Full Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR: TOUCHED



For many weeks, the Slayer lay in a comatose state. Istahiro had refused to leave her side, even for a minute. Her fever, which had gotten dangerously high, had finally broken and she had not experienced any convulsions in the last few days. He was confident that his latest antidote had done the trick. It was now up to Buffy to pull herself out of this mystical state.

Antamo, the minstrel, by orders of Istahiro, sat on the opposite side of Buffy’s bed, singing the love songs that she had relished during her last visit to Sussrúmnir. The primary healer of Folkvang was none too pleased by the Queen’s handmaidens remaining in the bedchamber, but they refused to leave her side as well. As long as they were quiet, he could overlook their presence.

It was a few days later when Buffy showed the first signs of ‘life.’

“Look at her chest,” remarked Istahiro to the others. “Her breathing is becoming more labored. That is a very good sign.” He laid his ear on her chest and listened, a smile came to his handsome face. “It shan’t be long now,” he added confidently.

Buffy’s progress continued the following day. When Istahiro checked her reflexes, her body responded with various twitches. It was the first time in all these weeks that she had actually moved any part of her body.

“That is promising,” he had said to Anairë, who stood beside him. “My heart tells me that our Queen shall soon awake.”

“Will there be any after effects from the toxin?” asked the former servant of Manwë.

“That I cannot clearly tell,” Istahiro answered with a sigh. “Only time will tell, I’m afraid.”

It was two days later, when the most peculiar thing happened. A raging thunderstorm came from out of nowhere. Folkvang, like Valinor, had only previously experienced gentle showers that cleansed away pollen and dust, and provided much needed water for the vegetation. Never before, in countless ages, had dark clouds rolled in, obscuring the sunlight from view in this Blessed Realm. The sky was alit with endless bright flashes of lightning and the rolling sounds of thunder shook the city to its foundations. The swells crashed over the quays and the boats and ships that were moored there rocked wildly upon the water. All the inhabitants retreated to the safety of the nearest shelter, totally blown away by this unprecedented phenomenon.

All those in Buffy’s bedchamber ran to the closest windows to observe this atypical wonderment more closely. The torrential rains pounded against the windowpanes, making it nearly impossible to see out. It was then that the room became filled with a brilliant blue light and everyone’s attention immediately turned towards the Slayer once again. The Maiar let out gasps of shock when they saw Buffy’s body suspended in mid-air. It looked as though she was struggling to break free from some unseen bonds. The light changed intensity and soon a bright white light engulfed the blue light. Her body then soared backwards and slammed into the southern wall of the chamber. The force was so strong that cracks in the wall appeared at the point of impact. Buffy’s body slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Her eyes glazed over, and she collapsed in a heap onto the marble floor. Immediately, Istahiro crossed the room, instructing the others to stay put, while he gathered the Slayer in his arms. He placed a padded cloth to the back of her bleeding head and then carried her back to bed.

“You’ll be fine, Maranwë, I promise,” said the healer reassuringly, as he lay her down. “It is I, Istahiro, your healer.” Buffy moaned as she reached for her head. “No, my Lady. Do not touch. I’ll take care of it in a minute,” he added as he snapped his fingers and one of his assistants came forth bearing a bottle of clear liquid, a jar of salve and strips of white cloth. He uncorked the bottle and attempted to put it to the Slayer’s lips, but she began to thrash about wearily.

“No! No!” she moaned softly. Her eyes were opened, yet unfocused.

“SING!” instructed Istahiro to Antamo, who had stopped his music making when this strange turn of events occurred. The minstrel plucked his harp and sang one of Buffy’s favorite Valinorean love songs. The music’s effect on the Slayer was immediate. She became languid and accepted the proffered dose of Istahiro’s medicinal tonic. He continued to speak softly as he applied a gob of ointment to her opened wound. He was in the process of wrapping strips of cloth around her head when Buffy grabbed his arm.

“Am I ugly?” she asked in a broken voice, as she felt her face with her other hand. “Am I hideous?”

“No, of course not,” replied Istahiro. “You are as fair as you ever were.”

“I don’t believe you,” she answered.

Fulla, her chambermaid, came forward. “Here my Lady, see for yourself,” she said as she handed Buffy a mirror. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

The Slayer looked into the mirror, her hands still trembling. She thoroughly inspected her eyes and teeth; they were still intact and undamaged. Her flesh was whole and healthy looking and none of her bones seemed to be broken. The only thing that she could see that was wrong with her appearance was the knot on the back of her head. She was still pretty, much to her relief.

“What happened to you, Maranwë?” asked the healer.

Buffy locked eyes with him. “He sent me to Hell,” she replied softly as she handed the mirror back to her chambermaid. She glanced around the room and noticed the concerned faces of her ‘people.’ “How long have I been…?” The Slayer did not finish that sentence. She found herself very confused by this whole ordeal.

“You have been unconscious for eleven weeks,” responded Istahiro as he checked her pulse.

“WHAT?” she exclaimed, jerking herself into an upright position. It had seemed much, much longer to her.

“Shh,” the healer said. “You need your rest, my Lady. There is no need to get upset.”

“Upset?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not upset, I’m pissed.” She shakily got to her feet. A couple of her handmaidens ran to her side, attempting to steady her. “Mark my words, people. That son of bitch’s ass is mine,” she proclaimed as the effects of Istahiro’s tonic hit her full force. That was the last thing she said before sleep overtook her. She was placed back in her bed as her servants nervously glanced at one another.

