Full Circle

Buffy had made the conscious decision not to set foot in Aman but one last time before The End. After all that had happened over the ages, she still harbored some ill will toward the Valar, including her own siblings. She knew that war now plagued the Blessed Realm, and if she were to go there, her kinfolk would beseech her to help them in battle, something she had no desire to do. If Folkvang was destined to fall, so should Valinor.

It was for that reason, she teleported herself, Illyria and Thranduil back to the isle that she had visited twice before. She desperately wanted to see Ulmo again, to speak with him, yet the Vala of Waters was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing in disappointment, she turned to her companions. “I still have some business to tend to in L.A., so I want you two to start gathering the Elect and take them to the safety of Mandos.”

Illyria scoffed at the notion. “You wish for me to accompany this Elf to the land of murderers when you yourself refuse to set foot in those parts.”

“In a nutshell - yes,” affirmed the Slayer in her most cheerful of voices.

The Old One stood there with a scowl on her fair face, aghast at the mere thought of entering the land of the Ainur.

Having understood Buffy’s plans prior to their arrival, Thranduil followed her lead. He wrapped an arm around Illyria’s shoulder, rubbing it fervently. “Oh, come on, Illyria,” he said in feigned enthusiasm. “It’ll be fun. We’ll trek around the world, picking up the loyalists; maybe grab a bite to eat in Rome… ”

“Ah, no, hon. Rome’s been destroyed, remember?” interjected the Vala Queen. “But Sicily’s got some good fare. You gotta try the pizza. It’s to die for.” She paused before adding, “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten that you’ve already wiped Rome off the map,” replied the Green-elf. “Nevertheless, we’ve got our orders, Illyria.”

“And why are you not going?” the Old One asked of her mother. “What is so dire that you must return to that hellish city?”

“I’ve got an appointment, with an old friend, one I cannot miss,” answered the Slayer, somewhat evasively. “We’ll meet back here… say, in twenty-four hours.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Thranduil in agreement.

Illyria seemed reluctant to leave.

Seeing that, Buffy continued, “As soon as I get back, we’ll talk - just me and you. I promise. But, I could really use your help, Illyria. Thranduil doesn’t have the ability to teleport, and with so little time left, there’s still much to do. Please. Do this for me.”

“Alright, Mother. Twenty-four hours.”

“And don’t take the Scoobies.”

Both Thranduil and Illyria looked at her in question.

“My friends in Lindon Hall,” she remarked, trying to clear up any confusion. “I will escort them to Valinor, personally. Get as many of the Elect as you can, except them.”

“Will do,” said Thranduil with a nod.

“Thank you,” answered Buffy, giving her loved ones a reassuring smile.

All three then disappeared from the isle. Illyria and Thranduil were to begin their quest throughout the world, while the Vala Queen returned to Los Angeles.

Buffy reappeared in an abandoned warehouse district in the heart of L.A. While no vehicles were driving in the immediate vicinity, she could hear the early morning traffic from the nearby roadways. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the cool morning air, hoping to pick up the scent of what she was searching for. Her eyes popped open. She was not too far away. The Valië strolled down the street, ignoring the few vagrants that had taken refuge in the empty structures that had fallen into disrepair on either side of the road.

She went a couple of blocks before she found what she was looking for.

“Oh, great,” she grumbled to herself. “Of course, it’s in the sewers.” As she focused her attention on the manhole, the metal disk lifted from its position, hovered to the side of the hole, before dropping down on the pavement with a clatter. “Here goes nothing,” she said, leaping into the darkened hole. Buffy landed with a splash in the foul-smelling, stagnant water that pooled on the sewer floor. “Eww. Gross,” she groaned, sidestepping the standing water for the moldy, damp concrete to the side.

She started down the dank passageway, mumbling her discontent along the way. “What kind of proprietor places their business in the sewers? Makes absolutely no sense.” Up ahead, she could see the red neon sign illuminating the tunnel. “Thank God!” she exclaimed, glad that she didn’t have to wander too far in the reeking passageway. She hastened her pace, eager to reach her destination.

