Full Circle

When the Slayer finally regained her composure (after consuming the rest of the wine,) she descended the spiral staircase of her tower and headed down the street paved with gold. It was still dark outside and most of the inhabitants of Folkvang still lay sleeping in their beds. There was no way that Buffy would find any rest after her conversation with Irmo. She noticed the whirls of smoke rising from the stacks of the forges as she rounded the corner. Once she entered the building, she found Marto busily working on making additional weapons for the upcoming war. The Maia perceived the Queen’s presence before he actually set eyes on her.

“Good morning, Maranwë,” greeted Marto, as he approached the Slayer, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” replied Buffy gloomily as she sat down on one of the cleaner worktables.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Maia when he stood before her. “Have you been crying?” He tenderly cupped her face with a calloused hand; her eyes were red and puffy. The Slayer felt the burning in her throat as she became teary-eyed once again. She couldn’t answer him. “It’s the Valar. You’ve heard from them, haven’t you?” Buffy gave a single nod of her head. “They won’t aid you in the upcoming battles, I take it,” surmised the Maia.

“We’re on our own,” she answered meekly. The Slayer moaned as she fell back on the table with her eyes closed. “I’m so screwed, Marto. I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do,” she added as she rubbed her temples.

“Come,” the Maia instructed as he grabbed her hands and pulled her to a sitting position. “Let’s go to my home where we can talk in private,” he suggested as he glanced at his fellow metallurgists, who were now entering the building to begin their labors. “I’ll make you some coffee.” Buffy jumped to her feet. “Have you been drinking this morning?” asked Marto as he caught a whiff of the alcohol on her breath.

“It was Irmo’s idea,” she replied as they left the forges. “Apparently, he thought I needed it.”

“What did he say?” inquired the Maia. Buffy recounted her visit with her brother while she and Marto walked to his house, which was located nearby. By the time she finished her brief tale, they were in his kitchen. “That is quite distressing, Maranwë, but know that I will not desert you. I’d be honored to fight by your side - to the death, if that be the case,” he added with a smile.

“I’m glad you say that because I’m gonna need you, Marto,” answered a grateful Buffy.

The Maia insisted on preparing the coffee himself. Once he placed the pot on the woodstove, he turned his attention to cleaning himself up a bit. He pulled off his tunic, went over to the sink and began splashing water on his face and chest. Buffy stood, leaning against the wall as she watched Marto sponge down his well-formed upper body. A few minutes later, he brushed by her as he retreated to his private chambers in order to retrieve a clean tunic. Shortly thereafter, they sat on the patio sipping large mugs of steamy black coffee as the sun rose in the east.

“Do you have any ideas on acquiring additional forces… other than turning to Melkor?” asked Marto.

“Well,” began the Slayer with a sigh as she clutched both hands around her mug. “I’ve learned that there are three cities in the East that are inhabited by noble and righteous men, so I figured that I’d pay them a visit and see if they’d help out… And I guess I can see if Durin, the Lord of Khazâd-Dum, will aid me with additional dwarves from the Longbeard clan.” Her lips curled into a small smile as she recalled the Battle at the Deeper Well. “Dwarves are pretty damn fearsome in combat. They may be small but they’re strong and steadfast, a definite asset.”

“The Naugrim sound a bit like you. Will that make up for the loss of the Noldor?” queried the Maia.

“No, not by a long shot,” replied a crushed Buffy. “I hate having to ask Durin for any of his men. If they die, I can’t bring them back. I’ve already taken his youngest son so I can’t really pressure him into bestowing his hosts unto me.”

The Slayer placed her cup on the table and glanced around the garden. It seemed so strange to her to be in such a beautiful and peaceful place, beneath the early morning sun, while great evil was being committed in the lands outside of Folkvang. And to know that that evil stained her once unsullied lands reinforced her position that both Illyria and Melkor needed to go down. Buffy wanted to attack her daughter’s realm first since it was not nearly as massive as her father’s domain. Angband was always under construction and its vaults were both deep and vast. Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ were cities in their infancy by comparison; they were not fortified in the same manner as Angband.

A forlorn Buffy was startled out of her reverie when she observed the lavender lilies in Marto’s garden swaying from side to side, singing a song of mourning. She leapt to her feet, listening intently as she neared the trumpet-shaped blossoms.

“Do you hear that?” she asked the Maia. He joined her and both listened to the solemn sounds that foretold that a great tragedy was nearing.

