ripping out the throats of the instigators with his bare hands.

“Stop this madness!” he shouted. “You’re acting like a bunch of animals.” With the troublemakers dead, he restored order within the Household. “We are still family, and do not need our numbers to diminish any more than they already have.” He looked sternly at his people. “Find the girl. Find the Slayer. NOW!”

The group resumed their search.

Buffy had no idea where to turn. She thought about zooming into the windowpane, but worried that at a high rate of speed, she’d probably break her neck instead of the glass. That is, if she could get by the guard. As she soared down to the lower levels, she saw that there was a guard posted at every window and door. She assumed that if there was some secret passageway, then, that too, was probably being watched.

With her adrenaline pumping, the Slayer felt stronger. She wondered if she would be better off to change into her mortal form and fight, even though she was greatly outnumbered. She knew that Lalwen had kept a stake and dagger in the falcon coat pockets, two weapons that were not ideal choices for combat, considering the circumstances.

Her hope of rescue was dwindling fast. She figured it was only a matter of time before someone figured out that the falcon soaring near the ceiling was she. As miserable a thought as that was, she couldn’t help but think that the Master, out of all those present, would be the one to figure that out. He always seemed to possess greater powers than the others of his kind, and Buffy could only assume that that was true even in the eighteenth century.

Should I or shouldn’t I? she queried in her mind, debating with herself whether or not to change into her mortal form. Not forgetting that Lalwen was downstairs, she decided to fight. Flying from the main salon, she searched for a room not so heavily occupied by the enemy, a room in which she would have a chance to overpower the occupants in one-on-one combat with her dagger and stake as her only weapons.

The Slayer flew close to the ceiling, avoiding those running throughout the Halls as she entered various rooms, circled above, then departed. When she found her way into the library, she was delighted to see that there were only two demons and one vampire in there. Two were pulling the bookshelves from the wall, thinking that she could be hiding behind them. How stupid they were to believe that she could squeeze into the small gap between the shelves and the wall! The third was on all fours, creeping around the elaborate mahogany desk. The idiot was pulling out the drawers, rifling through the papers as though she were hiding beneath them. She figured this was the best spot to make her change.

Still in falcon form, Buffy landed on the desk. The demon gave her a quick glance before resuming his search. She shook her head as she used her beak the undo the topmost button of the coat. Now squatting on the desk in mortal form, she reached into each pocket, grabbing a weapon with each hand. No one seemed to notice that she was right there, before their very eyes.

“Hey, asshole,” she whispered. “Looking for me?”

“Huh?” the demon looked up at the smiling Slayer on the desk. Before he could react, she grabbed one of the horns on his head, pulled him closer, and rammed her dagger into his throat. Unfortunately, his windpipe wasn’t located there, and the demon was able let out a high-pitched squawk. Foul-smelling, black blood sprayed her as she cut through the beast’s tendons, ligaments and bone. Her attempt at severing the monster’s head was interrupted by the other two creatures in the room. They both came rushing toward the desk, growling.

One went to sweep her legs out from beneath her. Buffy did a back flip, landing on the floor behind him. She plunged her blade into his back, piercing the chain mail that he wore underneath his cloak. He groaned in pain as she twisted the knife deeper into his flesh, using his body as a shield against the other. Despite her small size, she forcefully thrust her captive forward, his head colliding with that of his vampire comrade, dazing him. She dislodged her weapon before shoving the demon in her arms to the floor.

“You’re outnumbered, Slayer,” cackled the vampire, rubbing his bumpy forehead.

Sure enough, more and more of the enemy were swarming into the chamber.

Before she turned her attention to those entering the room, she hurled her stake toward the vampire, striking him in the chest. There was a momentary look of horror on his face before he turned to dust. The stake fell to the floor with a clatter.

Getting into her fighting stance, her eyes quickly surveyed the room. There were at least fifteen more that she’d have to face, and by the sound of it, more were on the way.

She kicked the closest foe in the gut, sending him flying backwards, and knocking down two of his brethren. Buffy then delivered a backhanded punch to another, which had virtually no effect on the demon. Another came from behind, grabbing her around the waist, and pulling her off her feet. She reached over her head and buried the blade of the dagger into his head, not stopping until the hilt collided with his skull. The monster fell backward to the floor, taking her with him.

With her arm twisted awkwardly behind her, she pulled her weapon free before leaping to her feet. Whilst in motion, another vampire gave her a roundhouse kick, sending the stunned Slayer flying. She landed painfully on the edge of one of the overturned bookshelves. She let out a painful moan, feeling as though she might have broken a couple of ribs.