Buffy stopped outside the double steel doors. Just above was a sign that read “Caritas VI”. She stood there for a second; surprised that she heard no music or singing coming from beyond the doors. Shrugging, she tried to open them. They remained sealed shut, the doors rattling in their frame. She frowned, whimpering at the thought that she’d have to go through a series of magic spells to gain entry. After another moment, it occurred to her that the steel doors slid open as opposed to swinging open. Cursing at her stupidity, she slid the panel along its track.

The heavy smell of potpourri drifted out of the dimly lit chamber before her. Her eyes scanned the bar. On the stage, to her left, a vampire was singing, Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me. The Slayer chuckled at the irony of his song selection, as she entered the bar, closing the door behind her.

The bar was bustling with humans, vamps and demons. That stunned the Vala Queen, considering that there was no longer any daylight for the beastly creatures to fear topside. This was their time, their last hoorah before The End, yet so many felt compelled to spend what little time on earth was left to them in a karaoke bar, of all places. She shook her head as she made her way toward the bar that arced along the wall to her right.

A few demons must have picked up on her “Slayer” scent. Growling softly, they slowly backed away into the shadows of the room despite the fact that The Host had placed a spell on the place preventing any from brawling within his establishment. Or perhaps they sensed her true essence, and knew that no spell performed by The Furies could constrain her.

Behind the bar was The Host, (Lorne, to those that knew him well), busily wiping down the countertop with a damp rag. He was humming along with the vampire’s voice that blared from the stack of speakers set on either side of the stage.

“I’ll be with you in a sec, sugar blossom,” he said, giving Buffy a quick glance as she climbed upon a vacant barstool. As he wiped a pile of peanut shells into the palm of his free hand, he did a double take. “Holy Jiminy Cricket!” he exclaimed in shock. “You’re, you’re Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, aren’t you?”

“You’ve heard of me?” she asked, smiling that her reputation as the Slayer had preceded her.

“Well, sure, pumpkin,” he replied jovially. “You can’t hang around with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome and not know a thing or two about the infamous Buffy Summers,” The Host chortled. The smile left his face for a moment. “But seriously, we have a no slaying policy here at Caritas. All peoples are welcomed here, to share their love of music - which makes the world go round… ”

“Don’t worry, I’m off duty,” she confessed. “I’m not looking for a fight. Promise. Just here to meet an old friend.” She spun her seat around, her eyes scanning the room once again.

“That’s good to hear,” he answered in a cheery voice. “So, what can I get you?”

Buffy spun her chair around again, facing the green-skinned Empath Demon. “Hmm,” she sounded, glancing at the scores of liquor bottles that lined the glass shelves behind The Host.

“How ‘bout a Sea Breeze? It’s the specialty of the house,” he suggested, tossing his rag aside.

“What’s a Sea Breeze?” she asked, never having heard of the beverage before.

“Oh, honey, you’re in for one heck of a treat,” he answered excitedly. He grabbed a tall glass, filling it with ice. “We pour in a bit of vodka,” he continued, pouring the clear liquor into the glass, “some pineapple juice and a smidgeon of cranberry juice,” he said, as he added the remaining ingredients into the glass. “And there you have it.” He stuck a wedge of lime onto the rim of the glass before sliding it across the counter toward the Slayer. “Drink up.”

“Thanks,” she responded, offering the demon a quick smile. She grabbed the drink and took a swig, immediately cringing when the beverage hit her taste buds. She forced herself to swallow the repulsive tasting drink, shuddering as it went down her throat.

“Aw, I take it that you’re not a big vodka drinker, eh?” he commented with a bit of disappointment in his tone. He retrieved the drink from the counter. “Is there something else I can get you?”

As Buffy considered what she’d want next, she murmured with a sigh, “God, I’d give anything for a glass of elvish wine,” as she beat her hands on the countertop in rhythm to the music.

“Elvish wine?” Lorne repeated. “I just happen to have a bottle stowed in the back. Got mixed up in my order…”

“Elvish wine!” exclaimed the Slayer, her ears perking up upon hearing that. “You’ve got elvish wine?! How in the hell did you manage that?”

