Full Circle

WARNING: This chapter contains some graphic imagery.



It was nearly twenty minutes later when Buffy sensed that Willow had mystically retrieved their allies from Rome, bringing them safely back to the confines of Lindon Hall. She then rose to her feet and said, “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait!” replied Giles anxiously, handing little Buffy back to Xander, and getting to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta take care of some business,” she answered evasively. “I’ll be back soon. Stay here. Whatever you do - don’t leave Lindon Hall!” She then vanished, leaving her bewildered friends behind.

Only a second later, she reappeared inside the gates of Allandro’s compound, a few miles outside the city of Rome. Just like at the cemetery, she had on a thick, white fur coat, as the weather was unnaturally cold thanks in part to the tireless efforts of the Four Horsemen.

Up on a knoll sat the palazzo, the lights within burned brightly through the frost-covered windows.

The Vala Queen closed her eyes, and deeply inhaled the frigid air, hoping to pick up the Immortal’s scent. Her eyes popped open. She knew that he was not at home. At least, not yet. It didn’t matter though. She’d be more than happy to await his return. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she headed up the winding, slush-covered drive toward the mansion on the hill, wanting to savor every second of her time in Endor, despite the bitter winds blowing from the northeast.

Buffy chuckled to herself knowing that Allandro had spent big bucks on a state-of-the-art security system, a security system that would not mark her arrival. Employing one of the benefits of being a powerful Vala, she made sure that no electronic gadgets or mystical devices would be able to detect her presence. In fact, it was only a matter of time before all electronics that Man had come to rely on would be rendered obsolete.

Once she approached the front of the palazzo, the Slayer left the blacktop drive, following the path buried beneath the snow that led to the kitchen door at the side of the house. Just like an elf, her footfalls did not sink into the thick layer of white. Not a single footprint was left in her wake.

As Buffy approached the side patio, her mystical raiment reverted to her fleshly form. She did not want anyone to feel threatened or intimidated by her arrival. She looked “normal,” like a mortal, dressed in black jeans and a white turtleneck sweater.

Behind the curtained window, she could make out an enormous shadow in the kitchen, singing along with the radio. She recognized the beautiful voice, and the crappy song he was singing, Imagine.

She rolled her eyes, before tapping on the door.

The singing stopped. The shadow grew larger behind the frosted windowpanes. The door eased open, bathing the stoop in warmth and light. Standing inside, was the towering form of Giovanni, a look of surprise on his monstrous yellow face.

“Hey, Giovanni,” she said in greeting, smiling warmly at the demon servant of Allandro. “Long time, no see.”

“Uccisora!” he exclaimed, his blood red eyes wider than she had ever seen them. The demon was not only shocked to see her standing on his doorstep, but was also taken aback that she was able to bypass the security system without sending off the alarm.

“I prefer Bella,” she answered with a shrug. “Can I come in?”

“Um… er,” the hulking demon stammered, unsure how to react to Buffy’s most unexpected arrival. “My Signore is not home at the present.”

“Can I wait for him?” she asked, her teeth chattering from the cold. “I’ve come a long way, and it’s freezing out here.”

Despite his better judgment, Giovanni nodded his head, stepping back so the Slayer could enter the warmth of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her hands together, warming them. The smell of baked goods and freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. “I had forgotten how good your kitchen always smells. What are you baking?”

“Tiramisu,” he answered, closing the door behind her.

“Mmm, smells delish,” she remarked, as she slid out of her fur coat, draping the garment over the nearest barstool.

Giovanni sidled past Buffy, turned off the radio, and said, “It should be ready in about,” he glanced at the oven, checking the timer, “thirty-three minutes, if you’d like to have a slice.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a butcher knife, setting the implement onto the countertop. “We thought you were dead,” he continued, placing his palms on the smooth granite surface. His red demonic eyes studied the small woman before him. “It’s been nearly seven years since… ” Giovanni paused, trying to find the right words. “My Signore has moved on. He has a new lady friend.”

The Slayer chuckled, taking a seat atop one of the stools. “I’m not here to woo Allandro away from anybody. I just want to talk to him. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Oh.” Giovanni nervously cleared his throat. “What news do you bring? Do you have some useful information about this darkness that has fallen over the world?”

She propped her elbows on the countertop, resting her head on her linked fingers. “Surely, you know, Giovanni. It’s the End, Armageddon, some people call it.”

His eyes widened momentarily. “I see,” he remarked, scratching the side of his neck with one of his well-manicured claws. “I never thought I’d actually see this day come.”

“We should consider ourselves lucky,” she sniggered.

He narrowed his eyes, wary of her comment. “How so?”

“Oh, come on,” she answered fervently. “Hell on Earth. Death and mayhem everywhere you turn. Isn’t that what you demon-types long for?”

Giovanni was taken aback. “I have no quarrel with the mortals. I go my way, they go theirs.”

“It’s never been that way though, has it?” she answered, raising her brow skeptically.

The hulk-sized demon didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t like the Slayer’s tone, or the look in her eyes. She definitely knew more than she was willing to reveal, that much Giovanni knew.

“How ‘bout an espresso?” she asked, changing the subject in hope of easing the growing tension in Allandro’s servant. “I can sure use a pick me up. You do have some, don’t you?”

“Sì,” he replied, his eyes darting toward the knife, wondering if he should arm himself before turning his back to Buffy. With a heavy sigh, he left the blade alone and turned away. He hurriedly opened one of the cupboards, grabbed a cup from the stack before filling it with the strong, dark coffee. “Here you go, Uccis- er, Bella.”

“Grazie,” she answered, taking the small, steaming cup from his hand.

As she sipped on the hot beverage, Giovanni keenly watched her. Resting his hands back on the granite countertop on either side of the knife, he asked, “Do you mind my asking, where you’ve been all this time? None have seen hide nor hair of you for nearly seven years. Where have you been hiding all that time?”

“Don’t you know?” she queried in reply, her brows raised in question. “Allandro was the one who gave me the amulets. Surely, you know what they do.”

The demon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well, no, I do not,” he answered slowly. “I’m merely a servant of my master. He does not inform me of the powers of every amulet or mystical trinket in his possession. I have no idea what those amulets do that he gave you. All I know is that my Signore said it would help you in your war. That’s all.”

“You see, that’s the weird thing,” said Buffy, before taking a sip of her coffee. She could sense the anxiety rising within the demon as she placed her cup on the counter. “Those amulets actually belonged to me. They were part of my horde of artifacts that I had collected over the years.”

A surprised look came to Giovanni’s face. “You collect artifacts? I had no idea.”

“Huh?” replied the Slayer, incredulous in tone. “Somehow I don’t believe that.” She folded her arms on the counter. “I may have been out of the loop for a while, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t had people around who were acting as my eyes and ears,” she explained. “Turns out, the French invaded my lands back in the late 1700’s, raiding my fortress, stealing my treasures. Among the priceless artifacts taken from my Halls were twelve mystical amulets, which for some reason or another, ended up in the hands of none other than your Signore.”

Amazingly, the hue of Giovanni’s skin became lighter, a sign that Buffy clearly recognized as his body’s response to fear. The demon’s black pupils were also growing in size, a result of his mustering his strength in anticipation of a possible attack, or defense, whichever, the demon deemed more necessary to his survival.

“I can account for eleven of the amulets,” she continued, “but one, one is still out there, somewhere.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” said the demon defensively.

“Sorry, wrong answer,” she replied.

Giovanni snatched the knife from the countertop, wielding it threateningly at the Slayer.

She laughed, undaunted by his menacing form. “Ooh, I’m so scared,” she chuckled, a mocking look of terror on her face. “You won’t stab me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she continued in a calm voice, as she picked up her espresso and took another sip.

The demon’s body trembled, as he tried to fight the invisible force that had suddenly taken hold of him.

“It sucks when someone else’s will overpowers your own, doesn’t it?” she queried with a wry smile.

Giovanni didn’t respond. All his attention was focused on the blade within his grasp. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t control his hand, which was slowly moving the tip of the knife toward his stomach.

