Full Circle

When Olofin reached his second birthday, the twins paid a visit to Ossir, much to Buffy’s annoyance; they weren’t supposed to be traveling to Beleriand any more. Despite that fact, the Slayer welcomed her children, who were most anxious to meet their little half-brother, for they came bearing gifts to commemorate the anniversary of his birth.

“Why do you both look so strange?” little Olofin asked the twins. He turned to Maglor. “Daddy, why don’t the twins look like me?” The Noldo’s face flushed. He and Buffy never told him that the twins had a different father; they deemed that he was too young to understand.

“Our father is not Kanafinwë, but the Maia Marto,” answered Anno as he sat the child on his lap. “But we have the same mother, Maranwë Luinil.”

“Is that why your skin is gold and blue?” asked a curious Olofin.

“Yes, although the blue color comes from our mother, not our father,” replied Buffy’s eldest son. Olofin touched a smiling Anno’s face.

“I like it, though it’s slightly off-putting at first,” revealed the child. He turned to his mother. “Can I have blue skin one day?” he asked.

“Not permanently,” replied Mirë. “Your fate is tied with the people of Arda, little brother. One cannot have blue skin and integrate into society without causing suspicion.” Olofin seemed crestfallen upon hearing that.

“You were born with great skills, Olofin Tirnon, much like us, though different,” declared Anno. “In time, you will perfect your skills and shall be accounted amongst the mightiest warriors in all of Arda.”

“Like mommy?” queried the boy enthusiastically.

“Very much so,” responded Anno, who then looked at his mother. “Have you put the blade in his hand yet, mother?”

“What does your mind’s eye tell you?” she queried wryly.

“I’m the son of the Slayer,” replied Olofin proudly. “I have skill with the blade, axe, bow and spear… although daddy will not let me hunt yet. He says I’m too young.” He gave his father the ‘puppy dog’ eyes that worked so well on his mother.

“There will be plenty of time for that when you’re older, Olofin,” said Maglor with a smile. “You are but a boy, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“We have brought you gifts, Olofin,” stated Anno before turning to his twin. “Mirë?” The youngster’s gaze shifted from the man to the woman; neither had any presents that he could see.

Mirë waved her empty hands before her and a large canvas bag appeared at her feet. She picked it up and handed it to her twin brother.

“Is all that for me?” queried the boy excitedly when he saw the size of the sack.

“It’s all for you, brother,” answered Anno as he rubbed Olofin’s head affectionately.

Inside the bag were implements of war, wrought by Marto in anticipation of the upcoming battles. Judging by the small size of the mail and sword, the war was much closer then Buffy would have guessed. That made her slightly nervous as she had put all thoughts of warfare out of her mind since Olofin’s birth. She devoted most of her time to nurturing her young son.

As the party continued, Anno and Mirë pulled their mother aside. They begged her to return to Folkvang with them. So many men had perished in the last decade and Buffy needed to tend to her duties as the Fëantári. They continued to plead with her as she watched her young son, dressed in his new mail, dueling with Gúrchim.

“I can’t go. Not yet,” she had replied in a brusque voice. “War’s brewing, I can feel it.”

“That’s still years away,” whispered Anno. “You are truly needed there, mother.” He did not conceal his sense of urgency.

“I said no,” answered Buffy gruffly before walking off, leaving Anno frustrated by his mother’s stubbornness.



Twelve years later, Buffy, Maglor and their respective Households returned to the Gap. The Slayer had now been in Middle-earth for over sixty-seven years. One thing that she could say with confidence: she looked damn good for ninety-two! In fact, she didn’t look a day older than when she had first appeared in that world many years ago.

The Slayer enjoyed motherhood and doted most of her affections on her young son and Maglor. Even though she wasn’t crazy about living in the frigid regions of northern Beleriand, as long as her family was together, she was happy. The desire to have a normal, stable domestic life had made her put all thoughts of visiting Folkvang and Illyria’s realm out of her mind.

Now, it has been said that many of the elves in Middle-earth were aware of Buffy’s true origins (being a Vala), but most did not know all the intimate details of her past. Only the sons of Fëanor and high-ranking officials within their Households knew about Morgoth, Illyria and the other offspring that she and Melkor had brought into being.

It was three years later when many from Maglor’s Household learned some of the ‘secrets’ that the Slayer had harbored.