“They’re singing about you,” remarked Marto in a pained voice. As they listened to the ominous melody, tears ran down Buffy’s face.

“I’m gonna fail,” whimpered the Slayer. “I’m not going to be able to defeat them.”

“Don’t say that,” countered Marto, as he wrapped his arms comfortingly around her. He felt her trembling body pressed against his, her tears wetting his tunic. The Maia understood the foreboding tune, but refused to believe its meaning. “Shh, everything will be fine, Maranwë, I promise,” he said as he stroked the back of her head reassuringly.

“It’s my own fault,” she cried. “If I hadn’t spent all my time at home in the Gap trying to be normal… I… I should’ve paid closer attention to what Illyria was up to, instead of ignoring all that I heard in hope that it would go away. Now, it’s gonna bite me on the ass, big time!”

Marto pulled away, leaving his hands wrapped around her waist. “Don’t talk like that. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be by your side… ”

“It’s not enough. Illyria’s stronger than you,” sobbed the Slayer. “She has legions of Maiar. We don’t! Manwë won’t help us… ”

“There’s something that you’re forgetting: our children. With them and Olofin… ”

“I don’t want them fighting,” argued the Slayer, as she tried to pull herself together.

“They’re able warriors, Maranwë. My heart tells me that you will not withhold them from combat. You need them, and they most certainly will be advantageous in your campaign,” declared Marto as he slowly wiped the tears from her face. “Their powers are great, as are yours. Don’t underestimate your abilities, my Lady. When you apply yourself, you can do anything. Victory will be yours, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” said Marto with such conviction that Buffy was beginning to believe him. He continued to caress her cheek lovingly; his deep blue eyes looked at her with adoration. “You are an incredible woman, blessed with powers that you cannot even fathom. Eru would not have chosen you, of all the Ainur in the Timeless Halls, if you could not defeat this great foe. You, my dear, are Ilúvatar’s ultimate weapon… His champion.” The Slayer attempted to protest, but Marto placed his index finger tenderly against her lips. When he touched her, she felt something shoot through her body, an inappropriate something. That caught her off guard, yet she found herself mesmerized by both his touch and his eyes. The moment was quickly lost when they heard a voice that neither expected to hear.

“What’s going on here?” questioned Maglor, who suddenly walked up on his wife in the arms of her former lover.

“Nothing,” answered Buffy, as she broke free from Marto’s grasp. Her face turned a deep shade of red. She started walking off.

“Where are you going, Bella?” asked Maglor, the hurt and confusion in his voice apparent.

“I’ve got things to tend to,” responded the Slayer as she bypassed her husband. She turned the corner before disappearing in a blink of an eye. The elf turned his eyes to Marto, who stood on the patio looking smug-faced.

“Would you care for some coffee… or perhaps tea?” asked a smirking Marto.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” yelled the Noldo as he charged the Maia, delivering a blow to his face. “How dare you trifle with my wife!” The angry elf threw Marto on the ground, knocking over a couple of chairs in the process, and began pummeling him.

“That’s enough!” shouted the Maia after letting Maglor get a few well-deserved licks in. Marto punched the elf on the side of the head; the blow sent the Noldo backwards several feet before landing on his butt. They both sat there, panting. Blood poured from Marto’s nose and he could feel his left eye begin to swell. The elf’s head split open from the huge ring that the Maia wore on his middle finger. Marto rose to his feet and grabbed a cloth napkin from the table. He pressed it to his nose. “You’re bleeding,” he informed Maglor, as he tossed Buffy’s napkin to her husband. “I have some salve in the kitchen. Come,” he added. He picked up the overturned chairs before leading the elf into the kitchen.

“What the hell were you doing with Bella?” inquired the elf, still slightly dazed from the force of the blow.

“We were merely talking,” answered the Maia as he opened the cupboard and removed a jar of ointment.

“It didn’t look that way to me,” said an irritated Maglor. Marto had the elf sit in a chair while he smeared the yellowish-looking goop on the side of his head. “What were you talking about?” the Noldo finally asked coolly as the Maia started to tend to his own wounds.

“That’s not for me to say,” replied the Maia.

“Why would Bella talk to you instead of me? I’m her husband,” asked the puzzled elf.

“That is something that you should ask your wife, not me,” answered Marto. “Drink?” he queried as he held a crystal decanter of cordial in his hand. “I daresay we need something stronger after that… tussle.” Maglor nodded. He sat at the table with his head in his hands.

“What’s going on, Marto? Have you and Bella… rekindled your relationship?” asked the Noldo in all seriousness.