“I’ve got connections in the underworld, darling. It’s no biggie. Give me a sec, and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Elvish wine,” she said in disbelief as The Host disappeared through a door behind the counter.

She spun her chair around again, just as the vamp finished his rendition of the classic Elton John song. The patrons gave him rousing applause, as he handed off the microphone to a monstrous looking creature with scaly black skin dotted with miniature barbs. In a low, guttural voice, the demonic creature began singing, Breaking Up is Hard to Do. The Slayer shuddered at the sound as her eyes scanned the room yet again for her old friend.

“I found it!” said Lorne a few moments later, waving the bottle he clutched in his hand.

The Vala Queen spun her seat around, staring at the green tinted bottle. “May I?” she asked, holding her hand out expectantly.

“Sure thing, hon,” he replied, handing her the bottle.

Tears came to the Slayer’s eyes as she read the label. “It’s from Rivendell,” she said, all misty-eyed. She stroked the bottle as if it were some prized treasure.

“Well, I don’t know about Rivendell, but it’s elvish. I’m sure of that.”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, choking back her tears. “I want the whole bottle,” she added, handing it back to The Host. She reached for the pocket of her leather pants before she realized that she didn’t have any money on her. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. Buffy then felt any uncomfortable bulge digging into her hip, as a wad of cash mystically appeared in her pocket. She reached in and pulled out the bills, handing them to Lorne. “Here.”

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, flipping through the stack of cash. “There must be,” he paused, counting the hundred dollar bills, “a thousand dollars!”

“Is it not enough?” she asked, hoping that she had not insulted the proprietor.

“Not enough!” he repeated in amazement. “I only paid thirty bucks for it. You’re overpaying me. It’s not like its Cristal, you know.” Lorne tried handing back most of the cash.

“No, keep it,” she answered, pushing his hand away. “It’s worth it, to me.”

The Host paused for a moment, staring incredulously at the Slayer. “Alright,” he chuckled, slipping the money into his bright yellow jacket pocket. “Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, right?” He grabbed a corkscrew from beneath the counter and went to work on removing the stopper. “Let’s get this baby opened,” he continued, as his red eyes shifted to the demon on the stage. “Poor, guy,” he went on, as he twisted the corkscrew. “Future’s not too bright for him, or the rest of my customers as a matter-of-fact.” He turned his gaze back to Buffy. “What gives? Something tells me you’re not in the City of Angels for the sunshine, Sunshine.”

“You got that right,” she answered, none too eager to elaborate further.

Lorne pulled the cork from the bottle with a pop, his eyes darting between the Slayer and the amber liquid he was pouring into a wine glass. He was expecting her to say more, but she kept her eyes fixed on the delectable fluid that was flowing from the bottle.

“I’m prying, aren’t I?” he said, pressing his lips tightly together. “Here I am, acting all intrusive, and you don’t know me from Adam. Sheesh. Where are my manners? I’m Lorne,” he revealed, sliding the glass toward the Valië.

“I know,” she said, taking the glass from the countertop.

“Oh, so Angel’s talked about me, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered before taking a sip. “Oh, God, that’s so good,” she said, smacking her lips together.

“Good, I hope.”

“It’s delicious. Thank you,” she replied, giving the Empath Demon a quick smile.

“Actually, I was talking about what Angel had said, about me. Haven’t seen him in a while. So, what’s Mr. Broody up to? Thwarting this new apocalypse, I hope?” asked The Host.

Buffy gulped down the rest of her wine. “I’m sure he is,” she answered, sliding her empty glass back toward the Empath Demon.

“So, what’s going on? I thought you and Angel were pretty tight,” he continued, refilling her glass.

“Key word - were,” answered the Slayer. “Angel and I have gone our separate ways. Being around him creates too much drama. And I’m not one for the drama.”

