Full Circle

Only a second later, Buffy and Túrin reappeared in the Hall of Judgment in Sussrúmnir. Her eyes did a swift survey of the massive room. She was quite surprised to see that everything within the chamber remained untouched by the enemy. The room was dead silent, the only light coming from the two burning vats of flame at the bottom of the dais.

“Normally, my Valkyrie chieftains would greet me, and garb me in my ceremonial attire,” the Vala Queen announced in a somber voice, which echoed within the enormous chamber. “But, my heart tells me that they didn’t survive the battle.”

“I’m - ”

“Bella?” another voice queried from somewhere within the room, stopping the Adan mid-sentence.

Both she and Túrin turned toward the sound.

Daeron was peeking around a tall marble pedestal situated next to the wall at the back of the hall. A look of relief immediately came to his face. He ran across the chamber saying, “Oh God, Bella! I’m so glad you’re finally back!”

“Daeron,” she said in shock, surprised to see that the Sinda still lived.

The Elf threw his arms around Buffy, nearly knocking her off balance. He clung to her, while trying to catch his breath. “I’m a coward, I know,” he said, his tone revealing his shame. “This was the only room in all of Sussrúmnir that the enemy would not dare enter. I’ve been hiding in here since the onslaught. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for my cowardice?”

The Vala Queen pulled out of the embrace, but still clutched Daeron’s arms. “You’re no coward! You did the right thing.”

“The enemies numbers are great, the likes I’ve never seen before!” he exclaimed in a panicky voice. “The mountain gates on the mainland have been opened, the Deeper Well emptied. The enemy crashed over the island in a bloody wave!”

The Slayer shuddered when she heard that.

“They’ve slaughtered our people! Even the Valkyries are dead!” His eyes darted to Túrin. “The Edain, the Edain did not survive either. Tingilindë has been destroyed. Most of Folkvang is engulfed in flame! Sussrúmnir barely stands!”

“Calm down, Daeron. Calm down,” Buffy said, trying her best to put the Elf at ease.

“How can I calm down when all whom I love are dead and everything now lies in ruins?” asked the grief-stricken Sinda. “It is over! The black clouds have devoured our fair lands. The darkness will take us all!”

Whack!

The Vala Queen slapped the Elf in an attempt to calm him down.

Daeron, slightly dazed, stared blankly at the Slayer for a few seconds, his trembling hand reaching for his stinging cheek.

“Chill!” she barked, grabbing hold of his forearms once again. “I’m back. I’ll take care of things. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing’s gonna happen to you! I promise.”

“But… but… ” Daeron stammered.

“Come,” she continued, pulling him along to one of the benches set against the wall. “Sit!” she ordered, helping him onto the seat. “Look at me.”

The Sinda looked up into Buffy’s green eyes.

She waved her hand in front of his face, uttering a single word, “Sleep.”

The Elf immediately nodded off.

“Why did you do that?” asked Túrin, now standing over the Slayer’s shoulder.

“Because he wasn’t calming down,” she answered, before turning, and facing the Adan. “Besides, we have much to talk about and Daeron will only be a distraction,” she continued, as she made her way over to the sideboard.

Túrin remained behind, staring curiously at the sleeping Elf.

“Is this not the same Elda of Doriath? The minstrel of Thingol?” he queried thoughtfully.

“It is,” replied Buffy, as she propped Gurthang against the table before pouring them both a glass of wine.

“Legend has it that he wandered into the wilds in search of Lúthien, and was lost,” continued the son of Húrin.

“That’s true,” answered the Slayer. “That is, until I found him and gave him a new home. He ended up here, as my minstrel.” She paused. Looking up, she cocked her head, listening hard. She sadly added, “This is the first time that there’s been no music in my Halls, no love songs being sung.”

The Adan walked over to Buffy, who appeared crestfallen. “Should we not fight back?”

Túrin’s voice startled the Vala Queen.

She jumped with a start.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” apologized the son of Húrin.

“I’m a little on edge,” she responded with a snort. Buffy gave a quick shake of her head, before placing the bottle in her hand back on the sideboard. She faced the Adan, handing him his drink. “Let’s sit and talk awhile.”

Túrin nodded in reply, following the Slayer to a comfortable looking blue and gold settee.

They sat down, each taking a sip of the drink.

“You had mentioned earlier that my father was here,” the Adan said. “Is he still here?”

“Only his hröa, I’m afraid,” the Valië sighed, leaning against the back cushion of the seat. “Your father’s spirit has left my realm. He now resides in Mandos with the rest of his kin.” She shifted her gaze to the Adan. “Well, except for you.”

“So he is dead then.”

Buffy slowly nodded. “Yes. Other than Daeron, only one more still lives in Folkvang.”

Túrin fixed his eyes on the Slayer. “And who might that be?”

“Sargon, my beloved still lives,” she revealed, turning away from the Adan’s penetrating gaze. “He hangs on to life by a thread,” she continued in a softer voice, “waiting for me.” The Slayer fell quiet, her eyes beginning to well with tears. After a moment or two, she shook off her melancholy. “I don’t want to talk about him any more,” she added, sipping her drink once again.

The Adan realized that Sargon was a sore subject with the Vala Queen. He too took a drink of his wine, waiting for her to direct the topic of conversation.

After several minutes had passed, the Slayer asked, “Do you know why you’ve been chosen to carry out the deed, Túrin?”

He pondered her question for a bit before answering. “I deem it was because Morgoth had cursed me in life.”

She snickered. “You’re not the only one he had cursed,” she replied, turning toward the Adan. “Personally, I would’ve chosen your father as executioner. His torments were great… ”

“Perhaps,” interjected a disheartened Túrin. “But my father’s doom was unlike my own.” He paused, biting his quivering bottom lip. “He did not wed his sister.”

Buffy grimaced when the Adan said that, feeling his pain. “Good point,” she replied. Seeing the look of dismay on his face she quickly added, “You didn’t know. Neither of you knew.”

“That does not change what happened. I unknowingly wed and impregnated Nienor.”

“Unknowingly is the key word there,” remarked the Slayer, emphasizing the word ‘unknowingly.’

Túrin turned his solemn grey eyes to the floor, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Do you think you’re the only one that unknowingly had an incestuous relationship?”

The Adan looked back at the Slayer, his brows raised in question.

She nodded her head.

“You?” he queried in disbelief. “You had an… ”

“Don’t say it!” she interjected, not wanting him to say the word ‘incestuous.’ Sighing heavily, she went on. “I mean, it was a really, really long time ago. And despite the rumors that have persisted over time, it wasn’t with Námo.”

“I’ve heard that. I’ve heard that you and Námo… ” the Adan didn’t say any more, leaving his comment there.

“Yeah, well, I think that was started by Morgoth, or maybe, Sauron. I’m not too sure which one was behind that, but people still believe it.” She took another sip of wine, as Túrin waited expectantly for the rest of her story.