Buffy drained the last of her coffee, just as the blade slowly penetrated the demon’s gut, right above his groin area. Unable to scream or make any noise to warn the others in the house, Giovanni grimaced while plunging the knife deep into his abdomen.

“Did you ever have one of those days when you think, ‘Damn! I’ve fucked with the wrong person?’” she asked, as the terrified demon looked at her in utter shock. The Slayer’s smile widened. “I believe today is that day. Payback’s a bitch,” Buffy smirked, as she made a quick, upward motion with her forefinger.

The knife within the demon’s hand followed her movement, ripping through Giovanni’s flesh and innards. The demon remained on his feet, but hunched over the counter a bit. Blood streamed from the incision, spilling onto the granite surface, down the cabinets to the tile floor.

“Wait a sec,” declared the Slayer, thrusting her empty cup under the crimson-colored stream, filling the vessel.

The hue of Giovanni’s reptilian-like skin became lighter and lighter as the blood gushed from his body. His pupils became smaller, the closer he came to death.

Once her cup was full, she cheerfully said, “Bottoms up!” before gulping down the demon’s life force. As soon as the blood hit the back of her throat, images of Giovanni’s life flashed before her eyes. Things became clearer, confirming things that she had long suspected. While downing the warm liquid, her eyes turned black, her mystical raiment replacing her fleshly form.

Giovanni stared at the Slayer, wanting to speak, but finding himself unable to.

Buffy fixed her steely gaze on the dying demon. “I knew it!” she hissed, releasing the monster from her hold so that he fell to the floor in a heap. She rose from her stool and slowly ambled around the island that formed a barrier between her and her foe. The Vala Queen stared at Giovanni with narrowed eyes, forcing the demon to slash at his flesh with the knife that still remained clutched in his hand.

When she saw that he was near death, the Slayer deeply inhaled, sucking his soul from his body, and imprisoning his fey in hers.

Not a second later, the kitchen door swung open. “Gio- ” the maid began before stopping in her tracks. She and Buffy locked eyes for the briefest of moments, before the woman spotted the blood-covered countertop. With her eyes wide with horror, the woman let out an ear-piercing shriek as she bolted from the room.

“Damn!” mumbled the frustrated Valië. “There went my element of surprise.” She gave one last look at the demon’s body on the floor. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “Oh, well. No rest for the wicked,” as she started toward the door.

None in Allandro’s household were fated to survive; no matter how determined they were to stop the Vala Queen. Since Buffy was in a vengeful yet playful mood, she arranged the dead in a morbid display as a way to welcome the Immortal upon his return home.

She was putting the finishing touches on her handiwork when the timer on the oven in the kitchen began to beep. “Ooh, cake’s done,” she said, wiping her blood-covered hands on the nearest drapery.

Buffy took off for the kitchen, eager to partake in the delectably rich Italian dessert. She turned off the timer before pulling Giovanni’s masterpiece from the oven. She set it on the wire rack to cool, deciding that she’d shower before having a slice or two.

She then took the stairway in the kitchen to the second floor, heading for the master suite. The Slayer changed into her fleshly form, as she entered the massive bathroom. Though she no longer wore her mystical raiment, her body remained covered in blood and guts. She turned on the faucet in the shower. While waiting for the water to heat up, she looked at her blood-splattered reflection in the mirror and began to peel off her clothing.

When the room became steamy, she climbed in the shower, washing away all evidence of her massacre.

Once clean, she went to Allandro’s closet and pulled out a red silky shirt. She eyed the label. “Ooh, Armani. Nice,” she said, as she slid her arms into the long sleeves.

After she had finished her grooming ritual, she made her way back downstairs, straight to the kitchen. Avoiding the puddles of blood left on the floor, she cut a huge wedge of cake to take with her to Allandro’s study.

As she went through the house, she shoved heaping forkfuls of the chocolaty snack into her mouth, savoring the rare treat. Her annoyance with the maid and the rest of the Immortal’s staff for having interrupted her earlier plans was finally abating. But now, none lived, whether demon or mortal in origin, and she was free to nose around in her former lover’s mansion, to find those treasured items that had been stolen from her centuries before.

Buffy entered Allandro’s office, a beautiful chestnut paneled room, decorated wholly in blue and gold. Her eyes scanned the walls, searching for the secret door that she had seen snippets of whilst drinking Giovanni’s blood. Her eyes stopped on an old painting of the Colosseum, which depicted a very realistic fight scene between two gladiators.

Knowing that the secret door was located behind that painting, she placed her empty plate on the mahogany desk, walked over to the wall and searched for a hint of the opening. She thought that perhaps the portrait itself covered the hidden door. She grabbed hold of the frame and lifted it from the wall. The painting was much heavier than she had imagined. Buffy tossed the ancient artwork aside. It sailed through the air, landing against the edge of a coffee table. The impact tore through the backing of the frame as well as the canvas itself, destroying a priceless artifact in the Immortal’s collection.

She ran her hands along the smooth paneling, feeling nothing, not even a blemish in the wood. She then ran her fingers along the edges of the molding in hope that there was some well-hidden latch concealed within the ornate strips of wood. Unfortunately, she found nothing. There was no doubt in her mind that the passage was protected by some potent magicks, magicks that trumped her own.

She then tried teleporting herself into the secret chamber. Once again, she found herself unable to bypass Allandro’s mystical door.

Angered by her lack of success, she kicked the wall with all her might. Pain shot from her foot up to her thigh. Cursing, she hobbled away from the wall, believing that the paneling was reinforced with a least two feet of solid steel.

“Calm down, Bella. Calm down,” Buffy counseled herself. In her fury, her blood pressure had shot up; she could feel the heat emanating from her reddening cheeks.

Taking several deep breaths, she walked around the room until the pain in her leg subsided. She then turned her attention back to the wall, a look of determination on her face.

“What the hell am I doing wrong?” she asked aloud.

The moment she spoke, she knew that the door was password protected. How she knew, she couldn’t say for sure, but thought, perhaps, that that suggestion had come from the fey of Giovanni who remained trapped within her.

She began to speak words and phrases that she thought the Immortal would have found most appealing, failing in each attempt. She tried speaking in Italian, French, Swedish, German, and English. Nothing happened. She then tried Greek, Latin, Egyptian, Babylonian, and Sumerian. Still nothing.

She couldn’t believe that she was having such a difficult time getting through a measly doorway. Out of frustration, Buffy pounded her fists against the wall, enraged that some jackass Maia could out-magic her.

“Open sesame, god damn it!” she yelled, beating against the paneling. “Hocus Pocus! Abracadabra! Alohomora!” She shouted numerous passwords, but still, no luck.

With her hands throbbing, she stepped away from the wall, huffing. As she stared at the door with narrowed eyes, her thoughts turned to the Naugrim and their once magnificent kingdom, Moria.

Remembering the password used by the elves to enter through the Dwarves hidden gates, she spat out the word, “Mellon.” But, still, nothing happened.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, Giovanni,” the impatient Slayer said aloud. “If you don’t help me out here, I’ll make what’s left of your life even more miserable. What the fuck’s the password?”

In her mind, she heard the demon weakly answer, My Master’s name in Quenya. Your surname in Sindarin.

Buffy smiled upon hearing that. She stepped up to the paneling and in a commanding voice said, “Rómestámo Luinil.”

The air around the door rippled as the invisible shield vanished. The chestnut paneling then melted away before her very eyes, revealing a darkened chamber.

“Finally!” she exclaimed with relief.

She stepped into the room, and with a wave of her hand, a mystical bright light illuminated the entire chamber. As her eyes scanned the room, the Valië gasped in surprise, seeing many of her most beloved treasures that had been looted during the raid on her fortress in Switzerland a couple of centuries before.

By the looks of it, the room was a shrine devoted exclusively to her and her bloodline. There were statues and paintings of the Vala Queen and her kin, scrolls and books written by the sages in her employ, weapons of all shapes and sizes from various ages, including the bow she had used to shoot Oromë, millennia before.

