Sad Wings of Destiny

�What makes you think the Enemy knows about you?� queried the Watcher.

Miriel couldn�t help but snort in response. �Come now, Hal,� she chortled. �Do you not remember the first time we met on Amon S�l? Do you think those hordes of Orcs just happened to come across me?� She rolled her eyes. �I was already being hunted. You know that.� The Slayer made a mental note to add �bad memory� to the list of traits that she and Halbarad did not share. How could he possibly forget their first meeting? She surely had not.

�I reckon that must have slipped my mind,� he remarked with a quick shrug.

�Slipped your mind?� she repeated, her eyes widening in disbelief. �I suppose you�ve been struck in the head one too many times, eh? Might�ve affected that memory of yours.� She snickered, mumbling, �That would explain a lot.� Her remarks were meant to be witty, but apparently came across a bit too sardonic for Halbarad�s liking.

�It�s good to see that you haven�t lost your sense of humor � all things considered,� he replied before blowing out a stream of smoke in her direction. �I�m not as young as I used to be, and perhaps, our long stay in Rivendell has caused me to briefly forget our initial meeting. If I recall correctly � and I believe I do � it was not very pleasant.�

The tone of his voice put Miriel on the defensive. �I thought you all were trying to kill me,� she shot back angrily. �What did you expect me to do? Fall on my knees and show gratitude to a bunch of strangers attacking me?�

�We didn�t attack you,� laughed Halbarad.

�That� that one man did. He grabbed me from behind, choking the life out of me!�

Anger now flashed in the Watcher�s eyes. �That man was Arvellas, who now lies dead because of your reckless disregard for others in battle.�

And just like that, their amicable conversation took a turn for the worse. Miriel sat there for a moment, absolutely dumbfounded. Halbarad�s words were like a devastating blow that knocked the wind out of her. Though she had been told she was not responsible for Arvellas� death, (by her own Watcher, no less), she felt both a surge guilt and rage at the accusation. She rose, snatched her cloak off the arm of the sofa, and stomped toward the front door.

�Where are you going?� he called out after her.

Miriel replied by slamming the door behind her. She was livid and hurt. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her wet head, as she started down the rutted roadway. She had no idea where she was going. She just needed to get away from Halbarad so she could simmer down some.

After clasping the button of her cloak, Miriel looked up and noticed several villagers staring at her. She hadn�t realized how loudly she had slammed the door, which had drawn the attention of those neighbors out and about on that cold, yet fair, morning. In no mood to converse with anybody, she spun on her heel and bolted to the woods, seeking solace amidst the trees of Chetwood. She followed no path, but made her own, leaping over fallen trees that she came upon like a frightened deer fleeing from potential foes. She ran until the cramps in her side became unbearable, and the breakfast that she had so enjoyed rose to her throat. Breathless, she plopped down on a fallen pine, trying to catch her breath.

As she sat there, Miriel replayed the events that had just transpired over and over in her mind. Was it her fault? Was she responsible for this new friction between her and her Watcher? Feeling sick to her stomach, she shifted her gaze above, looking at the patches of blue sky through the treetops. O� how she wished that she had never heeded Aragorn�s advice! There was no hope of repairing her fractured relationship with Halbarad. It was doomed from the start, she concluded.

Maybe I should just run away, she thought to herself. Surely, once healed, she could survive on her own in the wilderness. She had before, so why couldn�t she do so again?

Would you have it that you should die alone? queried the �bad� voice in the back of her mind.

Slayers are meant to be alone, argued the �good� voice. Those with great power walk alone.

Miriel was beginning to think that she had already gone mad. Why else would she hear these dueling voices in her mind? She clasped her hands over her ears, not wanting to hear any more debate on what she should do. She�d have to take things day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.

Trying to calm her frazzled nerves, she took several deep breaths, and slowly expelled her breath until her lungs felt empty. The last thing she needed right now was to fall into a state of melancholy. Those episodes generally last for days at a time and left her feeling weak and useless.

Once her breathing had returned to normal, Miriel explored the woods further, since she was not yet ready to go back to the cottage and face Halbarad. After having ridden for days on horseback, her limbs were grateful for the exercise. She felt comforted to be amidst the trees, hidden from view from friend and foe alike.