The Maia chuckled as he handed the elf his cocktail. “I assure you Kanafinwë; there is nothing unseemly going on between the Queen and myself. We are friends… and parents of the Oracles.”

Maglor drained his glass and quickly refilled it. “Will you not tell me what’s troubling her? Or is that a secret that only you and she share?” queried the heartbroken Noldo.

The Maia looked at the elf; his heart became filled with pity. “Maranwë has heard from the Valar. They will give her no aid in her upcoming trials,” disclosed Marto. That revelation shocked the Noldo. “Not only that, but you and your kinfolk are forbidden from helping her as well. Your wife must deal with this menace… alone. You have no idea what lies before her,” he continued with a shake of his head. “Doom awaits her. Maranwë will fail, Kanafinwë, and there is nothing that we can do about it.” The Maia’s voice broke with that last sentence.

“Fail?” queried the elf frantically. “No! I will help her in spite of what the Valar say. My people will not forsake her.”

“Then you all will die and return to Valinor, only to join your forefathers in the Halls of Mandos. Your doom has become hers, my dear Noldo. The curse has ensnared your wife,” said a grief-stricken Marto.

“No,” countered the disbelieving elf. “It’s impossible. She had nothing to do with… ”

“No?” interjected Marto. He leaned forward in his chair, looking stern-faced. “The Valar have placed a curse on you and your people. You can repudiate the Oath that you uttered alongside your father and brothers, but that does not change the fact that the wrath of the Powers is directed solely at your House. And I need not remind you that Maranwë is now a part of that House, as is Olofinwë. Your kin have brought this about themselves and even your wife cannot undo what is fated to be.” The Maia gulped down the last of his cordial before leaning back in his seat. “The Lady sees more than she says,” continued Marto. “So great is her love for you that she is more than willing to endure the torments of the curse as long as you are by her side. For that, I am both jealous and envious… of you.”

“You love her, don’t you?” asked the dark-haired elf softly.

“Indeed, I do,” confessed Marto. “I have loved her throughout all the ages of the world, but she loves me not. I am but a servant in her Household.”

“You had children with her,” said a bewildered Maglor. “Surely, she must have loved you… ”

The Maia waved his hand dismissively. “No, she’s never loved me. The twins were the direct result of an adjoining spell,” revealed Marto sadly. “Her heart belongs to you.”



Buffy reappeared outside the doors to her Hall of Judgment. She knew that once she was safely inside, she wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable confrontation with Maglor. The Slayer desperately needed time to think. She snapped her fingers as she ascended the steps of the dais to her high seat. Only a moment later, Núrë was at her side with a chalice full of wine in her outstretched hands. The grateful Queen took the proffered drink after she sat upon her throne. She sighed heavily; confused by the ‘weird’ feeling that she had felt when Marto touched her. Buffy found it both comforting and disconcerting.

Marto did accomplish one thing that benefited the Slayer: he managed to restore her confidence. She believed that she could thwart the ominous signs that she had witnessed recently. Hell, Buffy had done it numerous times before. She still had time to prepare. First, she would need to return to the Deeper Well and have the dwarves and her demon offspring ready themselves for the upcoming battle, then she would need to return to the Gap and Ossir to collect her armies. The war machines still had to be transported to Hírilost, her new fortress that the Noegyth Nibin had wrought at the foot of the Iron Mountains in the far east of Middle-earth. The Slayer also needed to collect more Orbs from Durin; she suspected that the Deeper Well would have many new occupants in the near future.

The Slayer’s thoughts then drifted to the dwarves who hid themselves within the confines of the Red Mountains. Four clans of dwarves dwelt there since their awakening: the Ironfists, the Stiffbeards, the Blacklocks and the Stonefoots. Brokk had told Buffy that the Naugrim had sealed their doors shut when Illyria arrived in the East. Many great wars were fought between the two factions over the years, and the dwarves shunned all peoples except for the elves. Just like the dwarves of Belegost, Nogrod, and Khazâd-Dum, the dwarves of Orocarni relied on the elves for their food. If the Slayer could convince those dwarves to join her forces, her numbers would increase dramatically.

As Buffy mulled over possible strategies in her mind, a white dove materialized at the far end of the chamber and flew gracefully towards the Queen. Both Kit and Kat, who lay at the bottom of the dais, turned their yellow eyes upwards at the beloved bird of Maranwë Luinil. The Slayer held up her hand, allowing her messenger to perch itself on her bejeweled forefinger.

“Greetings, my Lady,” cooed the bird respectfully.

“Hello, my dear. What news do you bring me?” she asked with a smile. Buffy always found it amazing when the birds or other animals spoke to her.

“Forgive me, my beloved Queen, but I fear that I’m the bearer of bad news,” the dove said apologetically.

“Well, that’s something that I’ve grown accustomed to,” she remarked warily. “Speak, my friend.”

“Illyria has unleashed her armies, my Lady! From what my kinfolk tell me in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, the King intends to decimate the race of noble men to the north of their lands. Legions of yrch march as we speak!”

The Slayer felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. She wasn’t ready for war, not yet. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed in disbelief. Buffy turned to one of her most potent Valkyries, who also happened to be her herald. “Feawë, summon all the Lords and Ladies of Folkvang to an urgent council. Pronto! We can’t afford to waste any time.” The woman gave a quick nod of her head before hastily leaving the mammoth chamber. Buffy then instructed her servants to arrange chairs at the bottom of her dais for the counselors and warriors of her realm.

In the meantime, she had sent additional doves into the East to keep her apprised of the situation. She wanted to know if they were only dealing with yrch or if Illyria had decided to release her most trusted and powerful allies.

The alarm bells sounded for the first time ever in Sussrúmnir. An assembly of people rapidly began to pour into the Hall of Judgment. Despite Anno’s warning, Buffy did not turn Maglor away from the meeting. He was accounted as a mighty Lord in all of her realms and the Slayer trusted him completely. There was no doubt in her heart that he was not the betrayer.

Nearly one hundred men and women had gathered in that massive chamber. Buffy raised her hand and the room fell silent. “I’ve summoned you all here to inform you that Illyria has sent forth her armies,” stated the Queen. The room broke out in rumblings. Once again, she raised her hand, and the whisperings ceased. “So far, my spies tell me that only yrch have begun the march… ”

“How many?” asked Luthor.

“I’ve only been told legions,” she answered. “But we’ve got a bigger problem to contend with. The Valar won’t help us. We’re on our own.” Many of the women howled when they heard that.

“We’re doomed!” cried out Vórëa.

“Illyria’s armies outnumber us greatly!” blurted out Laurië. “Without the aid of the Valar we’ll fail.”

From there, the desperate words of the Maiar escalated. The people of Folkvang were frightened. The Slayer watched as her Household became divided; half believed they’d succeed without the Valar, the other half deemed that they’d fail. Buffy shook her head in disgust and rose from her seat. She descended the dais, and signaled to those whom she trusted the most to follow her, leaving the others to argue amongst themselves.

“Some Queen I’ve turned out to me,” grumbled Buffy to Maglor as they walked down the passageway. “I can’t even control my own people.”

“The news is troubling,” answered her husband, studying her carefully as they walked. “They understand the threat that we face… Do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, casting a glance his way.

“You seem rather… calm, despite the severity of the situation,” remarked the worried Noldo.

“I’ve cried all the tears I have, Káno,” replied a grim-faced Buffy. “Believe me when I say, inside, I’m freaking out. The war’s starting sooner than I had expected. I’ve sat on my ass for far too long and now… I’ve got to muster an army strong enough to defeat Illyria within days! And to make matters worse, the Noldor can’t help me.” She looked at him as they continued up the stairs. “If you guys come, you’ll die. So, yeah, I think I’m pretty much up shit creek without a paddle.”

Maglor didn’t dare say another word after hearing that. Instead, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly in his. He now had a better understanding of why she had visited Marto earlier that morning. The Noldo felt guilty about questioning Buffy’s honor. He couldn’t imagine what she must be going through. Not only did she have to face battling her own demonic daughter but she also had to contend with the curse on his House. She was frightened; he could see that. Maglor’s beloved was doing her best to conceal it from the others.

The group of twenty-seven entered Buffy’s ‘Jungle’ chamber, and locked the door behind them. After they all took their seats, the Slayer revealed the details of her conversation with Irmo earlier that morning.

“As you can see, we’re screwed,” remarked Buffy after her recanting her tale. “I’m open to suggestions and ideas, people.”

Brolach then stood. “Let us fight, oh blessed Queen Astarte. Why should we men sit idly in this Blessed Realm when we’re willing to pick up the sword and fight that formidable foe? Numbers you need, numbers we can give you.”

Many of Buffy’s confidents gasped when they heard his words; she wasn’t among them. She considered them carefully.