Shortly thereafter, the violent storm dissipated and the sun once again shown brilliantly in a cloudless sky. All of Folkvang echoed with the delightful melodies from the songbirds as the many minstrels that dwelt within Sussrúmnir accompanied them with their stringed instruments and harmonious voices. They were celebrating the news of their Queens awakening, at long last.

It was nearly four in the morning when Buffy finally awoke. She blinked several times as she took in her surroundings. She was in Folkvang… and she was safe. The painful memory of her recent torments had apparently been lessened by the aid of Istahiro’s magical elixir although her wrath towards Morgoth had not. However, right now, the Slayer was only concerned with one thing - food. She was ravenous.

As she sat up in bed, she noticed her thirteen handmaidens standing at attention in her inner sanctum. She eyed them curiously, as she started to undo the bandages on her head.

“Don’t you guys have something better to do?” she asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable by their dutiful presence.

“We are here to serve your every need, my Lady,” answered Anairë. Although Buffy was much obliged to have so many maidens willing to be at her beck and call, the idea that they had hung around while she was sleeping, kind of creeped her out a bit.

“Okay… well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m famished,” she said, attempting to sound more like her usual self.

“Rest, Freya, and we will see to it that your meal is brought to you. Surely it is too soon for you to be up and about,” suggested Vórëa.

“No way!” she said as she stood up, tossing the bandages on the bed. “The last thing I want to do is stay in bed. I daresay it’s time for me to raid Sussrúmnir’s larder,” she remarked as she started out of the chamber. “You ladies are more than welcome to join me.” Of course, they were going, whether Buffy gave them an invite or not.

Buffy’s ‘snack’ ended up turning into a celebratory feast with many of the people of her Household. Despite the fact that it was nearly dawn, they all sat down and enjoyed a delicious seven-course meal. Mead, wine, miruvóre, and ale poured freely from crystal fountains within the Hall of Feasts while the minstrels played and many danced and sang in unison.

While everyone was enjoying the festivities, Feawë, who was seated next to Buffy, quietly broached the subject of the torments that Buffy was subjected to while in her apparent sleep. “Will you not tell me, Maranwë?” she asked. “I will not speak of it to anybody else, if that is your wont.”

The Slayer looked at her with sorrowful eyes and answered, “I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” The Maia did not mention it again.

By late morning, Buffy grew bored of the festivities and left straight away for the treasuries. She had decided that the time had arrived for her to return to Luthor and the dwarves. The Slayer had not forgotten her friends who died during the battle. She was sure that they were most eager to be embodied again since eleven weeks in Folkvang was the equivalent of twenty-two months in Middle-earth. She hated the fact that the dwarves had been bodiless for so long.

When Buffy reached the treasuries, she ordered the men to pack four large chests full of jewelry, gold, silver, and gemstones. They were instructed to bring the treasure to her Hall of Judgment within the hour. This would allow the Slayer the opportunity to refresh herself properly and bid farewell to her people before departing her sacred Halls.

Buffy was so eager to leave that she had never sat upon her canopied throne of lapis lazuli, even though the urge to do so was nearly overwhelming. She took a deep breath before lifting the heavy chests off the ground. She definitely felt the burn in her legs! She concentrated on her destination and nearly freaked out when she did not disappear. No matter how hard she tried, she was not going anywhere. For some reason, her ability to ‘teleport’ was not working. She was stuck.

“God damn it!” she yelled as she dropped the heavy load to the floor. “What the hell’s going on?” She glanced around at the few people who remained in her Hall. “Get Istahiro. Quick!” she ordered one of her servants. Buffy plopped down on top of the chests, cursing at her new misfortune.

Fifteen minutes later, Istahiro came running into the Hall. “What is it, Maranwë?” asked the healer with concern in his voice. Buffy explained her inability to leave Sussrúmnir and wanted him to explain why this was happening to her. “That is simple, my Lady,” he began. “You are not yet completely healed. It was only this morning when you woke, surely you don’t expect to depart so soon.”

“Well… yeah. I’ve got people to see and places to be,” she countered agitatedly. “I’ve already been here way too long, Istahiro… ”

“My dear Lady, your body has been inundated with the poison of Melkor and you have been unconscious for several weeks. You cannot expect to be completely healed in such a short amount of time,” explained the Maia.

“But this is one of the Blessed Realms! Don’t you guys have the ability to speed up the healing process here?” she asked with an air of disbelief.

“No quicker than anywhere else,” he answered. “I have never before encountered this new device of Melkor’s and I cannot rightly say when you will regain your ability to pass through the mystical barrier.”

“With all the knowledge that you possess, you can’t even wager a guess?” questioned a panicked Buffy.

“Once again, I cannot. Only time will tell, my Lady.” He smiled reassuringly. “I suggest that you enjoy the pleasures that Folkvang has to offer. It is, after all, your kingdom.” He nodded his head before departing the chamber, leaving Buffy both angry and confused.

As she went to leave, she let out her frustration by kicking the bottommost chest. “OW!” she yelled as the pain shot through her foot, causing her to limp from the Hall while uttering curses under her breath. The Slayer refused to be coddled by any of her servants and refused all offers of assistance.

Buffy was not pleased by what Istahiro had told her. She had to think about her next step. Things would not have been so bad if time moved the same here as it did in Middle-earth. God only knows how long she was going to be ‘trapped’ in Folkvang. She did not like to use that word, but finding out that she could not leave, made her even more determined to find some way of ‘escaping.’

