Full Circle

Maglor continued to clutch the Nauglamír in his hand. Holding that bejeweled necklace caused those feelings of grief and regret to resurface again. Eager to rid himself of the hallowed object, the Elf Lord offered the Necklace of the Dwarves to his father.

Fëanor handed the mallorn box containing the two Silmarils to Celegorm before taking the necklace from his second son. He looked upon the Nauglamír in wonder, admiring the craftsmanship of the dwarves.

“So this is the renowned Necklace of the Naugrim, hmm,” he remarked.

“Yes, Father,” answered Curufin solemnly, as he too had come to regret the treacherous acts he had committed in the Silmaril’s name.

“The Dwarves’ craftsmanship is remarkably similar to that of their father,” continued Fëanor, inspecting the intricate details of the necklace and its numerous gemstones. “One can clearly see that much time and effort went into the making of the Nauglamír, and the jewels set off the beauty of the Silmaril. This, undoubtedly, was a labor of love.”

“So true,” said Buffy. “The necklace was made for Finrod, whom the Dwarves loved dearly.”

Fëanor glanced up at the Slayer. “And it now belongs to you?”

“No, it belongs to you,” she reminded the son of Finwë.

The Noldo’s eyes shifted back to the necklace. “The Nauglamír has been a beacon of hope in the world, and it should remain so in days to come.” He turned his grey eyes to Olofin. “Come forth, my son.”

The Vala Queen stepped aside, allowing her son to stand before his grandfather.

“Yes, Grandsire.”

Fëanor placed a hand on the half-elf’s shoulder and looked fondly upon his most noble descendant. “Your mother speaks truly when she says that you are the greatest treasure of the House of Finwë. Though you are descended from a cursed House, you have remained pure, untainted in heart, mind, body and soul.” A smile came to the Elf Lord’s face before he added, “A feat which is quite impressive in itself.

“You have brought honor back to the House of Fëanor,” the eldest son of Finwë continued. “And I do not doubt that your wisdom and gentle-spirit will be paramount in the healing of the world and its people. They will look to you as the beacon of hope, and it is only befitting that the symbol of hope, the Nauglamír, should become the heirloom of your House, my son. There is no other in all of Eä worthy of such a prize.”

The son of Finwë then clasped the Necklace of the Dwarves around Olofin’s neck, as the rest of the Household looked on with tear-filled eyes. Everyone knew how much the Silmarils had meant to Fëanor, and to see him bestow that bejeweled necklace upon Olofin was a very touching moment.

He then kissed his grandson on the forehead, before dropping to his knee, saying, “All hail the King.”

All followed suit, including the Vala Queen. In unison, they repeated, “All hail the King.”

“I am humbled by your praise,” proclaimed Olofin, his cheeks flushing at the gesture, “but you are my kinfolk, and need not bow to me.”

“Yet, you are now King of Arda,” answered Finwë, raising his eyes to his great-grandson. “And it is ancient custom that we follow protocol, kin or not.”

“Then perhaps that is why I have been granted the lordship of Arda,” replied the half-elf with a smile. “Out with the old, and in with the new. I view all the peoples of Arda as my equal, with no one person or being valued greater or lesser than myself.”

“That’s my son,” said Maglor, about to burst with pride.

“Please, my dear folk! Rise! Up on your feet!” declared Olofin once again, assisting his mother to her feet.

“He gets that from Bella, you know,” Míriel informed her husband in a mere whisper. “She’s so over the formality crap!”

Finwë’s brows shot up upon hearing his wife’s words. He found her last statement quite strange.

“My time’s nearly over,” announced Buffy only a moment later.

“So soon, Muinthel?” queried Maedhros in dismay. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“I know,” she answered dismally. “But this war won’t end until I stop it.” Her eyes scanned the forlorn faces of her loved ones. She gave them all a reassuring smile. “Let’s head on out. We’ll walk back up to Námo’s meeting chamber. That’ll give us a chance to catch up on things.”

Maglor took his wife’s hand in his, as the descendants of Finwë and Míriel left their prison cell after what had seemed to them to be an eternity. For the first time, Fëanor and his sons were able to look upon the elleth’s handiwork, examining her life-like embroidery that adorned the walls on either side of the passageway. None, other than Finwë had ever seen the portraits, for Námo had granted the Lord of the Noldor permission to leave his cell from time to time, to see what deeds or misdeeds his progeny had committed since the patriarch’s murder.

Námo had offered to return the Noldo King to his hröa, unlike Fëanor and his sons, so that he could resume his mortal life in Valinor, but, after Finwë had reunited with Míriel in Mandos, his love for her had become even greater than before, and he had refused to depart those Halls until she could accompany him. Consequently, he remained in captivity, voluntarily, for thousands and thousands of years, waiting for the day when Míriel could leave the Halls of Mandos at his side. And now, after their long wait, that day was finally drawing near. Never in a million years would they have guessed that the Vala of Love and War, the wife of their second grandson, would be the one to set these things in motion.

They all took their time, walking and talking, pointing out the various portraits that had had a great effect on their lives, or afterlives, as it was in some cases.

Much of the needlework at the beginning of the corridor captured Olofin, in his various incarnations, in one heroic form or another. Fortunately, the half-elf possessed only the positive traits from the lines of Finwë and Luinil, without any of the negatives. As they all looked upon his many deeds of valor depicted on the tapestries, each could see how Olofin truly deserved the title, King of Arda.

Everyone believed that he would rule with the same evenhandedness that he had demonstrated throughout his whole life, that the half-elf always wanted to see the good in people, no matter what the circumstances were, including his own death at the hands of Angel. Not only did Olofin hold no animosity toward the vampire, but he also felt that Angel’s actions were justified. If not for the half-elf’s death, the Circle of the Black Thorn would still be thriving to that very day. Buffy’s son, the Drogyn, understood that. He viewed his demise as a noble act, something he had learned from his mother, for she had sacrificed herself many a time for the greater good.