It was a bitterly cold morning, in the heart of winter, when Buffy awoke with a heaviness on her heart. She attempted to push it aside by joining Maglor and Olofin in one of their ‘study’ sessions. The patriarch of the house was teaching his son how to read and write in the High-elven tongue, Quenya. Although the Slayer understood all tongues spoken in Arda, she didn’t know how to read or write in the ancient runes that had been devised by Rúmil during the blissful days of the Two Trees in Tirion (Valinor.) Maglor, as all the Noldor, had a special fondness for that script since his father had perfected it long ago.

They had been sitting at a small round marble table beside the roaring fire in the library when a series of horn blasts rang out in warning. The trio sat there momentarily stunned before running from the chamber, eager to find out what was going on.

As soon as they appeared in the hallway, Maglor was informed that Morgoth had sent a band of demons to attack the Gap. Buffy’s spider senses tingled when she heard that. Immediately, she ran to her room and garbed herself in the appropriate attire to withstand the cold. The only weapon she carried with her was the belt that Melkor wrought for her years before.

The cavalry had already been dispatched by the time Buffy rejoined her husband. “I’ve ordered the kill,” he told his wife. The blood drained from the Slayer’s face when she heard that. Her gut told her that that was a terrible mistake. Without saying a word to Maglor, she disappeared in a blink of an eye.

The slaughter had already begun by the time that she had reappeared. “STOP!!” she screamed in a voice that sounded so commanding that all stopped fighting mid-action. Even the horses ceased moving and resembled living statues. “NO!” she screamed as she ran towards the monsters. The elves were shocked by her demeanor, but they followed her orders since she was the wife of their Lord, and a mighty warrior in her own right. Moans from some of the other fallen creatures carried on the wind, a low mournful sound that brought tears to the Slayer’s eyes.

Buffy ran up to one of the beasts that lay on the ground; he was near death. “Bellion!” she cried out as she pulled a dagger charm from her belt. It instantly turned into the real thing.

The demon’s eyes opened, “Ish… Ishtar,” he sputtered.

“Shh, don’t talk,” she said anxiously, cradling his head on her lap. Her hands shook as she pulled up the sleeve of her coat, pulled down her glove, and slit her wrist. “Drink!” she instructed as she placed the bleeding appendage over his mouth. The elves watched the scene in shocked disbelief. Little did Buffy know, that many more from the Household were coming, Maglor and Olofin were among them.

“Give me your helm,” she ordered the nearest elf. By now, Maglor had arrived, and the elf looked questionably at his Lord. “God damn it! I said, give me your helm!” she yelled when the warrior did not immediately do as she requested. Maglor gave a slight nod of his head, and the elf quickly handed Buffy his helmet. She moved her wrist over the vessel, allowing her blood to pool in the bottom. The Slayer hastily made her way to the brethren of Bellion; those not yet dead drank her blood either from the helm or directly from her wrist.

Those that were lucky enough to consume her blood would survive the clash. After she had helped all those that she could, she returned to Bellion, licking her wrist as she walked. Seventeen of the fifty beastly creatures perished in the attack.

“Ishtar!” he started weakly. “Ishtar, I’ve come to warn you. Melkor is about to make his war. Already legions of yrch are marching towards the gates of Thangorodrim.” The Noldor elves gasped when they heard Morgoth’s true name spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she hesitantly inspected the wound on his neck. She was more concerned with the welfare of her ‘spies’ than she was with Morgoth at the moment. Already the magic contained in her blood was healing the injured beast. “They didn’t know,” added Buffy sadly.

“I gathered that,” replied Bellion with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Can you stand?” she queried, gripping his arm. He nodded as Buffy helped him to his feet. She looked around at the others that still lay on the ground. “Help them up, and bring them to me,” she ordered the elves.

Olofin came walking up to his mother and Bellion. He looked at the creature curiously, his head cocked to the side, before taking his hand. “You’re my brother,” said the youngster nonchalantly. Buffy suddenly became aware of the outbreak in murmurings from those around her.

“He’s my offspring,” she said, attempting to play it cool. The horrified looks on the elves’ faces made her nervous and extremely uncomfortable. “As in, sprung from my blood… not my… loins.” Buffy wanted to make it perfectly clear that she didn’t carry that creature within her womb. Their reactions convinced her that none of the elves could ever discover the truth about Illyria.

“What do you think you’re doing?” queried a slightly agitated Maglor. “Surely you’re not bringing them back to our dwellings.” He cast a contemptuous look at the creatures.