Her solution was to drown her sorrows with a nice bottle of wine. She could really use the buzz after everything she had been through in the last few months. Buffy instructed her maidens to let her be. She was not in the mood for company of any kind. She grabbed a carafe of wine before climbing the stairs to her tower. When she reached the uppermost chamber of the tower, she proceeded out onto the balcony. The view was as impressive as she remembered.

It was nearly an hour or so later when Marto, a former servant of Melkor’s back in the day, joined her. He was broad shouldered and muscular with long wavy black hair. His skin was similar in color to Buffy’s and his eyes were an intense blue. As with most of the people that Buffy encountered in Middle-earth and Folkvang, he too, was tall.

“Hail, Maranwë,” he said in greeting, as he walked out onto the balcony. “I hope you do not mind if I join you.”

She glanced at Marto, took a swig from the bottle, and replied, “Nah, I can use the company.” She offered the bottle to him. “Want some?” she asked.

“Gladly,” he answered as he took a long drink before handing the wine back. “I have heard that you are quite distressed by your inability to leave Folkvang. Is that true?” he queried.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh. “My duty is in Middle-earth, not here. My poor dwarves… they died for me, and now their spirits are houseless. I owe it to them to return as soon as possible.”

“Hmm,” the Maia commented as he leaned against the wrought iron railing. “Perhaps there’s another way.”

The Slayer snickered. “Yeah… sure there is,” she commented skeptically. She wasn’t in the mood for jest.

“I have spoken in great detail with Istahiro, Maranwë, and he tells me that it will be quite a while before your strength returns. That is the reason why you cannot leave Folkvang. My heart tells me that Melkor wanted you out of the way for some evil purpose. But what that is, I cannot rightly say,” revealed Marto.

“No shit, Sherlock,” she mockingly replied. Yes, the Slayer felt the effects of the alcohol. “Tell me something that I don’t already know.”

He laughed and grabbed the bottle from her hand and took another swig, nearly draining the contents. Buffy was quite miffed by his lack of etiquette. None before had ever been so bold as to take something from her without asking. She was the Queen for god’s sake. It looked to her as though Marto needed to learn something about respect and manners, especially where she was concerned.

“You might as well finish it,” she suggested. “I’m not gonna drink your back wash!”

Once again, he laughed before downing the last of the wine. “That was good, but I daresay that I have something better.”

“I hope so, since you drank all my wine!” Buffy snapped back.

“Try this, Maranwë,” Marto said as he offered her a silver flask.

Buffy unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful. Her body shuddered at the taste. “That’s whiskey!” She wasn’t a fan of drinking hard liquor without the aid of some type of mixer. It was not bursting with vine ripe flavor like the wine that she normally enjoyed. “That stuff is vile,” she added.

The Maia laughed again as he took the flask from her. “It is a manly drink.”

“Then why the hell are you offering it to me?” she queried suspiciously.

“I assumed you had the gonads to handle it. Forgive me, for being wrong,” Marto replied with a sneer.

Buffy glared at him, grabbed the flask and took a deep draught. “I’ve got bigger nads than you,” she smirked back. “So, why are you here?”

“I think I know of a way for you to regain your strength,” he said, taking the flask from her. Buffy continued to eye him with suspicion. “We can do an adjoining spell. I can share my essence with you… ”

“You’ve got to be kidding?” she said with an air of disgust. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the freaking Queen of this realm. I can throw you in the dungeons for your insolence.”

“How anxious are you to leave Folkvang?” he queried as he placed his hand on top of hers.

“I’m not that anxious! And I’ll give you a little bit of advice, Marto.” She took a step closer. “If you ever disrespect me like that again, I’ll teach you a thing or two about manners, and believe me when I say, it’ll be a painful lesson. That’s no way to talk to any Lady… especially me, your Queen. I expect you not to forget our little chat.” She turned on her heal and left in a huff.



Over the next few days, Buffy didn’t know what to do with herself. She began training again, thinking that maybe if she built up her strength, she’d be able to recover sooner. Many Maiar joined her in these training sessions including her own handmaidens. That led to them having daily wrestling matches, a favorite past time of her people. Buffy immensely enjoyed the workout that it provided as well as the competitive nature of the Maiar.

Nevertheless, she felt that something was missing. It seemed wrong to her to be having fun while the dwarves were stuck in their current state. Buffy couldn’t imagine what those poor dwarves are going through? They are unable to pick up a hammer or any other tool of the trade while being subjected to watching their kinfolk take pleasure in their labors. That’s what the dwarves lived for - creating new and wondrous things. On top of that, poor Luthor couldn’t help them. He only has the ability to remake his own flesh, not theirs. The Naugrim are bound to her and only she can embody them as they once were.

Although her body was in Folkvang, her heart remained in Ossir. That was the only place that Buffy considered ‘home.’ Sussrúmnir was merely a retreat, a place she could run to when the balance of evil was maintained. And the elves! Oh, how she missed her friends and their sweet voices. Not a day went by that the Slayer did not think of those whom she loved back in Middle-earth - including Kanafinwë. She hadn’t been able to contact him with her mind or through dreams since she was struck with the poisonous dart.

Ten days after her awakening, she decided that it was time to give the throne a try. Perhaps it could clue her in on when she would be strong enough to ‘teleport’ or show her some other means of leaving this dimension. Regardless of her reasons, Buffy could no long restrain the desire to sit upon her magnificent throne.