When she finally stepped out of the woods, many hours later, she was nowhere near the village of Archet. Before her was a vast openness of withered grasses. Wisps of fog still lingered over parts of the area. In the distance, she spotted some hills. She looked to the sun, hoping that that would tell her in which direction she had wandered. But, the sun shone directly above her, surrounded by white puffy clouds, making it impossible to tell if she had journeyed west, east or north. She was nearly positive that she hadn�t gone south, as she would�ve been able to see the Great East Road or the deep dike that ran along the southern border of Bree-land.

Her heart began to race, as her alarm grew. Here she was alone, weaponless, in a region of Eriador with which she was totally unfamiliar. What if Orcs attacked? How could she defend herself with so severe an injury? She now felt foolish for having gone off so far on her own. Her immediate dilemma was what to do now. Should she follow the edge of the forest until she found the Great East Road, or maybe The Greenway? Or would it be wiser to go back into the Chetwood, hoping that she�d find her way back to Archet, or maybe Combe or Bree? It was winter, and nighttime would come earlier at this time of year. Was it worth the risk to reenter the forest?

As she stood there, dwelling on this matter, she hoped that the sun would move, pointing her in the right direction. However, she was growing impatient, and feared remaining where she was. At this rate, nightfall would come, bringing with it greater cold, and the threat of unfriendly creatures. Without even realizing it, her feet decided for her, following the tree line of Chetwood to her left.

The whole time she walked, she thought how stupid she had been to travel anywhere without so much as a knife. It wasn�t long before her stomach began to rumble with hunger. Her hearty breakfast was long gone, and her strength felt like it was beginning to wane. To make matters worse, low, grey clouds were swiftly drifting over the region, devouring both the bright blue sky and the face of the sun.

Grumbling under her breath, she tried to hasten her pace, now that rain seemed imminent. As the sky grew darker, the temperature began to plummet. The trees to her left creaked and moaned from the sudden winds, and a feeling of uneasiness gripped the Slayer�s heart.

When the first drops of rain began to fall shortly afterwards, Miriel discovered that she was walking nearly parallel to a roadway. Having traveled on the Great East Road only yesterday, she could see that this was not the same road. She had found the Greenway, much to her relief. She remembered Halbarad saying that the Greenway intersected with the Great East Road just outside of Bree.

A sudden deluge of icy cold rain marred that brief moment of joy in knowing where she was. The rain came down so hard that Miriel could barely see more than a few feet ahead of her. Bowing her head, she kept her gaze fixed on the grassy roadway, surprised at how quickly pools formed on the ground beneath her booted feet.

If she found her way back to Archet, the Slayer vowed to herself never to wander off again. Her misery only grew. Within minutes, she was drenched to the bone, and shivering from the cold. She hurried on, her feet now sloshing through the puddles in her path. A sudden clap of rolling thunder startled Miriel. It was so loud and unexpected that she literally jumped from the ground. Several flashes of lightning followed, illuminating the dark sky for several seconds.

Cursing to herself, she plodded on, feeling more miserable than she had in a long while. When she finally came upon the intersection of the two roads, she felt neither relief nor excitement. She started down the Great East Road, toward the gates of Bree. Yet, with the torrential downpour, she was able to see very little.

She hadn�t walked long when she reached the gateway to Bree. Thankfully, her way was not barred. Lights twinkled in the windows of the villagers homes. From what she could see, no one was outside. She veered off the main road, taking the first one to her left, hoping that she had chosen the correct path to Archet.

The rain had eased up just a little, and she constantly looked more at her surroundings than the road itself. When she could see the light shining within the little round windows of the Hobbit holes, she knew she was on the right path.

Her thoughts now turned to Halbarad. How would he react when she arrived back? Would he be wroth? Upset? Worried that she had been gone for so long? She kept visualizing possible scenarios of her Watcher�s reaction upon her return to the cottage. With her head bent and her eyes fixed on her path, she became heedless of her immediate surroundings. That is, until she felt someone forcefully seize hold of her broken arm, sending a jolt of searing pain up and down the extremity. In a split second, a dozen or so thoughts flashed through her mind, including her regret that she had no weapon on her person. As she tightly clenched her jaw, she heard her own voice say, I am a weapon.

There was no time to think. Her body reacted to what it considered a threatening situation. With her adrenaline now pumping, her left hand shot out from beneath the folds of her cloak and grabbed the cloaked figure by the throat. She raised the smaller figure off the ground, flipped him through the air and pounding him to the ground. The hood of the figure�s cloak slid back off his face, just as a flash of lightning lit up the area. To Miriel�s horror, she could see that she was holding a young boy under a rather large puddle. She released her grip, grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him out of the murky rainwater before he could drown.