That had been her plan, but she could see that if she followed through with that, it would create much dissension within the Household.

“Of course not,” she replied, refusing to meet her husbands gaze. “But I can’t let them go back.” An idea then occurred to her. “I’ll take them to the Deeper Well. They’ll be safe there,” uttered Buffy under her breath. She looked up at Maglor. “I won’t be gone long. Alert Maedhros and the others.”

“Can I go, mommy? Please!” pleaded Olofin.

“No, sweetie,” she replied as she crouched down to her son’s level. “Mommy won’t be gone long. You stay here and help daddy ready the war machines. Okay?”

His eyes lit up at the mention of Buffy’s weapons. “Alright, mommy.” She kissed him on the forehead before she stood up again.

“Do you think it wise to wield your magics before the battle?” asked her husband after pulling her aside.

“I have to get them to safety, Maglor. If I let them go, they’ll be killed, and I won’t let that happen. They work for me, not Morgoth. If you can’t see that they’re good, then that’s your problem, not mine.”

Once the demons were huddled around Buffy, they all vanished in a blink of an eye, leaving the bewildered elves behind. Only moments later, they arrived outside the mystical doorway to the Deeper Well. Immediately, armed dwarves appeared, ready to attack.

“Oh, it’s only Freya,” commented Dvalin, as he instructed all to lower their weapons. “Welcome, my dear Lady, welcome.”

“It’s good to see that you’re protecting the fortress, my friend,” she said with a smile. “I’ve brought some people with me that need shelter here.”

“People?” queried Dvalin, looking suspiciously at Buffy’s companions. “They look like they crawled out of the bowels of Angband!”

“They’re okay, Dvalin. They’re… my people,” revealed the Slayer. “I’ve brought them here for protection. Maybe they can help you guys in some way.”

Buffy did not stay long. She spoke briefly with Luthor before departing back to the Gap.

When the Slayer arrived back home, she half expected to see legions of yrch marching across the plains of Ard-galen (Green-Region) towards their home. The Gap was the most direct access into Eastern Beleriand and there was no doubt in her mind that Morgoth would send a great force there in order to assail both Maglor and Maedhros, two of his bitterest foes.

Without consulting any, save Maglor, the Slayer visited Fingolfin at his fortress, Barad Eithel (Tower of the Well), and informed him of the impending attack. The High King of the Noldor did not question her ominous words, and was grateful for the warning. She revealed the strategy of the House of Fëanor, and as long as they worked together, victory would be theirs.

The war began thirteen days later in the middle of night. Buffy and Maglor were sound asleep when all of a sudden the earth shook violently causing them both to leap out of bed.

“Oh my god!” cried out Buffy, her heart pounding in her chest. “It’s the end of the world!” The sudden rush of adrenalin combined with the tremors made the Slayer flash back to her life in Sunnydale. To her, earthquakes always portended that someone or something was trying to trigger the apocalypse. It turned out that it wasn’t an earthquake; Thangorodrim had erupted and was spewing out flame and rock, which shook the ground beneath their feet.

“We need to dress quickly,” said Maglor as he pulled open his wardrobe. Buffy was already pulling on a pair of leather pants as the sound of bells, followed by the calling and answering of horn blasts, echoed throughout that entire region. She had just pulled on a thick wool sweater and her boots when Olofin came running into their chamber, garbed in his mail and helm, the miniature sword in his hand.

“Let’s kill some yrch!” he said excitedly as he brandished his weapon. Despite the severity of the situation, Buffy couldn’t help but plant many kisses on her young son’s face. Although he was now seventeen years old, he resembled an elfling of about seven or eight. His early growth spurt had almost come to a standstill. He was too cute for words.

“No, Olofin!” declared Maglor as he pulled on his boots. “You’re much too young to fight in this battle.”

“No, he’s not,” protested the Slayer as she clasped the mystical belt around her waist. “I was younger than he when I fought in my first battle.”

“I’m not going to have this argument with you again, Bella. He’s too young,” affirmed her husband.

“I say he fights,” she countered, pulling on her coat and gloves.

“I’m Lord of these lands, not you!” he said angrily as he tied back his long dark hair. “My word is law.”

“Mommy?” whined Olofin. “I can fight.”

“And you will, my darling, you will,” reassured Buffy. She affectionately placed her hand on his cheek.