Several hours had passed and still the Slayer received no visions, not even a morbid one. Instead, she experienced these weird ‘urges’ to make things. She assumed that that was due to the fact that as she sat there hour after hour, her thoughts often drifting to warfare. The crafting of weapons, to be more precise. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do; learn a new skill, thought Buffy. Without giving it a second thought, the Slayer left her Hall of Judgment and headed to the forges despite the fact that it was half past one in the morning.

Buffy had never been to the forges before, but her feet seemed to know the way. She could honestly say that she didn’t have much knowledge when it came to smithing. While the Slayer lived in Doriath, she tended to bypass the smithies due to the heat and odor of the furnaces. Besides, it was kind of a dirty place, and well, she didn’t have any interest in metallurgy. Period. But that was about to change.

There were several men at work, laboring at this odd hour due to their innate passion for this craft. Much to Buffy’s surprise, she discovered that Marto was the chief of these metal smiths, and he didn’t seem at all surprised to see her there.

“I see that the Queen deems that the time has arrived for her to learn the art of making those weapons that she so skillfully wields,” he said courteously as he pulled off his thick leather gloves.

“You’re right. And will it be you, Marto, who’ll teach me this new trade?” she asked in her most dignified voice.

“It would be both a pleasure and an honor to have you under my tutelage, my dear Maranwë,” he replied with a slight bow. It was obvious that he took her earlier warning to heart. She was glad about that.

The more she hung out with Marto, the less irritating he seemed to be. Learning this new craft wouldn’t normally be at the top of her priority list, but she felt the need to make things, and what better things than weapons to use against the enemy. Especially if they could be magically enhanced.

Buffy spent the next few weeks working diligently by Marto’s side in the forges. She was amazed that she had an aptitude for such ‘dirty’ work, but then again, slaying was also a dirty business, so maybe this was meant to be.

There was one day in particular when Buffy thought that she had created a new metal. After smelting copper, she added tin to the mixture, thus creating a tough reddish-brown metal. She pounded out a three-foot square sheet and then tested its durability with blows from various weapons. Buffy was so impressed by her achievement that she showed it to Marto.

He found it difficult to hide his amusement. “My dear Maranwë,” he said half-laughing. “You have not created a new substance, you have made bronze!”

“Oh,” she replied disappointedly, as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

He picked up the sheet. “I must say that you have done a most excellent job. This is fine work, my Lady, fine work indeed.”

A small smile came to her face and she shrugged, “I thought it was kinda pretty… as far as metals go.”

Marto placed the sheet of metal onto one of the tables. He studied the Queen intently as she cleaned up her workstation. His heart ached with both love and pity for the Slayer. He had loved her for many ages now and deemed her fairer than the light of the two Blessed Trees at the hour of their mingling. But he knew deep inside that she would never feel the same for him, for he could see that her heart already belonged to another.

He pitied her because of her destiny. It seemed cruel to him that Maranwë’s memories were concealed from her, only to have her cast blindly into an evil world where she was charged with hunting down the demons that lurked in the darkest recesses of Arda. And to make matters worse, he knew that she would soon discover that if she had remained in the Timeless Halls with Eru Ilúvatar, then Arda would have been a more peaceful place.

Buffy was preparing to return to Sussrúmnir when she stopped to say farewell to Marto. “I guess I’ll see you at the evening meal,” she said, as she wiped the sweat from her neck with a towel.

“That you will,” Marto replied with a smile. His eyes remained fixed on her as she left the forge.

Later that night, at mealtime, Marto had the privilege of sitting beside the Slayer once again. Their friendship had grown since Buffy started her ‘apprenticeship,’ and she was always eager to discuss the manufacturing of new weapons. So far, they had only made ‘simple’ arms, such as swords, axes, daggers, etc., mostly because Marto wanted to teach her the basics before moving on to more ‘advanced’ weaponry.

Buffy had an idea about a special weapon that she was sure that Melkor had not yet crafted within the confines of Angband. Something mystical and powerful. After they finished eating, the Slayer invited Marto back to her chambers on the thirteenth floor in order to discuss, in private, her thoughts about this new weapon.

They sat at a mahogany table, parchment and pencils littering the surface. The Slayer spoke as she sketched out the design that was in her mind.

“A long time ago, when I was living in Sunnydale, you remember me telling you about that, right?” she questioned, as she looked up from her drawing.

“Ah, that would be place that was built on… what did you call it… a Hellmouth?” he queried.

“Yeah. Anyway, there was this time when we had to deal with this Watcher that went over to the dark side, and she got a hold of this wicked weapon called the Glove of Myhnegon. Let me tell you, that thing was badass to the core. It was a mystical device that looked something like this,” she explained as she showed him the design. “It shot out these electrical impulses, much like a lightning bolt.” Her eyes locked with his. “Marto, I think we can make something similar. I mean, the real thing actually clamped onto the wearers arm, never to be removed again, but we can omit that option,” she added with a smile.

“So you want to harness the electrical charges from lightning into a glove-like weapon?” he asked, slightly taken aback.

“Well… yeah. I’ve been thinking too much like a mortal when it comes to designing weapons. I mean, for some reason, I thought about engines and war machines… stuff that I’ve read about in history books… I haven’t given much thought to weapons of the mystical variety,” confessed the Slayer.

“Until now,” he remarked with a smile.

“Yep! I think there’s something about Folkvang that makes me think of weapons with more… potency. I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking about this one for some time now and I think we can do it,” she said optimistically.

Marto picked up the parchment and examined it closely. “I must say, Maranwë, I’m impressed by the way your mind works. I would never have conceived a device like this.”

