Full Circle

The Slayer did not immediately return home, but decided to explore the city further. Knowing that her firstborn would not allow her to walk freely in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, Buffy changed into falcon form and soared high above the city taking in the lay of the land. Illyria wasn’t about to stop momma from doing a little reconnaissance while afforded the opportunity. Buffy’s keen eyes scanned all the city’s defenses.

The main defense was the wall that surrounded the city itself. It stood a good one hundred feet tall and appeared to be about twenty feet wide. Towers rose every fifty feet along the bulwark, looking both tall and menacing in appearance. The entire wall was constructed from solid, thick stone except in the two places where the river coursed through the stronghold. The waterway entered the city from the northwest, springing up at the feet of Orocarni, before meandering around Vahla ha¢nesh and exiting to the south. At those points, the stream passed through an iron trellis that was erected as part of the fortification. A second river was located south of the wall and ran due south some distance before arcing to the west in the shape of a ‘C,’ forming the western-most border of Numeira. Buffy noticed that the city had grown considerably since the last time she was there. On her previous visit, both rivers were outside the fence.

She cursed to herself when she noticed the various war machines that her daughter had in her possession. Damn it, she thought to herself. How the hell did she get her hands on my engines? Buffy didn’t recall Morgoth having any catapults and such the last time that she was in Angband. The mole, she concluded in her mind. The Slayer was most disturbed by the fact that her daughter now had many of those implements of war.

Buffy landed on the mound located between the two cities, and returned to her mortal form. As she stood there, the wind picked up out of the east. It was at that precise moment in time, that the Vala of Love felt herself become as one with the natural world. She could hear the leaves on the ash trees weeping as they flapped in the breeze, the tufts of dried grass on the hillside screamed that the end was nigh, and the birds that happened to pass overhead sang songs of lamentation. Yet it was the stone beneath her feet that screamed out that doom was at hand.

The Slayer knew that the time had come for her to act. She vanished from the hilltop and appeared outside the mystical gates of the Deeper Well. This time, her demon offspring welcomed her by jumping out of the doorway in attack mode. When the monsters saw that it was Buffy, they all bowed down before her. She mumbled a greeting as she hastily entered the realm of Luthor, Keeper of the Well. She found the Maia in his private chambers, reading some book that Maglor had lent him during his last visit to the Gap.

“My dear Bella,” welcomed the old man as he rose to his feet. “It has been too long… ” He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the worried expression on her face. “What’s wrong?” Luthor asked as he took her by both hands and led her to the couch.

Buffy then told the Maia all about her visit with Sauron to Illyria’s lands, leaving out no detail. He listened intently, asking no questions nor commenting until she had finished speaking.

“It troubles me deeply that you so willingly went with Sauron into Illyria’s realm. He’s a scoundrel from the get go and should not be trusted,” remarked Luthor disappointedly.

“I know that!” she countered defensively. “But at least he showed me what the hell’s going on over there. It’s obvious that I’ve got to put Illyria down. She’s become way too powerful for my liking.”

Luthor rose to his feet and started to pace back and forth as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip. “That is no easy task,” he started, stroking his beard absent-mindedly. “How in Eru Ilúvatar’s name was Illyria able to assemble an army over a million and a half strong? Just how many of these creatures did you and Melkor create together?” queried the old man, his intense blue eyes studying her carefully.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulders. Her gaze quickly shifted from the Maia to a tapestry on the wall of Tol Galen. She could feel Luthor’s penetrating eyes as the overwhelming sense of shame engulfed her. There was no way that the Slayer would ever reveal how many demons that she made with Morgoth. Ever.

“Hmm,” answered the Maia as he sat upon the chair opposite Buffy. He leaned forward, looking grim-faced. “We are in over our heads here, Bella. Not only are we greatly outnumbered but I deem that our foe is more powerful than most of us. There is no doubt in my heart that Illyria has been gifted with the greatest traits from both you and Melkor. And I need not tell you that that is a deadly combination. Do not underestimate her abilities! She is the daughter of Morgoth,” warned Luthor.

“But she’s also my daughter,” protested Buffy.

“Why are you defending her after everything that you’ve told me?” questioned Luthor with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m not. I was just saying… there’s a bit of me in there too,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper.

Luthor’s face softened. “Never mind that right now. We must focus on rallying our forces, but there are several factors that need to be addressed first.”