Resigned into revealing more, she continued. “It was my grandson,” she confessed. “Granted, I didn’t know he was my grandson at the time… ” She paused, shuddering at the memory. “And to make things worse, it wasn’t the result of some curse or anything.” Buffy locked eyes with Túrin. “Unfortunately, I had a tendency to go through what I call cycles of promiscuity, and ended up bedding my… ” The Slayer stopped, shuddering once again.

“How could you not know he was your grandson?” asked the perplexed Adan.

“My son, my mortal son, slept with a lot of women. Some were only one night stands.” She shrugged. “Needless to say, I happened to have an… encounter with one of his children. Like I said, I didn’t know he was a blood relative.”

“How did you find out?” asked Túrin, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“Luthor,” she answered. “My father-figure. He could see what I could not.”

The Adan looked at Buffy with a baffled expression.

“When one is blinded by passion, they don’t see what should be very obvious to them,” she continued. “When I found out - I high-tailed it back home, and swore off men, or, at least, mortal men, after that. It definitely put an end to my promiscuous ways, that’s for sure.” She took another sip of her drink. “I’ve stuck with elves since then.”

“My heart was won by an elf-maid,” Túrin said wistfully. “Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth.” The Adan stared into space, remembering his time in Nargothrond long ago. “If only I had not been so headstrong, perhaps things would have gone much differently.”

“Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve. It doesn’t really matter any more, does it?” remarked the Slayer brazenly.

The Adan found her comments slightly offensive, almost as if she was mocking his love for the elleth. He slowly turned toward her, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, a frown on his ruggedly handsome face.

“Oh, come on, Túrin,” she said upon seeing his expression. “The past is the past. We can’t change it. We can only hope to learn from it. You and Finduilas will get a second chance at love. There’s no need to get pissy with me.”

“Pissy?” he queried, not wholly understanding what she meant by that.

“Attitude,” she drawled. “I don’t have time for that.”

“I would think a Vala would not be so crass.”

She snickered. “You obviously haven’t been around any of the Valar for long periods of time, have you?” He went to answer, but the Slayer abruptly spoke up before he could. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“I would think that you would be overjoyed that this day has finally arrived, that Morgoth is finally going to get what is coming to him,” stated the Adan. “I cannot understand why you seem so hostile, especially towards me.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered derisively, as she rose to her feet. “This is a glorious day, isn’t it?” Buffy made her way over to the sideboard with her empty glass in hand. “I suppose that all depends on whose perspective you view things from. The Edain, the Eldar, the Ainur will most certainly rejoice at the death of Morgoth. I imagine that December twelfth will be a day of celebration for many years to come.”

She popped the cork on the wine bottle and began to fill her glass as the Adan looked on.

“And is that not a good thing? Should we not celebrate the death of the Dark Foe who knows only evil in that black heart of his?” queried Túrin.

Though several feet separated the Slayer from the Adan, she turned, facing him once again. “And, of course, you think that Melkor Bauglir doesn’t understand that concept of love or compassion, that he knows only cruelty and hatred… ”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” interjected Túrin, rising from his seat. He looked incredulously at the Vala Queen. “Surely you must be jesting. Morgoth is the epitome of evil. He knows of nothing else and is ruled by his hatred and contempt for others. He is the despoiler of all in Arda, whether it be the works of your kindred or the Children of Ilúvatar.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she answered, uncompromising in tone.

Túrin was aghast. “I fear that you have been beguiled by the Enemy, for how else could one come to his defense?” he queried in disbelief.

“And who are you, son of Húrin, to make such a judgment on one whom you’ve never met?”

The Adan stared wide-eyed at the Valië for a few moments before bursting into laughter. “Yes, you are jesting!” he laughed in his amusement.

Buffy remained unmoved, looking at the mortal with a straight face.

When Túrin noticed the Slayer’s expression, his laughter died down. “What? Surely, you cannot be serious!” he remarked in the same incredulous tone that he had spoken in only moments before. “He’s the Dark Lord, a menace unto the world! How could anyone defend such a wicked creature?”

The Slayer took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and slowly exhaled as she took several steps toward the dais. “You don’t know my history with Melkor, do you?” She stopped, waiting for the Adan’s answer.

“I am aware that you have contested his will throughout the ages of the world, hampering him and his followers every - ”

“No!” she interjected, her eyes fixed on the burning vats of flame. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then I do not know what you speak of,” he answered, taking a few steps forward.

After a long pause, the Vala Queen proclaimed, “I love him.”

Though she spoke softly, her words reverberated within the chamber, leaving Túrin speechless. He stood there with his mouth agape, shocked to hear that any could love such a fiend.

“He was not born evil,” the Slayer continued. She slowly turned, facing the Adan. “I made him that way.”

“You?!” Túrin replied in a stunned voice. “I cannot believe that,” he added with a shake of his head. “I do not believe that!”

“It’s true,” she answered somberly. “I was the reason for his… metamorphosis. I had betrayed him, awakened his jealousy and wrath towards, not only me, but also my kinsmen.”

“How could that be?” queried the flabbergasted Adan. “What could you possibly have done to bring about such a dramatic transformation of the mightiest of the Valar?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she replied. “I am the Vala of Love, after all. Use your head, Túrin. It’s not rocket science.”

The Adan looked deeply into the Valië’s eyes and, like in a dream, he saw visions of her past. When the images stopped, he stood there for a moment, digesting all he had seen.

“Your heart was turned to another,” he said in a mere whisper.

“That was my folly,” he answered sadly.

“NO!” he said in protest. Sensing the Slayer’s guilt, he quickly dashed to her side. “It was not your fault, my dear Lady, for it was Morgoth that abandoned you! He left you!”

“I should have waited,” she moaned. “I should’ve waited for him to return.”

“NO!” Túrin countered again. “He should have stayed! He had found what he was looking for but was too thick to see it. As you said, sometimes our passions blind us to what is right before us, what we’ve been searching for. Do not carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders any more. That burden should be on Morgoth, and rightly so, if you ask me.”

The Adan placed his hand on her shoulder, offering her comfort.

Buffy turned her gaze to her glass, feeling the tears forming in her eyes.

“I now see that there was love between you and him, Bella,” continued Túrin. “It was wrong of me to doubt your feelings, or his, for that matter. I merely find it strange that Morgoth could love anyone other than himself, but also understand how easily he could fall in love with someone like you. Your fey exudes love and compassion - two qualities that are far too rare in the world nowadays, or so I’ve been told.”

The Vala Queen lifted her head, staring up into the grey eyes of the Adan.

“Thank you,” she answered, giving him a quick smile. The Slayer took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Because of my love for Melkor, our fates are bound together. I will be with him at the end, though bitter it will be.”

Túrin furrowed his brows, not wholly comprehending the meaning of her words.

She forced herself to smile again. “Come with me, son of Húrin,” she continued, motioning with her head. She led the Adan to the dais, stopping between the two vats. “These contain what Melkor has been searching for - the holy Light of Ilúvatar.”

“The Imperishable Flame,” whispered the Adan in awe, staring at the flickering, bluish-white flames.

“Yes indeed. The Flames are the very essence of Eru Ilúvatar, and is a part of all life, whether that life has done good or evil,” she disclosed. “It is extremely powerful and will be useful to you.”