With her free hand at her side, the Slayer looked up and saw a grey-skinned troll towering over her. Acting fast, she did a forward roll between the creature’s legs, stabbing her dagger into his foot until it was firmly imbedded in the wooden plank of the floor. The troll wailed, trying to pry his foot free.

Now weaponless, the Slayer had to rely on her body as her only means of defense. She pummeled and kicked anything that moved, eyeing the coat rack standing near the corner of the room. If only she could reach it. She fought her way toward it, gradually moving closer and closer. She was then struck from behind, propelling her forward, nearer to the coat rack. Quickly regaining her footing, she elbowed the beastly creature in her way, before snatching the stand.

A couple of coats still clung to the hooks as she lifted the device from the corner. As she did so, she happened to hit an oil sconce on the wall, shattering it. A stream of the burning fuel fell onto the garments, instantly igniting them. She whirled the pole around in an attempt to wrap the burning material on the end of the coat rack. Of course, having a flaming pole in her possession caused many of her foes to back away, especially the vampires.

She thrust this makeshift weapon at the enemy in an attempt to set their cloaks aflame. One of the demons tried to rush her. She swiftly swung her stick toward him, sending a burning garment flying off the end, hitting the creature square in the face. He screeched in pain as he pulled the burning coat from his bubbling flesh.

With only one coat now clinging to the end of the coat rack, the Slayer began to use the device as a spear. She rammed the implement into the nearest beastly creature. The wooden tip and hooks easily piercing through his dark hide, but in doing so, extinguished the flames. When the creature reeled backwards, he pulled the coat rack from Buffy’s grasp, leaving her weaponless once again.

Not wasting any time, she resumed her attack on those nearest to herself. The troll, who had managed to free himself, came stumbling after the Slayer, knocking aside his cohorts in the process. His sole intent, at this point, was the beat the living daylights out of Buffy, to have her feel the same pain as he.

Before the troll could actually reach her, the Master arrived. Standing in the doorway, surrounded by his personal guard, he commanded, not only those from the Order, but also those visitors from other clans, to end the mayhem at once.

“Touch the girl, and you’ll die in the most horrific ways imaginable,” he threatened to those within the library.

The room went quiet, even the troll, who was still quite livid, ceased his grumblings. None were eager to incur the wrath of the old vampire.

“Come here, Slayer,” said the Master, motioning her over with his long, skeletal-looking forefinger.

The demons parted, forming a pathway between him and her.

Buffy tried frantically to fight off the spell that he had somehow woven upon her, but her feet inched her closer to the Master.

“That’s a good girl,” he continued with a wicked smile on his face. “Come to papa.”

When she was only a few feet away from the vampire, she suddenly stopped. Her eyes remained locked on the Master, unable to break eye contact with him. Her skin prickled all over, an obvious sign of warning. She then heard a faraway voice in her head, speaking Sindarin.

The Master looked annoyed but didn’t fret. He stepped closer to the Slayer, studying her with renewed interest. How was it that she was able to thwart his spell? He concentrated harder, his eyes never leaving hers. She remained still, silent, except for her heavy breathing. The vampire reached out, wanting to feel the softness and warmth of her glistening cheek. She bedazzled him. Such power. It emanated from her. This Slayer was quite different than the others he had encountered in the past. Aurelius and Allandro were right. This Slayer, this Bella as she was called, was special. As his fingertips grazed the smoothness of her skin, a look of contentment came to the Master’s face. He felt love, a feeling that he had not truly experienced since his metamorphosis many centuries before. He had no idea that the small woman standing before him was the Goddess of Love and War and that she had the ability to bewitch those around her without so much as a word.

A sudden boom, followed by a loud crash, rang out in the main salon, breaking the Master’s spell on Buffy. Screams and shouts reverberated throughout the chateau, which rumbled and shook from the impact. Before anyone had time to react, there was another loud bang, followed by the sounds of breaking glass.

Someone outside the library cried out, “Son-of-a-bitch! They have cannons!”

‘Duck, Nana! Duck!’ warned Olofin’s voice in her head.

Just as the Slayer hit the floor, a cannon ball came bursting through the wall of the library. Sunlight streamed through the newly created hole in the wall, bathing part of the room with its orange glow. The iron ball passed through the troll’s midsection before colliding with the opposite wall. If Buffy had been standing, she would’ve been hit by the flying projectile.

Chaos broke out throughout the entire chateau as blast after blast could be heard. Rubble and debris rained down upon the occupants. A cloud of smoke and dust filled the air, especially around the gaping hole in the wall. Yet, it wasn’t dense enough to block out the early morning light, which set ablaze several vampires that had been standing there only seconds before.