Tucked away in one corner were the charred, mangled remnants of the chariot she had ridden upon during the War of Wrath. She rushed over to the vehicle, amazed to see that it had survived the changing of the world, twice. That was one treasure that she had not seen since that dreadful battle ages ago. She ran her hand over the cool, battered metal, as images of the war sprang into her mind, images that caused her heart to ache with sorrow and grief. She witnessed not only the death of Luthor again, but also that of Barathalion and Noeriel, her devoted pet lions, and offspring of Kit and Kat. All three had died at the hands of the wicked drake of Melkor Bauglir, Ancalagon, the greatest and fiercest of all dragons that had ever dwelled within the realm of Arda.

Buffy pulled her hand away, stopping the heartbreaking visions of events that had so greatly affected her life afterwards. She moved away from the chariot, squeezing between two statues, one of herself, the other, of Olofin.

On the other side, she noticed something that looked like an umbrella stand, filled with scrolls. She reached down, pulled one out, and unrolled it. As her eyes scanned the document, she murmured, “Son of a bitch,” under her breath. “The fucker even stole this!” In her hands was the original Babylonian version of The Book of the Dead, from which all duplicates had been copied. It was old, thousands of years old. Sighing heavily, she rolled the papyrus parchment back up and slid it back into the metal container.

She resumed her search of the room once again, finding the bow of Beleg and the axe of Húrin. “Shit!” she cursed, wroth that so many of her cherished possessions were housed in the Immortal’s halls.

The Vala Queen then caught a glimpse of blue out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw something against the wall draped in a blue cloth. A couple of stacks of books had been piled on top of the rectangular box. Easing her way through the narrow pathway, she stopped before the hidden object, already suspecting what lay beneath the cloth. She removed the books, placing them on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed hold of the material and yanked it off the object. She froze, too stunned to make a sound. She dropped to her knees, letting the blue cloth fall from her grasp. Buffy stared at her most valuable possession - her copper trunk. The lock on the face of the box had been pried off, the metal gnarled where the locking mechanism had once been located.

The Vala Queen’s heart raced in her chest, wondering if the things that she had kept stored in the mystical trunk were still there. She nervously lifted the lid. Instantly, the fragrant scent of luinil flowers escaped the box, the sweet smelling scent taking the Slayer back in time.

Tears immediately filled her eyes as she spotted the crown of luinil flowers resting atop the items stored in the chest. The last time she had seen the circlet, the flowers were withered, dead. Now, they were in full bloom, an obvious sign that Illyria had been reborn into the world. Two tears escaped her eyes. Turning into nuggets, they made a clanking sound as they bounced off the metal objects within the case, before settling at the bottom of the trunk. Buffy carefully lifted the crown, holding it gently in her hands. Her thoughts immediately turned to her firstborn. She smiled, knowing that she would be reunited with her eldest daughter soon.

The Slayer carefully placed the circlet back in the trunk before pulling out the Trident of Ulmo. She was more than a little surprised to see that. It was, by far, the most powerful weapon left in the world, even more powerful than the nukes ‘developed’ by mankind. She laid the Trident beside her, as she intended to use it whilst in Rome.

Looking back in the trunk, she reached in and pulled out a medallion on a chain, the Ankh of Horus, her “son” with Osiris. She traced the silver symbol with her finger, remembering, with bitterness, the anguish of her loss during that time. She quickly put the artifact back in the box, as another tear escaped her eye. She didn’t want to think of those times, and the Ankh, obviously, was a painful reminder.

Buffy then grabbed a little red drawstring pouch from the floor of the trunk. She could feel the contents inside her enclosed hand. She opened the bag and shook out two rings onto her palm. One was silver, the other gold. These were her betrothal and wedding rings from Maglor, something she had not worn for a long, long time. She closed her palm, struggling to stifle her tears. Oh, how she loved that Noldo. Out of all the lovers she had had in Middle-earth, he was most definitely the one she loved most, despite the fact that their love was doomed from the start.

The Slayer folded her arms on the edge of the trunk and wept. Her golden tears clanked against the metal implements stored in the box. Thinking of her beloved Kanafinwë caused her heart to ache with such sorrow. Especially now, knowing that their paths had crossed numerous times in the past, though she was unaware of it all those times. Before the End, she would prove her undying love to the son of Fëanor, and would keep the promise she had made to him long ago.

She lifted her head, drying her eyes on the silk sleeve of Allandro’s shirt. She stuffed the rings back into the bag and placed them in the trunk, before slamming the lid shut. Buffy needed a minute to collect herself. Her quick trip down memory lane had only convinced her that she was doing the right thing, that she was making the world a better place, free from evil.

“And the meek shall inherit the earth,” she sniffed, accepting the fact that it was she that was destined to pass judgment on those that dwelled in Arda. She rose to her feet, picking up the Trident from the floor. Glancing around the room one last time, she used her magics to remove all the items from the Immortal’s secret vault, sending them to the Halls of Mandos, which was the one place in all the mystical realms that would not be destroyed by the violence of war.

Heaving the Trident over her shoulder, she left Allandro’s office for the front parlor where she had one more thing to do before the master of the house returned. After completing her task, she retired to the Maia’s bedroom. Grabbing his copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Buffy climbed onto the Immortal’s bed, laying the weapon of Ulmo beside her. She’d read the last book in the Harry Potter series while waiting for Allandro to come back home.



Several hours later, around four thirty in the morning, Allandro’s Maserati came roaring up the drive. Buffy jumped off the bed, and ran over to one of the windows that overlooked the front yard. She peeked through the curtain, watching as the headlights twisted up the drive.

A devilish smile came to her face. She really wanted to see her former lover’s reaction when he entered his house. She watched as the car came to a screeching halt at the walkway that led to the front door. The Immortal got out of his car, slamming the door shut before hurriedly following the pathway to the front door.

As Buffy turned away from the window, she gave a slight wave of her hand. The stereo downstairs came on, the first chords of Styx’s Suite Madame Blue, came blaring through the many speakers located throughout the first floor of the house.

Allandro heard the music from outside the palazzo. He paused on the porch, as the hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end. His heart began to pound wildly within his chest, the adrenaline kicking in, knowing instinctively that something was amiss. He took a few steps back, his eyes surveying his home for any obvious signs of intruders. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he marched toward the door, grabbed the cold handle and entered his abode.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw once he entered the vestibule of his home. He stopped dead in his tracks, a look of horror on his face, the putrid smell of death lingering in the air.

Gently swaying from the chandelier, suspended by his intestines, was his beloved servant, Giovanni, whose body had been horribly disfigured. The demon’s stomach had been ripped open, the organs removed. His body had been impaled on the Maia’s staff. The topmost part of the weapon that housed the crystal orb was lodged in the monster’s opened mouth. The blue light of the crystal sphere was flashing on and off. The rod could be seen in the empty cavity of Giovanni’s stomach, the end protruding from his rectum.

With his stomach queasy, he stepped around the dangling body of Giovanni, only to see the rest of his household, their bodies arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree that nearly reached the ceiling. With their arms slightly stretched out to their sides, forming ‘limbs’, one stood atop the other in a delicate balancing act, undoubtedly aided by magics. Strands of blinking lights were woven around their rigid limbs. Glass ornaments had been taken from his ‘real’ Christmas tree and now hung from various body parts, the metal hooks piercing their naked flesh, even in the most private of areas. At the top of the macabre display stood his mortal secretary, Sergio, a large, shiny, silver cross had been embedded in the top of his skull. The few beautifully wrapped presents that had been tucked under his Christmas tree in the front parlor had been neatly arranged beneath his servants, the paper wrapping already saturated with the now congealed blood.

Nausea overcame the Immortal. He turned away, running back out the front door, and vomited on the porch. To see those that he loved so dearly displayed in such a heinous way was too much for the Maia.

Time after time, I sit and wait for your call
I know I’m a fool but what can I say,
Whatever the price I’ll pay, for you, Madame Blue.
Once, long ago, a word from your lips and the world turned around.
But somehow you’ve changed, you’re so far away
I long for the past and dream of a day with you, Madame Blue.

Allandro lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his wool coat. He knew, without a doubt, who was behind this, as evidenced by the particular song blaring from the stereo. Seething with anger, he went back into the house, slamming the door behind him, the motion causing Giovanni’s lifeless body to twirl from the chandelier.

Suite Madame Blue, gaze in your looking glass
You’re not a child anymore.
Suite Madame Blue, the future is all but past.
Dressed in your jewels, you made your own rules
You conquered the world and more… heaven’s door. *

The Immortal headed to the cloakroom in the foyer, but stopped when he saw bloody writing scrawled on the white wall:

“Woe onto you, Wizard Fool, for the Whore of Babylon has returned!”

“Shit,” he groaned under his breath, starting toward the closet once again. He knew that Buffy had now regained her memories and knew his true identity. He swung open the door as the music continued to blast through the numerous speakers in the house. Allandro went to the back corner of the closet. Pushing aside several long coats, he reached down, and grabbed hold of his favorite weapon (beside his staff, which he wasn’t about to retrieve from Giovanni’s corpse). From the dark recess of the closet, he pulled out his Thompson submachine gun, moving the selector to full auto.

Dennis DeYoung’s synthesizer playing left the Immortal unnerved. The music was building up to its climax, mirroring the situation that the Maia now found himself in. With his weapon at the ready, he cautiously crept through the hallway, half-expecting Buffy to jump out at him when he least expected it. He first entered the front parlor. When he determined that the Vala Queen was not lurking within, he went straight to the stereo, and turned it off.

The mansion fell quiet, too quiet.

The Immortal let out a nervous sigh, before resuming his search of the rest of the rooms on the first floor. To his dismay, he found some of the organs of his most loyal servant. Buffy had cut incisions in the liver, lungs, etc. so that the organs would fit onto the doorknobs. The Maia had no other choice but to remove them. He used the barrel of his weapon to knock the meaty chunks of Giovanni to the floor so that he could check out the rooms.

When he reached his office, he saw that his vault had been opened, and all the contents had been removed. That sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that the Valië had reclaimed the treasures that he had stolen from her halls in Switzerland.

Allandro’s apprehension grew when he didn’t find the Vala Queen downstairs. Alert as ever, he began to ascend the stairs. With each step, he could feel Bella’s presence getting stronger and stronger. He knew that they would soon come face to face. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to convince her that he had changed, that he had seen the folly of his ways.

His feet led him to his bedroom. He knew intuitively that his search was over. Standing outside the partially opened door, he listened intently for any sound. From within the room, he could hear what sounded like a page turning in a book, followed by the clinking of a wine glass being set on a table.

A sudden coldness enveloped him. His body shuddered in response.

With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, the Immortal used the barrel of his Thompson to ease the door open.

Buffy’s eyes darted from the page in the book she had been reading to the doorway. She watched as the door slowly creaked open. When she saw Allandro, (as handsome as ever), standing at the entry, she smiled.

“Hello, lover,” she said in greeting. “Long time, no see.”

As the Immortal’s eyes did a quick sweep of the room, they lingered momentarily on the Trident lying beside Buffy on the bed.

He gave a slight nod of his head, acknowledging her presence. “Bella,” he replied coolly, locking his eyes on the Slayer. He kept his weapon aimed at her chest. “I see that you’ve been making mischief in my home, killing all my servants, displaying their bodies in morbid fashion.”

“Did you like it?” she asked, snapping the book closed. With a twinge of excitement to her voice, she added, “I was trying to stick to the theme of the season, especially since I’m gonna be all Grinch-like and take away Christmas this year.”

“A lot of children will be greatly disappointed,” he answered.

“Not really. Most aren’t gonna make it, I’m sorry to say,” she replied in a tone of feigned concern. “In the words of Jim Morrison, This is The End, my friend. Dagor Dagorath. Armageddon to some, Ragnarök to others. Doomsday. The Day of Judgment… ”

“I get the point,” interjected the Immortal. “I take it that you’re the one behind this sudden, never-ending darkness.”

The Valië’s smile widened. “But, of course. Now, everyone can come out and play. Makes things more interesting, don’t you think? I believe Melkor will be pleased by my little welcome home present.”

“At this rate, there will be no kingdom left for him to rule. Did you know that this war has gone nuclear, that the world’s leaders’ paranoia is making things worse?”

“I hate politicians,” she sneered. “The Day of Judgment draws near.” Her eyes glinted with malice as she continued, “They can run, but they can’t hide. I’ll rip the Earth apart before those charlatans escape my wrath.” She eased to a sitting position. “Before we continue this gloom and doom conversation, I have to ask you something.” Buffy waved the book she clutched in her hand. “I have the foresight to know that I’ll never finish this. How does it end? Does Harry die when he kills Voldemort?”

Allandro was baffled by her questions, wondering if she was stalling. Nonetheless, he’d be more than happy to oblige her.

“Yes,” he answered. “But, like you, he comes back from the dead.”

“Oh,” she responded with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I guess the ending’s like your typical fairy tale - Harry lives happily ever after.”

“For the most part. He marries Ginny.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing the book aside. “Such a shame. I thought that he and Luna would make a good couple, or, hell, he and Hermione.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, well.” Buffy shifted her gaze to Allandro. “That’s some artillery you got there.” Her eyes scanned the weapon, stopping on the drum. “You know you can’t kill me with that, don’t you?” She chuckled. “I’m like the Judge - no weapon forged can kill me,” she said, imitating the demon’s voice.

“You’d be amazed what this can do. Shoots eight hundred rounds per minute.” He tightened his grip on the weapon.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” she queried, snatching the Trident off the bed. “Now this, this is a weapon. Can kill thousands, even millions, with a single thrust.” In one swift motion, she was on her feet, holding the weapon in both of her hands, ready to ram it to the floor. “Wanna see?”

Her sudden motion caused Allandro to pull back on the trigger, sending a hail of bullets at his target. In the muzzle flash, the .45 caliber slugs instantly turned to doves, which then fluttered up and out of the room. The spent cartridges rained from the side of the weapon, ricocheting against an antique armoire. Within ten seconds, the Immortal had emptied the drum, as scores of doves made a beeline towards the exit.

“Told you so,” said Buffy amusedly, twirling the Trident with her fingers, much like a baton. “Here’s some magic for you.” She balanced the Trident on her opened palm. “Now you see it.” She waved her hand over the weapon, “And now you don’t.” The three-pronged spear vanished from her palm. “See, nothing up my sleeves,” she laughed, showing that there was nothing hidden within the arms of the oversized shirt.

“Where did it go?” he asked nervously, his heart beating faster and faster.

Buffy pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh. Good magicians don’t reveal their secrets.” She slowly approached the Immortal, who continued to aim his Thompson at the Slayer, despite the fact that he had no more ammo. “Speaking of secrets,” she continued, “I’ve learned a lot from your buddy hanging out downstairs.” She chuckled again, amused by her own comment. “Hanging out, get it?” Her tone swiftly became serious, the smile fading from her face. “If there’s one thing I hate in life it’s traitors.” She glared at Allandro. “Especially those that harm those I most care about.”

The Valië stopped an inch from the barrel, as the last bit of smoke dissipated in the air. She grabbed hold of the scorching barrel, the hot metal searing the skin of her palm and fingers, filling the room with the stench of her burning flesh.

The Immortal remained frozen, staring wide-eyed at the petite woman standing before him.

Buffy twisted the barrel like a pretzel. “You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, Pallando,” she admonished, pulling the weapon from the Maia’s grasp, and throwing it across the room. “What would Oromë have to say about one of his most trusted servants taking a walk on the evil side?”

“I’m not evil, Bella!” he exclaimed, losing his normally cool disposition. “I swear! I’ve seen the error of my ways, and have changed! I’m not the same man I once was.”

“What do you think I am, an idiot?” she shot back. “You were sent here with the rest of the Istari to help me, to help me combat evil, not help it along. For Christ’s sake, you guys ended up being pains in my ass more than anything else. Only Gandalf proved loyal to the mission.”

“I admit, I strayed from the task assigned to me, but, surely you can understand how that can happen,” replied Pallando, the desperation in his voice apparent. “You have also walked that fine line between good and evil, wandering down the road of wickedness a time or two. Of all people, you can understand how one can be corrupted by power. You’ve been there yourself. I’m not so different from you. Yes, I’ve traveled down the path of wickedness for many, many years, but I’ve changed. I’m not the bad guy here.”

If there was one thing that the Vala Queen hated, it was having her past misdeeds (as it were) thrown back at her at a time when she was to pass judgment. Yes, she had fallen from grace, but, she had managed to pick herself up and stay as true to the mission as she could.

Upon seeing her hesitation, the Blue Wizard continued, “Everybody knows that you’re the Valië that believes in redemption, in second chances. Can you not look past the things that happened long ago, and see what good I have done?” He looked pleadingly at the Slayer.

Buffy locked eyes with the Maia, attempting to search the very depths of his soul. She was unsure of what to make of his appeal, as the old adage, ‘desperate times call for desperate measures’ definitely applied to his current predicament.

She took a deep breath, and turned away from the Wizard. She walked briskly back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The Slayer looked at the seared flesh of her palm. Without looking up, she said, “You broke the Treaty of the Sanctuary. You sent the French armies to pillage and destroy my home. You stole my treasures… ”

“I know, I know,” he replied anxiously, taking a few steps forward and dropping to one knee so that he was eye level with the Vala Queen. “I apologize for that.”

“Apologize?” repeated Buffy, her face wrinkled in disdain. “You gotta be kidding me. You can’t apologize for something like that.”

“You must understand, Bella, that that was the incident that caused me to turn my life around,” explained Pallando. “When I inspected your things, the things that were… taken from you, I learned about you and what you held dear - family and friends. There were traces of you on everything. I felt your triumphs, your defeats, your loves, and your losses. It… it made me want to protect you, to help you.” The Maia reached out, taking her burnt hand in his, whispering, “To ease your pain,” as he licked her palm and fingers, healing her wounds.

Once healed, Buffy awkwardly pulled her hand from the Wizard’s grasp. As much as she was loath to admit it, a part of her pitied the Immortal. She had been down that same road as he, and, in the end, had come out the wiser. Perhaps the same thing could be said for Pallando. Maybe he had learned from his misdeeds of the past. Over the years, Buffy was known to forgive, but not forget. And acts of vengeance could be a very tricky game, something that could catapult one onto the wrong path in a blink of the eye.

The Valië’s silence brought the Maia hope. He was of the opinion that she had not yet made a decision as to his fate, and believed that his words would have an effect on her. He could see it. Her facial expression had softened despite the fact that she had pulled her hand away.

“Sit, sit beside me,” Buffy then said softly, patting the vacant spot beside her on the bed. She still had many questions for the Maia, and wanted the answers before she left his palazzo.

Pallando arched an eyebrow in his skepticism, but only for a moment. He rose to his feet, and took a seat beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. She didn’t speak. She seemed aloof, as she fiddled with one of her rings, looking despondently at the floor. The Wizard could feel the Vala Queen’s weariness, the burden of her torments. However, it was her loneliness that grieved the Maia to the core. It emitted from her fey like the darkness that had engulfed the world.

After several minutes, the Maia broke the silence. “How long have you known who I really was?” he asked, watching as she played with her jewelry.

“Since the Veil was removed. Yesterday, I think,” she replied somberly.

“Hmm,” he sounded. “How did you come back?”

“Willow. She did a spell, taking me from Folkvang.”

“You don’t see many like her,” Pallando remarked. “She’s a very powerful witch.”

“Of course she is. She has my blood running through her veins,” answered Buffy, the peppiness returning to her voice.

“Does she know? Did you tell her that she’s a descendant of yours?” the Wizard queried matter-of-factly.

“No, I haven’t gotten around to it yet,” she answered with a sigh. Buffy leaned her head against Pallando’s shoulder. He instinctively wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. “I’m tired, Pallando. I’m so tired.”

“Do you want to sleep? You’re more than welcome to…”

“No,” she answered, cutting off his sentence. “I don’t have time. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”

“How long before… ” The Wizard paused, not sure how to direct his question. “How long before you have to go?”

“A few days, tops. I just have to wrap up a few loose ends before, well, before The End,” she answered dismally. They fell quiet once again. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. It seemed overly loud to the Slayer, as if to remind her that time was ticking away and she needed to hurry things up with Pallando and be on her way.

She cleared her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” the Maia answered, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“When we first met, I mean, when you first met Buffy Summers, did you know who I really was? Did you know I was the Valië of Love and War?”

“Yes,” he answered, stroking her arm affectionately. “I did.”

“And did you know about the Veil of Concealment that the Valar had placed on me? Did you know that they had hidden my memories from me?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me,” she continued, her voice almost inaudible. “Why did you seduce me? Why did you want to be with me?”

“Because I loved you,” came his reply.

She snorted, having heard that line numerous times before. The Vala Queen never understood how evil men seemed to be attracted to her. It had been that way since the Beginning, starting with Melkor, of course.

“Do you doubt my love?” Pallando asked, slightly taken aback by her wordless response. He lifted his head, studying her face with his dark eyes. “Do you not believe me?”

“I think, like some of those before you, that you fell in love with an illusion,” she answered, shifting away from the Immortal. “You don’t really know me. How could you?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, lifting her chin so that she was forced to make eye contact with him. “I know you, Bella. I may have fallen in love with another aspect of yourself, Buffy Summers, that is, but she’s still a part of you. You and she are one in the same.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. She gave him a small smile. “I forgive you, Pallando. I forgive you for what you have done to me,” she said, catching the Wizard off guard.

The Maia sat there for a moment, digesting her words. His lips curled into a wide grin. “Thank you, Bella,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. “Your forgiveness means the world to me.”

Buffy didn’t hug the Wizard back. She wasn’t finished with her pronouncement. She eased back out of his hold.

“I’m not finished,” she continued, both her face and tone grim.

“What, what is it?” he asked, eager to dispel any doubt in her mind.

“I said that I forgive you for what you’ve done to me.” She lifted her head; the weariness that she had spoken of earlier appeared etched in her otherwise smooth and youthful face. “But, I cannot forgive you for what you did to Lalwen.”

The moment she said the elleth’s name, a look of utter terror came to Pallando’s face. Not only was he horrified that the Slayer knew he was responsible for the daughter of Finwë’s death, but, at the same time, invisible hands roughly seized hold of his body, launching him backwards until he crashed into a large mirror that hung on one of the walls. The mirror shattered upon impact, shards of glass cascading onto the hardwood floor, as the invisible force held the Wizard in place.

The Maia attempted to struggle, grunting in his efforts, but found himself unable to break free from his mystical bonds.

Buffy slowly rose to her feet and faced Pallando. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You brutally raped and defiled one of my best friends, and for that, there is no forgiveness.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If I had the time, I’d torture you in the same manner as you did her. But, for now, I’ll be content with avenging her death.”

Several shards of the broken mirror magically lifted off the floor, hovering in the air before the Maia. Pallando whimpered, begging the Vala Queen to show him mercy.

The sharp pieces of glass began to tear at Pallando’s bulky wool coat, shredding not only his outer covering, but also the clothing he wore underneath, until he was completely naked.

The Slayer turned away as the shards cut deeply into the Wizard’s flesh, his high-pitched screams echoing within his bedroom. She nonchalantly ambled over to the nightstand, picking up what was left of her white wine and downing it in a couple of gulps.

“Ah,” she sounded, noisily smacking her lips together. She spun around, looking at the blood jetting from various places on Pallando’s body. “Ew!” she remarked, her face a mask of disgust. “Now, don’t get any blood on me - I already showered.”

Buffy made a point to stand clear from the torrents of crimson, waiting for the Wizard’s heartbeat to weaken so the gushing of his blood wouldn’t splatter halfway across the room.

When his shrill cries were replaced by muted moans, she knew that death was creeping closer to the Maia. Actually, she was death, and deciding that Pallando’s time was nearly up, the Valië carefully approached her prey, avoiding the puddles and rivulets of blood that streamed across the beautiful hardwood floor.

“I just want a taste, now,” informed the Slayer, as one of the Maia’s arms peeled away from the wall, stretching out toward the place where Buffy stood. She raised her glass, allowing his blood to trickle from a deep gash in his appendage, filling her empty cup with his crimson life force.

“Cheers!” she said, toasting the dying Maia once she had an adequate amount of blood in her glass. The Valië then swigged down the crimson fluid, seeing snippets of Pallando’s life as she did so. As soon as she had finished, she licked her lips, and uttered, “Interesting. Very interesting.”

The Slayer fixed her eyes on the Immortal, watching as the strength of his fey waned. “I am a merciful Vala,” she proclaimed. “I’ll end your torments, Pallando, only ‘cause I’m in a hurry.”

The Maia tried to reply, but only managed to make a series of grunting sounds.

Buffy threw the empty glass into the fireplace, smashing it to smithereens. Placing her hands on her hips, she focused her attention on Pallando. The shards of glass that had been gashing at his body suddenly dropped to the floor. Every piece landed on its edge with the sharp ends pointing upwards. The Valië then slowly inhaled deeply, sucking the Maia’s soul from his body. As his specter-like form soared toward her, the Wizard’s empty, mutilated hröa fell, face first, onto the jagged pieces of glass, splashing blood on the legs of the Slayer.

For some reason, the Vala Queen found it amusing, laughing a lilting sort of laugh that only made her ‘prisoners’ feel greater despair.

Confining yet another fey in her hröa, the Slayer felt intoxicated for a few minutes or so. She couldn’t help but laugh, a lilting sort of laugh that only made her ‘prisoners’ feel greater despair. She gave no thought to the change in her appearance, that her mystical raiment had replaced her human form, and that her irises had turned jet black, mirroring the early morning sky.

When that buzzy feeling subsided, the red silk shirt she had been wearing vanished, only to be replaced by a nun’s habit. She lifted the silver Cross of Eru that hung on a thick gold chain around her neck. “This is for you, Lord Father,” she said, before kissing the icon, and letting it drop back to her chest.

With time ticking away, it was time for Buffy to confront her next enemy, or enemies as the case truly was.

One moment she was standing in Pallando’s bedchamber, the next she found herself standing in an empty corridor, deep in the heart of the Vatican. As her eyes surveyed her new and unfamiliar surroundings, she took a deep breath, picking up the scent of those that she had come for. Smelling her next victims, a smile came to her face.

As she started down the hallway, she began to softly sing Amazing Grace, a song that seemed befitting to her surroundings.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now I’m found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed… ”

Buffy’s song was interrupted by one of the bishops, who upon hearing her voice, had gone to investigate.

“Excuse me, Sister,” he said in Latin from behind. “I’m afraid this corridor is off limits. None are supposed to be on this floor while the meeting is taking place.”

The Slayer continued to stroll down the long purple carpeted corridor.

“Sister!” he said a bit more forcefully that time, his voice closer than before. “I must insist that you leave here at once! Please!”

The Vala Queen stopped. She could feel the man approaching from behind. When she deemed that he was near enough, she spun around, facing him.

The bishop gasped upon seeing her black eyes. Terrified, the man believed that he had come face to face with the Beast herself (as it were in this particular case).

Before he could shout in warning, the Slayer pressed her index finger to her lips. The bishop fell to the floor, dead.

“That’s what you get for interrupting my song,” she chastised, shaking her finger scoldingly at the bishop’s spirit, which had left his body. “Go on,” she continued, shooing him away. “Your time’s over. Be gone.”

The bishop’s fey was then pulled from the Vatican to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor.

“Now, where was I?” Buffy asked herself, as she started back down the hallway. “Oh, yeah…

“Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
And Grace will lead me home.

“The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.”

Buffy paused, as she stopped before the tall, elaborately carved doors inlaid with gold, (no less), that formed the barricade to the conference room where the pope and his advisors were now seated. She kicked the double doors open, sending them flying off their hinges, startling the men who sat at a long wooden table, dressed in their religious finery.

The men were aghast, and frightened, but found themselves unable to move from their chairs (courtesy of the Vala Queen).

The Slayer resumed her song, as she stepped into the chamber:

“Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.” **

Buffy stopped singing after that verse. “Morning, all,” she said cheerfully, as her eyes quickly scanned the elaborately furnished room. Seated at a long ornate table sat twenty of the most powerful men in the Vatican hierarchy.

They were flabbergasted by her sudden appearance, but when they found themselves unable to leave their chairs, their shock swiftly turned to fear.

Seated at the head of the table was the pope, flanked by two of his most powerful cardinals, whom the Slayer knew to be demons disguised as men. Apparently, that was no secret amongst the ‘holy’ men, as the banner of Morgoth, (black, unadorned), had been placed out in the open next to the banner with the crest of the papacy.

None could cry out, or move from their seats. They were forced to sit there, trembling in fear. Dressed in their religious finery, their bejeweled fingers clung to the arms of their chairs so tightly that their circulation had been cut off, turning their fingers ghostly white.

“So much for the vow of poverty, huh?” she remarked, as her eyes came to rest on the pope and his cohorts.

Many of the men were praying under their breath. Their lips moved, but no sound came out of their mouths.

Buffy then leapt through the air, a good fifteen feet, landing squarely in the middle of the table.

“I am what you people would call… an angel,” she proudly proclaimed, “sent by the Man upstairs. For too long have you charlatans, thieves and whores corrupted the masses, violating the laws set by God Himself.”

She smiled, haughtily adding, “I am St. Michael, the harbinger of Doom. Yeah, I know, you thought Michael was a man, but, alas, your predecessors changed the wording of the Good Book, discrediting women as was their wont.”

The Valië laughed, a wicked sort of laughter that chilled the members of the papacy to the bone. She stretched her arms toward the heavens. “I have been sent to Rome to pass judgment on the city of the seven hills.” As she slowly lowered her arms, the Trident appeared out of nowhere, resting on her upturned palms. She spun the weapon around, now clutching it with both hands.

“And they had the audacity to call me the Whore of Babylon. Really!” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. She then did a back flip off the table, landing on the marble floor. “See you in Hell, my friends,” she said, driving the Trident into the floor.

At once, a bright light filled the chamber. Buffy vanished, along with the Trident, as the earth began to tremble and shake.

She then reappeared in the pitch-black sky, disguised as the blue star, Luinil. The Vala Queen hovered above, watching as the earth started to rip open, devouring the ancient city and its inhabitants. The earth shook violently, bringing down the many structures within Rome. Fires sprung from the crevices, sending thick plumes of smoke into the sky. Explosions went off, people cried in despair, running through the streets as the ground collapsed beneath their feet, taking them to the bowels of Hell.

Satisfied with her mission, Buffy, the only light in the sky that had remained stationary, vanished once again.

She then appeared, in her humanly form, dressed now in white furs, from head to toe, her eyes piercing the darkness, as the snow whirled down upon her, despite the density of the forest in which she now stood. The wind howled through the trees, the bitter winds chilling the Slayer though she had dressed appropriately for the frigid weather.

In the distance she saw the Halti Mountain, which, at one time, had been part of the Iron Mountains raised by Melkor Bauglir ages ago. Buffy was in the isolated region of Lapland, in the land of Findor, or Finland, as it was known in the English tongue. It was also the home of her beloved son, Olofin. Here, he and his people lived in peace, far away from the prying eyes of Man.