Túrin shifted his gaze to Buffy. “Useful? How?” he queried.

A small smile crept to the Vala Queen’s face. “Do you really think you possess the strength to kill the likes of a Vala?”

“I… I just assumed… ”

“You assumed wrong,” she said with a shake of her head. “You can’t do it alone. The Imperishable Flame is the key to your victory. It has the power to destroy a Vala’s hröa, permanently.”

“How?” asked the baffled Adan.

“You’ll see, soon enough.” The Slayer then began to ascend the steps of the dais while Túrin waited at the bottom. “I’d like to sit upon my throne one last time,” she continued morosely, looking up at her lapis lazuli chair gleaming in the firelight.

“It does not have to be the last time,” remarked Túrin, feeling a sudden heaviness upon his heart.

“I’m afraid it is,” she replied, sinking into the cushioned seat of her canopied throne. She placed her glass on the small table beside her seat before gripping the arms of the chair. She closed her eyes for a few moments, as images of upcoming events played out in her mind.

“I’m sorry that I was bitchy earlier,” she apologized, her eyes popping open. Buffy fixed her gaze on the Adan. “This day… I’ve been anticipating it for a long time… and now that it’s here… ” She paused, sighing heavily. “I don’t know…. All these emotions seem to be spewing from me. I don’t mean to be harsh. Don’t take it personally, Túrin. It’s just been…. a weird day.”

“I have waited ages for this day, the moment where I exact my revenge upon the Dark Lord for all the ills he has done, not only to me, but to all those that dwell within Eä,” confessed Túrin with an air of sadness to his voice. “But now, I find myself dreading the deed, that it is not going to be at all as I had envisioned it during my confinement in Mandos. Why is that, Bella? Why am I feeling this way?”

Instead of answering the Adan, the Valië replied wistfully with, “You know, only one mortal has ever sat upon my throne - Sargon the Magnificent, my beloved.”

Túrin looked questioningly at the Vala Queen, wondering why she was avoiding his queries.

“Come up here, son of Húrin. Today, today I grant you the honor of sitting upon my beautiful canopied throne.”

The Adan was hesitant. Never before had any asked him to sit upon such a mighty seat. It was an honor indeed!

“Come,” she said again, motioning him forward.

Túrin began to climb the steps, marveling at the spectacular chair that the Vala Queen sat upon. When he reached the top, Buffy stood, and took the glass from his hand.

“Sit, my friend, sit,” she said, moving to the side and placing his empty glass on the table beside hers.

The Adan hesitated yet again, causing Buffy to grumble under her breath. She grabbed him by the arm, spun him around and forcefully pushed him down onto the lapis lazuli chair. She placed his arms onto the rests of the chair, holding them down in place.

A look of utter horror came to Túrin’s face as visions of his deadly deed flashed in his mind. He struggled under the Slayer’s grasp, but found himself unable to overpower the small woman whose strength exceeded his own. He then went limp. Sweat poured from his forehead and neck, tears streamed down his face.

He cried out, “NOOO!” in a bellowing voice that echoed throughout the chamber.

“Shh,” said the Valië in a comforting voice, gently stroking the clammy skin of the Adan’s face. “Now you have seen with my eyes what is to be, the ending of the tale… ”

“NOOO!” he cried out again. “That cannot be!”

The Vala Queen lifted Túrin’s chin, locking eyes with him. She then spoke telepathically to the son of Húrin. Though the Adan felt horrified by what he had witnessed, he did, however, find her words soothing, offering him comfort in his moment of despair.

“There is a price for everything,” she said at last. “And I am willing to pay my part. Are you, Túrin, willing to pay yours?”

With his arm now free, he wiped the tears from his eyes, nodding in reply, unable to find his voice.

“Good,” she said, smiling warmly at the Adan. “It is nearly time, my friend. I can feel Melkor coming closer and closer. He’ll be here very soon.” She then turned and descended the steps of the dais.

Upon reaching the bottom, she quickly glanced at the sleeping form of Daeron before shifting her gaze to Gurthang. She stretched out her arm, and in a loud, commanding voice said, “Gurthang! Come to me!”

“Yes, Mistress,” the black blade answered with a hiss before soaring through the air and into her waiting hand.

She tightened her grip on the hilt, feeling her palms beginning to sweat. With her other hand she removed the sheath, staring at the flaming blade wrought by Eöl in ages past. Buffy tossed the sheath to the marble floor. Testing the sword, she made a series of slashing motions, whipping the blade through the air. Satisfied, she then placed the tip of the Gurthang into one of the vats of Flame.

“Drink in the Flames, Vala Foe, endow yourself with the essence of Ilúvatar,” she said in a commanding voice.

“Happily will I oblige thee, o’ mighty Vala Queen,” the blade hissed in reply before sucking the Flames from the vat.

The left part of the chamber fell into shadow as the Fire diminished, leaving only one vat of Imperishable Flame to illuminate the entire Hall of Judgment.

Buffy then raised the sword, turning toward the remaining vat of burning Flames. She stuck Gurthang into the Fire and repeated her previous command.

Once again, the black blade eagerly obliged, devouring all the Flames until the room went dark. The only light came from Gurthang, which now burned with a dim bluish-white light.

The Slayer picked up the sheath from the floor, and slid the sword back into its case. The chamber immediately went pitch-black.

Túrin’s eyes darted toward the double doors, despite the darkness of the room. He anticipated that the enemy might enter the Hall since the Fires that had kept them at bay had now been extinguished. Before he could voice his concern, he heard the Vala Queen clear her throat. His eyes immediately shot back to her. He looked on in awe as she exhaled golden particles of light from her lungs. The Adan’s jaw dropped, watching the tiny, glowing particles floating on the air, filling the chamber with their golden radiance.

“This light will protect you,” she finally said, slowly starting up the steps of the dais. “It’ll keep the enemy from entering this Hall.”

“What are these things, these glowing particles?” he asked, reaching out, trying to catch the golden specks that seemed to dance away from him.

“They’re part of my essence,” she answered, feeling a bit weaker. Buffy could feel those trapped within her attempting to escape, yet her strength had not waned enough for them to break free.

“You’re bleeding,” said the Adan with concern, rising to his feet.

The Slayer could feel the blood trickling from her nose. She blotted the stream with the back of her hand, uttering, “Crap” under her breath.

Túrin looked anxiously around for something to help staunch the flow. “Why don’t you sit, and hold your head back,” he suggested, helping her onto the canopied chair.

Buffy handed him Gurthang as she sat down. While the Adan continued his search, the Valië pulled the bottom of her cloak to her nose, using the blue material to stem the flow.

“Just what I need,” she grumbled, her voice muffled from the fabric covering the bottom part of her face.

“Keep your head back,” advised Túrin. “That should help.”

The Slayer eased her head back, which forced the blood to stream down her throat. She immediately began to gag. She lowered her head, coughing up the crimson fluid into her cloak.

It took several minutes for the bleeding to cease.