Once Buffy had listened to Olofin’s explanation of his death scene (which Míriel had depicted all too well), she felt sick to her stomach. She now realized that she had been too hasty when she passed judgment on Angel, that she had allowed her emotions to blind her with rage when she should have taken a step back and examined the vampire’s actions from all sides. She had blown it. She had made a huge mistake that ended up costing Angel his soul. And to make matters worse, Olofin had spoken to his kin about rewarding the vampire by appointing him to a prominent position in his cabinet after he officially took the scepter, unaware of the fact that Angel was no more.

Maglor noticed the change on his Vala Queen’s face, which had turned pale while their son had spoken. He believed that seeing the tapestry of Olofin’s death had brought about her sudden bout of melancholy and wanted to ease her pain by comforting her.

“Our son yet lives,” he said soothingly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “His is alive, alive and kicking.”

She forced herself to smile, knowing that her beloved did not comprehend what really troubled her. Wanting to keep her former lover out of her last conversation with her husband, she lied, answering, “I know. It just… it just pains me to see him like that.” She quickly turned away from the portrait of Olofin’s death, deciding that it was best not to mention Angel in any way, especially to Maglor.

While the others conversed over another one of Míriel’s pieces of art, Buffy and Maglor wandered down the passageway so they could speak together, alone.

Still feeling glum, she stopped, and faced her husband.

He, in turn, smiled warmly at his wife.

Buffy looked deeply into his grey eyes. “Why did you leave me, Káno?” she asked, her voice cracking as she spoke.

The smile rapidly left his handsome face. “I had to,” he sighed. “I had betrayed you, yet again, and could not face you after all I had done. I did not want to see the look of disappointment on your face, the pain that I’d caused you… ”

“But I would’ve forgiven you!” she interjected. “I love you… ”

“I know you do, my sweet Bella,” he answered, caressing her cheek with his hand. “I was ashamed. I had brought dishonor to my House, again. There was no way that I could face you after that.”

“We searched for you,” she continued, her eyes welling with tears. “We searched all the world for you, for decades, centuries. None of my people or spies could find you.”

“Alas! That was how it was fated to be,” he answered sadly. Maglor shifted his downcast eyes to the floor. “In penance I wandered the wilderness in solitude, regretting my misdeeds, and longing for you.” He turned his gaze back to his wife. “I thought about you every day, you and Olofin, and what we once had. I deem it was the Curse, the Curse that was placed upon us both… that we were only allotted a brief time together, and that that time was over.”

The pain in Maglor’s voice caused her heart to ache with sorrow. Golden tears streamed down her face.

“But, I did see you. I did see you on several occasions,” he continued in that same morose tone.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you let me know?” she cried.

“How could I?” he answered, tears filling his eyes. He paused. “The first time was in the East, on your wedding day to Osiris.”

Buffy’s heart felt as though it had dropped to the pit of her stomach. “Oh, God!” she uttered, horrified at that thought alone.

Maglor looked off into space, recalling that day, thousands of years before. “I was in the crowd as your carriage went by. You seemed happy. I knew then that you were lost to me, forever.”

“Oh, Káno,” she wept. “I… I… ” she stammered through her tears.

“Shh,” he sounded, pulling her into an embrace. “You don’t have to explain your actions to me. It was I that left you. You should’ve moved on. That was the right thing to do.” The Noldo didn’t have the heart to mention that witnessing her with Osiris, as well as many of her other lovers, had only added to his misery. Over the years, he had convinced himself that his misfortune was the result of the Curse, and that the thing that brought him the greatest woe was seeing his beloved Bella in the arms of others. Those painful memories caused the tears to escape Maglor’s eyes.

Husband and wife clung to one another, crying, as the others in the passageway did their best to avoid watching the gut-wrenching scene, wanting to give the couple their privacy.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” moaned Buffy with her face buried in his shoulder.

“I told you, Bella, you do not have anything to be sorry for. You moved on with your life, as you should have,” he countered, rubbing her back while he held her. “Now, come on. We need to stop all this blubbering,” he continued, pulling out of the embrace. “This is a joyful moment that should not be ruined with tears.”

The Slayer nodded, trying to get a grip on her emotions, which was easier said than done.

“So tell me, Bella,” the Noldo went on, wiping the tears from her face, “when did these tears of yours turn golden?”

“When… when you left me,” she sniffed.

He pulled off one of many nuggets that clung to the fabric of his robe. “Extraordinary,” he remarked, quickly drying his eyes on his sleeve. “Is this real? It looks real,” he said, examining the tear-shaped nugget.

“Yeah,” she replied, knowing that her beloved was attempting to change the subject. She decided to go along, none too eager to have her final meeting with Maglor to be one of total despair. “You should’ve seen how the dwarves reacted when they first saw me cry golden tears,” she said in a more lighthearted voice. “After that, they tried to get me to cry every chance they could - they’d even pinch me, or accidentally hit me on occasion,” she chuckled, emphasizing the word ‘accidentally.’

“Well then, I best keep these,” he responded, pulling the nuggets from his robe, “ as mementos of this day.” A mischievous grin came to the Noldo’s face. “I imagine the Naugrim would be more than willing to barter for these in days to come,” he added, slipping the handful of nuggets into his pocket.

“Nay!” Curufin said, having approached the couple with the rest of the group. Between his fingers, he clutched a stray nugget that he had found on the floor. “Father and I will make something splendid out of Bella’s tears, something worthy of her memory.” He smiled. “We owe that to the one who has brought redemption to the House of Fëanor.”

Curufin’s words touched Buffy deeply. He was not one to freely give out compliments, which is how she viewed his statements.

“I’d like that,” she answered. “Just make sure it’s something pretty. I like pretty things.”

“Ah, Bella, you’re speaking with a great artisan,” he said boastfully. “Undoubtedly, anything created by Fëanor or his sons shall be beyond beautiful. I deem we will make something that will rival the works of the Silmarils.”

“I am eager to work with my hands again,” announced Fëanor wistfully. “I have many ideas, but I will need some time to think of something spectacular to make with my daughter’s golden tears.”

Hearing Fëanor call her daughter brought tears to her eyes, yet again. However, this time, she bit her lip, forcing herself to refrain from crying.