“I can totally relate to that,” Lorne said with a chortle. “I’m not much of a drama queen myself. And let me tell you: every time Angel comes sniffing around here needing my help, my establishment ends up destroyed. I’ve already rebuilt Caritas five times. Five times! That’s why I thought it better to build down here, underground.”

“Angel knows every passageway in the sewers,” replied Buffy with a snort. “There’s no hiding from him. He’s got the nose of a bloodhound.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” he laughed. “Well, I’m out of the superhero business… ”

“Wish I could say the same,” she mumbled, fiddling with the stem of her glass.

“Got a case of the blues, huh?”

She shrugged in reply.

“Well, your aura’s a bit all over the place. Hard for me to read you unless you sing me something.”

“I’m not much of a singer. I’m more the listener type,” she responded half-heartedly.

“Oh, come on, peaches. No one sings that bad. Just a few bars.”

Buffy shifted her gaze to The Host, who smiled encouragingly at her.

“I have no idea what I should sing.”

“It can be anything, snookums, even Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

“Okay, then,” she answered, taking another sip of her wine. The Vala Queen then cleared her throat and began to sing:

“Sing me a song you’re a singer,
Do me a wrong, you’re a bringer of evil
The Devil is never a maker
The less that you give, you’re a taker
So, it’s on and on and on, it’s Heaven and Hell…” *

Lorne’s eyes nearly doubled in size as she sang. His jaw went agape before he snapped it shut, telling her to stop. “Oh, my,” he began nervously fiddling with the lapels of his jacket. “How apropos!”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” she replied grimly.

“Not much of a Black Sabbath fan, especially when Ronnie James was with the band,” he laughed nervously, eyeing the nearest exit. “That little dude’s creepy.”

“It was the first song that popped in my mind,” she said with a shrug.

“Imagine that! Hell on Earth. I see that. You’re… you’re death and destruction,” he continued with that same nervous laughter.

“Yeah,” she sighed, lifting her glass. “Sucks to be me, don’t it?” She took a couple of gulps of the amber liquid.

“Has it suddenly gotten hot in here, or is it just me?” he asked, fanning his hand in front of his face. “Feels like the temperature shot up a hundred degrees.”

“It’s just you,” she replied. “I’m not the bad guy here, Krevlornswath.”

“Oh, you know my real name,” he chuckled uneasily. “That’s, that’s great.”

“I know everything about you. It’s not chance that I happened upon your bar. It’s destiny. Our destiny.”

“Imagine that,” he answered, so nervous now that all he could do was force himself to smile. “And here I thought I was destiny free.”

“No one’s destiny free,” she said with a sigh. “We all have a part to play in the big scheme of things.”

“Well, yours is a bit freaky to me,” he whispered anxiously so that none of his other customers could hear what he was saying. “You killed Angel. And unleashed Hell on Earth. You’re behind all this craziness!”

“Someone’s gotta do it. Lucky me!” she chortled in reply.

“But, but you’re one of The Powers, one of the Powers That Be,” he remarked, his green face wrinkled in confusion. “How can that be? How can one who’s supposed to be so good, end up so… evil?”

“Hey! That’s totally subjective. The world isn’t black and white, good and bad. Things aren’t that simple - never were and never will be.”

“You killed Angel,” he said in dismay, shaking his head. “He was a champion, a champion for good.”

“Pfft,” she sounded with a roll of her eyes. “He was a putz!”

“Well, I loved that putz!” shot back Lorne. “He was a good friend.”

“Whatever.”

“No!” he countered, feeling his courage swell within him. “I can’t believe that you could do something so… so unconscionable. Angel was one of the good guys… ”

“Who wrecked your bar on a number of occasions,” she interjected.

“That’s beside the point. He… he had a soul. He was… was fighting the good fight… He… ”

“He killed my son,” Buffy proclaimed, cutting off the Empath Demon’s statement. “He killed a noble and good man, for nothing.”

“Son? What son? I never heard anything about you having a son.” The words spewed quickly from Lorne’s mouth.

“You knew him as Drogyn.”

“The Battle Brand?”

The Slayer nodded.