“I think it’s stopped,” she said, glancing at the soon-to-be stain on her blue cloak. The Vala Queen checked her nose, making sure her nosebleed had indeed stopped. Once she determined that it had, she let the material fall from her hands. She reached for the clasp around her neck. “I hate that I got this bloody. It’s at the bottom so it won’t be that bad.”

Túrin looked at the Valië with a puzzled expression.

She rose to her feet. “You’ll need to wear this,” she continued, removing the garment. “No one will mess with you while you have this on.” She offered the cloak to the Adan.

He took it, examining it closely. “It is magical then?”

“No, not really,” she answered with a shrug. “But, no one will bother you as long as you wear it.” She motioned for Túrin to sit once again. “When the clock strikes midnight, come to my rooms on the thirteenth floor. You know the way.”

Túrin’s eyes scanned the room as he answered, “What clock?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he suddenly heard a distinctive ticking sound. An enormous grandfather clock had appeared between the two empty vats at the bottom of the dais, revealing the current time: four minutes past ten.

“Oh, I take it you mean that clock,” continued the Adan without missing a beat.

The Slayer smiled, looking at the clock. She sadly mumbled, “I wish I had more time,” with a heavy sigh.

“We can hold off the inevitable,” suggested Túrin. “If you need more time… ”

She quickly turned her gaze back to the Adan, interjecting, “This has been pre-destined. The exact moment - everything. I could not undo it, even if I wanted to.” She forced another smile, looking at the man who reminded her so much of her beloved Sargon. “You know what to do, Túrin. Don’t let me down.” She leaned closer, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

As she eased back, Túrin grabbed her, stopping her. “I do not know if I can do this,” he revealed fretfully, his frantic grey eyes searching her own. “I do not think I have it in me.”

Buffy’s face hardened. She replied with, “I killed your father. I gutted him on the shores of the sea.”

A look of disbelief came to Túrin’s face. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No!”

“Yes, my friend. It was I that killed Húrin Thalion, the Steadfast and Elf-friend.” She narrowed her eyes. “Use that! Use that when the time comes.” She then stood upright. “Farewell, Túrin. May you see better days in this next life.”

Buffy turned, and descended the steps, leaving a dumbfounded Túrin behind. She crossed the chamber over to Daeron.

“Wake up, my friend,” she whispered, caressing the Elf’s cheek.

Daeron’s head shot up, his eyes quickly coming into focus. “Bella, wh- what happened?” he stammered.

“It’s time for us to go,” she said, taking him by the hand and helping him to his feet.

“I… I don’t understand,” he answered in his confusion.

“I want to hear music in my Halls one last time, and who better than Daeron, the fairest minstrel in all of Arda, to serenade me on this day.”

“But… but the enemy!” he said in panicky voice. “The enemy will kill us!”

“No they won’t, sweetie. They’ve been waiting for this, waiting for us.” She led him across the chamber to the double doors. Without giving Túrin a second look, she and the Elf left the Hall of Judgment for the last time.

They had only taken a few steps into the corridor when the enemy, Maiar of Melkor Bauglir, had them surrounded. Some had taken upon a monstrous form, while others looked rather pleasing to the eye, a mere disguise that hid their true wicked nature.

A terrified Daeron clung to the Vala Queen’s arm, fearful that he was about to meet his grisly demise. His jaw went agape when the foes dropped to their knees, bowed their heads in reverence, and proclaimed in unison, “Hail Inanna, Queen of Darkness!”

“Good evening, my friends. Welcome back,” she said in greeting, stunning Daeron with her words.

One from the score of demons raised his head, and in a hoarse voice said, “Blessed be this day. We thank you, o’ great Inanna Queen, for releasing us from our prison.”

“You’re most certainly welcome. Please, rise,” she continued in her queenly voice.

The wicked Maiar then rose to their feet and looked at Daeron for a moment, wondering if he was yet another lover that needed to be killed, as they could smell fear emitting from the Elf.

As if reading their minds, the Valië said, “Daeron is my minstrel and shall sing in honor of my Lord’s return. Do not give him any grief or you will contend with my wrath.”

“Of course, my Lady,” answered the handsome spokesman for the group with a nod of his head. He turned to one of his henchmen and in his gravelly voice barked, “Take the Elf to the thirteenth floor!”

“Right away, my Lord,” answered a skeletal-looking creature covered in dry, flaky skin with fiery red eyes.

“Bella!” cried out Daeron nervously as the monster gripped his arm.

“It’s okay, Daeron. No one will harm you. I promise.”

“But… but where are you going? Are you not coming with me?” he queried anxiously, as he was being led away.

“I’ll join you shortly. I have something - ” she paused, turning to the demonic spokesman of the group for a moment before fixing her gaze back on the Elf Lord, “I have something to attend to, then I’ll be up.”

The demon gripping Daeron’s arm took off down the corridor with the Sinda in tow.

The demonic spokesman then went to introduce himself. “I am - ”

“ - Malphas,” said Buffy, cutting off the handsome Maia’s words. “I know.”

The demon smiled at her remembering his name. “Then it is true, the Veil has been lifted?” he asked in an astonished voice.

The Slayer looked incredulously at Malphas for a second or two. “Is not my breaking the Door of Night evidence of that, or the fact that you still live after destroying my kingdom?”

The Maia chuckled in that gravelly voice of his. “You speak truly!” he replied. His tone immediately turned serious. “Then you know what you must now do, my Queen.”

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I do.”

The wicked demon smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “This way, my Lady. This way,” he said, motioning toward the corridor in the opposite direction that Daeron had gone.

As Buffy walked through the halls, she looked around with a heavy heart at the state of her sanctuary. Dead bodies of both friend and foe littered the floor. Blood and innards were splattered and smeared on the once gleaming white walls. Gaping holes were in some of the barriers, allowing her to see into the adjoining chambers and the carnage that lay within. It was a tragic sight for the Vala Queen to behold, but one she had foreseen many years ago.

Their feet crunched on the broken glass that covered the floor as they continued on their way. Down some of the corridors, the rooms from above had broken asunder, collapsing on each level below. Entire wings of the castle had been demolished in the battle, and to the victor had gone the spoils. Melkor’s men were rifling through her possessions, taking her treasures for their own.

She and Malphas had climbed up several flights of stairs in the only part of Sussrúmnir that remained intact and in perfect condition. With each step that she took, her feet became like lead blocks. The feeling of dread weighed down on her, knowing that in only a few minutes time, she’d have to commit the most heinous act of all - the killing of her beloved Sargon.

But he’ll be the last one, she thought to herself. Sargon will be the last one.

There was a moment during that trek through her Halls when she had second thoughts, when she thought of slaying her companion and waging war against the numerous foes of Morgoth with only Túrin at her side. However, that thought was fleeting, for she knew that she had to face her doom with the utmost courage or the entire world would fall into the abyss of despair.

At last, they had reached their destination - the healing quarters of Sussrúmnir. Buffy found it somewhat ironic that her last feat would happen in such a place. She tried to convince herself that her actions would actually release her beloved from his torments and the unconscionable suffering she knew he had already experienced at the hands of Melkor’s minions.

