Full Circle

Buffy arrived outside the fortress only seconds later. Luthor had all one hundred and forty-three dwarves lined up in marching formation. The dwarves’ short and stout bodies were covered entirely in armor wrought of steel. Only a small portion of their grim faces could be seen. They were glad to see the Lady Freya once again, but dreaded the thought that it looked like they were going to march to their deaths. How could one hundred and forty-five people defend themselves against an army of ten thousand?

“You arrive at last,” snapped Luthor as he walked over, looking both annoyed and concerned. He, too, was clad in armor similar to the dwarves, but on his chest plate was a blue crucifix. Buffy had to conceal her amusement over the fact that he had braided his beard like the Naugrim. She had enough scruples to know that now was not the appropriate time for jest. “I would think the prospect of war would have you make haste,” he added.

“It’s good to see you too, Luthor.” She studied the group carefully and wondered how many of them would ultimately fall in battle. “So, how much time do we have?” she asked.

“According to my calculations, some time this afternoon, if we start marching now,” he replied.

“Damn it! I wish we had more time. Why didn’t you notify me sooner?” asked the perturbed Slayer.

“Do you think that I linger about these fields all day? Do I not have things to tend to within the fortress?” he questioned agitatedly. “I’m sorry Bella, but I do not devote all my time to keeping watch. I did not know that Melkor would discover our whereabouts so soon. It wasn’t until my alarm went off that I realized that the enemy had stumbled upon our realm. That, my dear, is when I sought you.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “But it looks like you’ve been rather busy of late… been too preoccupied with your lover instead of paying a visit to those who labor endlessly in order to do your bidding… ”

Those last words stung the Slayer, but she bit her lip. There was no point in arguing with Luthor. True, it had been quite a while since she’d checked in with the guys, but right now, her undivided attention was focused on the impending battle.

“We’ve definitely got to route the enemy away from the entrance to the refuge,” said Buffy, getting back to business. “You know, I’ve just started building these weapons called engines back in Ossir… God, how I wish I had my catapult with me.”

“Do we have time to retrieve it?” asked Luthor hopefully.

“Nope. It’s way too big. We’d have to disassemble it in order to transport it,” she replied. “Believe me, if there was any way, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“That is most unfortunate,” he answered dismally. “I deem that we had better get a move on then.” The Maia then ordered the men to move out and slowly but surely, the train started advancing north.

Luthor saw to it that all provisions were packed on carts, which were pulled by oxen. Buffy had no idea how he was able to domesticate them, but was grateful that he had. It was a burden to have to carry supplies especially when one was outfitted in armor. Most people don’t consider how heavy that stuff is, or how hot one becomes when marching and/or fighting. But it serves a vital purpose, so they would all endure it together, because, quite frankly, no one wants to die.

As they marched in silence, Buffy pondered on how unprepared they were for this battle. If only she had her war machines ready, this would be a piece of cake. Images of all the things that she had forgotten that would have been beneficial to them flashed in her mind: lembas, horses and bows and arrows. Can you believe they were marching to war without any? The dwarves were not big fans of the bow, preferring the axe instead, and the Slayer, who was in too much of a hurry, didn’t bring any. Hell, bows were like ‘shotguns’ in Ossir; there was one behind every door. That meant they’d have to resort to one on one combat since there was no option of ‘picking’ off any of the enemy before the initial collision.

Gradually, the dimness that surrounded them became lighter as the sun started to rise. The eastern sky glowed in a pinkish orange hue as a gust of cold wind blew from the south. Not only did it bring an air of hope to each one of them but even better - the yrch detested sunlight.

After marching for four hours, the company halted for a quick bite. Thick gray clouds loomed in the distance. It appeared that Morgoth would provide his armies with some cover after all. This disheartened the group somewhat.

“Don’t loose faith,” the Slayer told them. “We can’t rule out a victory just yet.” Although in the back of her mind, she wasn’t quite sure how they could defeat the enemy. Buffy had to tread very carefully here. Her newfound powers were so great, that with little effort, she could destroy the world. All the Ainur possessed that kind of power, but none dare use it, as they loved the world too much. Yes, even Morgoth and his cronies. Their only desire was to rule Middle-earth with the proverbial ‘iron fist’ and subjecting the ‘lesser’ races.

Twenty minutes later, they resumed the march once again. A misty rain began to fall a couple of hours later and gradually the sky became darker and darker. Dvalin attempted to renew the hope of the dwarves by singing one of their dwarvish war songs and that actually roused their confidence to some degree.