Coughing and sputtering for air, the boy, rubbing the soreness in his throat, looked up at Miriel. His big brown eyes revealed both bewilderment and wonder. �How�d you do that?� he gasped, clambering to his feet.

O� crap. Think of something quick, Miriel. Grimacing from what she had done, she quickly apologized. She then pulled back her cloak, and showed the boy her injured arm. �You grabbed my broken arm,� she said.

The boy�s eyes darted to her arm in a sling. He winced at the sight. �Sorry about that,� he said hastily. �But your strength! I�ve never seen a girl with such strength before.�

Miriel pulled her cloak tightly around her. �When one is under attack, one is capable of great feats of strength,� she explained, hoping that the boy would find that believable.

He stood there, in the pouring rain, staring at her with his jaw agape.

�Why�d you attack me?� she asked, eyeing him warily.

�I didn�t attack you,� the boy protested. �Your Halbarad�s niece, Glossien, right?� Without allowing her time to respond, he continued. �He said that you had taken off this morning, and presumed that you had gotten lost and asked that if any of us were to cross paths with you, to escort you back home.�

As Miriel digested the boy�s words, she noticed that her arm was not throbbing so badly now. Perhaps the adrenaline rush had numbed the pain some. She now wondered what kind of mood Halbarad was in. �Is he mad?� she heard herself ask.

�Worried is more like it,� the boy answered. �He�s been searching for you all day.�

The Slayer bit her bottom lip. She had hoped that would be the case once she got back, but, somehow she thought that Halbarad would be quite angry with her.

�I best be getting back then.� She eyed the boy, adding, �Sorry that I� about everything.� She then started down the road again.

�I�ll accompany you,� said the boy, trailing after her. �I only live a few doors down from your uncle.�

�Is that so?� answered Miriel. She gave the boy a sideways glance. �What�s your name?�

�Heath. Heath Hawthorn,� he replied, �son of Sage.�

Miriel snorted softly, finding both of those names very strange, for people, that is. The boy, Heath, seemed to have recovered rather quickly from the incident and prattled on as if nothing had ever happened. They continued on their way. The boy nearly had to jog to keep up with Miriel�s much longer strides. She watched him from the corner of her eye, noticing that he looked to be a couple of years younger than she, and about six inches shorter. Though his cloak concealed his frame, she could tell by the ease with which she had tossed him that he didn�t weigh much, and was on the scrawny side. His drenched, light brown hair stuck to his neck, just above his shoulders. Bits of dried leaves and whatnot clung to his locks.

After they entered the village of Archet, Heath pointed out his house as they passed it by. Though she told him he should go on home, he refused, insisting that he walk her to her door.

As they approached Hal�s cottage, Miriel could see that the lamps were burning within the foggy windows. She began taking deep breaths, fearing what awaited her on the other side of the door.

�Thank you, Heath,� she said when they had reached the door. �You best go on home and get into some dry clothes.�

�Alright, Glossien. I�ve seen to it that you�ve made it home safe and sound.� He smiled broadly. �I�m still in awe of your strength. Perhaps one day you could show me that trick of yours.�

�Perhaps,� she answered, offering him a quick smile.

�Good-bye,� he said with a wave before running off to his home.

Taking one last deep breath, Miriel pushed open the door and entered the cottage. Halbarad, being the Ranger that he was, had watched her approach. He was already standing at the threshold when she stepped inside. Upon seeing him, she froze, afraid of what might happen next. She had been preparing herself for a verbal spanking, as Buffy called it.

When their eyes locked, she was somewhat taken aback to see that her Watcher looked relieved at her return. �You�re soaked,� he said, ushering her further inside and shutting the door behind her. �Let�s get you dried off.�

Miriel tried to conceal her surprise at seeing Halbarad showing actual concern for her well-being. It was one of those rare moments. She undid the clasp of her cloak and swapped it for the towel that her Watcher had grabbed off that back of one of the kitchen chairs.

�Come on, let�s get you over to the fire,� he proposed, guiding her to the sitting area. �I was so worried, Miriel.�

The Slayer glanced at her Watcher. His face was full of grave concern, still.

�I feared that something horrible had happened to you.� He took a deep breath, and actually shuddered as he exhaled. �Promise me you will do no such a thing again.�

Miriel bowed her head, remembering what had driven her out of the cottage in the first place. Though she was now riddled with guilt, she was still hurt by Halbarad�s earlier comments.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, �I�m sorry,� as he gently set her onto the chair nearest to the fire. He took the towel from her hand and began patting the glistening wetness on her exposed skin. �I should never have said what I did. It was a mistake, on my part. I shan�t make it again.�

Satisfied with his apology, Miriel nodded. She then uttered, �I promise,� in response to his previous statement.

�Good,� he replied with a nod. �You need to get out of these wet clothes before you end up sick. I�ve laundered your clothing you had worn on the journey,� he said, pointing at the neatly stacked pile on the kitchen table. �That�s fit to wear.�

Miriel was stunned. Before she could even say thank you, Halbarad began unlacing her boots. �Let�s get these off so I can set them by the fire to dry.�

The Slayer was still taken aback by Halbarad�s demeanor. It was so very unlike him. However, if her absence had brought about this change, then she was happy for it.

When her boots and stockings had been removed, her Watcher said she could change in his room. She mumbled a word of thanks before doing just that.

By the time she had exited his room, Halbarad was at the stove. �I think we�ll eat supper by the fire tonight,� he said. �Go ahead and sit while I ready things.�

Miriel was still floored by this change in Halbarad. He was being so nice, so considerate, so thoughtful. She was beginning to wonder if the real Halbarad had been abducted and had been replaced by this one. Regardless, she gladly accepted her Watcher�s kindness, and sat down upon the rug in front of the roaring fire.

After they had eaten, they continued to sit by the fire. Halbarad, now seated in the wooden chair, puffed away on his pipe while Miriel remained on the floor, watching the dancing flames lick away at the logs. She had been pondering, for a while now, whether she should tell her Watcher that that boy Heath had witnessed her strength firsthand. In some ways, she was loathed to do it, as Hal had warned her not to tell anyone she was the Slayer. Sure she hadn�t said anything, but tossing the boy to the ground with such ease may have revealed her true nature. That alone was a frightening thought.

For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the crackling fire and the storm outside. The rain continued to beat upon the roof, and occasionally, the winds whipped through the village, pattering the rain against the windowpanes. And there must have been some unseen cracks around the windows or something because there were times when the wind passed through them, making a high-pitched whistling sound. However, that had little effect on the inside temperature, for the cottage remained cozy and warm.

Miriel retrieved her blanket from her bag and spread it out before the hearth. After such a long day�s march, she needed to stretch her tired limbs. She sprawled out on her blanket; all thoughts of the earlier incident swiftly drifting from her mind. Soon, the sound of the crackling fire and pounding rain lulled the young Slayer to sleep�



�Is it just me, or does it always seem like its raining?� groaned a frowning Buffy. Her eyes were fixed on a nearby window, watching as the rain continued to lash at the glass pane.

�It�s just you,� Miriel replied with a sigh. She still lay on the floor before the roaring fire, feeling comfortable and content.

The elder Slayer strolled over to the seating area and plunked down on the sofa. She sat there for a few minutes, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. �You wanna train or something?�

Perplexed by her mentor�s suggestion, Miriel sat upright, pointing to her injured arm.

�We�re in a dream, Miriel,� countered Buffy. Smiling coyly and mimicking the voice of Master Po from the old Kung Fu TV series, she added, �You are hereby healed, young grasshopper.� She then leapt to her feet. �Come on, let�s do something. I don�t wanna just sit around here bored out of my wits.�

�I�m tired, Buffy,� argued the younger Slayer. �It�s been a long day. I don�t feel like doing much of anything.�

�But, we�re in a dream,� repeated Buffy, trying her best to persuade Miriel into doing something, anything other than lying around. �And you don�t have to be hurt if you don�t want to be.� She paused, raising a brow in question. �Or is it that you choose to be all helpless, suffering from damsel in distress syndrome?�

�Pfft,� sounded Miriel, rolling her eyes. �That�s utter nonsense! I just don�t feel like doing anything, training or otherwise. If you�re so bored, then go do your own thing. I�m not stopping you!� She then lay back down.

Buffy stood there for a few moments, stunned that Miriel had no interest in doing anything but acting all sloth-like. They could virtually go anywhere, do anything. However, the elder Slayer didn�t want to go traipsing off by herself. She longed for company and always looked forward to the hours when Miriel slept.

Seeing that her prot�g� had no interest in anything, Buffy�s eyes shifted to Halbarad�s bedroom door. She cast one last look at Miriel, who continued to lie on the floor with her eyes closed. With a shake of her head, Buffy strolled over to the bedroom door and slipped inside, determined to find whatever she could in regards to Miriel and the Slayer lore.

Miriel had no idea that Buffy had left the room. She was too preoccupied with her own thoughts, thinking over the events of the day. It seemed to her that she and Halbarad had reached some type of understanding, a truce, if you will. Her only concern was the incident with Heath, and the fact that she hadn�t told her Watcher about it. At this point, she feared doing so, believing that the D�nadan would be angered by her displaying her Slayer strength in front of one of the villagers, no matter the circumstances.

Buffy had been gone for nearly an hour when she finally exited Halbarad�s bedroom, wearing a smug smile on her face. In her hands, she carried a dusty, discolored black leather-bound book. Moseying over to the seating area, she curled up on the couch, watching Miriel out of the corner of her eye. She flung open the book to where she had been reading; a red silky ribbon marked the page where she had stopped.

Still, Miriel paid no attention to Buffy. Even in the dreamscape, she remained half-asleep. She had no idea that Buffy had hit the jackpot, finding Halbarad�s secret stash of Watcher-Slayer memorabilia.

Though the journal was written in a foreign tongue, Buffy was able to understand every word written (so far). She assumed it had to do with being in the dreamscape, where the impossible becomes possible. The tome had been written thousands of years ago, during the Second Age, before the fall of N�menor (obviously). Buffy had heard Miriel�s tales of her ancestors, the D�nedain of N�menor many times over, and thought that her prot�g� would be quite interested in hearing about one of their predecessors.

From what Buffy had read thus far, the diary belonged to a Watcher named Istyaro. The year was 3271. The Slayer in question, Tulc� was thirty-three years old at that time. Buffy was rather shocked by that Slayer�s age. She considered thirty-three way too old, especially for a newly called Slayer. However, Buffy didn�t wholly understand that N�menoreans at that time still lived a long life, much longer than Men in her time. By N�menorean standards, Tulc� was considered a child, for one did not reach adulthood until the age of fifty.

Before reading where she had left off, she carefully turned the yellow, brittle pages back, using care not to tear any additional leafs from their binding. Two pages back she had found the folded piece of parchment, which she then gently unfolded. A heaviness fell over her heart as she re-read the letter for the fourth time.

Wanting to share its contents with her prot�g�, she said, �Isn�t that Sauron guy the Big Bad here in Middle-earth?�

�What of it?� answered a disinterested Miriel.

�I found this letter in Hal�s stuff � �

The younger Slayer bolted upright so unexpectedly that Buffy stopped speaking mid-sentence. �You went through Halbarad�s belongings?� she queried, staring disapprovingly at Buffy.

�Well, yeah,� replied the elder Slayer, not seeing why Miriel was so upset. �It�s no big deal. It�s not like he�s here or anything,� she added dismissively.

�You have no right going through his things,� rebuked the younger Slayer.

�But don�t you wanna know what I found?� asked Buffy, holding up the fragile piece of parchment so that her prot�g� could see it. �It�s a letter. From long ago. Written by a Slayer to her Watcher. I think you�ll find it interesting. She mentions Sauron by name.� Buffy made a point to speak in short poignant sentences, attempting to entice Miriel�s curiosity. �It�s tragic, really,� she continued, her eyes shifting back to the letter. She sighed heavily. �But if you don�t want to see it � �

� � I didn�t say that!� interjected the younger Slayer. Though she was most certainly opposed to Buffy�s snooping around in Hal�s bedchamber, she found herself eager to hear more. How could she not want to learn more about another Slayer, particularly one from long ago. Who wouldn�t? She turned, facing Buffy, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. �Go on. Read it.�

�You sure now?� said Buffy teasingly. �I mean, I did swipe it from Hal�s personal belongings.�

�For the love of Eru, just read it,� demanded Miriel.

�Okay, if you say so:

��My dearest Istyaro,�� Buffy�s eyes flashed to Miriel. �That�s her Watcher.�

Miriel gave her mentor a threatening look, disinterested in hearing Buffy�s commentary.

��Forgive me, I pray!�� Buffy continued, reading from the fragile parchment. ��Loathe am I to go against the will and wisdom of the Council, but I must. I now see that I am our only hope, and perchance none in Armenelos, whether it be the King, his Men, or the Dark Lord himself know that a newly awakened Slayer no longer sleeps on this Isle. What hope have we if none dare attempt to overthrow Sauron?