It only took Maglor a few long strides to cross the room. He grabbed his wife by the shoulders, a little too hard to her liking, and shook her. “I said my son will not be fighting…”

Buffy brushed his hands off her. “He’s my son, too!” she yelled back. “My blood runs through his veins and if I say he fights, he will fight.” Her eyes furrowed and her nostrils flared as she scowled at her husband. “He’s got Vala blood in him. My blood. He’s a born warrior, like me.”

“That may be, but he is still much too young… ” argued Maglor.

“And so was I, but look, I’m still here. He won’t die. He won’t… ”

“You can’t guarantee that… ”

“STOP!” yelled the boy, covering his ears. “Don’t fight. Please don’t,” he cried as the tears spilled from his eyes.

“See what you did,” snarled the Slayer venomously to her husband before attempting to comfort her son.

Maglor leered at her for a moment. “I said no and we shall speak of it no more,” he said before leaving the chamber for the armories.

Olofin howled when he heard his father’s final words, breaking Buffy’s heart. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy says you’ll fight and you will… by my side.” She wiped his tears away with a gloved hand.

“But daddy will be mad at you,” he sniveled.

“I think he’s already mad at me,” she replied with a half smile. “I’ll handle daddy. Come on.”

They left the room and went in the opposite direction of the armories in an attempt to avoid Maglor at all costs. Who was he to say whether their son could fight or not? It was Buffy’s call, not his. Or so she deemed.

The war machines were already assembled and in working order. Over the last several days, the elves had gathered large stones and vats of Greek Fire in anticipation of that fateful day. Buffy’s eyes pierced the night and in the distance, the flickering flames of the yrch torches could be seen. Great clouds of dark smoke from the volcanoes of Angband hovered above the lands, obscuring what should have been a star speckled sky.

“Where’s your mail?” queried Gúrchim who wished to fight beside the Lady.

“I’m a Vala, I don’t need mail!” she replied, pulling the knitted cap on her head lower so that it covered her cold ears.

“That is folly, Bella,” said the disgruntled green-elf. “You can still perish. Do not waste your magics needlessly, my Lady. Please, let me bring you your gear. It will do my heart well to know that you are protected from the weapons of the enemy.” Gúrchim continued to plead his case until the Slayer relented. She hated wearing that stuff.

The cavalry were anxious to ride out and meet them, but Maglor wanted to wait until the enemy had passed through the Gap. The yrch were still a good forty miles away and it would be a good eighteen hours before they reached Maglor’s land. To the west, they saw that Maedhros’ troops were assembling and the war machines were being positioned behind the white walls of Himring. Russandol understood that his brother’s land was the hardest to defend so he had additional warriors on horseback sent to his aid. The elves of the Gap could see them riding in the distance.

Buffy and her people grabbed a bite to eat as they watched the progress of the marching yrch. She was confronted by Maglor again on the plains, and their exchange became quite heated. The Slayer was adamant that her young son was more than capable of fighting. She had personally trained him herself, and he was skilled way beyond his young years. It infuriated her that her beloved didn’t have that much faith in their son’s abilities. Their argument had become so fiery that many thought that it would put an end to their love affair.

“Don’t tell me my business,” shouted the enraged Slayer. “How many wars have you fought in? One? How many kills have you made? Well, let me tell you something, lover, I’ve fought in a hell of a lot of battles and I’ve slain thousands by my own hands. This is what I was made to do. My son has that same gift and I will not allow him to sit idly by when his strength is needed… ”

“He is only seventeen years old!” Maglor yelled back. “There will be plenty of time in the future… ”

“I’m not gonna tell you again. If you deny my son, I will take him away and you’ll never see him again,” threatened Buffy through gritted teeth.

“You wouldn’t dare,” sneered Maglor.

“Try me. I’ll remove him to Folkvang so fast, your head will spin.” It was then that Buffy noticed all the elves looking at her, their faces showed how appalled they were at hearing those words. All of them, including her own Household, thought that she had taken things too far.

Buffy needed to calm down, so she simply walked off. She had to let Olofin fight. It was almost as if something inside her was screaming that it had to be. And there was no way she wasn’t going to trust her instincts. As far as taking Maglor’s son away, she was bluffing. Never in a million years would she do something that cruel and heartless, but it needed to be said in order for her to make her point. That boy was going to fight with or without her husband’s support.

