Full Circle

Buffy remained in her bed, asleep throughout the duration of the day. Maglor was comforted knowing that she was now safely at home, but the things that Anno had told him greatly disturbed him. He was dismayed even more by the fact that his own kinfolk had treated her so horribly, yet he could understand Fingolfin’s position somewhat. Surely, there was no way his uncle could differentiate between the two Slayers. Hell, even Maglor had been fooled by the witch’s deception, that is, until they had kissed. Therefore, he could not hold any grudge against him, no matter how much his younger brothers had voiced their disapproval.

Anno and Mirë insisted on staying at Lindecoa until they felt assured that Buffy’s health had improved. They had not told anyone in Middle-earth about the chaos that had been unleashed in Folkvang with the evil men. The twins did their best to handle the situation, but their mother was desperately needed in that Blessed Realm. The Maiar and men that had been subjected to the horrors of the evil men that Angwen released into that world would need some reassurances from their Queen that all would be fine. The good men would only be able to find healing through the love of Buffy, and the evil men needed to get a taste of her wrath. At least, that’s how Anno saw it.

Later that night, when Maglor climbed into bed next to the Slayer, he noticed that her fever had finally broken. That brought him much relief, as he knew she was on the road to recovery. As soon as she awoke, he’d have the cooks prepare all her favorite foods, so that they could begin packing the weight back on her. The Noldo couldn’t imagine what hardships she had to endure during her imprisonment.

After planting many kisses on her face, he fell contently to sleep.

It was some time in the middle of the night when Maglor was roused from his slumber. “Wake up, Maglor,” he heard Nestor say, as the elf gently shook him. “You need to wake up,” the healer repeated.

“What is it?” the Noldo replied with a yawn. “Is something wrong with Bella?” he asked as his eyes went to the woman who lay next to him. She was still sound asleep.

“Get Bella!” ordered Nestor. “Ulmo paid a visit to me in a dream and showed me how to heal her, but we must take her to Lindon as quickly as possible.”

The Noldo rubbed his face in an attempt to wake himself up. “Alright,” he added with a yawn. “Let me dress and then we’ll go,” the dark-haired elf replied as he got out of bed. “Have you informed Anno and Mirë?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re waiting outside with Thranduil and Úrion. They say they’ll transport us to Lindon instead of taking a boat. We’ll be able to get there much quicker with their aid,” replied the healer before exiting the chamber.

Maglor quickly changed, wrapped Buffy in a couple of quilts and then picked her up in his arms. He couldn’t believe how light she was. “It won’t be long now, my love,” he whispered. “Then we’ll find out who did this to you and we’ll exact our revenge.” He left the room and joined the others in the sitting room. A few moments later, they disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

It was nearly two in the morning when they had arrived in Lindon. Nestor refused to allow any to go with him, except for Maglor and of course, Buffy. The rest of their party ascended the ladders that took them to the city in the trees. The healer led the Noldo, who carried his beloved, through the woods behind the Halls of Denethor. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach the enchanted spring of Ulmo. The golden-haired elf instructed Maglor to toss the Slayer into the cold water.

“Are you mad?” questioned the outraged Noldo. “She’ll drown!”

“I assure you, Maglor, Bella will not drown,” replied the elf. “She has been here before, surely you know that. If you want to hasten the healing process, you need to do as I say!”

The Noldo stood at the edge of the pool with Buffy in his arms. He had mixed feelings about whether he should toss his sleeping beauty into the water. Nestor gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he pulled the quilts from around her. Maglor looked down at Buffy. Despite her frail appearance, she seemed to be at peace. He kissed her forehead, took a deep breath and then threw her body into the spring. Both elves dropped to their knees and peered into the clear water. Buffy’s body emitted a soft white light as it plummeted to the bottom, leaving a trail of bubbles in its wake.