The remaining vampires tried to flee the room, trampling over Buffy’s body on the floor. The demons immediately formed a line of defense, waiting expectantly for the enemy to enter the Halls of Aurelius.

The Master hastily covered most of his exposed flesh with his cloak. He reached down, grabbing the Slayer’s wrist, and attempted to drag her out of the room. He groaned as the sunlight seared the flesh of his hand, forcing him to quickly release his grip. He shouted to the demons to help him, but they were now confronted by the enemy on the other side of the dusty hole.

Arrows came whizzing through the opening in the wall, some bouncing off their targets, others penetrating the demons’ hides.

From the other rooms, Buffy could hear metal striking metal, and the shrieks of those that happened to be on the receiving end of said weapons. She sighed with relief, knowing that her people had finally arrived.

“The cavalry’s here,” she uttered under her breath before springing to her feet. She turned toward the Master, who had backed away from the orangey glow in the room, but remained standing just outside the doorway in the shadows of the corridor. A twisted smile came to the Slayer’s face, as she delivered a roundhouse kick that the Master did not expect, sending him crashing through the plaster wall of the hallway.

Her attention then turned to the clash taking place within the library. Several men had entered through the hole and were sparring with those beastly creatures that had remained behind. Buffy glanced back at the doorway, and saw that the Master had gone.

Feeling invigorated and strong, she was quite eager to join the others in the fray. With her two weapons lost amidst the wreckage, she thought that she’d rely on her old standby: her body. She charged the closest demon from behind, leaping onto his back and wrapping her legs around his barrel-shaped waist. Each hand grabbed hold of either side of the beast’s head. The Slayer gave it a good twist, snapping it from his spine. She let go as the creature’s limp body fell to the floor.

She now saw, standing before her, a familiar face. “Orchal!” she squealed in delight, throwing her arms around the elf. She clung to him tightly, relieved to see her old friend.

Orchal was slightly baffled by her behavior. It had only been two days since they had last seen each other. He assumed that her imprisonment must have been pretty harsh for her to react in such a manner.

“We’ve got much to do, Bella,” he said, pulling out of the embrace. He looked her over, his eyes stopping on her forehead. “What’s that on your head?” He leaned closer, peering at her forehead. “Is that… is that blood?”

Buffy had forgotten about the star-shaped marking on her head. She made a move to wipe it off with the back of her hand just as one of their foes collided into them.

In an instant, Orchal’s sword swooshed through the air, hewing the demon’s head from his body.

The Slayer watched as the head went one way, the body, the other.

“Damn, looks like beheadings are in vogue nowadays too.”

“Huh?” queried the elf, as he thrust his blade deeply into the back of another monster, felling the beast.

“Nothing. Just thinking aloud.”

With all the demons in the room now slain, the others were anxious to take the fight to the rest of the creatures in the lair of Aurelius.

“No Slayer should be without a weapon,” said Bellason, girding a sheathed sword around her waist, “especially a Noldorin blade.”

As the elf fastened the clasp of her belt, Buffy pulled the blade from the bejeweled scabbard. She wrinkled her face in confusion. “Nacil,” she murmured, shocked that she had been given the sword of Fëanor as opposed to her belt, which she preferred to wield in battle. Still puzzled, she looked to Orchal and said, “Why would you bring me this? This is an heirloom, not something that I use in battle.” She ran her finger along the smooth, cool metal, remembering when the sons of Fëanor had given her the sword as a betrothal gift. She felt a sudden aching in her heart for her beloved Maglor.

The elves looked warily at each other. “What’s wrong with you?” asked a befuddled Orchal. “You’ve been carrying Nacil into battle for centuries. How could you forget such a thing?”

The Slayer looked blankly at her dear friends for a few moments. “What’s wrong with you people?” she chastised. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I never lived through those centuries! I was thrust forward in time by the Valar… The War of Wrath just ended. I… I didn’t sail here on some ship from America, as everyone seems to think. I don’t know why the hell I’m here or what I’m supposed to do.”

Orchal, Nestor, Bellason, Arachas and Nimrod huddled together, out of earshot from Buffy. She could only hear snippets of their conversation, such as “devilry”, “dark magicks”, and “gone insane.”

“I’m not insane!” she remarked when she overheard that, knowing damn well that they were talking about her.

“No one’s claiming that you are,” piped up Nestor. He gave the Slayer a quick, reassuring smile before resuming his conversation with the others in much softer voices.