�You say it is folly. I say it is destiny. My destiny. Darker days await. I have seen it in my dreams, or nightmares, as they more closely resemble � black smoke issuing from a silver domed tower, blood running along the roadside gullies, the stench of death lingering heavily in the air. We are the Faithful, the Persecuted. The slaughter will continue. How many more of our loved ones must die, lord, before the horror comes to an end? I can no longer hide in fear, waiting for the King�s henchmen to take us away one by one until none are left.

�Who will come to our aid? Who will deliver us from such evil? The doom of N�menor is drawing near. It cannot be mere chance that I�ve been Called at this time. Is the Slayer not an instrument of those whom we love in the West? Is it not my sacred duty to save us from ruin? Sauron�s tendrils of hate and malice spread ever more. Now is the time for it to end.

�Take care my beloved mentor, my teacher, my friend. My heart tells me that there will be no coming back. Maybe we will meet again across the vast waters, in the halls of our fathers.

Yours in Peace,
Tulc뒔

When Buffy had finished reading the letter, she said, �That�s so sad.� She then carefully folded the parchment. �Looks like Tulc� went on a suicide mission.�

Miriel�s heart was still thumping madly in her chest at Buffy�s reading of the letter from a former Slayer that had lived in N�menor during its darkest days. �Does it say what happened to her?� she asked.

�Well, kinda,� answered Buffy, placing the now folded parchment to the side. �Her Watcher actually went after her, but never made it to� � She paused, shifting her gaze to the diary, searching for the name of the city, �Armenelos.�

�Was it the King�s Men? Was it they that captured him?�

�No,� replied Buffy, her eyes still fixed on the page. �It looks like Tulc� had actually spiked her Watcher�s wine.�

�Spiked?� queried Miriel, baffled by her mentor�s choice of words.

�Um, drugged it with a sleeping draught, or so he�d thought.� Buffy then read from the journal:

��Curse her! Curse Tulc� and her stubbornness. Undoubtedly, she had put something, a sleeping draught, I deem, in the wine she offered me at the midday meal.�

�Looks like our �foremother� was determined to face off with Sauron,� remarked Buffy. She looked up at Miriel and smiled. �She was a ballsy chick, don�t you think?�

�She sounds foolish to me,� observed Miriel. �And desperate.� She felt saddened by Tulc�s quest. �So, what happened to her?�

�Well, it doesn�t say for sure, unless you want to believe, as this Istyaro had, that the Lady of the Seas set an enchantment upon him on his way to Armenelos.� Buffy�s eyes darted back to the page. She had read most of the entry dated the 21st of N�ri� (June). Looking back at Miriel, she thought she�d give her the gist of the story instead of reading it in the Watcher�s words.

�Her Watcher started the trip to Armenelos, but after only a few miles, he slipped into a sudden sleep, and fell off his horse - �

�No!� interjected the younger Slayer, shaking her head. �I want to hear what Istyaro had written, word for word. Please.�

Buffy sighed. �Okay, okay. Let me find my spot.� She babbled the few sentences that she had already read aloud. �Okay, here it is,� she added, marking the spot with her finger where she had left off.

��I write this as my horse is being readied, as I shall race to Armenelos as swiftly as I may. I do not know how long ago Tulc� had departed these halls, as none here had seen her go. How she managed that, I�ll never know. Yet, my heart despairs. I foresee no victory for my Slayer. Though Sauron wears the guise of a fair mortal Man, he is not! He is an Ainu of great power, and even greater cunning. He has learned well from his Master, Morgoth Bauglir.

��I am being summoned. My horse is ready.��

Buffy paused there. �It stops on that part, and then a little ways down the page he continues.�

�Go on,� urged Miriel, eager to hear the rest of the diary�s entry.

The elder Slayer took a deep breath before continuing:

��I have failed, failed my dear Tulc�. I had only traveled a few miles on the road to Armenelos when a sudden weariness came over me, so much so that I fell into a sudden sleep whilst still upon my horse. I fell to the ground and experienced what I can only describe as visions, visions of what Tulc� faced ere the end. I write now at great speed before the memory wholly fades, for I believe that these visions were not the work of Sauron, but of one with greater authority. The Lady of the Seas, I deem, or perhaps even the Lord of Waters himself had me witness the tragic events that befell my beloved Tulc� in the King�s halls.