“Thanks,” she answered. Buffy fell silent for several minutes as a feeling of melancholy crept over her.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing that the Slayer’s demeanor had changed.

“It’s my fault, you know,” she whispered as she shifted her gaze to him. “There’s a hell of a lot of different breeds of demons hidden deep in Angband, and it’s all my fault. Melkor never imagined the creatures that I brought into being.” She rose from her chair, her arms folded across her chest as she starting pacing back and forth. “He raped my mind… my will… my body, and I was powerless to do anything about it. I was a fool… a stupid weak… ” Marto tried to interrupt, but Buffy would not let him. “He was able to pull out all my memories of every evil creature that I’ve ever fought or read about… and together we brought them to life.” She looked at him with tear-filled eyes.

Marto left his seat, walked up to Buffy and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You must not forget that, Maranwë,” he said resolutely, pushing aside a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Melkor is exceedingly strong and his malice knows no limit, even when it comes to the one whom he loves the most. You are not alone in your fight. Don’t forget that… ”

“I’ll always be alone,” she replied, glancing at the floor. “That’s what being a Slayer is all about.”

Marto lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “You’re no mere Slayer, you are a Vala. And I can assure you that there are more people who love you than you know. That’s something that you shall soon discover for yourself.” He pulled her into an embrace, trying his best to comfort her. “We will begin work on this new project tomorrow. Get some rest,” he suggested. Marto kissed her on the forehead before leaving the chamber.

The following morning, after breakfast, Buffy and Marto returned to the forges. They gathered the many items that they would need: leather, chain mail and plate mail.

“We’ll need some copper, too,” instructed Buffy. The Maia looked at her with a puzzled expression; the design did not indicate the use of copper. “It’s an excellent conductor of electricity,” she explained. “We’ll put copper coils between the leather and the plate.”

Marto smiled. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” he said with an air of awe in his voice. Buffy felt her face flush.

They decided that they would make a proto-type first, and if their creation were successful, they would make more. The twosome worked non-stop for three days, only stopping for meals and bathroom breaks. The glove was finished and looked very much like the one Buffy saw long ago with the exception of the claw like clasps. All that remained to be done was to harness the power of electricity. Buffy still wasn’t clear on how they would actually do that.

“My Lady,” began Marto, “You most definitely have the ability to control the elements, as do I.” Buffy seemed baffled by his words. “Shortly before you awoke from your… sleep, a raging thunder storm erupted in Folkvang, the like which we had never seen before. You brought it about, my dear. Your anger… and fear manifested itself in that way.”

“I didn’t know that I was responsible for that,” said a shocked Buffy.

“There are a lot of things that you do not yet know,” he replied. Marto wrapped the glove in black silk. “Come,” he said as he offered his free hand to her. She took it and got to her feet. “I know of a secluded place where we can harness these magics.” Marto led her out of the forges and towards the stables. “I will return in a few minutes. Have two horses ready to go by the time I get back.” He put the weapon in her hands and quickly disappeared.

Buffy had Roccomeldo ready the horses as she sat on a bale of hay. She was so excited about the prospect of harnessing the elements. She would never have believed that she had such abilities.

Ten minutes later, Marto returned with a large satchel. They mounted their steeds and left the city by means of the eastern road that led to a large forest on the coast of that isle. The marbled road ended at the outskirts of the woods. They followed a trail that meandered through towering oaks, beech and sweet gum trees.

They came upon a small clearing with a knoll in the center. It was late afternoon and the sun was quickly sinking beyond the treetops.

“Here we are,” the Maia said as he dismounted from his horse. He helped Buffy to the ground. “We will conduct our experiment on the top of that hillock.”

He took the Slayer’s hand, and together they climbed to the summit. Marto took a seat on the grass-covered mound and instructed Buffy to put the glove on. The Slayer would never have believed what happened next, if she hadn’t been there. It seemed to her that this whole thing was fated to be. She lifted her gloved hand to the sky and began to sing a song of power. Lightning began to flash in the sky above them and the sound of thunder echoed all around. Louder and louder, she sang until a bolt of lightning zapped down from the heavens and struck the glove. Electrical impulses danced all around Buffy and she could feel the intensity of the power accumulating in the mystical weapon. After a few moments, the lightning ceased, the thunder died, yet electrical impulses still flickered from the glove for a little while afterwards. She knew that they had succeeded.

“Give it a try,” instructed Marto.

“Be free!” shouted the Slayer, as a blast of electrical current shot from the glove and hit the tree that Buffy was aiming at. The bolt obliterated it, leaving only smoldering fragments. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “We did it!”

Marto rose to his feet. “No, Maranwë, you did it,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t get all modest on me, Marto. We’ve done this together. There’s no way I could’ve accomplished this without you,” said a beaming Slayer.

“I say that this calls for a celebration, don’t you think?” He pulled a bottle of wine from the satchel that he had brought with him. He popped the cork and handed it to her. “Congratulations, my Lady!” Buffy removed the glove from her hand before accepting the bottle and taking a long swig. She was on cloud nine!

Over the course of the next several weeks, Buffy and Marto made twelve more gloves. Buffy thought about calling the device, ‘God of Thunder,’ even though it shot out electrical impulses, but she settled on the name that she was familiar with, the Glove of Myhnegon.

After they finished that project, the desire to create other weapons had left her. With nothing to focus her attention on, she became restless once again and her eagerness to return home became nearly unbearable. She had now been in Folkvang for seven months. But the Slayer was still unable to teleport herself back home or communicate with her loved ones in dreams.