“Perhaps we could make some type of broach,” suggested Celebrimbor, as he too was eager to busy himself with some new projects.

“Ooh, I like that idea,” replied the enthusiastic Slayer.

“The world will need mending long before any can start on such projects,” proclaimed Olofin in a lordly voice.

“God, you’re not even officially King, and you’re already being a buzz kill,” remarked Buffy teasingly.

Everyone laughed except Finwë, who had no idea what the words ‘buzz kill’ meant.

The group then started on their journey through the passageways of Mandos, heading toward the meeting room some floors above, where more of the Vala Queen’s loved ones waited. Yet this time there would be some that she had not seen earlier, including Aldarion, who insisted that he see Buffy before she departed the Blessed Realm.

They had not even reached Námo’s grand meeting hall when the Slayer felt another pang in her heart. She knew that another day had passed, and that her time in Arda was quickly nearing its end. In less than twenty-four hours, her mission in Middle-earth would be complete, ushering in the next age, an age of unequivocal bliss.

Scores and scores of boisterous voices filled the chamber when they entered. At first, it seemed that none had noticed the arrival of Buffy and those from the House of Finwë. She smiled, surveying the room, seeing that many from her Household were still present, as well as many newcomers. Several appeared battle-worn, having withdrawn from combat in need of food and rest. Here, in this chamber, they were offered both, as well as an opportunity to say a final farewell to the Vala of Love and War prior to her departure.

Gradually, the talking was replaced with sudden gasps from the occupants, for it had been ages since any had laid an eye upon Fëanor and his sons, not to mention Buffy herself.

“Carry on! Carry on!” exclaimed the Slayer as she made her way through the throng with her husband.

Many of the Eldar quickly surrounded those from the House of Finwë, anxious to speak with those that had been lost to them for so long.

Nienna brought her sister and Maglor glasses of wine, knowing of Buffy’s fondness for the drink. “It’s not elvish wine, but it was made by the Maiar with the finest grapes in Lórien.”

“Thanks, Nienna,” the Slayer replied at her sister’s thoughtfulness. “As long as it wets my whistle - that’s all I care about.” Her eyes scanned the room as she took a sip of her drink. She couldn’t help but see that everybody was much more jovial then earlier. “Everyone’s in a rather pleasant mood,” she observed, locking her gaze on her sister. Raising her brow, she added, “I daresay it seems almost… unnatural.”

“How right you are, my dear sister,” laughed Nienna. She leaned in closer so that none could overhear her, despite the fact that the room was noisy. “Irmo spiked the drinks. Námo told him that you would not like to depart on a somber note, and would prefer that everybody was more… merry.”

“Námo knows me oh so well,” the Vala of Love chortled. “And he’s right! I’d rather everyone party than mourn my departure. There’s much to celebrate.” She looked at Maglor, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

A male voice then shouted, “Bella!” amidst the din. “Bella!” the man called out again.

Buffy searched the crowd as that same fair voice continued to call out to her. She then spotted a silver head bobbing through the throng, coming closer and closer. A smile came to her face as she finally recognized the voice as one whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two ages.

Only a second later, the silver-haired elf stepped out of the horde, his disheveled appearance revealing that he was fresh from battle.

“Legolas,” she said delightedly, quickly handing her drink to Maglor.

“Bella!” the son of Thranduil repeated yet again, although this time there was much relief in the sound of his voice. He was glad that he had found her before she left.

They embraced. “My godson,” she said, affectionately rubbing his back.

“I feared that you would be gone before I arrived,” he continued. “I’ve been on the battlefield.”

Buffy stepped back, her eyes quickly sweeping over the Elf. “How goes it out there?” she asked with trepidation.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” he replied sadly. “We are greatly outnumbered by the enemy and their hatred knows no bounds. All the elvish cities have fallen, and Valimar has also been lost.” His facial expression turned even grimmer as he added, “Eönwë perished during his attempt to defend Aulë’s Halls.”

The Slayer bit her trembling lip. Things were much worse than she had originally thought. Feeling her husband’s penetrating gaze, she reluctantly asked, “And Aulë, did he escape? Did he escape with the sword?”

Legolas’ eyes hastily darted from Buffy to Maglor, then back to her again. “He’s here. And he has the sword,” the Elf answered.

The Valië let out a sigh of relief, just as Thranduil popped out of the crowd, his hand tightly clutching that of his wife’s.

“Meldis!” Buffy exclaimed, delighted to see her old friend again.

“Oh, Bella!” the elleth replied, slipping out of Thranduil’s grasp and running to the Queen she had so loyally served.

The two women hugged. “I’m so glad you came,” the Slayer whispered to her former handmaiden.

“Come hell or high water, there was no way that I was going to miss you. Not for the world, Bella. Not for the world.”

“You’re already sounding more like Thranduil,” Buffy said with a smile, pulling out of the embrace and looking over the elleth. “I’m sorry that I kept your husband from you for so long.”

“Ah, my Thranduil,” she sighed, turning her eyes toward her husband, who was now engaging Maglor in conversation. “He wished to serve you to the end, and who am I to deny him that?” She smiled. “Besides, I had Legolas with me.”

Thranduil was now introducing the Noldo to his son.

Legolas seemed in awe to finally meet the son of Fëanor whom he had only heard about in tales.

“Your father was quite the rascal in his youth,” Maglor revealed to the younger Greenleaf, his grey eyes twinkling at the memories of old. “Dare I say that that ran in the family?”

“Of course not,” answered Thranduil with a broad grin. “My son was always mindful.”

“Pfft,” sounded Meldis, with a roll of her eyes. “Legolas was as mischievous as they come, very much like you, my dear husband!”

“I can recall numerous pranks that Thranduil pulled off as an elfling, particularly the one on my wedding night… ” remarked the son of Fëanor as he handed Buffy back her drink.

“Oh, it was all in good fun, Maglor,” interjected Thranduil with a chuckle. “Just trying to liven up your special day was all.”