Annoyed by their comments, and eager to kick some demon ass, Buffy went to leave the library when another loud boom sounded in the adjoining room. The whole chamber shook violently. Furniture skidded across the floor. Those windows that had still been intact began to crack, as bits of plaster fell from the ceiling and the opening in the wall.

The Slayer took off, sprinting down the now smoke-filled corridor as the others shouted her name. Fires had broken out within the Halls of Aurelius from the shattering oil lamps, setting aflame the draperies and furnishings. Most of the vampires and many of the Men had fled into the sewers, escaping the torrents of flame, leaving mostly demons to battle the allies. The beastly creatures’ only desire was to see to it that the Union between Dark and Light took place, so that Morgoth’s heir would rise to command them in the flesh.

Before Buffy had a chance to join any of the various skirmishes taking place, a series of cracking noises reverberated throughout that section of the chateau. The allies, with their use of canons, had weakened one of the structure’s main supporting walls. Much of the wall, engulfed in flames, began to crumble, and would soon cause portions of the upper levels to come crashing down upon the occupants.

She quickly eyed those too engrossed in battle to notice their impending doom. Still holding her sword in one hand, she ran, pushing a tall green-cloaked figure out of harm’s way, just as part of the ceiling fell, sending her sprawling onto the floor. Her adrenaline kicked into overdrive as she hastily crawled out from beneath the burning rubble. Someone then grabbed her arm, pulling her from the wreckage, as they patted out the flames in her hair.

Numerous voices shouted out, “RETREAT! RETREAT!”

Once free, Buffy looked up, only to see that the green-cloaked figure was none other than Thranduil.

“We‘re supposed to be rescuing you, not vice versa,” he said with an uneasy chuckle, pulling her to her feet.

Buffy muttered a quick word of thanks, quite grateful to see the elf again.

“We’d best get out of here. I think the Order got our message loud and clear, don’t you?”

The Slayer paused for a moment, now seeing Olofin, still fighting away. The room was stifling, the air becoming less and less tolerable. She coughed, burying her nose and mouth in the sleeve of her feathered coat.

“Let’s go,” continued Thranduil, pulling Buffy by the arm.

“No,” she said, breaking free from his grasp. “Lalwen. We have to get Lalwen.”

Before Thranduil could stop her, the Slayer took off, disappearing into the thickening haze. “Bella, wait!” he shouted. “It’s too dangerous.”

Though the intensity of the fire was becoming unbearable to the allies, Thranduil ran after Buffy, calling her name repeatedly. Olofin, now aware that his mother was free, immediately followed the elf.

The flames reached higher and higher, spreading throughout the front half the chateau. The neighbors had congregated in the streets, fearful that the fire would spread, setting their own homes ablaze. Using pots and buckets that they had dipped into the community well, they frantically tried to fight the fire themselves until the water tankers arrived.

The Slayer found the path to the basement blocked by the burning beams and joists that had once supported the upper levels of the house. Sheathing her blade, she felt that flying in falcon form would the easiest way to skirt around the flames. She buttoned the topmost button of the coat, instantly changing form, before flapping her wings, and disappearing into the thick haze.

Thankfully, the feather coat proved to be fire-retardant as she zipped through the wall of flame. Buffy became slightly disoriented from all the smoke, and made a couple of wrong turns before she found her bearings. The door to the lower level had been nearly ripped off its hinges during the pandemonium, allowing her to sweep through the opening and down the dimness of the stairway. She could still hear the hacking cries of Thranduil, shouting out her name.

The passageway was deserted, not an enemy in sight. She assumed that they had fled through some secret door, though she had no idea where its location might be. Her thoughts were on Lalwen, and her hope of getting the elleth safely out of the Halls of Aurelius.

When she reached the chamber door, she saw that a wooden beam had been set in the brackets located on either side, barring the entrance. That gave her hope that the enemy had not wanted Lalwen to escape. She changed back into her mortal form before pulling the heavy timber from its brackets, and tossing it to the floor. She then tried the knob, but found it locked.

“Step away, Lalwen. I’m gonna break the door in,” Buffy shouted at the wooden panel. She studied the locks of the door for a few moments, trying to figure out the best way to breach the barrier. Deciding to use her body as a battering ram, she took a step back before heaving her shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge. She tried again, but all she got was a sharp pain in her shoulder for her efforts.

She took a deep breath, groaning as she rubbed her throbbing shoulder. She dare not attempt to do that again. The Slayer surveyed the locks again. She thought that if she directed her force through a smaller part of her body, say her foot, she might have a better chance of breaking down the door.