The corridor was packed with the enemy, who were gleefully waiting for the Valië’s arrival. They reminded her of carrion fowl, waiting eagerly for the death of one whose flesh they longed to devour.

You can do this, she thought to herself, feeling her palms becoming sweaty. Be strong! You have to be strong!

The demons moved aside, making a pathway for both her and Malphas. The beastly creatures bowed their heads, uttering her praises as she walked by.

Buffy felt her mouth go dry. Her heart began to beat frantically in her chest. She wiped the trickle of sweat that ran down the side of her face with the back of her hand, noticing that she was now trembling. Terror was beginning to seize hold of her. The last meal she had eaten churned uncomfortably within her stomach.

One of the monsters flung open the door to the room occupied by a dying Sargon.

The Slayer paused, taking a deep breath before entering the chamber.

Malphas gave her a little nudge forward. She turned toward the Maia, who smiled encouragingly at her, his dark, piercing eyes glinting with the malice in his heart.

“For Melkor,” she said in a throaty whisper.

“For Melkor,” he replied, ushering her into the chamber of horrors.

Several beastly creatures surrounded the table on which her lover lay, obscuring her view.

“Step aside for the Queen!” demanded Malphas.

The demonic creatures immediately scurried away from the table, leaving a bloody trail of footprints in their wake.

The Slayer gasped, causing her guide to give her a menacing look with his narrowed eyes.

She coughed in an attempt to conceal her shock.

Lying upon a long wooden table was Sargon. His badly beaten, naked body was held in place by iron rods inserted beneath his shoulders and in his hips. His arms, which from the looks of it had been broken, had been tied at the wrists and were stretched awkwardly over his head. His feet had also been bound, one overlapping the other. An iron rod penetrated both, firmly fixing his lower limbs to the table’s surface. Welts and gashes covered his glistening muscular body, as the enemy chose to torment him with barbed whips. Blood drained from his many wounds, trickling over the edge of the table into small pools of crimson on the marble floor. His breathing was shallow, raspy, as he struggled to take each breath. In actuality, his injuries were far worse than what the Slayer could see.

“Leave us!” she commanded in a low voice, her body trembling even more than before.

“But, my Lady,” Malphas began to protest.

She turned her narrowed eyes to the evil Maia at her side. “You will get your sacrifice,” she hissed angrily. “But I will carry out the deed, alone.”

Malphas glared at her for a moment. His lips then turned upward into a lopsided grin. “As you wish,” he answered, bowing his head. He then shifted his gaze to his comrades. “Out, you scumbags!” he shouted to his henchmen. “The Queen can deal with her quarry without the likes of you!”

The nefarious foes hastily made a beeline for the exit. One of the beasts offered her his whip, something she rejected.

“You too, Malphas. Leave us,” she said after all the others had left the room.

“Yes, my Queen,” he replied happily, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as she heard the door latch, she ran to Sargon’s side, nearly slipping on the slick floor. She reached for the table’s edge to keep her from falling. Once she had steadied herself, she was able to see the extent of the Adan’s injuries. She winced upon seeing a few of his ribs sticking through his skin on the other side of his body, something she hadn’t noticed from the other end of the room.

Slowly, Sargon turned his head toward her. “I… I knew… you would… come,” he said in a weak voice, struggling to speak each word.

Buffy stroked his sticky forehead, her heart breaking as she looked into his bleary eyes. All she could do was nod, stifling back her tears.

“I… I remember,” he continued in gasps. “I… I know… who I am… who I really… am.”

“I know. I remember too, Menelwë,” she answered, still caressing his face.

He licked his parched lips. “I am… Vala,” he gurgled.

And indeed he was. Like Luinil, Sargon was, in fact, a Vala, a Vala who had been sent to Middle-earth by Eru Ilúvatar, and had been born unto mortal parents. He too had remained in the Timeless Halls after most of their kinfolk had descended into Eä ages ago. It was Menelwë who had brought her comfort and eased her sorrow after Melkor’s departure. He had become her constant companion and lover until Ilúvatar deemed that Buffy had to enter the world to fulfill her destiny.

Menelwë had watched in despair all that had transpired in his beloved’s life in Arda. He had voiced his concern to the Allfather numerous times, beseeching Eru to permit his descent into Eä so that he could fight for and protect the one whom he loved dearly. He had no idea that, when Ilúvatar had finally answered his prayer, he would be sent into the world in the guise of a mortal with no memories whatsoever of his past life. Yet, just like in the Timeless Halls, Menelwë and Maranwë found each other again, even though neither had any knowledge of their previous life together.

“You fought valiantly, my love,” the Slayer said soothingly.

“But… but… I failed,” he wheezed. “I failed… to protect… our home… and… our people,” he confessed in his weakening state.

“No, my love,” she countered. “You’ve done more than any one else. We were not fated to win this war. Not this time.”

He groaned softly from the pain.

“Shh,” she sounded, leaning closer to her beloved. “I’ll ease your pain, my love,” she said, caressing his cheek. “Close your eyes.”

Menelwë looked at her before his lids slowly closed.

She bent down, kissing him gently on the lips. “I love you,” she whispered. As she rose, her hand on his face slid over to his nose, pinching his nostrils shut. Her other hand swiftly covered his mouth, as she planned to suffocate her lover.

Immediately, Sargon’s eyes darted open, his wide glassy eyes staring at Buffy in shock. His muscles stiffened, as he vainly attempted to writhe within his constraints, his innate instinct to survive kicking in.

Nevertheless, the Slayer kept her hold, preventing him from taking another breath.

With his numerous injuries, it did not take long for Menelwë to die.

Once dead, Buffy fell atop her lover and began to weep. Killing Sargon was, by far, the hardest thing she had ever done. She had betrayed one who had remained loyal to her for ages untold. No greater sin could she commit.

Feeling the bile rise to her throat, she eased off the corpse of her lover, her trembling hand covered her mouth. She stared at Sargon’s lifeless body for a few minutes, uttering, “I’m sorry,” under her breath.

Wiping the golden tears from her face, she then turned, and fled the chamber.

As soon as she left the room, Malphas, who was waiting for her, said, “I take it the deed is done.”

She could only nod in reply.

“Good, very good,” he answered with a smile. The evil Maia gave her shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Melkor will be delighted that you saw it through, my Lady.” Malphas then maliciously spat, “That Menelwë was nothing but filth and deserved death for the seduction of my Lord’s wife. Good riddance, I say!”

Buffy felt numb and didn’t know how to respond to his comments.

“Ammut,” he then barked.

Immediately a fair maiden eased her way through the throng.

“My Lord,” she said, standing before the Maia.

“Take Inanna to her rooms.” Malphas eyes scanned the Slayer’s blood splattered white gown and skin. “Get the Queen cleaned up. Melkor will be arriving shortly.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the woman replied with an obedient nod. Ammut linked her arm with the Vala Queen’s before leading the dazed Slayer down the corridor.

Melkor’s minions rejoiced in the demise of Sargon the Magnificent, hooting and hollering as they entered the room, devouring the Holy Vala’s flesh.