The Host gulped. “Oh. I see.” He coughed in his nervousness, feeling as though the temperature in Caritas was still rising. “Well, er, you know, it was, um… it was for the greater good,” he added with a stammer. Once he had spoken those words, he wished that he could take them back. By the look on the Slayer’s face, he knew she didn’t see it that way. “Oh, crap,” he winced. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Your loyalty to Angel is commendable. Regardless, he got his comeuppance,” she said, stone-faced. Buffy took another sip of wine. “Let’s forget about Angel. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah, you’re looking for an old friend. You mentioned that already,” replied Lorne uneasily.

“I also wanted to see you.”

“Moi?” he queried in alarm.

“Yes, you,” she replied. “My brethren don’t understand your kind, demon-kind, in general. They see things as merely black and white. Guess what category you fall under?”

“I take it, I’m not considered one of the white hats,” he said uncomfortably.

“No, you’re not. They want your kind eradicated from this world, from all worlds - but I don’t want that to happen. You’re a good guy, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan. You’ve done good things in this world. You deserve to live on, to do what you do - to spread your brand of joy throughout the world, to teach people about tolerance and love… ”

Buffy leaned forward, over the counter. “In a few short hours, California’s gonna be wiped off the map. I’m giving you a chance to escape, to start over in another dimension, a dimension not known by my kinsmen. There, you and others like you, can carry on, can prosper. But, if you stay here - it’s over.” She leaned back in her seat with her glass of wine in her hand. “It’s up to you to decide whether the show goes on… ”

“Whoa! That’s a lot to take in,” admitted the Empath Demon, cutting off Buffy’s sentence.

He paused as the beastly creature that had taken the stage finished his rendition of the old Neil Sedaka song to scattered applause. A crestfallen Lorne looked at the stage for a moment before shifting his gaze to the nearly untouched Sea Breeze that the Slayer hadn’t cared for. He picked up the glass and took a long swig of his favorite alcoholic beverage. He then paused, looking at the drink clutched in his hand.

“I love this world. Always have,” he finally said. Krevlornswath turned his blood-red eyes to the Vala Queen. “If this ship’s going down, then I’m going down with it.” He forced a smile before adding, “I guess it’s time for my final curtain call.”

“I gotta admit: I wasn’t expecting that. I figured you’d want to go.”

“This is my home, now. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Lorne sighed. “My only dilemma is what song to sing, whether I should stick with a classic Broadway number, or go… ”

The first notes of the next song, (which immediately drew Buffy’s attention), drowned out Lorne’s ramblings of his favorite Broadway hits.

The Slayer’s eyes instantly lit up, a smile graced her face, as her heart began to pound wildly in her chest. She knew that only her lover would chose to sing that song, the same song he had sung to her over the ages, the lover she had not seen since becoming Buffy Summers.

“Lady, when you’re with me I’m smiling
Give me all your love…”

“Dear Lord! It can’t be!” said a stunned Lorne after seeing the demon on stage.

“Your hands build me up when I’m sinking
Touch me and my troubles all fade…”

“Wes killed him,” continued the Empath Demon in disbelief. “He was cut into kibbles n’ bits, with a chainsaw.”

“Lady, from the moment I saw you
Standing all alone…”

“You can’t kill one of my people, Lorne. I’ve blessed them with the gift of regeneration.”

“You gave all the love that I needed
So shy, like a child who had grown…”

Lorne stared bug-eyed at the demon on stage, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. Skip is dead.”

“Obviously, not,” answered the Slayer, spinning around in her seat so that she faced the stage.

“You’re my lady of the morning
Love shines in your eyes… ”

“Read him, Lorne,” Buffy continued, smiling broadly. “What do you really see?”

“Sparkling, clear and lovely
You’re my lady…”

Skip began to descend the steps of the stage, his eyes locked on the Vala Queen.

“Lady turns me on when I’m lonely
Show me all your charms…”

“My God! Skip was the King of Atlantis,” revealed the Empath Demon. “He was actually a Skipper.”