Buffy spent endless hours sitting upon her throne, hoping that it would indicate when or how she could return home. She became mesmerized by the flickering flames of the fire that burned in the two vats at the bottom of the dais. As she sat there, she had a vision of herself engulfed in flames, her flesh literally melted off. The Slayer leapt from her high seat, fled to the bottom of the dais and looked apprehensively at the chair. What the hell was that? She thought to herself. It was beyond weird. It was frightening.

Her eyes remained fixed on the vats of flame, and after several minutes, she approached one cautiously. She stretched her arm out until her hand was submerged in the fire. It did not burn her at all. The flames contained both power and love. She felt it run throughout her entire being. It was incredible. The temptation to dive in and wallow in it was nearly irresistible. That’s when a series of visions flashed in her mind. They appeared so quickly that most of it was nonsensical to her. Then her head started spinning and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Buffy awoke a short while later in her bed. Istahiro was at her side as well as her handmaidens. “What happened?” she asked.

“You fainted,” answered Istahiro.

“Oh crap!” she exclaimed as she sat up in bed. “I need to see Marto.” She attempted to get out of bed, but Istahiro stopped her. He wanted her to rest. “The hell with that!” She jumped out of bed and ran to the forges as fast as she could. There she found the Maia hard at work on another project. She summoned him to come outside where they could talk more privately.

“What is it?” Marto asked with deep concern.

“I’ve gotta talk to you about the gloves. I had a vision, a series of them actually. Any way, to make a long story short, we need to figure out a way to destroy them,” she said in an anxious tone.

“What? Destroy them? Why would we need to do that?” he questioned, a complete look of shock on his face.

She looked around; making sure no one was within earshot. “I saw a demon with one. He was using it against an innocent… ” She described the snippets of what she had witnessed in her head.

“Calm down… Come. Let us go to my house,” he said as he took her hand and they walked the couple of blocks to his home.

Marto had her go over her story repeatedly. He hated the idea of destroying such an amazing and powerful weapon, but he had to honor the wishes of the Queen. For the next couple of days, they worked on performing a spell to destroy the power of the glove. After several attempts, they came up with a smelly concoction of sands and powders that rendered the glove useless.

“Listen Luinil,” Marto pleaded. “Let us not destroy any more unless the need arises. We have the ability to relinquish its powers, but let us not destroy this work of wonder too hastily.” It took him a while, but Marto convinced the Slayer to keep the twelve remaining gloves. They would not tell anyone about them and they would be kept locked in the vaults of Sussrúmnir. She felt better knowing that they had found a way to destroy those mystical relics.

Buffy soon left Marto’s house and aimlessly wandered through the city. She soon found herself on the western shore of the isle. The Slayer sat down on the edge of the dock, her feet dangling over the side. She experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. As Buffy listened to the waves breaking against the rock wall, she distinctly heard a melody in the distance. She cocked her head, listening more intently. It seemed to be coming from across the lake from a southeasterly direction.

The Slayer leaned back on the dock, savoring the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine, doing her best to ignore the mystifying tune that seemed to be beckoning her. Not long afterward, Buffy returned to Sussrúmnir and ordered Anairë to ready a ship. She was going on a little trip to the mainland. There was something out there calling to her and Buffy could no longer quell her desire to find out what or who it was.

“No!” she repeated, as she led her horse onto the ship. “I’m not gonna have this conversation with you again Feawë,” said a frustrated Slayer.

“But my Lady,” whined the Valkyrie. “You have never been to the mainland before. Let us escort you… ”

“I said no, and I mean no! So stop with the begging. This is a solo mission. That means I want to go alone.” Buffy’s patience was nearly gone. “If you follow me, I’ll toss you into the dungeons. That applies to any of you people.” She glanced at the others who stood beside Feawë. “I want to be left alone. I’m a big girl and I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.” She nodded to the Captain, who then ordered the men to start rowing. Feawë stood on the dock and watched as the ship left port. She refused to leave that spot until the Slayer returned.

Buffy situated herself at the prow of the ship for the duration of the journey. It wasn’t until the following afternoon that they reached the shore. The Slayer had no other choice but to jump from the boat into the water (along with the horse) and swim to shore, as the ship couldn’t get that close to shore without getting stuck. She wasn’t too happy about being wet and sandy by the time they reached the grass, but c’est la vie.

Both she and the horse, who she simply called Rocco, started walking in a southeasterly direction. She decided not to ride Rocco until she was dry. Chafing would only make matters worse. Buffy had learned that much about horse back riding since her arrival in Middle-earth.

Now Rocco proved to be quite an animal. Buffy had not done much horseback riding in Folkvang, but this beast was tireless. Roccomeldo had told her that the horses had been a gift from Oromë and that they had been born and raised in Valinor. They were bred to be both strong and steadfast and Rocco was no exception.

The days and nights began to run together as Buffy continued on her excursion. Her gut told her that she was supposed to be here. That’s what drove her on. The feeling was unshakeable. The Slayer felt confident that this would somehow lead to finding a way back to Middle-earth. Even though she loved Folkvang and its people, that didn’t come close to her love of the elves and dwarves back home. And it didn’t help matters any that time was swiftly passing by while she remained in this Blessed Realm. God only knows how much time had passed by in Beleriand. Time was something that Buffy wasn’t ready to tackle just yet. All she longed for was to return home to Ossir.