“It is against the laws of Manwë and Námo for your kindred to return to Middle-earth, dear Brolach,” commented Mirë.

“Your kinfolk that dwell in these lands are not permitted to leave it until the End of Days and that is not today,” added Anno.

“Do you actually see that, Anno?” questioned Buffy. “Do you see more days, brighter days, in our future?”

“Surely, you’re not considering breaking the decree of Manwë Súlimo regarding the fate of these men,” replied her son in a stunned tone.

“I didn’t say that… but I’m not ruling it out either,” she answered.

“That is madness!” exclaimed Anno as he rose to his feet. “That will truly cause you to earn the wrath of the Valar… ”

“Sit down, Anno,” ordered Marto firmly. “The choice is your mother’s, not yours.”

“What say you, my Lady?” queried Brolach. “Will you not let us fight?”

Buffy contemplated the man’s offer. Deep down, she knew that it was wrong. Forbidden. Yet, if the Valar were unwilling to help her, should she so eagerly dismiss Brolach’s proposal? Perhaps it was her destiny to allow the mortals to fight in the upcoming war; their numbers would help greatly. With nearly 800,000 men residing in Folkvang, the scales would tip a bit more in her favor if she sent them into the world again.

But what of the consequences? Argued her conscience. You will surely earn the wrath of the Valar for your defiance! Don’t do it! There has to be another way.

The Slayer hardened her heart. “I have no other choice,” she murmured under her breath. “I’m already dealing with their wrath.” She closed her mind to her inner voice.

“Mother!” exclaimed a shocked Anno. He looked at her, then his father, then Luthor. “Luthor, will you please talk some sense into the Lady? Of all people, she’ll heed your words.”

All eyes turned to the old man. He remained perfectly still in his chair, his eyes locked on Buffy. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Anno, for I’m in agreement with your mother. I would rather see these men returned to Middle-earth than have her groveling before the feet of Melkor.” Maglor winced upon hearing that name, the only one in the room to do so.

“I cannot believe it!” started Anno, as he rose to his feet. “You, Luthor, are like a father to the Queen, yet you side with her when it is folly!” He shook his head in disgust. “It appears that the evil that had invaded this Blessed Realm has left its vestige on it, for you both show a complete lack of…”

Olofin then rose to his feet, challenging his half-brother. “I will no longer sit quietly while you insult my mother, who I need not remind you, also happens to be the Queen of this Realm,” said the young man through gritted teeth. “What do you know of warfare? You are a seer, not a warrior. Use your gifts to offer good counsel, not to deride the woman who gave your birth!” Buffy’s two sons silently glared at one another. Anno broke his gaze and returned to his seat, his anger apparent. “What choices do you see before the Lady, oh Oracle?” Olofin asked in a slightly antagonizing tone. “Would you have her running from the demons of Melkor or would you have her make a stand with what forces she can muster? The Valar have turned their backs on her. She has done no ill that was not fated to be, yet they deem her guilty and refuse to grant her pardon.” The dark-haired young man faced his mother. “I trust your judgment, mother, and I vote to return mankind to Arda. Who cares what the Valar say? You were sent onto Eä as an emissary of Eru Ilúvatar, not Manwë Súlimo.”

“What do you see?” asked Buffy of the twins. She thought that Olofin made perfect sense. The twins glanced at each other, but spoke not one word. No matter how much they all tried to get information out of the Oracles, they refused to speak. “That settles it,” the Slayer finally said with resolve. “It’s time to prepare for war, people. Mirë, see to it that every kitchen in Folkvang churns out as much lembas as humanly possible for the next twenty-four hours. Brolach, Cathal, Lorcán, call to arms all the men who wish to fight and ready them for war. Don’t belittle those that wish to remain behind, for a greater wisdom is upon them. If any die in the battle, chances are you guys won’t be coming back to Folkvang. Námo will claim your fey’s and command you to reside in Mandos. Make sure that your people know that’s a possibility.” Five of their party then left the chamber.

“Do you want me to gather the dwarves at the Well?” asked Luthor.

“Yeah, but I’m going with you,” answered the Slayer. “I want to see if Brokk will help me find the entrance into Orocarni. I’ve got to meet with the dwarves that dwell under the mountain.” She turned to Olofin and Maglor. “You guys are going with us.” Buffy then ordered the others to laden the wagons with provisions to accommodate her armies. “We leave for the East in twenty-four hours. Let‘s get a move on, people.”