“He prefers Captain,” Buffy said, glancing over her shoulder. “And his kingdom was actually called Atalantë, or Númenor,” she corrected, turning her gaze back to the copper-armored demon, who was working his way through the crowd toward her.

“Evenings, when you lay down beside me
Take me gently into your arms…”

“He was mortal. Your lover,” spoke up Lorne, half-dazed by what he was reading from Skip’s voice.

“He’s my Adonis!” said the near giddy Valië.

“You’re my lady of the morning
Love shines in your eyes…”

“You had hidden him in another dimension,” revealed a shocked Krevlornswath, his face turning greener.

“To protect him, from Sargon.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Empath Demon once again. “Sargon’s the jealous type. Doesn’t like the thought of me being with anyone other than him.”

“Sparkling, clear and lovely
You’re my lady…” **

“This is nuts,” remarked Lorne, as Skip stopped before the Slayer.

“Hey, sweetie!” she said, beaming at the demon.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he said, tossing the microphone to the nearest bystander.

Everyone’s eyes were glued on the armored demon and the Slayer.

Buffy wrapped her arms around Skip’s shoulders and he pulled her from her seat. She swung her legs around his waist.

“Welcome back,” he said in greeting, kissing her deeply as the shocked spectators looked on.

“Ew,” mumbled Lorne, recoiling at the sight of Buffy and Skip in a passionate embrace. “Talk about beauty and the beast.”

“The Slayer’s doing demons now,” remarked a vamp seated nearby.

“Apparently,” answered his companion.

“Damn!” said the first vamp. “I wouldn’t mind hitting that!”

Several vampires and demons began primping and preening, hoping to get the Vala Queen’s attention. If she was now sleeping with the likes of Skip, surely they’d have a chance to woo her from the demon.

“Miss me?” Buffy asked breathlessly after pulling out of their kiss.

“Don’t you know it,” replied Skip. He glanced over to Lorne. “How’s it going, Mr. Green Jeans? Long time, no see.”

“It’s still Lorne,” answered the Empath Demon. “God, I need a drink,” he added, reaching for his Sea Breeze.

“How ‘bout we blow this joint,” suggested Skip. “My place is close by. We can, you know, get reacquainted.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” said the Slayer excitedly. “But first,” she began again, reaching for the ring that hung from his chin, “Let me see you, the real you.” Using care, she then unattached the ring from his face. Immediately, Skip’s appearance turned to that of a very attractive man, tall and muscular with shoulder-length golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Look at you,” Buffy cooed, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “You’re so handsome, my Aldarion.”

“My Bella,” he responded, affectionately caressing her face with one hand.

“Oh, wait,” she blurted out unexpectedly. She reached for the bottle of elvish wine on the countertop. “Can’t forget this.” When Buffy turned, she noticed that a group of demons and vampires had gathered around, making goo-goo eyes at her. “Pfft,” she sounded upon seeing them. “Please! I’m so outta your league!”

With that said, she and Aldarion vanished from Caritas and reappeared inside his apartment.

The Númenorean dashed toward the bedroom.

“Whoa! Hold your horses, Aldarion.”

“Come on, Bella. This stallion hasn’t had any in thirty-one years! Save the talking until afterwards!”

“You’re such the romantic,” she shot back sarcastically. Aldarion had his arms wrapped around the Vala Queen, holding her up on his waist. “Let me down,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got delicious wine, made at the House of Elrond.”

“I’ve had elvish wine before,” he groaned, setting her down on her feet. “My loins are throbbing…”

“Aldarion!” she reprimanded, marching toward the kitchen in search of a couple of glasses. “Can you think of nothing but sex?”

The Númenorean grunted in frustration, as he sunk onto the couch. “It’s been thirty-one years, Bella. That’s a long, damn time. I want me some.”

“Patience is a virtue,” she remarked, rummaging through the cupboards.

“I have no patience. Isn’t that obvious?” he said, running his fingers through his golden hair.

“It won’t be much longer. Let’s have a drink first,” she answered, settling for two coffee cups as their drinking vessels.

“Okay, but only one drink! Then you can check out my new Egyptian cotton sheets. They’re blue, you know. Just for you.”

