Full Circle

The following twelve hours was like a whirlwind to the Slayer. After leaving Folkvang with Maglor, Olofin and Luthor, they returned to the Deeper Well in order to gather the dwarves and demons that resided there. It was at that time that she sent Maglor back to the Gap so that she could focus more on preparing for the impending battle. She then brought the people of the Well back to Folkvang before taking twelve emissaries of man and sixty dwarves with her to the cities of Bela, Admah, and Zeboim.

Buffy chose to go to Bela first, much at the urging of Brolach; he founded that city long ago. The portal opened up in the heart of town; the inhabitants assumed that Illyria was unleashing some new devilry upon them and quickly armed themselves with spears and bows as the women, children and elderly hid themselves behind the doors of their crudely built clay brick structures. Their misgivings abated when they noticed Buffy stepping through the portal. The mortals’ eyes went from the symbols engraved on the dwarves armor (a blue cross) to the Lady that now stood before them. The people recognized the icon that represented their savior, Astarte.

“Be not afraid,” said Buffy in such a commanding voice that all the spectators’ fell on bended knee out of respect.

“Astarte has returned!” cried out one of the men. “Rejoice people of the sun! The Lady shall deliver us from the evil that is Illyria.”

The Slayer then instructed the people to take her and her companions to their Lord. As they headed down the dusty road, Buffy scanned the city’s defenses. A brick wall surrounded the town, but was not as well built, as she would have liked. The fence, which was already crumbling in some places, was eight feet tall and five feet wide. Inside the wall, the mortals had a hedge of sharpened wooden spikes that stuck out of the ground about four feet. They were positioned so that they angled towards the brick wall. Brolach had told her that if any scaled the wall, they would meet their second line of defense, the pointy stakes would impale man or beast, depending on the threat that they faced. It was built to thwart the raids of the wicked people of Numeira.

The group was taken to a rough stone structure located northwest of the heart of the city. Brolach was delighted to see that his kin still wielded the power in that town. The lord of Bela was Orran, son of Orrin, who was the eldest child in the line of Brolach. Buffy was relieved to discover that Orran knew that the armies of Illyria were on the march.

“We, too, have spies that visit the lands of Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ from time to time,” informed Orran. “We were alerted that a great army has been sent to destroy those who are not followers of the King. We in Bela have not forgotten our allegiance to you, my Lady. Yet our kindred further north follow the Lord Melkor although they are not as evil as those that dwell in Numeira. We have at times, aligned ourselves with them to oust the enemy from our territory.”

That news troubled the Slayer greatly. She was under the impression that three noble and righteous houses of men still lived on the plain.

“When did our kinfolk in the north fall from grace?” asked a deeply dismayed Brolach.

“We really don’t have time for that right now,” interjected Buffy. “Time’s ticking away and I still have to assemble my armies in the west.” She turned her attention back to Orran. “What other defenses do you have other than your wall? Do you have an ample store of weapons?” A million questions were running through her mind.

“To our west and east we had dug deep pits with spikes at the bottom along the slopes of the gullies,” revealed the Lord of Bela. “We had concealed them with fronds, so use caution if you or any of your people journey in those parts. Unfortunately, our enemy has focused their attacks on our southern border and has yet to fall into our nets. We lack an adequate supply of weapons to arm our people… ”

“Hmm,” started Buffy as she turned to Luthor. “It’s only feasible that Illyria’s forces are gonna attack from the south. Maybe we can find a way to route them to the east and west… ” Her words drifted off as she sat there deep in thought.

“I have a suggestion, Bella,” mentioned Luthor. “This area is rich in minerals. Let us dig a trench outside the walls. We can fill it with bitumen and pitch and ignite it when the enemy approaches.”

“That would most certainly route our enemies to the east and west,” chimed in Olofin. “How deep would that trench need to be?”

“I’d say two feet wide, four feet deep,” answered the Maia.

“Alright, why don’t you and the dwarves gather as many men as you can and start digging. Remember, time is of the essence, so work as quickly as you can,” ordered the Slayer. Immediately, Luthor and the dwarves left along with Brolach and the mortals. “I guess we can’t count on the men of Admah and Zeboim to help us in the battle,” she added glumly to Orran.