While the others continued their conversation, Buffy surveyed the crowd once again. This time she spotted Aldarion watching from afar. She locked eyes with the mortal, the sadness in his eyes caused her stomach to twist and turn uncomfortably within her.

“I’ll be back in a few,” she said to the others before taking off, disappearing into the throng of people.

Seeing her approach, Aldarion stepped into an alcove at the far end of the room that would offer them some privacy. He slid a large urn containing a fragrant flowering tree toward the opening, hoping that would obscure any chance that Maglor would see the Númenorean with his wife.

Buffy ducked under one of the white blossomed limbs as she entered the alcove. She beheld a grief-stricken Aldarion standing in the corner.

“Hey,” she said half-heartedly.

“Hey,” he replied with a sigh.

She could feel the tension coming from her former lover.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make things right between… ”

“You don’t have to say anything, Bella,” he interjected, cutting off her words. “Námo explained things to me.”

“I don’t think Námo really understands what’s going on,” she answered.

The Adan continued to look at her with those big, blue, doleful eyes, waiting for her to elaborate further.

“Killing you was the last thing I ever wanted to do,” she explained. “But, I had no choice. I have to make Morgoth believe that he can trust me, explicitly. If he doesn’t, then everything that’s happened will be for nothing.”

“I just wish you would’ve given me the heads-up, had let me know that you were gonna… off me,” he replied, somewhat dejectedly.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” she asserted. “But you’ve gotta understand that he’s watching me. The link between Melkor and me has been reestablished. He knows everything that I’m doing. He sees everything.”

“And what about now? Is he watching us? Can he hear us?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “He’s not strong enough to overcome the powers of the Ainur. Right now, he’s weak. But whenever I’m outside their domains, he can see me, he can hear me.” She paused, her face etched in sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” she continued, taking his hand in hers. “I wish things hadn’t gone down the way they did… ” She turned her eyes to her feet, not knowing what else to say. Hell, what could she possibly say to make things right between her and Aldarion? His death was horrific, even by the Slayer’s standards, pretending to seduce him before gutting him. That was a new low, even for her.

The Adan knew how difficult this was for the Valië. He had known her for a tremendously long time, and loved her even longer. And despite his misgivings over some of the tasks she had assigned to him, he carried them out, without question. Though she always tried her best to do the right thing, sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Aldarion took the glass from her hand, and downed the last of her wine. He then sat the empty glass beside a statue in the niche of the wall.

“I’m not pissed at you,” he said, lifting her chin with his free hand. “In fact, I pity you.”

For a moment, her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t want your pity,” she hissed.

“Don’t get all hot and bothered,” he countered apologetically. “The way I see it - you’re the one getting screwed.”

She snickered in reply.

“I mean, come on, Bella, after everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been through - it’s gotta suck to be you.”

“There’s the Skipper I know and love,” she grumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“I just calls it the way I sees it,” he answered lightheartedly. The Númenorean wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling Buffy closer. “If I had my way, I’d build us a ship, and we’d sail the hell away from here… ”

“Life doesn’t work that way,” she responded.

“Yeah, well, we just never seem to catch a break, do we?”

The Vala Queen shrugged. “We had our time.”

“Pfft,” he sounded. “It wasn’t nearly long enough! We didn’t get to spend as much time together as I’d have liked.”

“Time’s something we take for granted,” she answered morosely, truly comprehending those words. “My advice to you, my dear Skipper, is not to let that happen this time around.”

“I’ve always lived life to the fullest,” stated Aldarion. “Yet time still seemed to slip through my fingers.”

Buffy made no comment, but fiddled with a loose string on the Adan’s shirt.

“You know, Bella, we still have some time before you have to go,” he said, smiling suggestively. “We can sneak out, find an empty room… ”

She playfully slapped his chest. “Is that all you think about? God, you act like such a whore-dog!”

“It’s been a long time, and you did get me worked up before you killed me,” Aldarion continued in that same tone, his hands sliding lower, grabbing her behind.

“Don’t!” she chastised, grabbing his hands and moving them back to her waist. “If you’re that horny - then go find Erendis!”

A scowl came to the Númenorean’s face. “I wouldn’t fuck that miserable bitch if she was the last woman on Earth!”

Buffy coyly smiled. “But, Sire, she was your beloved Queen,” she remarked teasingly, “a daughter of Uinen… ”

Aldarion tightened his grip, forcefully pressing her body against his. With an impish glint in his eyes, he softly growled, “Need I remind you that it was you, my dear Luinil that insisted upon my marrying that wretched woman so as not to break the bloodline of Elros.”

His aggressiveness left the Valië momentarily breathless, and sent her heart aflutter. She always loved it when he took command like that; it was one of the things she adored about him. As she looked deeply into the blue eyes of her ex-lover, her mind flashed back to ages past, when she had first set eyes upon Aldarion in the early days of his youth. She found it remarkable that the young man was able to ignite her lust despite his young age, and (wisely) hid their affair from her loved ones for a long time, knowing that they would perceive her affections for the young man as unwholesome and sinful.

And they were right, of course, as she would later discover. For it was Buffy’s affair with the future King of Númenor that brought the first black cloud upon that isle, cursing not only those from the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but also those from the other noble Houses. By demanding that Aldarion take a wife and bring forth an heir, she doomed him and his kinsmen, creating strife amongst the mighty Lords, which ultimately paved the way to Númenor’s downfall.

A shadow fell over the Slayer, something that Aldarion noticed immediately. “I’m only joking,” he said, wondering if his comments were to blame for the sudden gloom that seemed to come over his lover. “Well, not so much about Erendis, but about blaming you. You did what you thought was right. And it was! My line had to continue.”

Buffy placed her head against the Adan’s chest and closed her eyes. Her thoughts turned to their son, as Aldarion wrapped his arms comfortingly around her.

“Don’t despair, Bella. Not now. Not here, at the end,” he whispered, trying to console her.

After a moment or two, she asked in a sullen voice, “Do you forgive me, Aldarion, for what I did to Aeneas? I shouldn’t have babied him the way I did. Maybe things would’ve gone differently… ”

“We both overindulged him! But neither of us is to blame, that burden lies with… ”

The Slayer quickly lifted her head. “Don’t speak his name!” she said sharply, a look of horror on her paling face. “Never speak his name in my presence!”