“Fine,” she said, taking a seat beside the Númenorean. “I don’t know why you don’t keep wine glasses,” she mumbled, pouring the delectable amber liquid into their cups.

“Not much of a wine drinker nowadays,” he replied, watching as Buffy filled their cups. “I’m a beer drinker. Nothing beats a brewski.”

“Mmm, makes me wonder if you have dwarvish blood in your veins,” she chuckled, handing him his drink.

“Ha-ha,” he replied, not at all amused by her comparison of him to one of the Naugrim. “Maybe if you didn’t keep me locked away in that demonic hide… ”

“Now, now,” she interjected, attempting to quell his annoyance. “It won’t be long before we sail away from this place.”

Just the mere mention of sailing brought a wistful look to Aldarion’s face. He so loved the sea and had enjoyed sailing his whole mortal life. It had been nearly half a century since he had last cruised on the open waters, and the thought of manning a vessel once again filled his heart with such joy.

“I can’t wait for that. Just me and you on the open blue sea,” he sighed, placing an arm around the Slayer. He lifted his cup. “Now, I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their cups together. Buffy sipped her wine while the Númenorean gulped his down until he had emptied his cup.

“Okay, finished,” he announced, slamming his cup on the coffee table. He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go,” he continued, anxiously trying to drag her with him.

“Hey!” she shouted, the elvish wine spilling onto her leather pants. “Look what you did.”

“Here, I’ll lick it off,” he said, dropping to his knees. “Mmm,” Aldarion sounded as he ran his tongue over the dampness on her pants.

The Slayer pushed him away. “Go get naked. I’ll be in in a minute.”

He lifted his gaze, smiling mischievously. “That’s more like it.” He took off for the bedroom, pulling off his clothing as he did so.

Buffy grabbed a Kleenex and blotted the wine on her pants. From the bedroom, she could hear her lover singing Lady, again. She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, dreading what was to come next. She felt sick, her stomach twisting and turning uncomfortably. She took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly each time.

“Come on, Bella! I’m waiting!” Aldarion shouted from the bedroom.

“Coming, Sweetie,” she answered, pulling off her boots and socks. She stood, wiggling out of her tight leather pants. As she made her way toward the bedroom, she peeled off her sweater, so that she was now garbed in only her bra and panties.

Buffy stopped in the doorway, posing seductively for Aldarion, who lay sprawled out on the bed, eagerly waiting for her to join him.

“Oh, mama,” he said lasciviously. “Come to daddy.”

She slowly crossed the room, tantalizing the Númenorean as she took off the last of her garments.

He stared wide-eyed at her naked body, licking his lips in anticipation.

The Valië eased onto his bed, crawling ever-slowly toward him, heightening his desire. She lowered her body, just an inch from his. Aldarion could feel the heat emanating from her hröa. He groaned softly as the nipples of her breasts gently grazed his skin as she moved over his body, the warm of her breath on his flesh driving him mad with desire. His manhood ached as her flesh swept over it. She was teasing him, prolonging the moment when they would actually unite as one. He desperately wanted to throw her down and ravage her, but this was her game, her mode of seduction when they had been parted for a long while.

Buffy’s face lingered over his. The Númenorean reached up, fondling the soft supple flesh of her bosoms. Her eyes welled with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, fearing that he was being too rough with her.

“I love you so much,” she softly replied, lowering her lips to his.

Aldarion wrapped his arms around her back, forcing her naked body onto his. Her legs remained astride his muscular frame, as their kiss deepened. He could feel the warmth of her tears splattering onto his face, the taste of salt as the teardrops trickled to their opened mouths and tongues.

He groaned again, attempting to adjust her body onto his erection.

“No,” she said, taking both of his arms, pinning them over his head. Buffy slithered upright, touching her breasts as the Númenorean looked on lustfully.

“Bella,” he began, wanting her so badly he thought he’d explode.

“Shh,” she sounded, pressing her finger to his lips. He kissed it. He looked at her hungrily. She lowered her face to his. “Close your eyes,” she whispered, before kissing him tenderly on the lips.