That was good because beyond the horizon, Buffy could make out the forces of Morgoth. She was quite surprised that he had sent mostly yrch. The Slayer counted twelve Balrogs and saw a number of wargs, some with yrch riding on their backs while others were running wildly towards them. Buffy was half expecting to see some of those demons that she had helped to create, but from this perspective she couldn’t make out any.

The dwarves had not yet gotten the visual of these creatures. Their eyesight was not nearly as acute as Buffy’s and Luthor’s. The two Ainur spoke in their minds about their impending doom.

‘Bella, there is no possible way on Eru’s green earth that we’ll be able to defeat our foes!’ said a panicking Luthor.

‘It doesn’t look good, does it?” queried the Slayer. “I’ve been in situations like this before Luthor. Just don’t give up hope.’

‘I assure you that I have already lost all hope, my dear! I only wonder what death feels like… ’ He became sullen. ‘Will death take me swiftly or will I be subjected to horrible torments in retribution for my past deeds… ’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ she chastised as she cast an angry glance his way. ‘If the dwarves heard you say that, they’d probably freak out and run the other way!’

‘They’re not the type to turn tail and flee from any enemy, even if death is eminent, as it is now,’ defended Luthor. ‘The dwarves are a hardy folk and very stubborn. I have spent much time with them and I am quite impressed by their fortitude.’

‘Well, it seems like you’ve taken a liking to them, after all,’ she said with a grin.

‘In some ways, I appreciate them, but in others… ’ grumbled Luthor. Buffy could tell that whatever it was that the dwarves did or didn’t do, she was about to find out. ‘Do you know that these Naugrim refuse to work the fields? I’ve got the daunting task of having to sow and reap the crops and do all the cooking. I’ve had to threaten them with my scepter in order to get them to help with the weaving! It’s as if I’m their servant.’

Buffy chuckled when she heard that. Granted, it wasn’t the most suitable time for that, but she found Luthor’s little tirade quite amusing. ‘You know Luthor, the road to atonement is a long one. No one said it would be easy.’

‘I wasn’t subjected to such drudgery while in Angband,’ he muttered. She shifted her gaze back to the Maia, a look of disgust on her face. ‘I’m not saying that I want to go back or that I miss it… I simply do not take pleasure in doing hard, manual labor,’ he whined.

‘Yeah, I’m sure Melkor would welcome you back with loving arms,’ she smirked. ‘And you sure didn’t mind manual labor when I was doing it!’

‘That was different,’ he argued. ‘You were fat and needed to lose weight. I was merely getting you back in shape and I must say that I did a rather good job of it, if I don’t say so myself.’

“I think that we should leave the carts here,” she said aloud as they came to a standstill. The terrain changed from this point on, it was hilly and rocky as opposed to the flat fields that they had just crossed. They stood at the spot where these two different landscapes intersected. The only large trees were firs, and they had just passed the last stand of them. Buffy thought it was best to leave their provisions hidden within that treed area. It would be nearly impossible for the oxen to descend into the dale without causing injury to themselves or their supplies.

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Brokk, who stood nearby. “Let us take only the basic necessities that we can carry on our belts.” It wasn’t like they were going to have time to sit down and have a feast in the midst of all the killing. So each person was given two water skins and a small portion of food. Luthor un-harnessed the oxen and sent them back towards the fortress while the dwarves pulled the carts beneath the boughs of the fir trees.

Misty rain continued to fall and with the disappearance of the sun, nighttime arrived earlier than they had anticipated. As they carefully descended the slope, the howls of the wargs echoed in the distance; the enemy was quickly approaching. Buffy’s mouth felt dry, knowing that the confrontation was close at hand. Some would die; there was no question about that. She hoped and prayed for a miracle.

The company made it to the bottom of the vale and with difficulty they began to ascend the hill on the other side. The wind picked up and the temperature seemed to plummet even lower, chilling the Slayer to the bone. When they reached the top, everyone could see the large fiery figures of the Balrogs and the torches carried by the yrch, who were only a couple of miles away. The dwarves were frightened upon seeing Morgoth’s beasts of shadow and flame, but Luthor assured his friends that they most certainly could be killed.

The wargs were the first to attack them at this juncture. Foaming out the mouth and growling as though they hadn’t been fed in weeks they leapt at the men with a ferocious velocity. A couple of dwarves nearly flew down the slope backwards, but managed to fall on their backs instead, allowing their brothers the opportunity to kill the beasts. The sweetest sound to Buffy’s ears was hearing the yelps of the wolves as the axes of the dwarves hacked them to pieces.