��I had witnessed these events as if seeing them through the eyes of Tulc�. She had departed as I slept, taking our speediest steed from the stables for her journey. She arrived at Armenelos at twilight, just as the first stars glimmered above. Riding down the street, approaching the Citadel, she noticed a new structure in the making � the foundation greater than Elros� tower that stands proudly to its west. She shuddered, seeing in her mind�s eye the silver-domed tower of her nightmares already underway.

��Driven by desperation, she pleaded with the door wardens, the wicked King�s Men, that she longed to enter the service of the greatest of lords, Ar-Pharaz�n. At first glance, the guards look upon her with suspicion, thinking that this maiden offered naught for the King. But then, as they looked upon her more closely, noticing the beauty of one descended from the House of Hador, a girl on the cusp of womanhood, their thoughts turned evil.

��At that moment, the gong sounded, denoting a changing of the guard.

��Come with us,� said one of the men, �and we will take you to the King.�

��Tulc�, in her youth and inexperience, did not notice the gleam in the mens� eyes. And each took her by the arm, leading her away from the front door, promising to take her to see the King by another way. The men took her to a guesthouse beside the King�s halls, intent on defiling her, each in his turn.

��Neither man could have foreseen what was to happen next, for when they began pawing, tearing at my beloved Slayer�s raiment, she withdrew from beneath her cloak an elven blade, gifted by the Eldar of Tol Eress�a, and slew each man so quickly that they were unable to shout in warning.

��Terrified, yet justified, Tulc� stayed in that house, trembling with fear. She had not come to Armenelos to kill Men, and had not expected this turn of events. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror on the wall, she saw that the bodice of her gown was torn and splattered with blood. She did not know how she could get to Sauron without any noticing. However, her blue eyes revealed her resolve, and she renewed her determination to finish the task that she had appointed unto herself.

��Waiting for nightfall, she crept out of the house, pulling her cloak tightly around her body, and made for the Citadel. If the rumors proved to be true, that the King spent most of his time in that fair place with his chief councilor as his only companion, then Tulc� was on the correct path.

��Whether it be good fortune or no, Tulc� found a way inside. No guards or passersby hindered her going. Guided by a higher force, or so it seemed, she arrived outside the doors of the King�s high chamber and with cunning words was able to pass inside.

��There she was in the heart of shadow, striding towards the King�s throne. So intent was she on completing her task that her eyes did not stray to take in her impressive surroundings. She remained steadfast. Her eyes fixed, not on the King, but on his chief councilor, who sat to his right. Fair he was, in face and body, yet Tulc� was not deceived. She knew him for what he was � evil incarnate, and the most ardent of Morgoth Bauglir�s disciples.

��As she approached the dais, both villains� eyes remained locked on this newcomer, eager to know her purpose. When she reached the throne, she curtsied, as she would with any mighty lord. Wisely foregoing not only the elven tongue but also her true name, she named herself L�minzil in Ad�naic, the favored tongue of Ar-Pharaz�n. She uttered such words of flattery upon both King and Councilor that they relaxed in her presence, fearing no ill from this mere maiden.

��The King�s eyes glinted in amusement. And then he said, �What could one so young seek to do in my service?�

��And Tulc� standing tall and proud looked Ar-Pharaz�n in the eye, and answered, �I would seek to restore N�menor as it once was.�

��Ar-Pharaz�n chortled, replying with, �Under my lordship, this land has become more glorious than ever before. And, as a people, we have prospered, having greater knowledge and wealth than any time in our history.� He leaned forward, smirking, �And let us not forget the majesty and strength of our fleets, which have multiplied and are unconquerable.�

��You misunderstand me, lord,� answered Tulc�. �For the D�nedain were once an honorable and virtuous people, but no more. In your folly, you have heeded the evil utterances of one who has been under the tutelage of the Nameless Enemy. As a result, you have, unwittingly or no, thrust the goodly people of this Isle into the Abyss.�

��What happened next happened so quickly that it bordered on mayhem. Tulc� pulled her elven dagger from the pocket of her cloak, and lunged at Sauron, whose eyes widened with fright as he leapt backward, (as did the king). Armed guards charged from the hidden recesses of the chamber, brandishing their sharp swords.

��Tulc�s blade pierced the flesh of Sauron�s left shoulder, causing the Maia to shriek in pain. Only a second or two later, many guards stabbed Tulc�, slaying her upon the king�s throne.

��And then I awoke, feeling an emptiness in my heart that told me that the vision was true - that my beloved Slayer had fallen in the Citadel of Kings not long ago. Despair has now replaced my grief, for I have failed Tulc�. I should have been at her side, guiding her in some way.