“That’ll have to wait, Luthor,” said Buffy fretfully. “I think the time has come for you to accompany me to Folkvang. Leave Dvalin in charge while you’re gone.”

Once the Dwarf Lord was notified, the Slayer linked her arm with Luthor’s and they disappeared in a blink of an eye. They reappeared only a moment later in the vestibule of Sussrúmnir. Buffy’s maidens eagerly attempted to garb her in her ceremonial apparel, but she bypassed them and headed down the steps of her castle with Luthor at her side. She ignored the pleas of the women. It was of the utmost importance that she meet with Marto.

As Buffy and Luthor walked along the street of gold, the twins suddenly appeared before them.

“Hail, mother,” they said in unison. “Luthor,” acknowledged the twins with a nod to Buffy’s companion.

The Slayer smiled when she saw her children. She warmly greeted them both with hugs and kisses. “I’m kinda in a hurry. We’ve got to see your father.”

They both shook their heads. “That must wait,” informed Mirë. “Great evil has come to Folkvang, mother. Anno and I have done our best to curtail the wicked men, but… ”

“Wicked men?” questioned a confused Buffy. “There’s no wicked men in Folkvang.”

“Unfortunately, that is not the case,” replied her son. “Many long years have passed since you last visited your realm. Chaos ruled here for a time. There are matters that need your immediate attention, Maranwë Luinil. I’m afraid that it can no longer wait. You must return to Sussrúmnir at once.”

Mirë turned to the old man. “You will find father in the forges, Luthor. I do not doubt that he will be most anxious to meet with you after all these many years,” stated the Oracle with a smile.

Before Buffy could protest, the twins each linked their arm with hers and dragged her back to her fortress. It was time for her to confront the horrors that had crept into her domain while she was away. As they made their way into the entrance hall, the Slayer’s maidens immediately garbed her in her queenly raiment. She was now ready to perform her sacred duties as the Fëantári. The sound of Antamo’s beautiful voice resounded throughout the entire palace, bringing Buffy little comfort, for once. The twins continued to whisper in their mother’s ear as they ascended the steps to the Hall of Judgment. They stopped outside the doors, which then silently swung open.

“I can’t,” proclaimed a reluctant Buffy. “I don’t have time for this; I’ve gotta prepare for war. Too much time will pass if I judge the slain!”

“Time is something that we can manipulate, if that is your will,” declared Anno. The Slayer was flabbergasted when she heard that.

“You mean all this time… you could… ” started Buffy with a shake of her head. She couldn’t believe that her children possessed that kind of power.

“We can alter time in any way that is befitting to us,” chimed in Mirë.

“I take it you guys get that from your father,” replied the stunned Slayer.

“No, mother,” countered her son. “We get that ability from you.”

“From me?” she queried in a shocked tone. “That’s impossible. I can’t alter time.”

“Indeed!” replied Anno. “You must exercise your gifts or they become dormant. We will use our magics to stop time from moving in Middle-earth, but you must sit atop your throne of lapis lazuli and see all that has transpired during your absence.”

“When you have finished passing your judgments, Anno and I will teach you this wondrous skill,” advised Mirë. “We will wait for you in the Chamber of Music.” The twins turned and proceeded down the hallway, leaving their mother completely alone.

Buffy took a deep breath before entering that enormous dimly lit chamber; the doors shut silently behind her. The sapphire throne beckoned to her, it longed for its mistress. She warily climbed the steps of the dais; that overwhelming feeling of dread mounting to fevered heights. She placed her scepter on her lap and clapped her hands together, indicating that the first fey could enter. A male spirit then appeared, humbling himself before the Queen. His tale of woe disturbed the Slayer greatly. Unfortunately, she would hear many over the next several months.

It was with both great joy and sorrow when Brolach entered her chamber. Without hesitation, Buffy remade his flesh. She quickly descended the steps of her dais, stopping between the two vats of Flame. With his youthfulness restored, the naked man bowed low before Buffy. He looked up at her and said, “We waited for you, Lady, but you never came back. We’ve done our best to spread the Word.”

A white robe then magically appeared in the Slayer’s hand. She garbed the man before kissing him on the forehead. “Rise, my son,” commanded Maranwë Fëantári. Brolach rose to his feet, a look of contentment on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t return. I’ve allowed my home life to preoccupy much of my time. I failed you,” she said softly with tear-filled eyes.