The jolt of cold water had suddenly awakened the Slayer from her deep slumber. When her eyes popped open, she saw Maglor and Nestor peering into the water from above. She recognized the familiar sensation of being nothing but dead weight as she sank to the bottom of the pool. However, something unexpected happened once she hit the floor. Her fey glowed brightly before shooting out of the water like a rocket.

Buffy continued to soar upwards towards the heavens at great speed; her essence resembled a shooting star and all those who happened to be outside at that hour could see her in all her glory. She ascended for miles upon miles, enjoying the rush and freedom that astral projection brought. It was then that something collided with her fey causing it to shiner even brighter; it flashed to blue, then back to white, before the light faded altogether.

The Slayer came to a standstill upon impact, her fey remained hovering high above the earth. The collision was not a bad experience by any means. She found it be quite euphoric, orgasmic even. Every molecule of her essence tingled. She felt invigorated. Revived. For the first time in years, she felt whole, complete. There was no doubt in her mind that her powers had reunited with her fey. Finally!

When the euphoric feeling wore off, Buffy’s rejuvenated fey returned to her body and she swam to the surface. She was happily greeted by both Maglor and Nestor. “How do you feel?” asked Maglor, as he wrapped the quilts around her.

“In a word - famished!” she replied, slipping her feet into a pair of sandals.

“Let us see if we can remedy that,” said the delighted Noldo.

Instead of teleporting back to Denethor’s Halls, the trio walked. Buffy savored every moment of the trip. Even though it was chilly, she found the gentle breeze to be rather refreshing. Lindon was peaceful and tranquil, especially at night. She inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of the dirt, trees and grass. Buffy was home. And in later years, Lindon would always be remembered as her favorite abode, more so than Folkvang. The memory would live on.

Buffy was heartbroken over how much time she had missed with her loved ones. All those years were lost. When the Slayer gets her hands on the one responsible, they’re going to rue the day they ever gave her second thought. Buffy would show no mercy, even if the guilty party was her own daughter.

Maglor took his lover straight to the kitchens, which she found peculiar. Instead of changing into dry clothes in her bedroom, Nestor went to retrieve her something suitable to wear. Her beloved’s priority was getting her fed. Buffy ended up changing in one of the pantries, a first for her. By the time she re-entered the dining hall, thirty people of her Household were present. She and her companions sat down to a smoked ham dinner. As she ate, she told her tale in full. The elves were horrified by her story and totally astonished that Morgoth was the one responsible for rescuing and healing her.

The elves had held a council in Lindecoa while Buffy was unconscious and determined that they would not tell her about the mayhem that the evil doppelganger had caused during her absence. They deemed that is could adversely affect her health. It was decided that they would not tell her until after she had recovered completely from her torments. While some of the councilors had misgivings about that decision, the greater number agreed to keep quiet.

After the Slayer finished eating (she ate a five-pound ham by herself!), she patted her belly and declared, “I’m so full… and sleepy.” She yawned. “I think its time for bed,” she added as she rose from her chair. Buffy was then informed that her bedchamber was currently ‘under renovation’ and that she would need to sleep elsewhere for a few nights. With a shrug of her shoulders, she and Maglor bid goodnight to the others while Nestor led them to another bedroom. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out.

It was still dark outside when the Slayer found herself wide-awake. She need not look at herself to know that she was completely healed. At least, physically. Buffy looked as beautiful as she ever did. Her hair had returned to its normal length and her body was shapely and toned once again. As she lay in bed, she became inundated by feelings of both dread and grief. It was unnerving. She glanced at Maglor’s sleeping form before slipping out of bed.

Buffy pulled on a robe as she quietly left the chamber. Her feet acted as her guide and soon she was heading down the stairways and out of the house. She still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling. In fact, it seemed to be escalating. After she climbed down the ladder, she took off towards the east. The sun was beginning to rise and the sky above the treetops shone golden.

The Slayer was surprised when she ended up at the graveyard. Granted, she had been in too many for any lifetime, but this time a feeling of woe befell her. The Slayer’s feet instinctively led her further east through the many barrows, most had markers wrought of wood, yet four had elaborate marbled headstones. Those had caught her attention.

Oh, no, she thought to herself. Two children had died. Buffy could easily see that two of these graves were much smaller than the other two. She crouched down and looked at the runes engraved on the stone. Her hand automatically reached out and her fingers traced the symbols. The Slayer did not know the runes of Daeron or Fëanor, yet when her fingers touched that cold stone, she knew that Drór rested there. Her eyes welled with tears and her body began to tremble.

Buffy felt a deep sense of foreboding as her gaze shifted to the ‘bigger’ barrows. Slowly, she rose to her feet, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wearily walked to the other tombstones. The next ‘small’ stone belonged to Ordon the Old and the one after, to Gúrchim. When she reached the last one, she sat on her knees and bowed her head. She didn’t have to touch the headstone to know that Orchal’s body was buried there. The Slayer’s silent tears turned to uncontrollable weeping. She threw herself atop his grave as the small glade became filled with the song of many birds. Their melody was filled with grief.

A loud crack of thunder rang out in the early morning, and soon the black clouds blocked out the golden light. The earth shook as the sound of thunder began to rumble uncontrollably. Sheets of rain poured down from the sky, drenching the Slayer in a matter of seconds.

Images of Orchal’s death flashed in her mind. She saw herself stabbing him in the chest. She felt his anguish. His pain. “I’m so sorry,” Buffy blubbered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” She was grieved by all of her friends’ deaths, but Orchal’s touched her the most deeply. While she had known Drór longer, she had spent more time with the silver-haired elf than the dwarf. Orchal was her most trusted confident, and her dearest of friends in all of Beleriand.

As she lay on the barrow, sobbing, small red flowers called seregon began to spring up from the mounds of her four dead friends. “Bella,” Buffy heard shakily from behind her. She recognized Thranduil’s voice. He placed a cloak over her shoulders and head. “You need to come inside, Lady. This rain will only worsen your health.” Buffy turned and faced the young elf; he let out a gasp when he saw that she looked ‘normal.’ “You’ve been healed. Glory be!” exclaimed the elf with momentary enthusiasm. Once he saw her eyes, his demeanor immediately became somber.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me?” she asked as the rain lashed against her face. Buffy was experiencing so many emotions at one time: anger, sorrow, pity, vengeance, and shock. She couldn’t believe that everyone in Ossir had concealed this news from her. The sky remained alit by constant flashes of lightening as the thunder rolled in what seemed to be a loud, continuous mournful moan.

Thranduil fell to his knees, his eyes locked on the Slayer. “We wanted to wait until your health improved. It didn’t seem appropriate for us… ”

“Appropriate?” questioned a traumatized Buffy. “You didn’t think that it was appropriate to tell me that four of my best friends had died!” Her voice broke as she spoke.

Thranduil felt her pain. He grabbed her hands as the storm raged on around them, and told her all that had happened since she had left. The story that he told seemed horrific to her ears, especially since it had taken place in her own Halls. These were her people. They were part of a core group of her closet friends and business associates. She was amazed to learn that only Thranduil and Úrion had survived their confrontations with the doppelganger. Her heart ached for the young man knowing that he had witnessed such brutality at the tender age of seventy-five.

Buffy’s contempt towards her loved ones for withholding that information from her was soon replaced by understanding and forgiveness. She could see how the opportunity really hadn’t presented itself, but also felt that under the circumstances, they should have told her.

The rain continued to pour down on them as Thranduil pulled Buffy to her feet. They were both drenched to the bone; their bare feet stood in puddles of dirt, leaves and grass. Even after hearing the young man’s tale, the Slayer could not shake that feeling of dread that now seemed to encompass every fiber of her being. She knew that the worse was yet to come.

She stood side-by-side with Thranduil staring at the graves of her people. Buffy sang the same song of lamentation that she had heard Thingol sing years ago after the first war in Beleriand. The young elf bowed his head and clung to the Slayer’s left hand. The birds provided the mournful melody to her sorrowful tune. She followed that by a prayer.

“Drór and Ordon are lost to me forever,” she said after a long pause. “And I fear that I’ve lost another.”

“What do you mean?” queried Thranduil as he faced her. “Gúrchim and Orchal are bound to you. You can remake their flesh.” Buffy made no answer. “What’s going on, Bella?”

“Let’s go,” she said sadly. They made their way though the rivulets running along the soggy ground to the ladders that led to the city in the trees. By now, the entire Household was awake. Buffy refused to speak to any as she made her way directly to the Hall of the Lord. On her way, she grabbed a cloak that was draped over the banister of the staircase.

When she reached the chamber, the doors swung open on their own accord. Buffy ordered all the occupants to leave the room as she took her seat on the throne. When the doors had slammed shut, she summoned the spirit of Gúrchim to come forth. His fey appeared before her, eager to be re-embodied. The Slayer used her powers to make a replica of the dark-haired elf’s body. A blinding white light filled the chamber. When the light faded, there stood the naked elf.

“Thank you, my dear Lady,” he said as he fell to one knee.

Buffy rose from her seat, cloak in hand. “I’m sorry that you had to die, Gúrchim. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here to stop… her,” she replied sadly, as she draped the garment over his shoulders.

The elf stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “There is no need to apologize to me, Bella. It was not you. I know that. My love and loyalty to you will never waver. I am indebted to you. Wherever you go, I will follow, for now I have a better understanding of the life that you lead. A councilor I am, yet a mighty warrior I wish to be.”

The Slayer smiled before kissing him on the forehead. “I see a new man before me,” she commented as she cupped his cheeks with her hands. “I love you, Gúrchim, and value both your friendship and loyalty. I will see to it that you are rewarded for your bravery. But now you must eat. Nourish the body, nourish the soul.” The elf kissed her hand before departing the chamber.

Buffy sat back down on her throne and summoned Orchal. Yet he did not come. She concentrated harder, but still, he refused to come. The Slayer left the room and headed straight for her bedchamber. When she opened the door, it was like a scene out of Poltergeist or The Exorcist. Almost everything in the room was flying around - clothes, brushes, chairs, paintings. Many beautiful things that Buffy had possessed now lay in ruins on the floor. Her bedchamber was under renovation, indeed!

Death greatly traumatized Orchal. He refused to come to Buffy. She ducked as a dresser drawer soared at her, only to crash into the wall. She crawled on the floor, fragments of glass and porcelain stuck to her wet gown. She searched through some of her clothing until she found an Orb of Thezula.

“I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice,” she said aloud. Buffy lifted the Orb and summoned Orchal’s spirit to enter the mystical crystal. A moment later, the stone shone bright orange. She trapped him. All the activity in the room stopped, and it became quiet once again. The Slayer shook her head as she glanced around the chamber. The room felt different to her. At one time, it was warm and inviting, but now evil had invaded it, leaving its imprint forever. Buffy picked one of Maglor’s robes up off the floor and she left her bedchamber, the Orb clasped in her hand.

Once she returned to the Hall of the Lord, she smashed the Orb onto the floor thus releasing Orchal’s spirit.

“Come before me, Orchal,” Buffy commanded from her seat. The elf hesitated. Grief and rage emanated from his essence. “Please, Orchal. I want to help.”

His fey appeared at the bottom of her dais. “Release me,” he demanded. “I no longer wish to be bound to you. Let me return to the Hall of Mandos where I can live… in peace.”

The elf’s comments dumbfounded Buffy. “Orchal, I can remake your body. I can make you whole again,” reasoned the Slayer.

He shook his head. “NO!” he proclaimed as a gust of wind blew through the room. “You killed me!”

“No!” she exclaimed as she rose to her feet and descended the steps. “It wasn’t me Orchal. Deep down, you know that. It was an imposter. A witch. I can help you. I can heal you. We can get through this, together.”

“I can find no healing here. I demand that you release me. You do not have the authority to keep me bound to you,” he said heatedly.