��For I now see the world darkening before my very eyes, and that the doom of the D�nedain is creeping ever closer.

��O� Tulc�, my beloved: why leave me behind? I would have fought beside you in that fateful hour. No peace will I ever know again, having lost one so dear to me. Farewell. Farewell cruel world. My time is over.��

Buffy paused, and looked up at Miriel. �That�s the last that Istyaro wrote.�

�I wonder what happened to him,� uttered the young Slayer, amazed by the valor of one so young.

�Actually, it does say,� replied Buffy, her eyes shifting back to the pages of the book. �Um, it looks like someone found the book, and Istyaro. There's a space and then someone wrote:

��22nd of N�ri�

��It was I, Elendil, son of Amandil that happened to find the body and diary of a friend and fellow Watcher whom I dearly loved���

�Elendil!� exclaimed Miriel upon hearing that. �He was the lord of our people when they first settled Middle-earth. I had no idea he was a Watcher!�

�Do you want me to keep reading or not?� asked Buffy, slightly annoyed by the interruption.

Miriel nodded, wanting her mentor to go on.

��Woeful tidings do Istyaro�s writings bring, for alas our Slayer has fallen, and her Watcher as well. If I read the signs correctly, it seems to me that in Istyaro�s despair, he slew himself like T�rin Turambar before him. What a great loss to the Council this is. We will bury our kinsman near the sea in R�menna.

��We now anxiously await some sort of retribution from the King�s men to befall the Faithful. Things shall turn ill for us all, I fear.��

�That�s all there is,� said Buffy, carefully thumbing through the rest of the pages for any more entries. �The rest of the pages are blank.�

�What a sad tale that was,� said a misty-eyed Miriel. �To think that one of our foremothers had dwelled in N�menor during the reign of Sauron.�

�I�m confused,� said Buffy, wrinkling her face. �I thought that Ar-Pharaz�n was the king, that this stuff happened under his rule.�

�Well, that�s true, but according to Gondorian lore, Ar-Pharaz�n became corrupted by Sauron.�

�How? I mean, I thought that Sauron lived in Mordor,� said a baffled Buffy.

�He did. But you see, back in those days, Ar-Pharaz�n was a mighty king and had become overly proud. When he heard that Sauron called himself Lord of Men, a title that Ar-Pharaz�n felt he deserved, he decided to bring his armies to Middle-earth and challenge Sauron. It is said that when the minions of the Dark Lord saw the strength and splendor of the N�menorean armies, they deserted their lord and fled into the wilds. Sauron was forced to come out of his Dark Tower and humble himself before Ar-Pharaz�n. The King then took Sauron captive and brought him back to N�menor - �

� - Wait a minute,� interjected Buffy. �Did you say captive, as in he who is a prisoner?�

�Yes.�

�But it says in the diary that he was the king�s chief councilor,� remarked a baffled Buffy. �How does someone go from being a prisoner to a councilor?�

�You underestimate the guile of Sauron, Buffy. It is said that within a few years, Sauron had bewitched the king and most of his court, and that he was made Ar-Pharaz�n�s chief councilor. The lore masters of Minas Tirith say that Sauron was so cunning that he easily corrupted Ar-Pharaz�n, who then carried out the Dark Lord�s every whim, including murdering the D�nedain in tribute to his former master, Morgoth Bauglir.�

�That name, Morgoth Bauglir sounds eerily familiar,� said Buffy, feeling herself shudder from a sudden cold chill. �It�s like d�j� vu. But for the life of me, I can�t place it. I know I know that name� The elder Slayer narrowed her eyes, struggling to remember where she had heard the name Morgoth Bauglir before.

�He was much worse than Sauron, or so it has been said. It frightens me enough knowing there�s an evil Maia in Middle-earth; I wouldn�t want to even think about what it would be like to have an evil Vala on the prowl.� Miriel shuddered at that thought. �Nevertheless, I feel sorry for Tulc�. What a tragic way to go!�

�All Slayers bite the dust at some point or another,� added Buffy. �Us included. It�s the when, where and how that we don�t know.�

Miriel shrugged off Buffy�s comments. She wasn�t remotely interested in thinking about her own mortality. Not now. The tale of Tulc� now consumed her thoughts. She found it remarkable how brave the D�nadan must have been to confront Sauron as she had. It made Miriel wonder. Perhaps it was her destiny to assume her foremother�s role and confront the Dark Lord and do away with him once and for all