“Save your energy!” ordered Buffy. “Kill them, don’t make ‘em into mincemeat. There’s plenty more where that came from.” She swung her own axe and in one swift motion, she managed to behead one and gore another. “Gotta two for one special today!” she quipped.

“You must do better than that, Dagnir,” said Luthor as he placed his foot on a downed beast, trying to pry his axe out the dead wolf‘s rib cage. “If my calculations are correct, and they usually are, we’ll each have to kill 68.96 of the enemy. Up for it, Luinil?” he asked as he freed his weapon from the warg’s corpse.

“How does one kill .96? What the hell does that mean any way?” she asked as she glanced over her shoulder at Luthor. That slight distraction led to her being blindsided by another warg, which resulted in her being thrown onto the ground. She used her axe-handle as a means of preventing the snarling beast from biting her. It growled madly as its jaws locked on the handle. Buffy mustered her strength and flipped the warg off, holding it pinned to the ground with the axe-handle. “Bad puppy!” she scolded as Luthor slipped around and crushed the topmost portion of its skull in two. The contents of its brain splattered all over the Slayer. “Damn it, Luthor!” she said irritatingly. “Try not to get brain matter all over me!” She hastily wiped the stuff from her face with her gloved hand.

“It’s all a part of war,” smirked the old man. “I would think that you of all people would be used to it by now.”

The riders atop the wargs had now arrived carrying both bows and spears.

“My specialty is vampires! And they turn to dust,” she remarked as she snatched an orch from a warg by his neck. She allowed the momentum to force her onto the ground, keeping the creature trapped in her choke hold. She maneuvered her hands in order to grab both sides of his head and using her slayer strength, she twisted his neck until she heard a loud cracking sound. She then rolled the limp form aside. “I think I sometimes take them for granted, you know. There’s no mess involved… no blood stains or brain matter,” Buffy said matter of factly as she got back to her feet.

“I see no vampires here today,” said Luthor, before swinging his axe at another wolf with such force that it literally was disemboweled whilst in mid-air. He let out a hearty laugh. “Top that, Luinil,” he boasted.

“Personally, pops, I’m gonna extinguish the fires of Morgoth’s Balrogs,” informed Buffy. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall… but I’m up for slaying any of them. I don’t discriminate!” A hail of arrows began to rain down upon them. “Shields!” she cried out, and they speedily slung them from their backs, blocking the arrows that whizzed in all directions around them.

Buffy was impressed with the dwarves tenacity and resourcefulness under these conditions. She saw Dufur and Har each holding rings at opposite ends of something that was reminiscent of piano wire, as one of the riders came stampeding towards Luthor, they raised the ‘wire’ and severed its head. Luthor turned quickly and decapitated the wolf, which then tumbled several times before coming to a halt. It was a most spectacular sight!

“Excellent teamwork!” shouted Buffy.

Luthor glanced at the Slayer, gave a nod of his head, and repeated their strategy, “I’ll take the right flank, you the left and the Naugrim can come up the middle.” Buffy nodded in agreement, as Lofar sounded his horn, indicating that the time had arrived to charge the enemy. Their adrenaline rush kicked into overdrive as the dwarves along with Buffy and Luthor charged at the enemy. Their war cry rang out into the night.

Buffy veered off to the left and attacked the nearest Balrog, whom she happened to know by the name of Authon. He was nearly four times the size of the Slayer, and brandished both a whip of burning throngs and a sword that smoldered with fiery magicks. She went for his legs knowing that was her best chance at bringing him down to her level. Time after time, he blocked each blow forcing Buffy to use her shield more than her weapon.

Authon’s whip lashed at the Slayer’s legs causing her to wince from the pain. As the sting shot through her body, Buffy clenched her fist even tighter around her weapon. She forced him to use his sword and when he made a stabbing motion, she flung her axe with all her might; it went soaring through the air, striking the beast between the eyes. It let out a terrible wail as it teetered on the spot before falling with a heavy thud, thrashing on the ground. It dropped its weapons as it attempted to pull the axe from its skull.

Buffy picked up its flaming whip and lashed it a couple of times. “Don’t feel good, does it?” she spat. She grabbed its sword and rammed it through its chest. Its fires diminished indicating that the creature was at deaths door. The Slayer retrieved her Orb of Thezula from a pouch that hung from her belt. “Guess what Authon? You get to be my guinea pig.”