Tears began to stream down the Slayer’s dirt streaked face. “I won’t do it,” she whispered. “Irmo said that there would be elves that refused to leave me. You are accounted amongst them, my friend.”

“Friend?” Orchal questioned angrily. “No, Bellaseth. I am no longer your friend. You are naught but a temptress of evil. You have despoiled the House of Denethor and all its inhabitants.” His words stung the Slayer. “Your aura is beset with darkness, and it will reside with you as long as you remain in Arda.”

Despite her own sorrow, the Slayer refused to listen to Orchal’s words. She re-embodied him any way. His naked body trembled before her. She handed him the robe. He glared at her for a moment before snatching it from her hand and put it on.

“I love you, Orchal. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” she queried tearfully.

“There is nothing that you can say to make this any better,” barked the elf as he did the clasps on the robe. “I did not wish to be embodied again. I have no desire to live in a world filled with such wickedness and hate. And you… you Bellaseth, attract it as a moth to light. No matter what you proclaim, you long for the darkness. You seek it out as much as it seeks you and you care not for those who are caught in the crossfire.

“No desire do I have to remain in your presence, much less your House. I hereby resign my position as regent of Ossir and Minister of Public Relations. I will depart these lands at once… ”

Buffy’s world was crumbling before her very eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Yes, she understood his grief, but Orchal was acting unreasonably. Crazy even. She desperately tried to pull herself together. The Slayer couldn’t lose her friend, not this way. He needs time, she reassured herself. In time, he’ll see the truth.

“Don’t leave, Orchal,” she pleaded as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her wet robe. “Ossir’s your home. If you don’t want anything to do with me, fine. I’ll grant your prayer, but don’t leave your home.”

“I no longer have a home,” he replied before turning on his heal. He stormed out of the Hall, never to return again.

When Orchal left, Buffy collapsed to the floor, sobbing. His words hurt her deeply and she didn’t know how to make it better. The Slayer saw no possible way to repair the hurts that were done to her people.

Soon, many people came into the chamber, Maglor at the forefront. He dropped to his knees and pulled his beloved into his arms, reassuring her that everything would be alright. Buffy felt numb.

“Come, Bella,” instructed Maglor as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” The throng parted as the couple left the chamber.

After the Slayer bathed and dressed, she returned to the Hall of Lord, which was now packed to full capacity. The three glasses of wine that she had drunk while taking her bath had calmed her nerves considerably. Buffy knew that Maglor was anxious for them to return to his land in the north, but at this point, there was no way she could possibly leave Ossir right now. She took her seat on her throne. Maglor stood to her right, Anno and Mirë to her left.

“Any of those that wish to leave with Orchal are permitted to do so. I will hold no ill will towards any that depart with him,” she proclaimed to the elves. There were rumblings from the crowd, but none left the chamber. “The House of Denethor has been marred. Evil has passed through these doors and left its stain. That is something that I cannot undo. This House is nothing but a reminder of the pain and anguish that had invaded it. I hereby order that these Halls be disassembled and burned. A grander house will be erected in its place.”

Buffy had nothing else to say. The elves were taken aback by her orders, but they understood where she was coming from. Everyone knew how close she was to Orchal and it upset them greatly to see her so heartbroken. It was not long afterwards, when the Slayer and many of her people returned to Lindecoa. There she could work towards recovering from this new grief.

Over the next two days, Buffy remained morose and despondent. No words could ease her pain. It was something that she needed to work through on her own. Only time would heal this wound. Perhaps the Slayer’s mood had to do with the ominous cloud that still lingered over her House. Even her children sensed something was not quite right, for they refused to return to Folkvang. And it soon became clear as to why.

Four days after arriving at Tol Galen, the Slayer’s mood had improved along with the weather. She sat with the sons of Fëanor, her twins, and a few others from her Household in one of the gardens beside Lanthir Lamath. Spring was in the air, and the fragrant blossoms were blooming in a myriad of colors. The birds chirped merrily in the trees, as they watched Kit and Kat play with Celegorm’s dog, Huan.