Once she had her bearings, she began to make her way through the woods toward the secret entrance to her half-elf son’s Halls. In his wisdom, he had hidden the gateway so that none could happen upon his abode. As the Slayer ducked snow-covered branches, she experienced a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, an emptiness that she had not noticed before.

She picked up the pace, hurrying through the maze-like thickets of birches and firs. When she neared the place where the doorway was, she began to search the boles of the trees, her gloved hands running over the smooth bark, looking for the emblem that marked the hidden doorway.

After some effort, she finally found it - the Star of Fëanor engraved into the silver bark of a massive birch. She placed her hand on the icon and pushed. Not a moment later, a flash of light lit up the darkness. The bole became hollow, revealing a doorway, as dozens of armed elves leapt from the gateway, led by none other than Bellason, son of Nestor.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” shouted the Green-elf to his men. “It’s Bella! Bella has returned!”

Buffy immediately noticed the black bands on the arms of the elves.

“Bellason,” she panted, her eyes scrutinizing the elf.

“Come, come out of the cold,” he said, taking her by the arm, as the others fell to one knee with their heads bowed.

“Welcome, Luinil,” they said in unison as she passed by, entering the domain of Olofin Tirnon.

Passing through the mystical gateway, they entered a stone courtyard, covered in a light layer of snow. The temperature was a lot warmer, still cold, but warmer.

“What’s happened?” she asked, rapidly walking across the rocky floor of the courtyard, her eyes glancing up at the gleaming white palace.

“I do not know if I should be the one to deliver such sorrowful news,” answered a hesitant Bellason. “I deem that you should speak with Glorfindel, or perhaps, Luthor.”

“Luthor. Luthor’s here?” she queried, looking at the Green-elf with her brows raised in surprise.

“Of course, he is. He’s been acting as Regent for years now. Do you not remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” she answered, somewhat preoccupied by the ominous feeling that was sweeping through her body. “I’ve had so much on my mind, I’d forgotten.” As they raced up the steps, she mumbled, “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

When they reached the topmost step, the two massive front doors began to magically swing outward. The doors’ façade resembled the original banner of the House of Luinil - a blue cross on a white field. In ages past, that symbol had been passed on to Olofin and his people, though it had been changed centuries ago to the symbol that currently adorns the Finnish national flag.

Once the gap was wide enough to grant them admittance, the Valië, along with Bellason and his companions, marched into the warm Halls.

A herald, standing just inside the antechamber sounded his trumpet, the notes reverberating throughout the entire castle.

Buffy didn’t need anyone to tell her where to go. She instinctively knew where Olofin was. As they continued down the wide corridor, people moved aside, whispering to one another as the group passed by. The Slayer peeled off her outerwear as she went, the warmth of her son’s Halls making her hot.

They turned a corner, then another. None of those walking with Buffy spoke a word. They were consumed by their own thoughts, knowing that things were about to become worse, much worse.

Marching down another corridor, the Vala Queen noticed two men, with long spears at their sides, standing guard outside Olofin’s Great Chamber.

Hearing the sound of many feet, they turned their gaze to the newcomers. Upon seeing Buffy, they hurriedly jerked the doors open before returning to their posts.

As she approached the doors, the others that had accompanied her stopped, feeling that the Valië should continue on, by herself. Bellason peeled away from the group, disappearing into a secret stairway hidden behind a grandfather clock.

Whilst entering the doorway, the Slayer’s eyes scanned the enormous room. When they stopped on the dais, she came to an abrupt halt. There, atop the platform, laid in state, was her beloved Olofin. Buffy’s blood ran cold; her eyes instantly welled with tears.

“No,” she cried, running across the chamber. The room seemed to become larger the quicker she sprinted. “No! No! No!” Finally reaching the bottom of the dais, she leapt up the twelve steps, landing beside the marble slab on which the half-elf lay.

Seeing his badly battered and bruised body, golden tears streamed down her face. Nearly all of his hair had been ripped from his scalp, only thin brown clumps remained. By the looks of it, Olofin had suffered horribly.

The elves had used their magics to preserve his body in the same state in which he had been found, dressing the half-elf in the finest woven cloth known to man. His sword had been placed in his hands, the cold iron blade laid across his chest, the tip hanging over his left shoulder.

Wailing in torment, the Slayer pulled her son’s lifeless body into her arms. His weapon clattered down the steps, coming to a rest at the foot of the dais.

Those outside the room could feel Buffy’s anguish. Her grief-filled sobs brought many to tears.

She slid to the floor, clutching her son in her arms, weeping uncontrollably. She had never felt such pain, such sorrow, in all her days. She had not merely lost her beautiful, noble elven son, she had lost her Light, her hope, her will. What dastardly creature could’ve killed one so holy and pure, one who was righteous from the moment he had taken his first breath?

Buffy buried her face in Olofin’s blue tunic. Her heart felt like it had been shattered into many pieces, never to be whole again. Despair was the only emotion she felt, for no loss could have been greater than losing her beloved son.

Flashes of Olofin’s life rushed to her mind, from the moment of his birth to his mischievousness that soon followed. He grew up to be a courageous and even-tempered man, driven to pity over rage. He was so unlike her, yet similar, in some ways. He was the last of the line of Finwë, and, without a doubt, the greatest, as well.

The Vala Queen had no idea how long she had sat there holding her son, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She raised her head, only to see Luthor crouched beside her, his deep blue eyes looking consolingly at her.

“He’s dead, Luthor,” she said in a broken voice, her bottom lip quivering. “My Olofin’s dead.” The golden tears continued to stream from her red and puffy eyes, the nuggets landing on the heaping pile on Olofin’s chest. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

“I know there are no words of comfort I can say to you that will ease your grief,” began the Maia sadly. “I have felt your pain many times over. Olofin was like a son to me. I loved him dearly and always will.”

Buffy turned her bleary eyes back to her son, sniffing back her tears. “How could this happen?” she asked. “He was acting Hebor, surely this didn’t happen while he was on watch.”

“No, no it didn’t,” answered Luthor, groaning as he eased down onto the platform beside the Slayer. “Olofin was not one to forgo his duties.”

“And he’s in his mortal guise,” she continued, her trembling hand stroking her son’s smooth, cold cheek. She shifted her gaze back to her father figure. “How could this happen? Where is his fey? He’s my son. He should be close by, but I can’t feel him.”

“I deem that he has gone to the Halls of your brother, as it is fated to be for so many,” answered the old man.

“But I thought he could remake his own flesh, like me.”

“Apparently not,” sighed Luthor. “None of your children possessed such an ability.”

Buffy wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt. “They’re all dead. All my children are dead. One by one, the enemy has taken them from me.”

“They’re not all dead,” countered the Maia. “Illyria lives again. And she is a new woman, much different than before.” Luthor wanted desperately to believe that that knowledge would give the Slayer hope, for her firstborn had indeed turned her life around and was nothing like the wretched creature she had been back in the day.

“I know,” she answered softly. “I found the crown of lunil flowers that she had made for me. They were in bloom again.”

“Not all is lost, my dear,” said Luthor. “Olofin is with his siblings in Aman. He will be reborn. They all will.”

“Not all,” she replied, slowly shaking her head. “Morgon’s fate is… ” The words died on her lips. Her youngest son was a touchy subject, one that was seldom brought up, even in the happiest of times.

They fell quiet, each pondering their own thoughts.

The Vala Queen was emotionally spent. She wondered if she had been a bad mother for loving Olofin more than her other children. It was something that she could not help. It just was. And, deep inside, she felt that his brothers and sisters knew that too, knew that he was her favorite, that she had come to depend on him, that he was always there for her, in good times and in bad.

Luthor’s heart ached for Buffy. He knew how much she loved her son, her only legitimate heir. Yet, he knew that soon she would be at peace when reunited with her children.

“What happened, Luthor?” she finally said, breaking the silence. “When did this happen? Who’s responsible for my beloved boy’s death? I want to know.”