“No,” protested the now young man with a shake of his head. “You delivered us from great evil, my Lady. Many of my people fled the terror that is Illyria. We formed our own havens further north of the Plain. My people, along with those that we were able to convert now reside in the villages of Admah, Zeboim, and Bela. There the righteous yet dwell.”

That news delighted Buffy. She assumed that all mankind fell under the sway of her beloved firstborn. Knowing that good men still existed renewed her hope in mankind itself. She spoke long with Brolach before naming him a Lord of Men within her realm. Time continued to stand still while she finished proclaiming her judgments. If it weren’t for the twins, Buffy would’ve been gone from Middle-earth for decades. Over 700,000 men passed through her chambers, including many women and children.

When the last man passed through her Halls, the Slayer called for Núrë, her cupbearer. Buffy took the cup of mead from her servant, trusting that it would calm her frazzled nerves. Despite some promising news, Maranwë Luinil was still greatly disturbed by the things that had happened within her own empire. It was time to address the hurts of the Men and Maiar of her House. The Slayer was amazed at how much grief the evil doppelganger had caused during her brief stay in Folkvang.

Evil men had been let loose in her kingdom, causing havoc everywhere they went. They attempted to molest the Maiar, but when that was unsuccessful, they set their sights on their own kindred. Heinous deeds they committed against the good and noble men of Folkvang. It was as evil as the atrocities that Buffy had witnessed in Illyria’s kingdom. With Maranwë Fëantári granting man the ability to regenerate body parts, many had to endure horrible torments for many months before the evildoers reprehensible deeds were discovered by the twins. The defilers were currently residing in the dungeons deep beneath Sussrúmnir awaiting the Slayer’s sentence.

Many years had passed since the evil men had been captured. Since Buffy was more concerned with the impending war, she decided to hold off on dealing with the prisoners, for now. She instructed Failo to remove them to the ‘Dungeons of Doom.’ Recalling the Laws of Hammurabi, (who had not yet been born into the world), the Slayer commanded that the punishment must fit the crime. “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” she told her chief torturer. “Whatever acts they committed against the righteous, give it back to them ten-fold.”

Buffy then summoned Marto and Luthor to join her and the twins in the Chamber of Music. Antamo ceased singing his enchanting love songs while the small group discussed possible strategies to thwart Illyria and her massive demonic armies.

“How many men can you summon under your banner in haste?” Luthor asked Buffy.

“Um, if I call upon all the Dwarves, Elves and Valkyries that are aligned with me… I think I can rally about 550,000,” answered the disheartened Slayer with a shake of her head. “I know. It’s not enough.”

“If most of Illyria’s men are Ainur, then we’re doomed. There is no way we can defeat an army over a million and a half strong,” declared Marto.

“What about weapons? Have you come up with anything of the mystical variety that can kill thousands with one stroke?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“The most powerful weapon that we have are the Gloves of Myhnegon that you and I made long ago,” replied the dark-haired Maia with a twinkle in his eyes. Making those artifacts with Buffy was one of the greatest moments of his life. “Unfortunately, it can’t take out thousands at a time.”

“It seems obvious to me,” interjected Anno. “You need to call upon your brethren in Valinor… ”

“No way!” replied Buffy, nearly choking on her wine. “There’s no way they’d help me. Keep in mind, Anno, they’re eager to put me before the Ring of Doom. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna make it any easier for them to get me.”

“You are no fugitive,” chimed in Mirë. “Surely, if you spoke with Irmo, he could relay that to the others.”

“They already think I’m in cahoots with Melkor,” stated the Slayer with resignation.

“Has that been your intentions all along?” asked Luthor suspiciously, his eyes bore into Buffy. She held her own, this time. “You plan on joining forces with Melkor against Illyria.”

“What?!” exclaimed the others.

The Slayer rose to her feet, nervously wringing her hands as she began to pace the wooden floor. “Do I really have a choice here?” she queried. “Who else has the forces to rival Illyria’s?”

“The Powers in the West can defeat any enemy,” proclaimed Anno. “They defeated Melkor, and Utumno is no more.”

“I fought in that battle,” remarked Marto. “Its undertaking caused grievous woe unto Arda. Yet we did achieve victory in the end, though much of the land has changed from that war.”