“Forgive me, my darling,” apologized the Adan. “I should’ve known better. Let’s speak no more of our son.”

“Agreed,” she answered, nodding her head. She then rested her head upon the Adan’s chest once again; content to be in his arms one last time.

“I beg your pardon,” said a voice from behind.

Buffy turned, only to see Horus, standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable to be intruding upon the two lovers.

The son of Osiris nodded. “Forgive me for intruding, Isis Queen, but Kanafinwë is searching for you.” His eyes darted to her lover. “I thought it best that I inform you lest he comes across you in… ah, a rather compromising situation.”

“Thank you, Horus,” she replied, as her eyes scanned the room in search of the Noldo.

“No,” said Aldarion. “It’s too soon. We’ve only had a few minutes. We need more time.”

Buffy faced the Adan. “See what I mean? It’s slipping through our fingers yet again.”

“But it’s not fair!” he moaned in protest.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet Skipper,” she answered, cupping his cheek. “Life’s not fair. Never was. You know that. Don’t take time for granted this time around. Cherish it, for dark days will come back.”

Aldarion furrowed his brows upon hearing her words. He assumed that they were prophetic in nature. “What do you mean?” he queried, narrowing his eyes.

The Vala Queen smiled. “You’ll know, in time, sweetie, in time.”

“I thought you hated those two words, ‘in time’,” Aldarion remarked with a sly grin.

“Not any more, now that I know what it means.” She embraced the Adan, whispering, “Don’t change, my Skipper. Remain true to yourself and think of me when you seek your next adventure on the high seas.”

Aldarion held her tightly in his arms. “I will think of you every time I hear the gulls cry or taste the salt of the sea on my lips. You’ll always be with me, my Queen, my love.” He took a deep breath before looking into her green eyes one last time. “Go kick some Vala ass. Take that fucker down.”

“Hey!” she rebuked. “Don’t call him that.”

The Adan held his hands up. “Sorry! Don’t bite my head off. I had forgotten your love for the Dark Lord.”

“Men,” she groaned under her breath, glad that her last chat with Aldarion hadn’t brought her to tears. She gave him a peck on the lips. “Take care, sweetie.”

“That’s it! All I get is a measly kiss on the lips.” He leaned in closer. “How ‘bout a quickie before you go?”

Horus, having overheard the Adan’s words, scowled, thinking his remarks were rather crass.

“I’m saving myself, you know, for that fucker, Morgoth,” the Slayer snidely answered.

Aldarion grunted, “Lucky bastard,” as Buffy turned, and started to leave the alcove with Horus.

“Oh, and Aldarion,” she said, coming to a halt and glancing over her shoulder. “Do me a favor and make peace with Sargon, okay?”

“Pfft,” he sounded with disdain. “I’d rather swim in the lava of Orodruin than be friends with that buffoon!”

“He’s not that bad!”

“He killed me! Dozens of times, in fact, or do those memories happen to escape you?”

“I told you he was the jealous type,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He hunted me down like a rabid animal!” exclaimed the Adan bitterly.

“C’mon, Skippy, that was ages ago. Just make peace with him. For me.” Buffy looked pleadingly at the Adan.

“Fine,” he spat. “But, I’m telling you now - that if he crosses me the wrong way - ” He ran his finger along his throat. “ - He’s dead meat.”

“Just play nice,” she said with a sigh, rolling her eyes. She then blew him a kiss before taking off with Horus.



Buffy decided that she’d stick around for one more feast, one that included all those from the House of Finwë, and their descendants. Indis and her children also attended, along with their spouses, their children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and so forth. Though she wasn’t a bit hungry, the Slayer wanted to spend as much time as she could with her family during her last day on Earth. Unlike the Scoobies (whom she loved and cared about dearly), most of those gathered had remained by her side through thick and thin for millennia.

She finally got to speak with Finrod, whom she had missed terribly since his death. Though the Noldo had attempted to correspond with her from Valinor, her hectic life in Middle-earth had left her unable to write back as much as she would’ve liked. His letters had meant a great deal to her, especially when she learned that he and Amarië, his wife, had named their first daughter after her. That gesture touched her deeply, and she was thrilled to meet her namesake who had the same golden hair as her mother, and Buffy.

The feast lasted several hours, yet to the Vala Queen it was over all too soon. Saying good-bye to her loved ones, particularly her children and Maglor, was the hardest thing she had ever done in her entire life. Her parting with the son of Fëanor ended up causing her the greatest pain. She wished that the Noldo could stay by her side while she tended to her last duties in Aman, but with her needing to meet with Aulë, she felt that the whole situation would be awkward, considering her past with the Vala Lord.

Buffy and Maglor did speak privately. However, their last conversation has been omitted from this tale and only survives in the writings of Kanafinwë Makalaurë…



With her farewells said, the Slayer left that hall with her Vala siblings. The passageways of Mandos were swelling with people, as the Captains of Valinor had called a retreat. All the survivors now remained locked away in the mystical caverns, as the enemy combatants tried relentlessly to break into the fortress. Numerous explosions took place outside, shaking the stronghold to its very foundations, yet Mandos remained impenetrable, no matter what magicks the enemy used against it.

The Vala Queen and her siblings entered another one of Námo’s private chambers where Aulë had been waiting. He rose from the couch when they entered, the weariness of grief on his face. Buffy already knew that his only child was dead, and that his wife, Yavanna, remained in isolation within Mandos, mourning the loss of both her children.

“I’m so sorry,” said Buffy, approaching the grief-stricken Vala. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Bitter is Dagor Dagorath,” he said solemnly, towering over the Slayer. “Valinor has never before seen such death or destruction. I do not think I have any tears left in me, and only wish to see this miserable battle brought to an end.”

“That’ll happen soon enough, Aulë,” answered the Vala Queen, sickened to see the Vala Lord suffering so.