“That is not wholly true, my Lady,” replied the grandson of Brolach. “It is said by those men that their Lord, Melkor, will send one to aid them from the oppression of the blue demon King. It was foretold that their Master would send his wife.” He scrutinized the Slayer. “Would that not be you, Astarte? Are you not Melkor’s wife?”

Buffy felt her face flush. “No,” she answered weakly.

“You do not speak with much conviction! Is there something that you’re not telling me?” questioned Orran with furrowed eyebrows.

“My mother,” began Olofin, “is not wed to Melkor, whom we call Morgoth! Long ago, he had ensnared her with his dark magicks and claimed her as his bride… ”

“Then that means that you’re the mother of the beast that dwells in Bâb-edh-Dhrâ!” gasped Orran in shock.

The Slayer cast a dismal look at her son before hanging her head in shame.

“Do not condemn my mother unjustly, son of Orrin, for she has come to free you from the constraints of Illyria. No easy task will that be! If the men of the north believe in her, then they will follow her, as they should.”

“Forgive me, my Lady,” apologized the man with a bow of his head. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Well, it happened… I can’t deny it,” said Buffy. “But know Orrin that I brought her into this world and I can surely take her out of it. Mark my words: Illyria’s going down. Hard!”

The dark-haired man smiled at her. “I do not doubt your words, my Lady; I do not doubt your words.”

“Listen, I’ve got a lot more to do. Olofin, stay here with the others. Help them in any way that you can while I’m gone. Orrin, send messengers to Admah and Zeboim, tell them that their prophecy is about to come true and that we need all able bodied people in Bela as soon as humanly possible.” The man nodded before disappearing into another chamber. “Walk me out, my son,” she instructed Olofin. He linked his arm with hers as they crossed the wooden floor of the room. “We’re still falling short in the numbers category,” she whispered. “I’m gonna visit Durin before heading back to Beleriand to collect our armies… ”

“What do you make of the prophecy of the people in the north?” he asked as they descended the stone steps of the building.

“I don’t know,” she answered, the uncertainty in her voice apparent. “My gut tells me that Sauron is behind it, but that’s only a hunch. He wants to end Illyria’s reign probably more than anyone.”

“He is unscrupulous,” commented Olofin. “We cannot put anything past Gorthaur the Cruel.”

“Well, he’s got nothing to do with this. This is our battle, not his nor Morgoth’s. We’ve got to be able to outwit our opponent.”

“That is easier said then done,” remarked her son.

“Don’t you have faith in your mother?” she queried with her head cocked to the side.

Olofin’s smile widened. “Of course, I do. However, it is as you said, our numbers do not come close to matching Illyria’s. Maybe Eru Ilúvatar is looking down upon us and He will see to it that things sway in our favor.”

“Maybe,” she answered skeptically.

“I do not believe that He has turned His back on you, mother. Do not lose hope.”

“I won’t.” She gave Olofin a kiss on the forehead. “Take care, my son. I won’t be long.” She then vanished in the blink of an eye.



Buffy then arrived outside the western gates of Khazad Dûm. Only two dwarves guarded the doors, which stood wide open before her.

“Lady, Freya,” greeted one of the copper-haired dwarves. “It has been a long time.”

“Seventy-five years, if I recall correctly,” she answered. “How have you guys been? Everything alright in these parts?” she queried.

“All is well,” answered the dwarf. “I take it that you wish to speak with our beloved Lord.”

“Indeed,” she replied with a smile. “Take me to Durin, my friend.”

“Right this way, Lady. Watch your step.” Another dwarf then greeted her before leading her through the massive fortress of the dwarves.

“Durin is in the Thirty-third Hall at this time,” informed the silver-haired dwarf.

“Ooh, the Hall of Feasts,” uttered the Slayer. The sudden rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous night.

“If you are hungry, we will see to it that you are fed and watered before you leave,” answered the dwarf with a grin.

“I’m famished,” she replied, rubbing her stomach.