As the light quenched from his eyes, Buffy saw his fey rise from its former house. “Come to momma,” she said as she held the Orb aloft, summoning his spirit. The Orb glowed a brilliant orange. The son of a bitch was trapped! She smiled as she slid the Orb back into her pouch. She pulled her weapon from his head and rejoined the fray.

It was probably about thirty minutes into the battle when Buffy noticed the first fallen dwarves. The yrch were literally dismembering her fallen friends, pulling out their intestines and swinging them like a lasso. Angered by the sight, the Slayer switched her attention to the yrch instead of the Balrogs. She failed to notice in her ire, that the enemy had formed a large ring around her and her friends. It was like the Ultimate Fighting Championship but instead of the octagon, the bodies of the yrch, Balrogs and wargs would act as the fence.

Buffy killed several yrch and then turned her attention back to the Balrogs. That’s when a loud shriek pierced the night. The Slayer looked for its source and as she saw more of her comrades fall, she felt a prick on the side of her neck. Her hand automatically reached for the painful spot and Buffy withdrew a dart with a black-feathered shaft from her flesh. About twenty feet away, she noticed a Balrog lowering its blowgun. Her head started spinning and she became very disoriented as she cried out, “LUTHOR!” before collapsing to the ground, convulsing like one experiencing a grand mal seizure.

The enemy roared with delight, clashing their weapons against their shields. They had succeeded in carrying out their Master’s wish.

Luthor and the nearest dwarves made their way towards Buffy; they were flummoxed by what had just happened to her. The Maia picked up the dart and sniffed it, “Poison!” he declared to the others. The enemy had resumed their assault when suddenly, the earth began to shake violently, troubling everybody present. All ceased fighting. Luthor thought that maybe Melkor was on his way to collect Buffy and bring her back ‘home,’ but that was not the case.

The enemy started falling, one after another, by unseen hands. Unbeknownst to those present, Buffy’s Valkyries arrived to save the day. They heard her prayer and answered with an unbridled fury. Heads just popped off the enemy or their throats were slit as blood splattered all over the rocky surface. The Balrogs careened back and forth fighting some unknown assailant before the fire was quenched from their houses and they crashed to the ground in a blackened heap. Within an hour, the Valkyries invisible forms vanquished all the enemy while the survivors of Buffy’s brigade huddled around her unconscious body.

When the enemy was bested, the rumblings in the earth ceased and four maidens appeared before the group of one hundred and twenty-seven survivors. Seventeen dwarves perished in the battle, sixteen were seriously injured and the Slayer was near death or so it seemed.

Luthor had removed Buffy’s helm and cradled her lovingly in his arms, weeping. Her eyes were both open and vacant; the fire from within could no longer be seen. He gently wiped the blood that trickled from her mouth, nose and ears with a gloveless hand. He gave no heed to the beautiful maidens that stood before him. The dwarves were howling and pulling on their beards, mourning the loss of their fallen brethren and of the Lady Freya.

Feawë, who was chief of the Valkyries and also a former servant of Námo’s, knelt beside the grieving Maia. “She is not dead, Luthor,” she said in a voice that brought little comfort to him. He continued to cradle Buffy, stroking her hair affectionately.

“I will heal her,” moaned Luthor. “I’ll save her.”

Feawë was astonished by Luthor’s emotional state. She knew that he had long been a servant of Melkor’s, but to see him now, one would never surmise that. She saw that his feelings for the Slayer were genuine; he really did love her.

“I must bring her home, Luthor. Her people will work diligently in finding the appropriate cure for her… ”

With fire in his eyes, he looked up at the dark haired beauty. “Her people? And what are we?” he asked angrily. “I am quite capable of curing Bella. I have a great deal of knowledge when it comes to herbal potions.”

“I do not doubt your skill,” she said softly as she placed her fingers on Buffy’s carotid artery, her pulse was weak. “But only in Folkvang can we stay the toxin until the antidote is found. If she stays here, things will be bleak for the Lady.”

“What is this Folkvang you speak of? I’ve heard of no such place,” he said as he wiped his tears away.

Vórëa, a former servant of Aulë’s, came forward and gathered the Slayer in her arms.

“Perhaps you do not know Maranwë as well as you thought,” replied Feawë as she rose to her feet. Her eyes scanned the battlefield, which was littered with thousands of corpses. She gave a nod of her head before disappearing with her sisters and Buffy.

Luthor yelled after her, “You do not know her! If you truly knew Dagnir, you would know that she prefers to be called Bella, not Maranwë!”