As Buffy was ushered to her private rooms, Daeron’s first song rang out throughout all of Folkvang:

“I used to like to walk the straight and narrow line
I used to think that everything was fine
Sometimes I’d like to sit and gaze for days through sleepless dreams
All alone and trapped in time
All alone and trapped in time

I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me
Or am I even in it’s mind at all
Perhaps I’ll get a chance to look ahead and see
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball
Soon as I find myself a crystal ball

Tell me, tell me where I’m going
I don’t know where I’ve been
Tell me, tell me won’t you tell me
And then tell me again
My heart is breaking, my body’s aching
And I don’t know where to go
Tell me, tell me won’t you tell me
I’ve just got to know

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know
Crystal ball
There’s so many things I’ve got to know
Crystal ball

If you should see me walking
Through your dreams at night
Would you please direct me
Where I ought to be
I’ve been looking for a crystal ball
To shed the light
To find a future in me…
To find a future in me…

Crystal ball
There’s so many things I need to know
Crystal ball
There’s so many thing I’ve got to know
Crystal ball” *

The Sinda had just finished his first song when the Slayer and Ammut entered Buffy’s rooms on the thirteenth floor.

A morose Daeron looked up at the Vala Queen when she entered, his eyes glistening with tears. She could see the confusion etched on his fair elvish face. Buffy stopped, locking eyes with the Elf.

Ammut’s eyes darted back and forth between the Queen and her minstrel.

Clearing her throat, she announced, “I will draw your bath, my Lady.”

The Slayer didn’t reply, but remained transfixed, staring into the grey eyes of Daeron.

Ammut disappeared into the adjoining room, leaving Buffy and Daeron alone.

“What’s going on, Bella?” asked the crestfallen Sinda. “How can you fraternize with the enemy like this? I cannot begin to tell you how wrong it is - on so many levels. I feel like I am in a nightmare, a nightmare from which there is no waking.”

Even though the Slayer was trying to deal with her own grief, she strode over to Daeron’s side, taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

“It’s complicated,” she finally answered.

“My ass!” the Sinda shot back in defiance, causing the Valië’s brows to shoot upward at his cheek. “I’m not some child. I’m a grown man.” His tone was riddled with anger. “How can you let these unsavory types have free rein in these lands? They should be put to death, not glorified and amused.”

“Welcome to Bizarro World,” she answered in a calm voice.

“Bizarro World?” he repeated with disdain. “This is insanity… ”

“Ergo, bizarro,” she interjected with a snicker.

“I cannot believe that you find this amusing!” Daeron ranted. “The enemy has killed your people! Your sanctuary is in ruins and you are not doing a damn thing about it. I cannot understand, by the life in me, how you can take a leisurely bath after all that has transpired here. Perhaps it is you that has gone insane.”

She snorted at his comments, believing that maybe he was halfway correct in his assessment of the situation. Maybe she was insane. That would make a lot more sense. Hell, it would even make her feel better to believe that.

“There are forces at work here that you cannot even fathom, Daeron. You’re a minstrel, a master of lore, not a warrior. You have no comprehension of my true powers and what’s actually taking place as we speak.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me,” he snapped back heatedly.

Buffy stared at the Elf for a moment or two, watching his nostrils flare with each breath he took. She couldn’t help but smile at his ire.

“Okay, Daeron, I’ll let you in on shit,” she finally said, rising from her seat.

“Good! I deserve to know. You owe me that,” he replied with an air of triumph to his voice.

“Slide over,” Buffy said, standing beside the sofa on which the Elf sat.

He did as he was told.

She took a seat next to him.

Daeron looked impatiently at the Slayer.

She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand. “See with my eyes,” she whispered, locking eyes with the Sinda.

The blood quickly drained from the Elf’s face as he saw the images in his mind’s eye. She was showing him images of things that would soon transpire, not only in Folkvang but in all the world. His body began to tremble as he witnessed one horrific event after another, until, ultimately, he saw visions of the future, of heaven on Earth.

“Happy now,” she said mockingly, withdrawing her hand from his pale face.

Daeron tossed his harp aside on the couch, grabbing Buffy’s hand with both of his.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my insolence. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for doubting you?”

“Of course.” The Vala Queen gave him a reassuring smile. “The world is in chaos, everything’s been thrown off balance. I would expect you to be emotional, but it’s almost over, my dear Daeron. It’s almost over.”

“Is there any other way?” he queried in anguish. “Is there any other means to accomplish this task?”

The Slayer shook her head. “I’m afraid not. This is the only way.” She placed her free hand on top of his. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, the way I want it to be. I want this! My time’s over. But yours, yours is about to begin.”

“God, I feel like an ass!” he said, the color starting to return to his cheeks.

She chuckled. “We all feel that way sometimes.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Just sing for me, Daeron. I want to hear music and your sweet voice. I need that right now.”

“What would you like for me to play?”

Buffy thought for a minute. “I don’t care,” she answered, “Except for the last song. I want you play Don’t Fear the Reaper, at midnight.”

“Don’t Fear the Reaper,” he repeated, furrowing his brow. “Is that the song by the Cult of the Blue Oyster?”

She chuckled again. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Alright, Bella. I shall save that one for the last.”

“Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door leading to her bedchamber, hearing Ammut’s movements in the next room. “I better get a move on. Time’s ticking away here.”

“I would tell you to take care, but I reckon that’s a moot point.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she answered morosely.

“Thank you, Bella. Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me. You brought me healing when no one else could. And you gave me a home, a new lease on life… ”

“What are friends for?” she replied with a smile.

The two embraced, saying their last farewells.

Buffy then rose and disappeared through the bedroom door. As she made her way to the bathroom, Daeron began playing Sweet Madam Blue. It would be the last time she would ever hear that song.

Returning to her zombie-like state, she disrobed before climbing into the tub, allowing the evil Maia to bathe her in preparation of Melkor’s return. The Valië barely spoke to her newly appointed handmaiden, as she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay any mind to Ammut, despite their turbulent past.

After her bath, she washed her teeth thoroughly, including rinsing her mouth several times with mint water to ensure there was no scent of any other man on her. Instead of dressing in some fancy gown, she slipped into the black silky robe that had already been laid out for her.

“Can I get you anything, my Lady?” asked Ammut once the Valië was readied.

The Slayer thought for a minute. “Wine,” she answered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Get me a bottle of Rivendell Red, from 1882, Second Age. You’ll find it in the next room.”

“Yes, my Queen,” replied the woman with a nod, before leaving the chamber.

Buffy knew that Melkor would notice her sorrow upon his return, and it was imperative that her mood change or else all the sinful deeds she had committed recently would be for naught. She had come too far to allow her plans to go awry over her grief. The bottle of wine she had requested would be the perfect remedy for her depression, as the spell cast upon the vineyard of that year lifted one’s spirits, filling them with joy and bliss.

As she waited for Ammut to return, Daeron then began to sing the lengthy Lay of Inanna Ishtar, a song that chronicled the Slayer’s life during her first years in Mesopotamia. It was a beautiful, yet tragic piece written by her mortal followers (the Edain) in ages past.