The Maia chewed nervously on his bottom lip, a habit that the Vala Queen had picked up from him. He thought about her questions for a few moments before replying, “I think it’s best that you hear that from Glorfindel, for it was he that retrieved Olofin’s body.”

Buffy remained silent.

“I want to heal him,” she announced several minutes later. “I want to heal his body and have him taken back to Mandos. This flesh, his flesh, is me. It was made by me and Káno.” The Valië glanced at Luthor. “I don’t want him to have any other body, but this one. Will you help me? Will you help me restore him?”

“Of course I will,” answered the old man. He grunted as he rose to his feet. “Why don’t we put him back on…”

“No!” barked the Slayer, cutting off the Maia’s sentence. She rose to her feet with her son’s hröa in her arms. Hundreds of tear-shaped nuggets bounced to the floor, and down the steps. “I want to put him in his bed, that way, I can pretend that he’s only sleeping.” She looked at Olofin’s face. “I can pretend, for a little while.”

“Alright,” Luthor answered, nodding his head. “Let me help you.” He reached out for the half-elf, but Buffy took a step back.

“No,” she answered, starting down the steps. “I’ll carry him.”

They then took off for Olofin’s private rooms, taking the lift to the seventh floor. When they reached the half-elf’s inner sanctum, his mother gently lay him on the bed, cursing under her breath at the savagery inflicted on her virtuous son.

The ritual that Buffy and Luthor preformed was based on blood magics. They had taken enough blood from the both of them to fill a good sized bowl. Olofin was then stripped of all his garments, and his body bathed in the crimson life force of the two Ainur. The healing property of their blood was seen instantly. The half-elf’s bruises dissipated, the scabbed lesions vanished, and his hair re-grew until his head was completely covered once again. When they had completed one side, they turned him over and did the other, making sure that they covered every single spot on his body. When finished, they dressed him in his royal garb.

Luthor gathered the bloody washcloths, the near empty bowl, and started for the door.

“Luthor,” Buffy called, glancing over her shoulder. “The vial. Tell me you took a vial of his blood.”

“Oh, yes,” replied the old man. “I will get it for you.”

The Valië then took a seat on the edge of the bed, staring gloomily at the face of her precious son.

After some time, there was a gentle rapping at the door. “Come in,” Buffy said, assuming that Luthor had returned.

In walked Glorfindel, unbeknownst to the Slayer. “Bella,” he uttered. Their reunion would be bitter sweet. While the Noldo had not seen her in over four decades, and was gladdened to lay eyes upon her once again, the death of Olofin hindered what should have been a joyful meeting.

Hearing the Elf Lord’s voice brought a warmth to the Slayer’s heart. She rose to her feet, and turned, facing the Noldo. “It’s been too long, my love,” she proclaimed, forcing a smile.

“I know,” he answered, dashing across the room, pulling his lover into his arms, holding her tightly. “I’ve missed you, terribly.”

“Me too,” she stated, drinking in the Noldo’s scent.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss,” he continued, kissing the top of her head.

Buffy pulled out of the embrace, her green eyes scrutinizing the Elf Lord’s. “Luthor said that you’re the one that should tell me what happened, that you reclaimed my beloved son’s body from the enemy. How could this have happened? Who’s behind this vile act? Have the perpetrators been punished?”

“Shh,” Glorfindel answered, pulling her back into his arms. “One question at a time, my darling. One question at a time.”

“But I want to know. I need to know,” she answered, her voice somewhat muffled by the tight embrace.

“In good time,” he replied. “You’re tired. You should eat and get some rest. I deem you have a lot of work ahead of you.” The Elf Lord wanted desperately to prolong their time together, as he knew that this moment would most likely be their last.

Once again, the Slayer pulled herself free from Glorfindel’s hold. She tried to back away, but he kept his hands firmly on her waist. “I don’t want to rest!” she protested. “I want vengeance, if you have not taken care of it on my behalf.”

“I have, to a degree,” he answered. “Those that abducted Olofin are dead, yet his killer, still walks free. I have saved him for you. But, it will not be easy on you, for Olofin was murdered by an ally, a friend.”

“What?” she said, her mouth going dry. “He was killed by a friend?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” answered the Noldo with a nod of his head. “But we shan’t speak more of it, not until you’ve been fed, and rested a bit.”

The Slayer narrowed her eyes. “I can get the truth out of you, if you will not volunteer the information,” she hissed.

Her threat was not lost on the Elf Lord. He released his hold on Buffy. “And would you kill me to gain that knowledge?” he asked, his brows raised in question.

The Vala Queen stared at the Noldo for a moment or two. Her expression then softened. “No,” she finally replied, overwhelmed with weariness.

Glorfindel gave her a quick, reassuring smile. “Good. Now, come with me. I will take care of you.”

They set off for the Noldo’s room, on the fourth floor. Along the way, they ran into Luthor, who gave Buffy the vial of blood that she had requested. Her son’s life force was a vital element for one of the tasks she still needed to complete.

Buffy refused all offers of food when they reached Glorfindel’s room, although she did accept a glass of elvish wine. The Elf Lord chose a specific wine, one that would induce sleep upon his lover. When he saw her nodding off in her chair, the Noldo lifted her in his arms, carrying her to his bed. There would be no romantic interlude between the two, which was fine by the elf, as he was content holding her in his arms whilst she slept.

As she snored softly, Glorfindel wondered how much the Slayer actually knew. Olofin’s death was actually the precursory act that had led to the breaking of the Seven Seals, followed by Buffy’s disappearance back in 2006, an event that had started the Tribulation, which, in January of 2013, seven years would have passed. Undoubtedly, her arrival would end the suffering of the Faithful, who were persecuted unmercifully for clinging to their religious beliefs by the globalist regime in power.

While the Noldo knew that his beloved had been the instigator of Dagor Dagorath, he knew that, afterwards, peace and bliss would reign for many, long years. If there was one thing that Glorfindel wished, it was to return to Aman and see the re-lighting of the Two Trees. Oh, what a delight it would be to see the mingling of the Light from Telperion and Laurelin once again, and to share that moment with Buffy by his side. For it was prophesied that the Vala Queen would choose her eternal lover at the end of the war, and the Noldo so hoped that it would be he that ruled at her side. Who else, other than Morgoth Bauglir, had spent as much time with the Valië than he? Not even Maglor had been with her as long as Glorfindel had.

The Noldo let Buffy sleep for many hours, deeming that she needed the rest to restore her strength. When the clock chimed midnight, he decided that she had slept enough, and woke the Slayer.

“What time is it?” she yawned, stretching her arms over head.

“Midnight,” answered the Noldo.

Buffy jumped out of bed. “I can’t believe you let me sleep so long!” she said, incensed that she had slept so long when there was still so much that she needed to do.

“Calm down, Bella. You needed the rest,” the Elf Lord responded, unruffled by her sudden outburst.

“Fine.” Annoyed, but calmer, she folded her arms across her chest, fixing her gaze on the Noldo. “Now, tell me, Glorfindel: what happened to my son?”

The Noldo took a deep breath before beginning his tale.

As he spoke Buffy paced the room, unable to remain still. By the time Glorfindel had revealed who the killer was, the Slayer stood at the window, staring at the blanket of darkness that covered the land. For a moment, her eyes turned black, but after closing them for a few seconds, they returned to normal.

Keeping her composure, she gave her last orders to the Elf Lord, instructing him and the others to return to Mandos, and to take Olofin’s body with them. Once she had finished her business, she would join the others there.

A portal opened in the Great Chamber, a portal that would only remain open for a brief amount of time, allowing the others to depart Finland.

“Are you… are you going to destroy these lands as well?” asked the Noldo hesitantly.

“No,” she answered, somewhat absent-mindedly, preoccupied with other thoughts. “But a poisonous cloud is heading this way, killing all that comes in contact with it. Go. Be safe. Be quick. Time’s ticking away here.”

Glorfindel hoped they’d share a kiss before she left, but, much to his dismay, the Valië vanished before they could…






*lyrics by Dennis DeYoung

**lyrics by John Newton