“I was there as well,” added Luthor. All eyes were fixed on him as he fought on Morgoth’s side. “Utumno may be no more, but it was not fully destroyed. Great evil still lurks deep in the pits of Utumno. The Valar had only achieved peace for a while. My fear is Melkor and Illyria joining forces against the rest of Arda.” The old man picked up his wineglass from the table. “That, my friends, would be the end of us all.” He then took a sip of his drink.

“Irmo said that I was supposed to deliver mankind. The Valar won’t intervene in the matters of Middle-earth until one is born from man and elf,” said Buffy pensively.

“Is Olofin not considered part of mankind though he resembles an elf?” asked a hopeful Marto.

“No, it is not he,” answered Anno. “He has Vala blood in him. That is not his fate.” Buffy’s eyes darted to Anno. She didn’t like the tone he used when he said the words, ‘that is not his fate.’

Mirë immediately noticed the anxious expression on her mothers face and added, “The one whom Irmo speaks of has not yet been born onto Eä. Do not worry needlessly about Olofinwë, mother. Many long years lie before him.” She tried her best to reassure her mother.

“I agree with Anno, Bella,” commented Luthor. “You must contact the Valar. There are no other options.” Buffy stopped and faced the old man, her arms wrapped around her as if warming herself against a sudden chill. “Melkor is devious and cannot be trusted. Ever,” continued the Maia with a shake of his head. “You must put your faith in those in the West, my dear. There are many in Valinor that love you dearly and will aid you in your hour of need. That whole thing with Thorondor and Salmar was simply a misunderstanding, you see. I believe the time has come for you to make peace with your brethren and seek their pardon… ”

The Slayer scowled at Luthor. “I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent,” she responded through gritted teeth. Buffy could feel her blood pressure rising, causing her face to redden. “What the hell do you want me to apologize for?” she questioned, placing her hands on her hips. The thought of having to seek a pardon from the Valar for doing absolutely nothing wrong was sending her over the edge. “I’m the victim here. I’m the one that’s constantly getting screwed with while they sit on their asses doing nothing. If anyone over there gave a shit about me, why the hell didn’t he or she free me from that prison? Huh?” she asked heatedly.

“Salmar said that they were not aware of your situation,” reminded Luthor in a gentle voice. He wished that she would calm down a bit.

“Some Guardians they turned out to be,” she shot back sarcastically. “All they care about is protecting their little magical realm over there - the hell with everybody else.”

“That’s not true,” declared an upset Mirë. “And in your heart of hearts you know that isn’t so, mother. Please do not speak of the Mighty in the West with such contempt.”

“None here are the enemy, Maranwë,” interjected Marto as he locked eyes with Buffy. “You are among… loved ones.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” replied Buffy as she plopped down into her chair, grabbing her glass of wine. She took a sip as everyone silently watched her. “There’s a traitor in the House of Fëanor,” she revealed to the small group. “Someone’s been giving Melkor all the inside scoop on what’s been going on in my House,” she added before downing the rest of her drink. Marto quickly refilled it. “Illyria’s got war machines now. She didn’t have them before so I can assume that daddy helped her out in that department.” Buffy shifted her gaze out the window, her anger replaced by dread, again.

“What do you think of Úrion?” asked Luthor.

“Úrion?” questioned the Slayer as she faced the old man. “I trust him with my life, as I do you,” she answered resolutely. The Maia clearly understood by the tone of her voice that she would not consider discussing the possibility of her trusted servant being a spy. Ever since Luthor had met the elf, he hadn’t liked him. Something about him was off. Yet Buffy loved him dearly, and treated him with great honor and respect. Perhaps she saw more in that strange elf than Luthor.

“I do not think that you should discuss your strategies with Kanafinwë nor his people,” remarked Anno unexpectedly. “If you deem that the traitor is from the House of Fëanor, then you must consider that Maglor is a possible candidate.”

“Bullshit!” exclaimed the Slayer angrily. “How dare you suggest… ”

“One must not forget the curse that is upon the House of Fëanor. That you know well,” countered her son knowingly. “The Doom of the Noldor lies on all the Noldor, including your husband! Did Námo himself not declare that they would commit treason, kin unto kin? Do not think that the curse will not effect your own House. It is fated to be so, and cannot be undone.” He paused while downing the rest of his drink. “I apologize for my outburst, mother, but it needed to be said,” added the Oracle with a sigh.