Minutes later, Ammut returned with the bottle of wine. Once she had poured the Vala Queen a glass, she made a hasty retreat, leaving the Slayer alone to await Melkor’s return.

From the first sip, she could feel the effects of the magical brew, something she desperately needed. Buffy’s gaze shifted from the deep red beverage in her hand to the French doors that led to the balcony. She had not yet set eyes upon her kingdom since its destruction and now felt compelled to do so.

Slowly, she crossed the chamber. With each step, her trepidation grew. She pulled open one of the doors. A red glow immediately filled the chamber. The Vala Queen stepped out onto the balcony. Leaning against the railing, her eyes scanned the fires and destruction for miles on end.

The entire lake that encircled the isle burned with a bright flame, something that the Oracles had foretold long ago. Back in the day, the twins had referred to the “Lake of Fire” in their visions, (a term that survived not only the annals of the First Age, but also, The Holy Bible that is still read today).

Morgoth’s forces were still busy wreaking havoc in her lands. After looting what treasures they could find, the enemy gleefully used her own war machines to destroy the structures before burning the remnants to the ground. To her right, she could see that her temple had been demolished to its very foundations, a sight that should’ve brought her to tears, but, instead, she merely shook her head and chuckled.

The only thing she found disturbing was the carnage that always accompanied war, especially when on the losing end of the battle. Mutilated bodies were everywhere - the streets, gardens, even the fountain below her window, which spewed blood instead of water. She could make out her loved ones remains at the foot of her Halls, their hewed body parts arranged in a macabre display, (reminiscent to what she had done to Pallando’s Household in Rome).

The stench of death lingered heavily on the smoke-filled air. Buffy gulped the remaining contents of her glass, desperate to drink away her anguish. As she drank the last drop, she spotted Morgoth’s looming form racing across her lands in a pitch-black mass amidst the darkness and reddish-glow of her city.

“Melkor,” she uttered under her breath, her heart beginning to pound with excitement.

This was the first time that she had seen him since the Veil had been removed, and to see him in the same form as she had when they had initially met, brought back all those memories and feelings of old. She retreated to her quarters, checking her appearance in the mirror before setting her glass aside.

Standing by the foot of her lapis lazuli bed, she waited with bated breath for Melkor to enter.

His cronies outside chanted the Dark Lord’s name, whooping it up as their Master soared overhead.

The French door that had remained closed suddenly flung open as Melkor’s fey entered her bedchamber.

Immediately, Buffy dropped to her knee, bowing her head in reverence to the first man that she had ever loved.

“Melisse,” he said, his large form hovering just above the marble floor.

She lifted her head, her eyes welling with tears. “My Lord,” she whispered, “How long I’ve waited for this moment.”

“Our time has come at long last.”

“Indeed it has,” she answered with a smile. The Vala Queen raised her arms toward the heavens, calling forth all her magical powers. A loud crack of thunder sounded in the night, a flash of lightning illuminating the pitch-black sky, as she released her energy, remaking Melkor’s bodily form.

Utterly spent, she collapsed forward onto the floor. A prickly sensation coursed through her body from head to toe. Blood streamed from both of her nostrils; her head pounded ferociously. She tilted her head to the side, allowing the crimson fluid to spill onto the marble floor.

In her weakened state, those spirits trapped inside her could now flee, but out of fear of the Dark Lord, they decided to remain in their prison.

With his flesh remade, a naked Morgoth dashed to his beloved’s side, squatting beside her. He tenderly pulled her into his arms. He spoke not one word, but ran his tongue along her nostrils, healing the Slayer instantly.

“Let us get you cleaned up,” he said, helping her to her feet.

“I’m exhausted, Melkor. My powers have diminished,” she answered feebly.

The concerned Vala Lord then carried her to the bed where he gently laid her down. He went into the bathing chamber and brought back a wet cloth, carefully wiping away the blood on her face.

“That’s more like it,” he cooed, tossing the bloodied cloth to the floor.

Buffy reached up, caressing his handsome face. “I can’t believe you’re here, that we’re finally together.”

“We have waited far too long for this moment,” he replied, brushing the damp strands of hair from her face. “Those that have kept us apart shall rue the day for now they must contend with the wrath of Melkor, the mightiest of the Valar.”

A weak smile crept to the Valië’s face. “They have paid, Melindo. Manwë is dead. Valinor is in ruins.”

“My brother is dead, eh?” he sniggered. “What a shame! I’ve longed to see him cowering before my throne, begging for mercy… ” He chuckled again, continuing with, “… to have him kiss my feet in servitude to his only Master and the true Lord of Arda.”

“I will take his place if that is your desire,” answered Buffy, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. “I will happily kiss every square inch of your body.”

Melkor laughed at her offer. “It is not my feet I would have you kiss, Melisse!” His laughter died down, as he caressed the smooth skin of her cheek. “You shan’t ever cower before me, but shall rule at my side, as it is destined to be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be with you. Forever.”

“And so it shall be.” Morgoth inched lower, kissing her softly on the lips. He slowly eased back, studying her face with his dark, penetrating eyes. “You have made me the happiest Vala in all Eä, my sweet.”

“I take it that you are pleased with your homecoming,” she remarked coquettishly.

“Ah, yes, indeed,” he replied with a huge grin. “Nothing could welcome me more than the death of millions of heathens! And those that survive the war must repent of their old ways and worship me, or they shall pay dearly.”

The smile gradually faded from his face. “However, I can see that there are still some amongst our kindred that still live… and that displeases me,” he continued disappointedly.

“Who, Lord? Who is it that you wish to die?”

“Ulmo and Aulë,” he replied, his face wrinkled in disdain.

Buffy felt her stomach twist in knots upon hearing those two names.

“They should not live. They have seduced my wife and will be punished for doing so.” A sly smile came to his face, as he envisioned that confrontation in his mind’s eye. He shifted his gaze back to the Valië. “And I deem it is only befitting that you should be the one to slay them, my love. I will have them brought before my throne and you, my dear Melisse, you will honor me - honor our love, by killing those parasites in the most brutal and heinous of ways.”

“I will do whatever you ask of me, Melindo,” she vowed.

“I know you will, Melisse. I know you will.”

Feeling a twinge of guilt, she said, “Can you forgive me, Melkor? Can you forgive me for my past… indiscretions?” Her tone revealed her shame, as she continued, “Our brethren blinded me to our past, of our love… ”

“Now, now, Melisse” interrupted Melkor, arching his brow at her comment. “You are not being completely truthful here. The Valar had not blinded you of my love when you began your affairs with my foes. You were very much aware of my feelings. You chose to… ” His eyes narrowed, momentarily flickering with rage, “copulate with the enemy whilst I was on my journey.”

You idiot! shouted the voice of Abaddon, speaking for the first time since his imprisonment within her hröa. You walked right into that! Fix it! Fix it fast or we shall all feel father’s wrath!

Buffy was beginning to panic. She had to change the subject, and quick, but was unsure of how to do that without being so obvious.