The trek to the Thirty-third Hall made her even hungrier. Hundreds of dwarves were already feasting when Buffy arrived. The Lord of Khazad Dûm rose from his seat and met her in the center of the chamber.

“My dear, Freya,” welcomed Durin warmly as he took her hands in his. Age seemed to be catching up with the old dwarf. His long hair and beard were solid silver and his wrinkles more pronounced. Yet his eyes sparkled with a youthful vitality that indicated that this dwarf had only reached his prime. He kissed the back of each of her hands before Buffy gave him a friendly hug. “It has been too many long years. Sit and refresh yourself,” said Durin as he led her to his table.

“It looks like things have been going well since the last time I saw you,” remarked the Slayer as all the dwarves slid down the long bench to make room for her.

“I have finally finished the Seventy-seventh Hall!” declared the dwarf proudly. “It is constructed entirely from blue and white marble.” His face turned bright red as he handed her a tankard of ale. “I think you’ll be pleased when you see it.”

“I can’t wait,” replied the Slayer as she looked at the overflowing plate of food that one of the bearded women put in front of her. “Thanks,” she added before tearing into her chicken. “How long have you been working on that chamber?”

“One hundred and twelve years.”

“Wow! That’s a long time,” she replied. “I don’t know if I have the patience to tackle a project like that.”

Durin looked at her closely. The color of his face returned to its normal hue. “Something troubles you, my dear Lady; I see that on your face. What is it?” inquired the Dwarf Lord.

“Well, now that you mention it… ” Buffy then told Durin everything that was going on in the East with Illyria, Man, and the Dwarves. The room was dead silent except for Buffy’s voice. The dwarves didn’t even take a sip of ale while she spoke!

“Indeed, it grieves me to hear that news,” said a solemn Durin. “I take it that you’ll need more Orbs. That can be arranged easily enough… ”

“That’s not all I need, Lord. I need men. I need the Khazâd.” The room was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop. Durin sat there mulling over the Slayer’s words. Several minutes had passed before he spoke again.

“Then the Khazâd will aid you. Together we will rid Arda of this menace,” proclaimed the Lord of Khazad Dûm. He stood on his feet, the light from the window high above fell on him like a spotlight. “The time has come at long last, my fellows, to dust off our axes and march into battle with the Lady Freya. The enemy shall soon witness the strength of the Longbeard clan! We are fearless! We will smite the enemy down!” He raised his tankard, everybody followed suit. “To war!” he toasted.

“To war!” echoed the voices in the chamber. They all drank.

“How much time do we have?” asked Durin after taking his seat once again.

“I’ve got a few more stops to make. Can you ready your forces in four hours?” asked Buffy.

“That is not much time,” he answered. “I will muster as many of my people as I can.”

“Good,” answered the Slayer as she got to her feet. “I better get going. I’ll be back soon.” She started walking off before stopping. Buffy faced the Dwarf Lord. “Show me the Seventy-seventh Hall after the war, okay?” she asked.

Durin smiled. “I eagerly look forward to that day, my dear Lady,” he replied with a nod of his head.

“Don’t forget to bring all the Orbs you have,” she added as she crossed the massive Hall.

The Slayer disappeared once she had exited the chamber. She reappeared at the Gap and collected her Household before taking them all to Lindecoa. She headed straight for the armories with Thranduil at her side.

“So, it’s finally happening,” began the elf. “We’re going to take down the Big Baddie in the East.”

“Big Bad, Thranduil,” chuckled the Slayer, “not baddie. But yeah, this is the big one. Dagor Aglareb will be like a walk in the park when compared to this battle.” Buffy turned to the others who had followed them. “Take everything. I want the armories emptied before we leave for Lindon,” she ordered as she headed to the back of the chamber. For the first time ever, Thranduil had to jog to keep up with her pace.

“Do you think we’ll win?” questioned the elf.

“Damn, little man, you sound rather pessimistic,” she said as she heaved the heavy copper trunk on her shoulder. “I take it that you’re having doubts.”

“Would you think any less of me if I told you that I’m frightened?” he queried in a small voice.