“With you here, I know that that time is upon us,” he replied, trying to put aside his anguish whilst he met with his old flame. He reached down, grabbing a belted scabbard from the sofa. “I have re-forged Gurthang,” he announced, pulling the blade from its sheath.

The Slayer felt a sudden lump in her throat as she laid eyes upon the infamous sword wielded by Túrin back in the First Age. She had never before seen the blade wrought by the Dark Elf, Eöl, not even when she had dwelt in Menegroth long ago. She stared wide-eyed at the blade, the outer edges burning with a pale white fire.

Aulë offered her the weapon.

Swallowing hard, she reached out with a trembling hand, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. As she tightened her grip on the heavy weapon, visions sprang into her head, showing her the history of Gurthang from its inception.

Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, her stomach queasy from merely touching the object.

“The Vala Bane,” she mumbled under her breath.

To her surprise, the blade hissed, “Indeed! And how I long to quench my thirst with Vala blood.”

Shocked, Buffy dropped the weapon. Unlike most swords, it did not clatter to the floor. The blade turned in mid-air, the tip embedding into the stone floor. She rubbed the tingly sensation from her hand, listening as the black blade softly cackled at her reaction.

“Gurthang is sentient,” remarked Aulë, extracting the sword from the floor.

“You don’t say!” said the rattled Slayer, aghast at how the weapon had affected her. She turned to her twin. “A drink, please, Námo.”

“Of course,” he answered, strolling to the sideboard to pour her a drink.

Aulë sheathed the weapon, and placed it against the leg of the couch. “Are you alright, Luinil?” he asked with concern.

“I’m sure I will be after a good, stiff drink,” she answered, taking a seat on a vacant chair. “I don’t like that weapon. It’s unwholesome.”

“Yet it has its role to play in The End,” commented Aulë, slumping back down onto the sofa.

“It’s Melkor’s bane,” added Irmo, taking a seat beside the Smith.

Buffy found it difficult to take her eyes off the blade, in spite of the ominous vibes that emitted from it.

She forced herself to look away, shifting her gaze to Aulë. “I wanna thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the years, all the beautiful things you’ve made, especially Folkvang. I loved Sussrúmnir, my home away from home,” she said in a faraway voice.

“It gladdens me to know that you appreciate the fruit of my labors, though my heart tells me that Sussrúmnir still stands,” he answered.

“Barely,” she answered in that same distant tone. Although the Slayer had not returned to her Blessed Realm, she could picture it in her mind’s eye. “Many of the wings have been destroyed, burned. My temple is in ruins, the whole isle is surrounded by a lake of burning flames.”

Námo handed his sister her drink. “I hope this is strong enough.”

By the smell of the clear beverage, it most certainly was. “Thanks,” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie, and taking a sip of the potent drink.

Once everybody had taken their seats, Buffy turned to her twin and asked, “So, what’s going on with Túrin? Has his body been remade?”

“Yes,” answered Námo with a nod. “He is waiting for you, elsewhere.”

“Then I guess it’s nearly time,” she said, nervously swirling the clear liquor in her glass.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied glumly.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” spoke up Aulë, his dark eyes scanning his brethren in the room.

The others took his cue and began to rise from their seats.

“There’s no need,” the Slayer said to her kinfolk. “There’s no need for secrecy any more, is there?” She turned to Aulë. “Unless you want them gone.”

“I would feel more at ease if they were. I would rather like to speak with you alone.”

“Oh, okay. I’ve got no problem with that.”

Immediately, her siblings left their seats. As they made their way toward the door, Irmo said, “We’ll be just outside the door.”

“Thank you, my friends,” said Aulë, offering his fellow kinsmen a quick smile. As soon as the Vala Queen’s siblings had left the chamber, the Smith turned his full attention to her. “Will you come and sit beside me?” he asked, patting the empty cushion to his left.

“Of course,” she answered, joining the Vala Lord on the sofa.

Aulë appeared anxious, as he fiddled with the long, gold chain draped around his neck. “Have you ever wondered how things would have been if you had entered Eä with us, at the beginning?” He shifted his gaze to the Slayer, eager to hear her response.

Buffy took a sip of her drink; the penetrating eyes of the Vala Lord made her feel uncomfortable. She had had a feeling he’d want to bring up the past, their past especially, a topic that filled her with dread.

After a long pause, she finally replied with a firm, “No. I wish… I wish I had never come. I never wanted to come here. I’ve known no peace since I entered Eä.”

The Vala Lord sighed heavily. “And I deem that we are partially to blame for that. We never meant to cause you any pain or grief.”

“I know that, now. But, back then, I didn’t,” she confessed. She snickered. “I used to blame you guys for all my woes, pictured you all suffering like I did, wanting you to know the same grief I had to endure… ”

“Perhaps you envisioned this time, the End of Days, and the sorrow that has befallen us all. Bitter it is to drink from the cup of woe!”

She locked eyes with the Vala. “I am the cup of woe,” she declared.

“That’s not true,” he contested. “You are the epitome of love, and without you, the world would know no joy.”

She snorted. “Happiness will return to the world again, even with me not in it.”

“I cannot see that,” whispered Aulë, furrowing his brows.

“I can,” she answered. “The world will be healed, as will its inhabitants. In time.”

It was now Aulë who snickered at her comments. “In time, eh?” he repeated, knowing the Slayer’s aversion to those two little words.

They both fell quiet. Buffy continued to sip on her drink as the Vala Lord watched her with his scrutinizing eyes.

“We never had a chance, did we?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

The Slayer lifted her head, meeting his gaze once again. “It wasn’t our destiny. You have Yavanna. She needs you.”

Holding her gaze, the Vala Lord replied, “Yavanna never loved me the way you had,” he answered softly. “She can be critical, especially when it comes to my woodcraft.” His voice grew louder, revealing his annoyance. “She has this unnatural affinity for trees and abhors it when I use wood in my work. For the love of Eru, there are times when that woman of mine guises herself as a tree, and stands out in the garden for decades on end! How queer a thing is that?”

Though Aulë was speaking from the heart, sharing his innermost heartfelt feelings with Buffy, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Whether it was hearing him use the term ‘queer’ or the fact that she could picture Yavanna in tree form, she didn’t quite know.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I don’t mean to laugh at your… misfortune.”

“Misfortune, indeed,” he replied with a snort. “I have, many times, thought about what it was that attracted me to Yavanna long ago. We do not have much in common other than our love for Arda. I imagine that is the same for you and Melkor, that you do not have much in common.”

Buffy’s mirth ceased the moment the Vala mentioned Melkor’s name. She shifted her eyes toward Gurthang, dismayed that Aulë had to bring up the subject of Morgoth.

Seeing her reaction baffled the Vala Lord. “You do not have anything in common, do you?”

The Slayer finished the last of her drink. “We have things in common that very few can understand,” she replied thoughtfully. “He wasn’t always evil. You know that, Aulë.”

“Melkor’s descent into darkness happened long ago. He only knows evil.”

“If that’s so, then does that make me evil too?” she queried in a small voice. “No one knows me better than he.”

“I do not believe that, not for one moment,” challenged the Vala Lord.

“Believe it,” she answered resolutely. “He’s always been there - ”

“ - Causing mayhem and mischief!” interjected Aulë, before she could finish her sentence.

“He’s saved me more than you ever did! More than any of my brethren had!” she spat, her eyes narrowed in anger. “He doesn’t so easily believe the lies, the tales that have been spun about me. He loves me!”

The sudden volatile change in the Vala Queen’s demeanor left Aulë taken aback. He now thought that perhaps she did have some things in common with Melkor, namely her temperament. Her outburst left him momentarily speechless. He sat there, staring at her with his jaw agape.

“Forgive me if I have crossed a line. It was not my intent to drum up any hostility,” he answered, somewhat defensively. “I do not look upon you, Luinil, with contempt, but surely you must see that Melkor is nothing but evil incarnate.”

An irate Buffy leapt to her feet. “What’s the point in having this conversation?!” she barked with disdain. “Melkor will be dead in few hours time. Problem solved. You guys won’t have him to worry about any more. You’ll be free.”

She went to leave the room, but Aulë jumped up, and grabbed her by the arm. In one swift motion, he spun her around so that she now faced him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place. “Please, Bella!” he said, nearly distraught. “Do not leave like this. I could not live with myself knowing that we parted on such bad terms. I am truly sorry if I offended you and disregarded your feelings.” He looked at her with his sorrowful eyes. “You are right; too few understand your relationship with Melkor. I have overstepped my boundary and hope you will forgive me.”

“I don’t want to leave this way either,” she replied, her facial expression softening. “I don’t want to speak about Melkor any more.”

“Alright. We shall talk about something else then,” he suggested hopefully.

The Slayer shook her head. “I need to go. But, we’re okay. All is forgiven.”

“Please! Do not hurry off. We can have a drink together,” he proposed in the same hopeful voice.

“I can’t. The sooner I get this over with the better,” she answered. “I just ask one thing of you Aulë. Make me a promise. Can you do that?”

“Anything, Luinil. I will promise you anything,” he answered eagerly.

“Promise me that you’ll stop looking upon the Noldor with scorn, especially Fëanor and his sons. They’ve all suffered enough. It’s time to start over with a clean slate. Can you do that? Can you do that last thing for me?”

The Vala Lord dropped his arms to his sides, not expecting that would be her last request of him. “I will.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt if you would teach them more stuff. Work with them again. Invite them to your Halls as you once did,” she added.

“Well, now you’re just pushing me to the limits!”

Buffy smiled at his remarks. “I’m a woman. That’s what we do.”

“Indeed!” Aulë laughed heartily. “Perhaps now I see the similarities between you and Yavanna.”

“Maybe,” she replied with a shrug. “Just so you know - I never had a beef with her. It was she that came after me. And I’m no wuss. I’m not about to take anyone’s shit. I could’ve snapped her neck like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“You are the Valië of War, who would expect anything less?”

“Your wife,” she said with a chortle. There was an awkward pause then Buffy added, “You take care of yourself. And I really appreciate all the pretty things you’ve made for me over the years. They did bring me great joy.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Farewell to you, my old friend.” He took her hand in both of his. “May you find the peace you have so desperately searched for.” He kissed the back of her hand.

“Take care,” she repeated. She turned and started for the door.

“Maranwë?” he shouted.

The Valië looked over her shoulder. “Huh?”

“Gurthang,” he said, bringing her the sword. “You’ll need this, or rather, Túrin will.”

“Thanks,” she answered, taking the weapon from the Vala Lord.

“One more thing,” Aulë added. “I really appreciate the love and friendship you have shown my children, the Naugrim. Not many of our brethren have taken a liking to them the way you have. They deem them uncouth.”

“What the hell do they know, right?” she replied with a chuckle. “I loved your children. They’re good people, and loyal as hell. I imagine they get that from you, Mahal.”

The Vala Lord beamed when he heard Buffy use his dwarvish name. “Farewell to you, Lady Freya. You may be leaving this world, but your mark will remain on it. We will praise your name in glory.”

“I’d like that,” she responded, giving him one last smile before she turned and left the chamber.

The Slayer joined her siblings in the passageway before setting off to the room where the son of Húrin was waiting.



A restless Túrin paced the small room to which he had been confined, thinking that his time for revenge was finally upon him. He had waited for this moment for years untold, honored that he was chosen to deliver the fatal blow to Morgoth Bauglir, his bitterest of foes. It was that knowledge that kept him from slipping over the brink of insanity, even in the afterlife. Tragic had been his mortal life, the Dark Lord haunting his every step, twisting every good deed into something wicked, particularly where Nienor Níniel, his sister, was concerned. He would like nothing more than to restore his sullied name and to kill Morgoth would be his greatest triumph, for he would be ridding the world of the most calculating and malicious creature to ever set foot in Arda.