Instead, she tried to explain herself. “You left me, Melkor,” she said in a small voice. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”

“When it comes to you, Melisse, I will always come back.”

“I thought you had deserted me, deserted me for someone… better,” she added, the hurt in her voice apparent.

A smile came to the Dark Lord’s face. “There is no one else for me, but you, my sweet,” he said softly, caressing her face once again.

“I can make it up to you,” she responded hopefully. “I can give you the heir you’ve always wanted.”

“A son?” he queried, excited at the thought. “I would like that very much. But do you have the strength, Melisse? Your strength has waned and I would want you at your strongest… ”

“Miruvóre,” interjected the Vala Queen.

“Miruvóre?” Morgoth repeated, his brows raised in question.

“In the crystal decanter on the sideboard - by the blue chair,” she replied. “If you bring me a glass, it’ll renew my strength.”

As Melkor rose from the bed, Buffy inched backwards toward the pillows stacked invitingly against the headboard. She believed that she had successfully diverted what could’ve been a foul situation, tempting the Dark Lord with the promise of a son.

“Is this it?” he queried, holding the crystal decanter in question.

“Yep, that’s the one,” she answered, relieved.

She kept her eyes locked on the Dark Lord as he poured the clear, invigorating liquid into two glasses. He prattled on about setting up their kingdom in Valinor and the enslavement of all those that still dwelt there, no matter what race they might be.

“They are weak!” he said in disgust, referring to the surviving Ainur. “Our kinsmen know nothing about the world beyond their borders.”

Melkor handed Buffy her drink as he climbed onto the mammoth bed.

“You do know, lover, that Valinor has been pulled from Arda, that it exists on another plane,” she remarked before taking a gulp of the rejuvenating concoction.

“I am well aware of that, Melisse,” he answered, leaning against the pillowed headboard. “I have spent years untold wandering the many planes of existence, even to Aman the Blessed.” He bitterly spat out the name of the land of their kindred, still angered over the fact that they had had the audacity to cast him into the Void millennia ago.

“From what I hear, the lands will have to be remade. War has ravaged the beauty… ” The Vala Queen stopped speaking mid-sentence, as the first chime of the grandfather clock in the Hall of Judgment rang out throughout Sussrúmnir.

Daeron immediately stopped singing the Lay of Inanna Ishtar, and began to play the first chords of Don’t Fear the Reaper on his harp.

“What is it, Melisse? Is something wrong?” asked Melkor, upon seeing her paling face.

She didn’t have much time. Buffy downed the rest of her miruvóre in a couple of gulps.

“What is it?” Melkor continued to query.

The clock chimed a second time.

“This song, this song makes me… amorous,” she said in her most seductive voice.

A wicked grin crept to Morgoth’s face. “Is that so?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding her head. She tossed her empty glass across the room. It shattered against the marble facing of the fireplace. While Melkor took a sip of his drink, she pulled it from his grasp, the clear beverage trickling down his chin. She threw his glass aside before climbing on top of him, suggestively licking the miruvóre from his face and neck.

“I will make a mental note of this song,” he moaned as her kisses moved up his neck to his jaw line.

“It’s a beautiful love song,” she purred before covering his mouth with her own, kissing him deeply.

Feeling reinvigorated, Buffy used her magic to dim the moonstones in the lamps throughout the chamber, casting the entire room in a faint silver light.

Morgoth’s hands busily undid the belt of her robe as he hungrily kissed his beloved. The Valië helped him ease the silky garment from her body, as his excitement grew. Once she was naked, he rolled on top of her, preferring to be in the dominant role when it came to their lovemaking.

Like clockwork, the moment Melkor penetrated Buffy, Daeron began to sing.

“All our times have come
Here but now they’re gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun and the rain, we can be like they are
Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper
Baby, I’m your man… ”

Túrin flew up the main staircase, taking three steps at a time. Buffy’s blue cloak billowed behind him, not a demon of Morgoth’s was in sight. Clutched in his right hand was Gurthang, the fiery bluish-white blade eager to drink Vala blood.

The passageways of Sussrúmnir seemed to be deserted, the enemy busy celebrating, en masse, outside the once glorious Halls of the Vala Queen. There were moments when the Adan thought he saw shadowy movements from the corner of his eyes, but whenever he turned for a better look, nothing was to be found.

By the time he heard Daeron’s voice, he had already made it to the seventh floor.

“Valentine is done
Here but now they’re gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity, Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday, like Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday, we can be like they are
Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper
We’ll be able to fly, don’t fear the reaper
Baby, I’m your man…”

Túrin had reached the thirteenth floor. Everything looked exactly as it had in the visions he had had whilst sitting atop the canopied throne of Maranwë Luinil. He knew which way to go. The sound of Daeron’s harmonious voice grew in intensity the closer he got to the Sinda. Door after door, room after room, until finally, he came face to face with the Elf Lord, sitting upon a couch in the room that adjoined Buffy’s bedchamber.

Daeron and Túrin locked eyes, each having their part to play in the final saga of good versus evil. The Adan felt nervous and excited, yet saddened, all at the same time.

The Elf nodded, motioning to the next door, behind which the enemy would be found.

The Adan took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. He then started across the chamber, as Daeron started singing the last verse of the song that Buffy had requested.

“Love of two is one
Here but now they’re gone…”

Túrin stopped at the door, shifting Gurthang into his left hand.

“Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on…”

He gently eased the door open, silently slipping into the bedchamber.

“Then the door was opened and a wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared… ”

The Adan froze, stunned by the sight before him. The hideous beastly form of Melkor was ravaging the beautiful and delicate form of the Vala Queen. Unbeknownst to Túrin, Buffy never saw Morgoth in this form whenever they were intimate. Her love for the Dark Lord had blinded her to his true countenance, a form he had always worn since his exodus from Valinor ages ago.

“The curtains flew and then he appeared, saying don’t be afraid…”

‘Time is ticking, son of Húrin,’ he heard the Valië’s voice say in his head. ‘Two to go, and then it’ll be over.’

Túrin tightened his grip on the hilt, slowly approaching the massive lapis lazuli bed.

“Come on baby, and she had no fear… ”

He stopped beside the bed.

“And she ran to him, then they started to fly…”

Holding on to the blade with both hands, he raised Gurthang over the adjoined bodies of Melkor Bauglir and Maranwë Luinil.

“And she ran to him, then they started to fly… ”

Túrin then mustered all his strength.

“They looked backward and said good-bye, she had become like they are… ”

He thrust the blade downward, the sharp point of Gurthang penetrating the flesh of both Valar.

“She had taken his hand, she had become like they are… ”

Melkor howled in pain, his ear-piercing shrieks shaking the remnants of the castle, much like an earthquake. Buffy’s fingers dug into Morgoth’s back. Her jaw hung open, but she did not cry out. She stared at the face of her lover, his face a mask of anguish.

“Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper.” **

Gurthang eagerly drank of their blood, until both Buffy and Melkor’s bodies turned to ash…




* Lyrics by Tommy Shaw

** Lyrics by Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser