Full Circle

“C’mon Fingon, is this really necessary?” queried Buffy as he shackled her wrists. “Why all the animosity? What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?”

“I think that you should gag her,” remarked Aegnor, who was also present. “The witch might attempt to cast some type of spell upon us.” Buffy could not believe what was she was hearing.

“Will someone tell me what the hell is… ” she started before Fingon gagged her. They hoisted the Slayer on top of his horse. The son of Fingolfin seated himself behind her before they started riding south.

“You will face the judgment of Fingolfin, King of the Noldor,” revealed the Prince. He did not say another word to Buffy for the remainder of the trip.

The elves behavior greatly disturbed the Slayer. She was beyond pissed that nobody would explain to her what she had done that was so horrible. All she could think about was all the crazy shit that seemed to be happening to her, one ordeal after the other. It almost seemed like there was a contest to see who could capture Buffy and inflict the worst punishment on her. She was finding that it was becoming too much for her to handle, especially in her current state of health.

It did not take long to reach Fingolfin’s Halls by the shores of Lake Mithrim. After Buffy dismounted from the steed, the elves placed shackles on her ankles as well. She found it strange to see all these people looking at her with such loathing, and the worst part was that nobody would tell her anything.

Unfortunately, Fingolfin was not around when she arrived, so they took Buffy to the dungeons to await his return. Even with her behind iron doors, the guards refused to remove the shackles; they only un-gagged her when she ate. The cell was about ten by ten and its only contents (other than Buffy) was a stone bench, which was hard on the Slayer’s bony ass. She spent most of her time pacing back and forth, annoyed that she found herself in such a predicament, again.

It was evening when the guards finally escorted her to Fingolfin. Buffy hoped that she could convince the son of Finwë that she was innocent of whatever deeds that she supposedly committed. At least now, she would find out.

“Who are you?” the Noldo King asked. The Slayer was amazed that he was questioning her identity. Fingolfin knew her. Why the hell would he ask her that?

“Are you for real?” she questioned, slightly perturbed. “Fingolfin, you know damn well who I am.” The room burst into rumblings from the spectators who deemed that the Slayer’s response was rather boorish and disrespectful. Buffy glanced around the room before she continued. “Will you at least tell me what’s going on? What crime have I committed against you or your people?”

“I have been informed that there is someone out there impersonating Bellaseth Dagnir. A witch they say,” answered a frowning Fingolfin. “You, maiden, were seen leaving the Dark Lands.” He motioned to a member of his Household, who then brought forth the weapons that Buffy had on her when she had left Angband. “And did my men not find you armed with the weapons of the enemy?” questioned the King as his eyes scrutinized her.

“Of course, they did,” answered the Slayer. “How else am I supposed to survive in the wild without weapons?”

“How did you acquire such an array of weapons?” he queried skeptically. “Surely, Morgoth doesn’t arm his prisoners,” he added sarcastically. Many people chuckled at his comment.

Buffy stood there silently. She was unsure of how to answer that question. There was no way that she could reveal that those who aided her escape were in fact her offspring. This sure wasn’t the time or the place for that. She needed to come up with something, and quick.

“Morgoth is not currently in Angband,” disclosed the Slayer. “Some of his… people helped me escape.”

Even Fingolfin had a good laugh over that. “So, you are telling me that Morgoth’s own minions, who fear their master’s wrath beyond anything, helped you to escape.”

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Now tell me then… why would they help you escape?” asked the King. He didn’t believe one iota of her story, but he still wanted to hear her response to his questions.

Without skipping a beat, Buffy answered, “Because I have been unjustly incarcerated, that’s why.”

“I hate to interrupt, my Lord,” said an elf whom the Slayer didn’t know. “But I think that I may be able to help determine whether this maiden is the real Bellaseth Dagnir or the imposter,” said the stranger.

“How is that, Faron?” asked the King.

“When the imposter was at Himring, Hweston had to remove an axe from her chest. There was a mark on her breast… ” he sneered at the Slayer. “The mark of Morgoth, I deem. Surely, if she possesses that mark, we will be able to confirm that we have in fact, captured the witch.”

When Buffy heard that, she felt weak kneed. She had no idea who this Faron was, and the idea of pulling her boob out in front of a roomful of men was not the most appealing of thoughts. Of course, everybody else in the room agreed with the elf, including Fingolfin. The Slayer attempted to wrestle with her captors when she felt that they were manhandling her. There was no way they were going to get a peak that easily! Buffy was desperate, she had to resort to her most lethal weapons: her teeth and fingernails. Sadly, someone hit her from behind, knocking her out cold.

Buffy awoke the following morning in her darkened chamber. Her head was throbbing and she felt a huge knot on the back of her head. The pain was excruciating. There was no doubt in her mind that they had seen the mark. That would explain why the elves kept her shackled, gagged and behind bars. The sound of her chains rattling together when she moved caused the pain in her head to increase threefold. As she rubbed her temples, she couldn’t help but think about how well Morgoth had treated her during her confinement at Angband. Buffy hated to admit it, but she would rather endure his torments than the elves.

It was mid-morning when four guards brought Buffy her breakfast. The throbbing in her head had suppressed her appetite, but she was quite eager to drink the tea they had brought. Nothing would make her happier than having the cloth removed from her mouth.

“You need to eat,” said one of the guards after un-gagging the Slayer.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied somberly. “I’ve got a splitting headache.” She awkwardly picked up the cup and took a sip of tea as one of the guards ordered another to get some medicine for Buffy. The three other guards remained in the dungeon, their weapons at the ready.

The Slayer eyed the men, who were intently watching every move that she made. “So, what happens now?” she asked wearily. No one said a word. “What? You guys aren’t allowed to talk to me. Can you at least tell me what the King’s verdict was?” she queried. Still, nobody answered. Buffy’s frustration was growing.

An image flashed in her mind. She saw herself hurling her tray of food at the guards, which caused mayhem in the dim chamber. She then saw herself wrapping the chain around one of the guard’s necks, choking the life out of him. As the scene unfolded in her head, the teacup fell from her hands and broke into many pieces when it hit the stone floor. The smashing sound shook her out of her reverie.

It was at that moment when the guard returned with another dark-haired elf. They instructed Buffy to stand facing the wall while the men hurriedly cleaned up the mess. The newcomer then approached her.

“I’ve been told that your head hurts, maiden,” he said kindly. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

Buffy turned and faced the elf. Her hand instinctively went to the back of her head. “No,” she replied. “Just give me something to ease the pain. Please.”

“Oh my,” he began as he touched the knot on her head, causing the Slayer to wince. “You have a big goose egg,” he remarked.

“You don’t say,” she shot back sarcastically.

The elf disregarded her comment and had her sit back on the bench. He opened the satchel that he had brought with him and pulled out a bottle and some cloth. A fragrant smell filled the chamber as he poured some of the liquid onto the cloth.

“The skin has been broken,” the elf said as he pressed the dressing gently against her head. Buffy grimaced. “I will give you something for the pain as soon as I’ve finished tending to your wound,” informed the man. The pain was already lessening.

“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” asked Buffy.

“That I am,” replied the man. “I am Hweston, from the House of Maedhros.” She looked up at the elf with surprise.

“You’re from Himring,” she commented excitedly. “Is Russandol here? What about Maglor? Can I see them?” she questioned.

“Russandol and Maglor are currently in Ossiriand, I’m sorry to say. I have come here with my brother, Faron,” revealed Hweston.

As soon as she heard that name, her hope faded. That was the son-of-a-bitch that had told the elves to look at her breast. She became sullen after that. The healer did give her a dose of elixir and instructed her to eat. Buffy refused.

“You look malnourished. When was the last time that you had a decent meal?” Hweston asked as he looked at her closely. Buffy shrugged her shoulders. The desire to overpower the guards came to her mind once again. It took everything that she had to repress that thought.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” she asked as she looked up at the elf.

“The King has sent word to Maglor about your capture. It will be he who determines your fate,” answered the healer. “You will remain here until he arrives.”

“Lucky me,” she mumbled under her breath. Since Buffy refused to eat, they re-gagged her and left her in solitary confinement. While Buffy was not thrilled about being locked in the dungeon, she felt confident that Maglor would recognize her once he arrived. She just had to be patient and wait.

It was not wise for the Slayer to refuse the food of the elves, especially since she was already skin-and-bones. Her powers had not yet returned and her health began to rapidly deteriorate more so. By mid-afternoon the following day, unbeknownst to the elves, Buffy was consumed by a raging fever. Her mind had become so hazy that she thought that the white dove that sat perched on the bracket on the wall was but a mere illusion.

Buffy lay curled up on the stone bench, shivering uncontrollably, with only a thin blanket. The only light came from the small opening at the top of the iron door. She could make out the flickering flame of a torch in the outside passageway through the bars in the small opening; its dim rays did not penetrate the gloom of her chamber. Nevertheless, the Slayer was born with the ability to see well, even in complete darkness.

She then heard the soft cooing sound of the dove, and only a moment later, she heard another cooing in unison. Buffy thought that perhaps she was close to death, but that was not the case. The room then became aglow with a brilliant white light, and amidst it stood both Anno and Mirë. Their illuminating forms quickly approached their mother, each wore a look of horror and sorrow on their fair face.

“Mother! Mother!” they cried out, drawing the attention of the guards. The children carefully sat Buffy upright on the bench as Anno undid the gag.

“I would never have thought any of the Eldar capable of treating any living being with such cruelty,” seethed her son. “They will pay for this, mother. I swear!” he vowed in his anger. The Slayer was in a dream-like state; everything seemed to be moving in extra slow motion.

“She is burning with fever, Anno,” announced a worried Mirë. “We need to get mother to Folkvang at once.”

“HALT RIGHT THERE!” came a booming voice from the threshold of the door.

“INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS!” yelled another.

“THE WITCH IS ESCAPING!” screamed yet another, whose footsteps echoed as he ran down the passageway.

Three of the guards entered the chamber with Buffy and the twins. As Fingolfin’s men charged with their weapons drawn, Anno raised his right hand, all three dropped their weapons and became suspended mid-air. Buffy’s son cast an invisible noose around each one’s neck, deeming that death was the just reward for their mother’s current state of health. The Slayer became frightened, for she did not blame her misfortune on the elves.

“NO!” cried out Buffy as she feebly reached out for her son. Mirë quickly steadied her mother as tears rolled down her cheeks. Anno turned his head towards the Slayer.

“These elves deserve death for their mistreatment of you, mother,” he answered, before turning his attention back to the floating men. “Even Námo himself would agree with my conclusion. How dare one of the lesser races treat a Holy One in such a manner. May they reside long in the Halls of my uncle.” The men continued to gasp for air as their hands frantically attempted to pull on the invisible bonds.

“Don’t Anno,” pleaded Buffy weakly. “They’re not guilty of any crime. My condition wasn’t caused by the elves.”

“The elves are the ones who’ve locked you up in their prison! The elves are the ones who’ve chained you up as a criminal. The elves are the ones that stuffed a dirty rag in your mouth! The elves are the ones who’ve left you here to wither and die from fever!” Anno spat maniacally, the fire in his eyes burned fiercely.

“Mirë, please, stop him,” implored the Slayer to her daughter. “That’s not the way it is. He’s wrong. Don’t let him do something he’ll regret later.”

Her daughter glanced at the men and saw that their faces were starting to turn blue. She placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder and uttered, “Enough.” As soon as had she said the word, the men fell to the floor in a heap. It was then that they heard the footfall of several men heading towards the chamber. The twins used their magic’s to slam the iron door shut, and mystically locked it. The weapons on the floor then went sailing across the room, colliding with the stone wall. Their implements of war shattered upon impact.

The elves outside the room pounded on the door yelling to their kinfolk, who remained reeling on the floor, dumbfounded by all that had happened. The two doves flew towards the window in the door, cooing softly, before disappearing before the stunned elves’ eyes.

Anno and Mirë stood Buffy up, positioning her between them. They were greatly dismayed by her emaciated appearance and frailty. The children’s hearts ached for their mother; they knew that no matter which home they took her to, tragedy awaited. The doppelganger Buffy had brought great evil to the House of Maranwë Luinil, Fëantári of Mortals.

“You can tell your Lord, Fingolfin, that I hold him personally responsible for Bellaseth’s condition,” declared Anno angrily to the elven guards. He glanced at his ailing mother before he continued. “You people have brought shame and disgrace onto yourselves. How dare you lesser beings confuse the Lady of Light with one of the Dark Ones! You have proudly waved your banner of ignorance, and woe shall come to this House, as it is fated to be. The day will come when sorrow and darkness befalls the House of Fingolfin and your Lord will pay the ultimate price in penance.”

The elves trembled upon hearing Anno’s words, yet one within the chamber spoke up.

“The Lady has the mark, the mark of Morgoth on her bosom,” said the guard, who finally got to his feet.

“And what do you know of this mark, elf?” inquired Mirë in a hostile tone. Her eyes bored into the man, who then fell to his knees, shaking in fear. “It is as I thought. You know nothing. Mother’s fate is greater than you deem. How dare any of you pass judgment on her when she will be the one to deliver us all in the end.”

“But we were told that there was an evil twin of the Lady let loose in Beleriand,” countered the same guard. “She was seen leaving the Dark Lands. Surely, you can see how that would make us conclude that she was the evil one. Why else would the Lady be in Angband?”

“Our mother has been unfairly imprisoned for over twenty years… ” started Anno before his mother interrupted him.

“What?” queried the Slayer weakly. “Twenty years?” Buffy could not believe it.

“Shh, nana,” said her daughter as she put a comforting arm around her mother.

“She was a prisoner of the Dark Lord! Did she not tell you that? Look at her!” yelled Anno. “It is by the grace of Eru Ilúvatar that she had managed to escape, and my heart tells me that there were those that aided her from within. They realize that she is their only hope for redemption, and perchance yours as well.”

“Let us depart this dreary place, Anno,” suggested Mirë. “Mother is in desperate need of Istahiro’s skill. I do not think we should wait any longer.”

“No, don’t take me to Folkvang. Take me to Maglor,” requested the Slayer before losing consciousness. Anno picked his mother up in his arms and planted a kiss on her burning forehead.

“Heed my words, elves. Heed my words,” remarked Anno before him, Mirë, and Buffy disappeared in a blinding white light.

Once they were gone, a loud clicking noise echoed in the chamber as the door unlocked itself. The guards hastily fled the chamber and sought out the King in order to deliver the ominous words of Anno. When Fingolfin heard about all that had transpired in his dungeons, he became deeply troubled. It now seemed obvious that he had caught the good Buffy, not the evil one. The elven King retreated to his private chambers so that he could mull over all that had happened.

The son of Finwë stood before the arched window in his sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back as he absentmindedly gazed at the large body of water. Gray clouds filled the sky and only a moment later, heavy drops of rain began to fall. All Fingolfin could think about was Bellaseth Dagnir.

How could that be the same woman that I had met at Mereth Aderthad? He asked himself. Buffy’s appearance had changed dramatically since that time - and for the worse. He could not fathom the agony that she must have suffered to weaken her so.

A sudden flash of lightening followed by a loud crack of thunder caused him to jump back from the window. He heard someone gasp from behind him, turned, and found his sister, Lalwen standing there.

“I see that the thunder has startled both of us, my Lord,” she said as she approached her brother.

“What is it that you want, Lalwen?” he asked as he turned to face the window. The rain now lashed against the windowpane making it impossible to see out. He walked to the sideboard and poured each of them a drink. He knew that he was about to get an ear-full from his sister. “Have you come to inform me that I have acted too rashly?”

“You are King, my brother, and your word is law. I only wish that you would not cast aside my opinions so hastily. There is wisdom to be found in the women of the House of Finwë, it would do you good not to forget that,” chastised the dark-haired beauty.

Fingolfin forced a small smile as he handed her a glass of wine. “I only wish to protect you, little sister,” he answered.

“Protect me from what?” she queried defensively. “From peril? From the Doom of Mandos? I have traveled the same roads as you Fingolfin, yet I still live. I am stronger than you give me credit for.”