She took a step back, eyeing the wooden surface next to the locks. She gave the barrier a good, hard kick. The door let out a mournful moan, but did not yield. Mustering all her slayer strength, she tried again, aiming her foot at the wood next to the many locks. She kicked harder than before. The locks broke apart, the door swinging open with such a force that it bounced off the interior wall of the chamber before closing once again. With the locks and knob broken, Buffy was able to push the door open. She let out a horrified gasp before falling to her knees.

Inside the chamber, hanging from the skull chandelier was Lalwen, in her true elvish form, gently swaying. She was naked, strung up by her intestines, a pool of blood and guts beneath her. She had been eviscerated, sliced open from between her breasts all the way down to her privates. Her rib cage had been pulled open, her organs neatly arranged by size on the pillows on the bed.

Tears flowed from Buffy’s eyes, as her stomach twisted and turned at the grisly sight. She bowed her head, thinking that the elleth’s death was all her fault. She shouldn’t have agreed to Lalwen’s plan. None of this would’ve happened if she had remained the Order’s prisoner.

There was a loud booming crash above, but the Slayer remained on her knees, grief-stricken, weeping for the loss of Lalwen. The pain was nearly unbearable. First, she had lost Luthor, then Maglor, and now Lalwen.

“Bella!” coughed Thranduil, coming down the smoke-filled passageway. “We’ve got to get out of here. The house is about to collapse.”

Buffy didn’t respond, but continued to sob. A pile of golden nuggets lay on the floor before her.

“What is it?” the elf queried, squatting beside the Slayer. “What’s wrong?”

Still, she didn’t respond.

The elf lifted his gaze. Upon seeing Lalwen’s body, he gasped in horror, covering his opened mouth with his hand. Tears filled his eyes. “Savages!” he sputtered. The air was becoming heavy with smoke. He then turned his attention back to Buffy, rubbing her back comfortingly. “We’ll make the scum pay for this, Bella. I promise. But we must go or we shall perish in this tomb,” he said glancing up and down the dimly lit passageway. He forced Buffy to her feet, just as Olofin emerged out of the hazy hallway.

“Mother!”

The Slayer turned to her son. “She’s dead. Lalwen’s dead. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… ”

Olofin pulled his mother into his arms, holding her tightly. Thranduil motioned toward the chamber with his head; the half-elf followed his gaze. He too gasped in shock upon seeing the remains of Lalwen hideously displayed for them to find.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he groaned in dismay. “Those sick bastards!”

“Fin, we’ve got to go,” urged Thranduil, eyeing the ceiling above them. “These joists won’t hold much longer.”

“You’re right, Thranduil. There must be a way out of here.” The half-elf narrowed his eyes, looking through the dense smoke.

“No!” Buffy protested, pulling free from her son. “We’re not leaving her behind.” She marched into the chamber as her companions grabbed her, trying to hold her back.

“It’s pointless, Nana. Lalwen’s fey is gone. She has returned to the Halls of her kin.”

“What is that?” asked Thranduil, pointing to the red scribbling on the white sheets that covered the mattress.

They all turned their eyes to the bed. Written on the sheets, in blood, was:

“She wasn’t woman enough for me!”

Lying next to that was Lalwen’s torn vagina. The bastards had actually cut out her private parts.

Buffy buried her face in Olofin’s chest, crying even harder than before. She knew, intuitively, that the elleth had suffered horribly, that the atrocities committed against her were done while she was alive.

“We really need to get out of here,” coughed Thranduil, dashing across the chamber to one of the windows. He pulled back the black draperies, only to see more wall. “Shit!” he exclaimed. He ran to the other just to make sure that it wasn’t an exit. It wasn’t.

“Come, Nana. We must go.”

“We can’t leave her,” she cried, looking pleadingly at her son. “We just can’t.”

“I’m afraid we have no other choice.” He pulled his mother into his arms, feeling that they’d move quicker if he carried her. “Come, Thranduil. Let us find a way out of this house of horrors.”

Thranduil swiftly left the room and walked beside Olofin down the corridor. The elf ran his hands along the walls, hoping to find the secret exit. Every door they passed led to some other chamber. One housed the munitions, giving both he and Olofin cause to worry. Once the flames reached that room, the house would explode from the barrels of black power stored in there.

Only moments later, the area leading to the stairway collapsed. The flames of the raging fire had now reached below. Buffy, now seeing how perilous their situation was, joined her companions in the search for an avenue of escape. They had checked every room, every nook and cranny, but still, they saw no way out.

It was Thranduil that finally found the trap door in the floor, the same door that had been used by the enemy. As the suffocating smoke closed in around them, they hurriedly climbed down the ladder into the pitch-black sewers, searching in the darkness for an exit that would take them above, to the sun-soaked streets of Paris…