The room fell silent as all dwelled on the words of Anno. Buffy felt numb all over. For many years, she never gave thought to the curse, that is, until recently. The sabotaged war machines had recently reminded her of their doom, something that she was beginning to perceive more clearly. It didn’t help matters any that the Slayer had to contend with her own tribulation: Melkor and Illyria, two very powerful and wicked deities. That brought to mind something that Luthor had mentioned earlier; Buffy could see the light.

“What if by some strange chance Luthor’s worst fears are about to come true, and Melkor and Illyria unite to take over the world?” asked the Slayer abruptly. “Wouldn’t that be the motivating factor behind Sauron’s little visit? He’s scared. Scared of Illyria and what she’s capable of doing. There’s no doubt in my mind that Melkor’s daughter is of higher rank than Sauron.” She leaned back in her chair, wineglass in hand. “I could feel the power in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. I know that most of the offspring that I made with Melkor dwell within her realm, not his. Don’t tell me that Illyria just happened to convince the most potent acolytes of her father to follow her. There’s no way Melkor would allow that… unless, something’s up.”

“A trap?” queried Luthor anxiously as he leaned forward.

Buffy nodded her head and answered, “He’s the hammer, she’s the anvil. And I think dear old Sauron wants me in between them, so when the hammer strikes… I’m done, defeated, and destroyed.”

“That settles it,” said Luthor in a determined voice. “You must contact Irmo or Salmar or whoever your contact is in Valinor.”

“It’s not that easy. I’ve never been able to summon anyone from the West. Believe me, I’ve tried,” replied the Slayer miserably.

“Use the lions,” suggested Mirë. “I deem that those noble beasts will not be hindered from entering the Blessed Realm.”

“Can you summon the lions?” asked Marto.

“That is something that I can do,” answered Buffy with a forced smile. She didn’t say one word aloud yet only a second later, her two cats appeared on either side of her. “Hey, babies,” she said as she rubbed her kitties affectionately. “So, are we gonna send a letter or what?”

It was decided that Buffy write a letter imploring Irmo to return to Folkvang for an urgent council. She apologized in the note for her poor choice of words in the message that she had sent back to the Valar via Salmar years ago, but nothing else. The fact remained, the Slayer didn’t do anything wrong! After re-reading her message approvingly, Buffy placed it into a satchel that she then attached to Kit. The lions then walked a few paces before disappearing.

They sat there, and waited, and waited. The group left when the bells rang for the evening meal, and after they ate, they continued to wait.

In the meantime, Anno and Mirë instructed their mother on the ins and outs of altering time, with special emphasis on slowing and stopping it. Buffy found the exercises to be both mind-blowing and exhilarating. It was unlike anything that she had learned to date. She could see how altering time could be advantageous during conflicts although it did have its side effects; it was draining on her magics. Despite that, the Slayer, along with the twins, modified the movement of time in Folkvang to match that of Middle-earth.

When two days had passed with no word from the Valar, Buffy decided to bring Maglor and Olofin to Folkvang while she waited. Her young son had never been to that mystical realm before. Everything he saw amazed him; it was so unlike Middle-earth. The Men and Maiar that dwelt there adored the young man and eagerly shared their knowledge of things with him. It was during that trip that Olofin realized his passion for sailing. The harbor outside of Sussrúmnir housed many ships, and the young man delighted in navigating them upon the waters of the great lake that surrounded the isle.

It was five days later when Buffy finally heard back from an emissary of the Valar. She was sleeping soundly with Maglor when she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. She awoke to find Irmo standing beside the bed. He placed his index finger against his lips before gesturing towards the door of the bedchamber. A yawning Buffy carefully climbed out of bed and followed her brother out the door. She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was three fifteen in the morning.

By the time she entered the sitting room, Irmo was examining the various bottles of wine and alcoholic beverages that sat on the sideboard. “Good morning, Maranwë,” greeted the Vala as he pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off her feet. He kissed the Slayer on each cheek before grabbing a bottle of red wine and a couple of goblets from the table. “Let us retreat to your tower, my dear sister. I wish to speak with you in private,” he said as they left for the spiral stairway.

“I guess what you have to say must be pretty bad to require wine at this hour,” remarked the Slayer. The Vala did not answer.

Irmo spoke not one word until the reached the balcony of the tower. With their cups full, they leaned against the iron railing looking down upon Buffy’s kingdom. The city glowed silver under the light of the moon.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” whispered the Vala. The Slayer turned her head towards her brother. “Everything is so peaceful, tranquil at this hour.” Irmo could feel the Slayer’s icy stare. He took a sip of wine before continuing. “Yes, I know, you’re not one for the small talk.” The Vala faced Buffy, his finger pointed in warning. “It would do you good to exchange pleasantries every once in a while. Everything doesn’t have to be about business.”

Buffy was stunned by his comment. “Illyria is about to unleash Hell on Arda, Irmo. This isn’t the time to be talking about the beauty of the moon-lit night… er, morning. Will the Valar help me or not?” demanded the Slayer.

A saddened Irmo returned his gaze to the city. “I cannot give a simple answer if that is what you seek. Things are… complicated,” revealed the Vala as he watched the gray smoke rise from the chimneys of Marto’s forges.

“How so?” queried the slightly annoyed Slayer.

“The Valar are divided when it comes to you and Melkor. You both flaunt your flagrant disregard for the laws of Manwë,” said Irmo in a sorrowful voice.

“I can’t believe that you’re comparing me to Melkor,” replied an offended Buffy. “What laws have I broken?” He remained silent. “Irmo?”

“You have violated the laws of matrimony, Maranwë,” declared the Vala, his eyes still fixed on the city. “You have already bedded four men in the span of nearly two hundred years. You have exchanged vows with two of them and brought forth children with one who is not your spouse. Many of the Valar deem that you are guilty of heretical behavior.”

“I can’t believe they would say that,” said the distraught Slayer. “Irmo, Melkor bewitched me. You know that. Do you remember what you told me the first time you brought me to Folkvang? You said that I wasn’t at fault, Melkor was. But now you tell me that the Valar are singing a different tune. I don’t understand.” With a trembling hand, Buffy lifted the goblet to her lips and took a sip of her drink. Her mouth felt so dry.

Irmo faced her, his eyes welled with tears. “My position has not changed, my dear Luinil. I do not fault you for anything that you have done thus far. The law that you broke was not done in malice, but out of love, or should I say passion. You are ruled by your heart and I do not think that is folly. You consider yourself of the race of mankind when you are not. You allow yourself to succumb to the desires of the flesh, but I deem that is how Eru Ilúvatar made you. I do not see how you’ve wrought evil by bedding those whom you loved… for a time.

“Nay, my sister, the Valar will not succor you in your hour of need. The trials before you are meant for you and you alone. My brethren also bid me to tell you that none of the Noldor may fight in any battles outside of Beleriand. If you attempt to extradite them to the East, they will wither before they arrive, and shall be commanded to the Halls of Mandos. A great doom is upon them and it must run its course… ”

“What about my doom?” she cried out. “How can they turn a blind eye to everything that’s going on? You know what the Corrupt are doing, Irmo. We can’t let it go on. You guys delivered the Elves from Melkor before. Why not do the same for Man?”

“And did you not turn a blind eye to the same?” he queried, his voice full of sorrow. “You, my dear Maranwë, were appointed the task of delivering mankind by Eru himself. Manwë was told not to intervene in the battle with Illyria lest war falls upon our doorstep. Only then is it permissible for the Valar to act.”

Tears rolled down the Slayer’s cheeks. Without the aid of her kin, she couldn’t defeat her daughter. “Then the world will fall into darkness,” she cried. “I don’t have the strength to defeat her armies. They’re too strong and too many.”

Irmo placed his chalice on the railing and put both of his hands on Buffy’s shoulders. “Listen carefully to me, sister. I said only the Noldor cannot aid you in the upcoming battles in the East. Do not forget your other allies: the Naugrim, the Moriquendi and the Atani!”

“It’s not enough,” sobbed Buffy. “Illyria has us outnumbered, Irmo. I can’t do this on my own. Please, help me, oh god, please!” Buffy fell to her knees and clung to the robes of her brother, weeping uncontrollably.

The Vala stood there transfixed, the aching in his heart caused tears to spill from his eyes. Irmo desperately wanted to help Buffy, but he could not go against the will of his brethren. “I’m sorry, my dear Maranwë Luinil, but the Valar have spoken. May good fortune find its way to you,” bemoaned the tearful Master of Desire. A second later, he vanished, leaving the Slayer utterly alone, her outstretched arms grasping emptiness.