It was late one morning when Buffy had her first strange ‘encounter.’ She and Rocco were galloping through a field of tall grass when a lion and lioness picked up their trail. Now, on the island, the animals, all of them, lived side by side in harmony, but the Slayer wasn’t quite sure whether that same rule applied on the ‘mainland.’ They were still nearly a hundred yards behind, but regardless of Rocco’s pace, they continued to stay relatively close.

Late that night, after Buffy set up camp, she could hear the beasts roaring in the darkness. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of their yellow eyes amid the blackness. Rocco didn’t seem upset by their presence, so Buffy took that as a good sign. The lions did not approach while the Slayer remained awake.

The following morning Buffy awoke to find the lion and lioness lying down on either side of her. She turned her head to the side and saw the lion looking at her lazily. Slowly, she turned to the female who was too busy preening herself to notice the Slayer. Buffy warily sat upright, her eyes darting from one cat to the other.

“Good kitties,” she said softly as she slowly got to her feet, grabbing her satchel with her left hand. “That’s it, stay where you are,” she added, speaking both slowly and softly. Rocco was about twenty feet away grazing happily, his tail swishing back and forth. The lions didn’t move as Buffy inched herself closer to the horse. She repeatedly said, “Good kitties,” and “Stay where you are, kitties.”

Once she found herself next to Rocco, she leapt atop him and had him gallop quickly away. The lion let out a loud roar before its mate joined him in the chase. All that day, the big cats continued their pursuit, but at nightfall, they approached the camp once again. This time, Buffy was awake. She eyed them cautiously as they lay on either side of her. The lioness actually put her front paw on the Slayer’s leg and purred as she started licking the fur on her own leg. Buffy let out a sigh of relief when she realized that these beasts were harmless, at least where she was concerned. The cats traveled with her from that point on.

It wasn’t long afterward that Buffy named her new companions. He she called, ‘Kit’ and she ‘Kat.’ The animals also became much more affectionate towards the Slayer. At night, they nuzzled up to her and Buffy was amazed at how warm they kept her. The oddest part of this whole thing was that the music that Buffy had been following had stopped once she had met the kitty cats. Nevertheless, she continued in the same direction that she had heard the tune coming from.

That is, until she experienced a strange turn of events. It started with the lion. He began to roar loudly and his behavior seemed rather odd to Buffy, so she stopped Rocco. Kit appeared to want to go due east as opposed to the more southern route that she had chosen. Kat had already taken off in that direction. The Slayer was unsure of what to do, until Rocco galloped after the lioness. They had gone maybe a few miles when Buffy noticed something up ahead glimmering in the sunlight.

In the middle of a glade sat a glittering golden chariot. Buffy jumped off Rocco for a closer look. There was no doubt in her mind that it belonged to her. It looked similar to the one’s she had seen in movies and books except this one was more beautiful. A relief of a crucifix and an eight-pointed star (made of sapphire) was located on the front panel, and on either side was a lion and lioness.

“Is this what I’ve been searching for?” she asked out loud. Kit brushed against her and nuzzled her neck. Buffy scratched his head. “I think you’re right,” she mumbled under her breath. Buffy stepped up on the platform of the chariot and found two leather harnesses lying on the ‘floor.’ As soon as she picked them up, both lions moved to the front of the chariot. It took the Slayer a minute before she realized that she was supposed to harness the chariot to the lions. She let out a cheerful laugh. “This is some crazy shit,” she said as she went to harness the kitties up to this device. “Never heard of lions pulling a chariot before! Can things get any weirder than this?” she asked herself. She would later find out that yes, things would most definitely get weirder.

Before Buffy climbed back in the chariot she went over to Rocco. “Okay, my friend,” she said, patting the horse on the neck. “You’re free to do as you wish, Rocco. Enjoy your freedom or you can return to Sussrúmnir, if you know how. I need to go with the lions.” He neighed and rubbed his head against her before trotting off to the east.

Buffy stood before the lions, who were sitting proudly, waiting for their instructions. “Okay, Kit and Kat. I’m assuming that this is some mystical chariot of sorts… so take me home… to Ossir.” Kit let out a roar and both cats rose to their feet. The Slayer smiled. Finally, she was going home. She climbed back in the chariot and a few moments later the lions took off. There was no type of reins, so she assumed that the cats understood what she was saying and would take her to her destination.

She was slightly confused that lions were traveling in the direction from which they had come. But she was even more surprised when both the lions and the chariot became airborne as the terrain was no longer level. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed as they ‘flew’ over the treetops. She felt like Santa Clause, without all the presents. It was… awesome!

Unfortunately, the lions returned to Sussrúmnir, which left the Slayer completely baffled. “So much for your sense of direction!” said a miffed Buffy, as she unharnessed the kitties from the chariot. “I thought you guys were gonna take me home. And you know damn well I didn’t mean Sussrúmnir!”

Many of the Maiar started to gather around the bottom of the steps that led to Buffy’s great house. Let’s face it. It wasn’t everyday someone saw a flying chariot being drawn by two lions. Not even for one of the Ainur! Buffy was so frustrated and angry about her trip being a complete waste of time, that she bypassed the growing throng to return to her Hall of Judgment. The sound of thunder rolled in the distance.

As Buffy entered the humongous chamber, she snapped her fingers and said, “Drink, Núrë!” before climbing the steps of the dais. Her cupbearer was soon at her side with a silver, jewel encrusted goblet full of mead in her outstretched hands. The Queen nodded her head in appreciation before downing it in one gulp. Núrë immediately refilled it. “Leave!” ordered Buffy. The maiden nodded her head before heading towards the double-doors. “All of you! Out!” The occupants made a hasty retreat as the sound of pounding rain on the roof mixed with rolling thunder.