Feeling increasingly restless, the Slayer changed into falcon form and ascended into the darkened sky. From the air, she witnessed legions of yrch crossing the vast plains; most would be descending upon Dorthonion (Land of Pines,) which was the territory of Angrod and Aegnor (sons of Finarfin.) She could see that the main cavalry of Maedhros’ had long departed Himring and were now riding along the eastern eaves of the forest in preparation for the assault. Fingolfin and his people had been deployed from Hithlum, and were both marching and riding through the plains just north of the eaves of the same wood.

Several smaller bands had broken off from the main host and were heading towards the Pass of Sirion and Maglor’s Gap. As the Slayer soared through the opening close to her own home, she noticed that the vast rocky hills offered great cover. It then occurred to her that it would be advantageous to place snipers throughout the pass in order to lessen the number of the enemy before they reached the homes of the elves.

Once she landed and changed back into ‘human’ form, she immediately sought out her husband. They both put aside their differences regarding the rearing of their son, and talked amicably about altering their strategy somewhat. Buffy explained to him all that she had seen from above, and wanted to employ Guerilla tactics to thwart the enemy before they had passed through the Gap. Maglor reluctantly agreed to allow Olofin to go with his mother, but the Slayer had to promise to get him out of harm’s way, should it come to that (something she would do without question.)

Buffy summoned most of the archers to go with her to the clefts in the hills. Olofin and Thranduil stayed by her side at all times. While Thranduil was old enough to be considered an adult, the Slayer still felt responsible for his welfare, more so than the other elves. Perhaps it had something to do with her maternal feelings for the young man or the fact that he was still rather immature for his age.

After concealing themselves amongst the rocky terrain, the elves waited amidst the darkness. The thick, dark plumes of smoke from the volcanic eruptions had totally obscured the sun from view. Morgoth had deemed that that would give his yrch the advantage since they detested the sunlight more than anything.

It was late afternoon when the yrch approached the pass. There was no possible way for them to get them all as the pass was miles wide. It would be the responsibility of the elves stationed south of them to obliterate all the yrch that managed to get past the first attack.

“Aim for the neck,” instructed Buffy in a whisper to the youngsters. She, Thranduil and a handful of others chose to use their crossbows instead of the elvish bows.

Only moments later, arrows went whizzing through the air, some met their mark while others made a loud dinging noise as they collided with the armor of the yrch. Buffy could hear the captain of the fell beasts calling for his ‘men’ to stay away from the rocky hillsides as the elves continued to shoot at the fleeing monsters, causing many to drop to the ground. Buffy was impressed with the accuracy of both Olofin and Thranduil’s marksmanship.

The Slayer seemed dismayed although she did not share her feelings with anybody else. She was expecting Morgoth to send a greater force, but that wasn’t the case. The elves of the Gap only had to contend with small bands of yrch (about 500 in each group); their numbers were not nearly as great as those that were descending upon Dorthonion. Buffy desperately wanted to jump into the thick of things; she hated fighting from afar. It had been too long since she had last dueled with the minions of Morgoth. But that was out of the question considering that her young son was by her side.

Those of the enemy that made it through the pass then had to deal with the cavalry of the House of Fëanor and Buffy’s engines. The yrch did not fight unless confronted, but continued heading south into Eastern Beleriand. Morgoth was not only testing the vigilance of the Noldor, but he also wanted to get as many of his spies into the heart of the land. Some of the yrch were actually shape-shifters in disguise, but none would discover that for many, many years.

Unfortunately, many of the war machines had somehow been sabotaged, the sinew cut in two or bolts had been removed so that when they were armed with a large boulder, the entire engine collapsed. Maglor found that to be most peculiar as they were in working order only days before. Úrion could not explain it even though it was his duty to oversee those weapons of destruction. That allowed many yrch to get deeper into Beleriand. It was with great joy in Maglor’s heart that he heard the horn blasts sounded by the people of Caranthir who were coming from the east. They waylaid those that had gotten past both Maglor and Maedhros’ forces.

Fingolfin and Maedhros had both worked well together. Their combined forces were so great that the terrified yrch attempted to retreat back to Angband. The elves pursued them and annihilated every single orch within sight of the gates of Thangorodrim. It took the elves only three days to achieve a complete victory against Morgoth.

It was the King of the Noldor who coined the term Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, at the feast that was held afterwards in Hithlum. The elves heeded the warning of Morgoth, tightened their leaguer, and thus started the Siege of Angband, which would last nearly four hundred years. Fingolfin declared that Morgoth would never be able to catch the Noldor at unawares, and that the only way they could be defeated would be by treason.