It was then that they saw someone with long silver hair rise from the pool beneath the falls. For a split second, Buffy thought that it was Luthor, but she was wrong. It was Salmar, servant of Ulmo. The Slayer hadn’t seen him since her days in Doriath and was quite surprised by his sudden appearance. It usually didn’t bode well when he appeared. That’s all she needed - more bad news.

“What do I owe the pleasure… or should I say displeasure?” questioned Buffy suspiciously.

“I have come on behalf of the Valar,” informed the Maia grimly. “It is of the utmost importance that I speak with you… alone.”

“You can speak freely here, Salmar. I hold no secrets from my family,” she replied as she joyfully glanced at the group of elves.

“I am sorry, but I need to speak to you in private,” he answered as he eyed the sons of Fëanor. “Will you take a stroll with me?”

Buffy, with eye brows raised, looked at Maglor questioningly. He gave a slight nod of his head.

“Fine,” she replied as she rose to her feet. They took off down a tree-canopied path leading north of the falls. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Salmar began to speak.

“I sense some hostility towards me. Why is that?” he queried as his blue eyes studied her intently.

“Hmm, let me think… Perhaps it has something to do with me being locked up in a mystical prison for over twenty years and you show up after I’ve been freed!” snapped Buffy. The Maia stopped in his tracks.

“I have heard nothing about you being imprisoned,” said the stunned servant of Ulmo.

“Then why are you here?” asked Buffy apprehensively. She had a bad feeling about this.

He stood there for a moment in silence before he resumed walking down the path. “We were informed by Thorondor that you were seen entering Angband only days ago,” revealed Salmar.

“Who the hell is Thorondor?” questioned an annoyed Buffy. She had never heard the name before. She thought that it might be an elf, but they only saw her leaving Angband, not entering it.

“He is Lord of the Eagles,” answered Salmar. “He was flying above Angband when he saw you being escorted through the black gates of Thangorodrim. He said that you willingly entered the Dark Lands, atop a warg no less.” He shook his head disappointedly. “Is it true?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on Salmar? What’s with the interrogation?”

He glanced down at the ground before answering. “I was instructed to find out if it was true… that you were with Melkor. Alas it grieves me to know that it is.” The Maia returned his sorrowful gaze to the Slayer. “There is talk amongst some of those in Valinor of bringing you before the Ring of Doom… ”

“On what grounds?” interrupted the Slayer angrily.

“Fraternizing with the enemy,” answered Salmar solemnly. “Some of the Valar deem that you’ve made an alliance with Melkor… ”

“What?!” questioned Buffy in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” She couldn’t understand why the Powers’ attitude towards her had changed all of the sudden. Surely, she didn’t do anything to justify appearing before their ‘court.’ If they didn’t do anything, years ago, after she created demons with Morgoth, why act so harshly over a simple misunderstanding? Regardless, Salmar was ticking off the Slayer. Big time.

“How dare you come to my home making unfounded accusations,” she started through gritted teeth. “For your information I’ve spent the past twenty years alone, naked and powerless in some mystical dungeon. And who do you think rescued me? It damn sure wasn’t anyone from Valinor, now was it, Salmar? No, they left me to wither to nothing but skin and bones while they lived in bliss.

“Melkor found me. He nursed me back to health,” she confessed in a calmer tone. “I know he’s the biggest and baddest in Arda. I haven’t forgotten. I just find it ironic that even Morgoth has done more for me than my own brothers. You can inform those in the West that if they want to put me before their Ring of Doom, they better gather an army. I won’t come willingly,” Buffy fumed. She turned and started to walk off.

Bella,” Salmar called after her. “Surely, you do not want me to deliver that message to the Valar!”

She stopped and looked over hear shoulder. “No?” She thought for a moment before nodding her head and adding, “Tell them to fuck off!” She continued down the path, leaving Salmar, stunned and speechless.