Dvalin approached Luthor, who was still sitting on the ground, now clutching the Slayer’s helm. “My Lord,” he began, “what about the dead? With the Lady Freya gone, how will their bodies be remade?”

The Maia put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “We’ll have to wait, my friend. I do not have the ability to remake their flesh… our friends will have to wait.”

“What about the slain?” asked Brokk, who was nursing a terrible gash on his leg.

Luthor looked around. A burial was out of the question due to the topography of the land and he had no desire to see their friends burned on a pyre. “Let us gather them up and we’ll build a cairn over them,” he answered.

Dvalin nodded his head and approached all the uninjured Naugrim and allocated to them the task of either retrieving the slain or gathering large stones. Despite their exhaustion, they labored for hours until it was completed. Luthor walked amongst the dead, collecting specific weapons from the enemy that he felt would be advantageous at a later time.

It was the Maia who led the dwarves in a song of lamentation, both for their fallen brethren and for the Slayer. He had no idea when he would see her again. So many questions were running through his mind. Most revolved around Buffy, and he was mystified by this place called Folkvang. Why hadn’t she told him about it? And how is it that the Maiar came running to her aid and referred to themselves as ‘her people?’ What the hell was up with that?

When the Naugrim had finished singing their burial songs, the group crossed the dale and set up their encampment amidst the fir trees on the other side. The stench of death was not nearly as bad over there as it was on the battlefield. They could finally rest and partake in the food that they had brought with them. None celebrated the victory and all remained quiet as they ate. As the sun rose once again in the east, Luthor was still busy tending to the wounded. It had been a long night.



The Valkyries arrived back in Folkvang with the Slayer. Most of the ladies returned to their ‘normal’ duties while the four ‘captains’ took their Queen to her private chambers within Sussrúmnir. She was placed on her own bed as four healers and her thirteen handmaidens dashed into the room.

Feawë carefully removed the Slayer’s mail while Istahiro, the principal healer, inspected the puncture mark on the side of her neck. “Where is the dart, Feawë?” he asked in a grave voice.

She cringed, knowing that she never thought to bring the dart with her. “Luthor has it,” she replied meekly.

Istahiro looked up at her with anguish in his eyes. “And you gave no thought as to how useful that would be to me… ”

“I can go back and get it from him,” she offered.

“No. I deem that Luthor will not part with it.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I will make do.” Istahiro stuck a large needle into the wound and extracted a vial of blood. He handed it to one of his assistants and then ordered that the Slayer be cleaned up. “Wash this filth off of her,” he remarked as he disappeared from the room with his fellow healers.

The ladies gathered around and stripped Buffy, preparing her for a ‘sponge’ bath. They let out gasps of shock when they saw the mark of Morgoth on her breast. “So it is true,” declared Laurië in a distressed tone. “Maranwë Luinil had been marked by Melkor.” She apprehensively touched Morgoth’s symbol with her finger tip as tears welled in her eyes. “This is truly a sad day.” The former servant of Irmo’s began to weep.

“There, there Laurië,” said a consoling Feawë. “Do not fret over something that was foretold long ago. Ultimately, Maranwë… ”

“It’s Freya!” interjected Vórëa, “not Maranwë.”

“Only those who had followed Aulë call her by that name,” replied Feawë. “Maranwë Luinil is the name given to her by Eru Ilúvatar and by that name only shall I call her!”

“Our Queen will be known by countless names ere the end,” chimed in Anairë. “Let us do the task that has been assigned to us before Istahiro returns, as I deem that he will be displeased with us if his orders are not carried out.”

The ladies fell silent and worked diligently in bathing the Slayer. When she was clean, they clothed her in a gold lamé gown as Istahiro and his assistants returned.

“Leave us,” he instructed the women. When the ladies had left the room, Istahiro and his assistants began their labors. The room was soon swathed with the sweet fragrant smell of various herbs and incense that possessed healing properties. When chanting magical words failed, the Maiar raised their voices in song, in hopes that that brand of magic would help stay the poison. Istahiro still had no clue as to what new devilry was at work here.

After three days of continuous singing, he ordered his men to get some rest. He remained by the Slayer’s side, stroking her hair and calling her by her various names. Her green eyes stared blankly back at him. “Where are you Luinil?” he whispered under his breath. “What unspeakable torments is Melkor subjecting you to?” Istahiro was utterly exhausted. He sat in a chair next to her bed and soon drifted off to sleep.