“I do not doubt your strength, but you would have been of no use…”

“No use!” she angrily interjected. “There is such a thing as women’s intuition, brother. I have heard not the same thing applied to those of the male gender!” She took a sip of wine.

“I did not mean it that way. Forgive me,” apologized the Noldo King. “I was unclear with whom we were dealing, Lalwen. We assumed that she was the witch.” He turned his glance away before adding, “Alas, we were wrong… but a shadow of doom lies upon her, we could all see that… ”

“Indeed! For I deem that that same shadow lies upon the Noldor as well,” she commented. “We would never treat any of our kindred in that manner, would we?” questioned Lalwen.

“You are right,” Fingolfin answered as he swirled the contents of his glass. “What’s done is done.”

“No, my Lord. That’s where you’re wrong,” countered his sister. “Change the law. Even if we one day capture one of the enemy, they should be treated as we would want our people treated.”

“And what of the enemy? Do you think that Morgoth will show the same mercy to our people?” he queried agitatedly.

“No, I don’t. But we do not answer to the enemy, we answer to Mandos,” she replied.

He sighed heavily. “I do not know what to do,” he whispered.

“I do. I say that we pay a visit to Bellaseth in Ossir,” suggested Lalwen. “She is understanding, Fingolfin, and filled with such love. I felt it when I first met her.”

“You revere her, don’t you?” inquired the King with a half-smile.

“Of course, what woman wouldn’t!” she answered excitedly. “She has it all.”

“Yet for some reason, I deem that the Lady herself would disagree with your sentiment.” Fingolfin didn’t realize that he spoke his thought aloud. “I will heed your advice and leave for Ossir at once.”

“Good. I’m going with you,” she remarked with a smile. There was no way she would remain in Mithrim while Fingolfin traveled to southern Beleriand.



Anno and Mirë had decided to take Buffy back to Lindecoa, it was the only place that had not been defiled by the evil imposter. Besides, it was at that fortress that Maglor waited impatiently with his six brothers. The children, with their mother in Anno’s arms materialized in the Lady’s bedchamber. While Anno placed her in bed, Mirë tracked down Nestor and informed him of Buffy’s arrival and ill health. As Nestor ran to retrieve the various tonics to aid in the Slayer’s recovery, he literally ran into Thranduil.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Thranduil,” apologized the healer breathlessly. He helped the young man to his feet. “Bella’s back and she is ill,” he shouted as he continued to run down the hallway. “Please find Maglor and let him know.”

The silver-haired elf stood there for a moment, totally stunned. “She’s back,” he uttered under his breath. He turned on his heal and headed for the staircase. Instead of descending the stairway, the young elf, slid down the banister in order to reach the lower level faster. He ran down many hallways before flying out of a set of doors leading to the back yard.

The sons of Fëanor were sitting in one of the many gardens when the heir of Greenleaf arrived, panting.

“What is it, Thranduil?” questioned Maglor. The elf leaned against Celegorm’s chair, rubbing the stitch in his side. He was having a hard time catching his breath. “Is something wrong or are you playing another game of chase with the lions?” he asked with a laugh.

“My Lord,” he gasped. “The Lady has returned. Bella is back, and she is ill. Nestor is tending to her now.”

“Bella!” exclaimed Maglor as he jumped to his feet. His brothers followed suit. “Where is she?” he asked.

“In her bedchamber,” replied the silver-haired elf. The seven brothers and Thranduil then took off towards the mansion. Maglor was at the forefront of the group.

The news that Buffy had returned spread quickly through Lindecoa. The many people of her Household were making a mad dash to her rooms on the upper floor, congesting the hallways even more. Maglor made his way through the throng in her chamber, he gasped when he saw his beloved’s appearance.

“What in the name of the Valar has happened to her?” he queried despairingly as he edged closer to the bed.

“I need room here, people,” declared an annoyed Nestor. “Get back!”

Anno leapt up from the bed, pulled his future stepfather aside, and tried his best to console him. He told him everything that he knew, which wasn’t much. They would not hear the tale in full until the Slayer woke.