When the room was emptied, Buffy placed her drink on the table next to her throne and closed her eyes. She gripped the arms of her throne tightly, concentrated hard, and desperately tried to summon her brother, Irmo. When that failed, she called out to Salmar, Námo and Manwë. None answered. She cursed her misfortune once again. Why won’t anyone help me? She asked herself. Am I being punished by the Valar or am I still under Morgoth’s yoke?

After an hour of pouting, Buffy rang the gong, indicating to her servants that it was permissible for them to return to the Hall. She summoned forth all the mighty councilors of Folkvang to aid her in her quest to get home. She nearly freaked when she learned that her ‘little’ trip to the mainland took her well over fourteen months to complete. She had lost all sense of time and Buffy had now reached the panicking stage. No one offered any suggestions or spells in this matter save one - Marto. He reiterated his earlier offer of doing an adjoining spell with the Slayer in order to get her powers back. Buffy wasn’t sure if she was that desperate yet.

Later that night, the Slayer sat in one of her many sitting rooms, sipping wine as she thought about this predicament. Earlier in the evening, she had calculated how long she had been in Folkvang. She had been here for nearly two years, which meant that nearly twelve years in Middle-earth had passed since her absence. God only knows what the elves were thinking. Orchal probably assumed that she had died in battle or something. And if that was the case, did that mean that the dwarves were no longer making her war machines? Or that Morgoth had chosen this means of getting her out of the way so he could unleash his armies in Beleriand? She could find no answers to these questions in Folkvang.

Buffy was desperate. And desperate times do call for desperate measures!

She returned to her dimly lit bedchamber. As she went through her wardrobe looking for a nightgown, she listened to the beautiful voice of Antamo, which was audible throughout all of Sussrúmnir. Once she had decided on a long flowing red gown, she changed. The Slayer knew what she had to do.

Buffy then pushed her mammoth bed into the center of the room. She grabbed a jar of red sand and poured it in a circle around the bed. “Red represents power, of which I call upon in my darkest hour,” she said as she completed the circle. She then grabbed a jar of the purest and whitest sand and she made a circle within the red one. “White represents holiness and purity, deliver unto me all of its sanctity,” she uttered when she finished pouring the sand. The Slayer then grabbed the last jar, which contained blue sand and began pouring it inside the white circle. “Blue represents wisdom and the strength of me. I call upon its powers to help me see,” she said as the three rings were completed. Buffy stood beside the bed and clapped her hands together, and the circle of sand turned to a ring a flame. It flickered with all three colors. Buffy became breathless when she saw that the spell was activated.

Only a few moments later, Marto, whose body emitted a soft white light, walked through the fire towards the Slayer. He was dressed in long gold robes and stopped when he was only inches from her. “I’ve heard your call, my Lady, and I have come,” he said, as he gave her the once over.

“This is wrong,” she whispered breathlessly.

“No,” he countered as he gently pushed the straps of her gown off her shoulders. Her gown fell into a pool at her feet. “This is meant to be,” he continued as his hands caressed her naked flesh. His eyes glanced at the mark on her breast. Buffy felt embarrassed and went to cover it with her hand. “No,” he uttered as his lips softly kissed the spot. It did not burn, unlike the time with Mablung.

Buffy’s own body started to emit the same white light.

“I don’t love you,” she said softly as he placed several kisses on her neck.

“I have enough love for the both of us,” he whispered in her ear.

“But it’s wrong,” the Slayer said unconvincingly.

Marto looked at her, his hands cupping her cheeks. “This is meant to be,” he repeated. “For you are destiny and I am fate.” He pressed his lips against hers. She couldn’t resist him any longer. Her hands wrestled with the clasps of his robe as the light of their essences became brighter. When she undressed him, he laid her on the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. Marto had managed to awake the passion within her.

When their bodies became as one, the room glowed in a myriad of vibrant colors. The ring of fire flickered from blue to gold, and then red to white. The change in colors continued in that same pattern over and over again. The power of the light was felt by both of them and while they were adjoined, Buffy could feel her strength returning.

Their lovemaking went on for hours. And when Marto released his seed, they did it again. The second time was not part of the spell. It was strictly for pleasure. Buffy was the Vala of Love and that included the physical aspects of love (or lust), as well. And let’s face it, this is something that she was born to do… it was a part of her soul.

The room was alit in a blinding white light, as they lay there utterly exhausted and panting. The light gradually faded and the chamber became dim. The sound of their heavy breathing seemed amplified to Buffy’s ears. All of the sudden, the room became filled with a golden blue light. The Slayer closed her eyes as she felt the power coursing through her body. It was euphoric!

Buffy’s thoughts were interrupted by the strange words of Marto.

“Look Maranwë,” he said. “We’ve made twins.”

Buffy turned to him and saw that he was propped on his elbows looking towards the foot of the bed. She didn’t understand his words until she followed his glance. At the foot of the bed stood two naked beings; one male, one female. Immediately, the Slayer pulled the covers up, covering both her and Marto’s nude bodies. The ‘people’ had golden skin that appeared to be tattooed with unusual blue symbols or designs. The man’s hair was short and gold colored while the woman’s was long and dark. They both had these intense blue eyes.

“Our children,” whispered Marto with joy in his voice.

“Children?” questioned a totally shocked Buffy, as her gaze went from Marto to the two naked people in the chamber. “Huh? What? Our children? Huh?”