As soon as Námo had remade his body, the son of Húrin regularly worked out with the Vala’s Maiar, eager to strengthen his limbs and his mind. He had learned of the Dark Lord’s fall at the end of the First Age, and his subsequent return into Eä, after having been cast out into the Void. Túrin was not at all surprised to hear that Morgoth had found a way back, as he deemed that no Power, save Ilúvatar himself, could hinder the malice that reeked from the evil Vala. He viewed the Dark Foe as a plague upon the goodly races in the world, and as such, both his body and soul had to be completely destroyed or else the Lord of Darkness would somehow find his way back and continue to spread his deceit and cruelty upon the inhabitants of Arda.

Though Túrin didn’t exactly know how things would go down, he had been told that a Vala would accompany him, to assist him on his most noble of errands. The Maiar of Mandos were not forthcoming in revealing the identity of the Vala, and it took much prodding on the Adan’s part to finally get them to disclose that bit of information. Túrin was stunned to discover that it was none other than the Valië of Love and War, the same Vala that had delivered the Edain from evil back in the dark days of Mesopotamia.

While he had learned some from his father about the legacy of Inanna Ishtar in the East, most of what he knew came from the elves of Menegroth and Nargothrond, who always referred to her by the name they had given her - Bellaseth Dagnir. Túrin had never met the Valië, though he had seen paintings and statues of her when he dwelt in Doriath. Both Thingol and Melian had spoken highly of her, and reckoned that she had a couple of things in common with the Adan - she too was a mighty warrior (perhaps even the mightiest!), and she had also been cursed by the Dark Lord. He assumed that was why she had been chosen (like he), to aid in the death of Morgoth, for her life had been doomed much like his own.

His heart began to beat rapidly as the door to the small chamber started to open. He stopped, fixing his gaze on the entryway. In walked Námo, followed by Nienna, (who had come to Túrin soon after his arrival in Mandos, to counsel him and give him comfort). Two others walked in behind them. He was unsure of who the man was, but immediately noticed that the woman cloaked in blue was none other than Bellaseth Dagnir.

Following protocol, he dropped to one knee. “My Lords. Ladies,” he said, bowing his head in reverence to the Powers.

“Good evening, Túrin,” greeted the Lord of Mandos. “You may rise.”

The Adan complied.

“I would like to introduce you to two of my siblings that you have not yet had the honor to meet,” continued Námo. “This in Irmo, Lord of Lórien,” he said, motioning towards his brother.

Túrin nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“And this is my sister, Maranwë Luinil,” he went on, motioning to his twin.

“Maranwë Luinil,” whispered the Adan, not at all familiar with her first name.

“Bella,” spoke up Buffy, as she stepped deeper into the room. “Call me Bella.”

The Adan nodded his head, but found himself unable to take his wide-eyes off the Slayer. His brows automatically shot up, as he surveyed the Vala of Love and War, taken aback by how tiny she was. Her size left him perplexed, and it showed on his face. Túrin couldn’t understand how this small woman could possibly be the acclaimed warrior he had heard about, or how she could match the strength of one as mighty as Morgoth Bauglir.

Túrin’s reaction did not go unnoticed. “Yeah, yeah,” Buffy said with a laugh. “I’m not at all what you expected, am I?”

The Adan nervously cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed that she could so easily read him. “Forgive me, my Lady,” he answered, bowing his head yet again. “It’s just that… you are very small… and dainty.”

“Dainty?” the Slayer laughed, looking to her siblings. “I haven’t been called dainty in a very long time.” Amused, she turned her gaze back to the Adan. “I already like you, Túrin,” she continued, surveying the man. “You look like your mother’s people. I can see the blood of Bëor in you.” Her smile widened. “And that’s a good thing! I’ve always had a special love for those from the First House.” Not wanting the man to feel that she was disrespecting his paternal bloodline, she quickly added, “Though I have nothing against those from the House of Hador, and many from that noble line dwelt in my kingdom, Folkvang, including your father. I am a lover of all the Edain.”

“That is all well and good,” answered Túrin, “but that does not change that fact that you are so small. I cannot understand how you can rival Morgoth in strength or might, even though you are kinsmen.”

“Do not underestimate Bella’s abilities, son of Húrin,” replied Námo. “Looks can be deceiving. There is more to my sister than meets the eye.”

“And there is no one else in all the world that knows Melkor as well as she,” added Nienna.

Buffy approached the Adan. “Do you know why my appearance is as it is?” she asked, making a sweeping gesture of her body with her free hand (the other still clutched Gurthang).

Túrin shook his head.

“Because I don’t intimidate the enemy with my size. That makes them underestimate me. That makes me more deadly.” She chuckled. “While that might not work with Melkor, I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Together, we’ll get the job done. Promise.”

With his tone riddled with doubt, Túrin replied, “If you say so, my Lady… ”

“Bella,” she corrected. “Just Bella.”

“Alright, Bella,” the Adan answered. He took a deep breath and then said, “What happens next? Where will this final battle take place? What is my part in it? How am I…”

“Whoa! Hold your horses there,” said Buffy, cutting off the man’s many questions. “One at a time, one at a time.” She looked up into Túrin’s eyes. “You and I will be going to my mystical realm, Folkvang, and that is where… ” She paused, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She then whispered, “That is where it will take place.” The Vala Queen could feel her stomach becoming queasy at the notion of her time in Arda ending. She lifted the sheathed blade in her hand. “Gurthang shall soon taste Vala blood.”

“My sword,” uttered Túrin. A mournful look came to his face as he looked upon the sheathed weapon.

Seeing the look of sadness on his face, Buffy placed her hand comfortingly on his arm. “You, Túrin, will avenge not only you and your kin, but all those that have suffered tragically at the hands of Morgoth.”

He raised his gaze, searching the eyes of the Vala Queen.

“It is no longer my past that grieves me, Bella,” he answered somberly. “It is my future.”

Buffy took the Adan’s hand. “Your future will be brighter than anything you’ve ever known. That’s a promise.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeezed. “It’s time for us to go.”

She then turned to her siblings. “Well, I guess this is it.”

Nienna buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

The Slayer could see the anguish on both Námo’s and Irmo’s faces, but they didn’t cry. She then said her final farewells to her siblings, before vanishing from the chamber with Túrin at her side…