Aldarion did as instructed, panting in his excitement.

Buffy sat up once again, staring down upon her obedient lover, as another tear escaped the corner of her eye. She lifted her opened hand, closing it after a dagger materialized within her grasp.

“I love you,” she uttered.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back to her.

She plunged the blade deep into his chest, as the Númenorean’s eyes popped open in shock, groaning at the jolt of pain coursing through his body. His wide, watery blue eyes looked at her in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, driving the knife downward, the Dwarvish blade easily tearing through ribs, organs and flesh. His warm blood spilled from the incision, as he attempted to wiggle out from beneath her, but to no avail.

Giving up, and with his lips trembling, he weakly muttered, “Bella… why?”

“Destiny. It’s our destiny,” she answered back in a mere whisper, watching as her Númenorean King took his last breath, and then died.

Buffy hastily leapt off his body, as Aldarion’s warm blood ran down her arms and inner thighs.

Only a moment later, the Númenorean’s fey rose from his hröa. He looked sadly at his mutilated body, before turning his gaze to Buffy, his face riddled with confusion.

“Go! Go to the Halls of your Fathers,” she proclaimed.

‘Why?’ his spirit asked in dismay. ‘Why did you do this to me?’

“Go!” she said more forcefully, using her Vala powers to send the phantom form of her lover to Mandos.

Unable to resist, Aldarion’s spirit moved speedily through the bedroom wall, heading to the Halls of Námo.

Buffy ran into the bathroom and flicked on the light switch, as she dashed to the toilet. Dropping to her knees, she leaned over the toilet, expelling the only contents of her stomach - elven wine.

When she had finished retching, she crawled over to the tub, leaving a bloody trail behind. She turned on the hot water tap, eager for it to heat up, as she rinsed her arms under the heavy stream. The Vala Queen became mesmerized by the pinkish-hued water swirling down the drain. Once the water was hot, she adjusted the temperature before climbing in. She closed the curtain, pulled the lever for the shower, and washed herself thoroughly, removing all evidence of her recent carnage.

After showering, she dried herself off in the steam-filled bathroom. She wrapped her hair in a towel, using another to cover her body. Stepping before the mirror, the Slayer wiped the fogged up glass clean with the palm of her hand. She stood there for a minute, half-dazed, staring at her reflection.

“I am evil,” she whispered.

Sinister laughter suddenly filled the room, causing the hair on her body to stand on end.

‘Indeed you are, Melisse. Indeed you are,’ said the delighted voice of Melkor.

Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the mirror, yet she only saw her own face staring back at her.

‘Well done, my love. You have most certainly been demonstrating your love for me, one killing at a time,’ he cackled. ‘Soon, you and I will share the lordship of Eä, for the reign of my brother has come to an end. You have but one more execution left to prove your devotion to me, and only me. Then, my sweet, we will be reunited, and the world will be at the mercy of our majesty and our wrath.’

Then there was silence.

“Melkor?” she uttered to her reflection.

Yet there came no reply from the Dark Lord. But, his ‘visit’ did enlighten her of one thing: that Manwë Súlimo was dead, and that war was indeed taking place in Valinor, which meant, that Folkvang now lay in ruins. Her kingdom was lost.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the tube of toothpaste, flipped open the cap and squeezed a generous amount of the greenish-colored gel onto Aldarion’s electric toothbrush. She washed the yucky taste of vomit from her mouth, gargling with Scope once she had finished. She then brushed her golden hair before leaving the bathroom, mystically garbing herself in a white toga and a pair of sandals.

Returning to the living room, she went through her former lover’s DVD collection, looking for a movie to watch before electricity became a thing of the past. Since she felt depressed, she chose a Christmas-themed comedy. Putting the disc into the DVD player, she then curled up onto the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest. Though she loved the movie, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, she was preoccupied by her next mission: the slaying of her favorite paramour, Sargon the Magnificent…



* lyrics by Ronnie James Dio

** lyrics by Dennis DeYoung