Buffy stopped in her tracks. “No, I don’t think any less of you.” She placed her free hand on his shoulder before continuing. “These are the times that define who we are… what we’re made of. A great king confronts his fears head on. You confront them and then rip their hearts out… ”

“How poetic,” he remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

She snickered. “I get that from Káno. He is a bard after all.”

“Here, let me help you with that,” said the young elf as he grabbed the trunk from Buffy’s shoulder. Thranduil had no idea how heavy it was. Its weight slid from his grasp and fell on his toes. “OW! DAMN IT!” barked the elf. He looked at a couple of men. “Take that trunk for the Lady. But I warn you - it’s heavy!” Two men picked up the trunk and took it from the chamber.

“Are you alright?” asked Buffy, attempting to muffle her laughter. “You weren’t born with slayer strength, little man. You need to use care.”

“Now you tell me,” he replied as he sat on the ground rubbing his toes. She inspected his feet. They weren’t broken, only bruised. Buffy helped him to his feet as they started for her private rooms. “You still haven’t answered my question?” asked Thranduil.

“What question?”

“Do you think we’ll win?” he asked yet again.

“Yes,” she answered, refusing to meet his gaze. “We’re gonna kick Illyria’s ass. You know why?” She saw him shrug his shoulders from the corner of her eye as they climbed the staircase. “Because we’re the good guys. And good always triumphs over evil.” A cold chill crept over her as she spoke that last sentence. She only hoped that Thranduil didn’t notice her shudder.

“You see us obtaining victory without the aid of the Valar?”

“And what am I - chopped liver? It seems that you’ve forgotten that I’m a Vala as well. And I have yet to lose a battle, thank you very much!” Buffy smirked.

“Sometimes I forget that,” replied Thranduil. “You seem more elf-like to me.”

“I take that as a compliment.” When they had reached her private chambers, Buffy opened up one of her jewelry boxes and grabbed the large red jewel that hung from a thick golden chain.

“You’re taking the Carnimír!” said the awe-stricken elf. “I can’t wait to see that in action!”

Buffy had Thranduil clasp the necklace around her neck. “The Carnimír is only one of the surprises that await dear Illyria and her minions.”

The elf traced the jewel that hung from her neck with his finger. “Do you think that Fëanor put some of his fiery fey into that gemstone?”

“That’s what Curufin tells me. C’mon,” she said as she started for the door. “It’s about time for us to head over to Lindon.” She let out a heavy sigh. “We still have to ready all the engines, make sure the stones are loaded on the carts, collect our vats of Greek Fire… ” She prattled on as they headed outside the fortress to where the rest of her Household and soldiers were waiting.

Buffy then transported over fifteen thousand men and women to Lindon. She could feel her strength depleting as she held the portal open for them all to pass through. She loved magic, but hated the after effects. It was incredibly draining.

The Slayer was the last to enter the portal. She reappeared with the others on ground level of Lindon. Thousands upon thousands of elves were already assembled there, waiting for the Blue Lady of Ossir to lead them into battle. Over the years, Buffy had amassed an army of fifty thousand Green Elves. While that number is small when compared to her daughter’s forces, it was, nevertheless, great by Beleriand standards.

Immediately, her generals gathered around her. As they inspected the loading of the various machines on oxen-drawn carts, she explained to the elves what they would be facing in the East. While in the middle of her speech, Buffy caught sight of flaming red hair. “Excuse me for a minute,” she suddenly said to her generals as she made her way through the throng of elves. Her heart began beating faster the closer she got to the red-headed elf. He was assisting the others in loading the massive wooden beams of the trebuchet. He must have sensed her presence because he unexpectedly turned and faced her as she approached. “TÚREB!” exclaimed the Slayer with great joy.

“My dear Bellaseth,” greeted her old friend. “It has been ages, hasn’t it?”

Buffy threw her arms around the elf. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here! Your timing is impeccable.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “You remember Sador, and I’m not sure if you remember Galuion here.” A golden-haired elf then stepped forward. Buffy couldn’t recall who he was.

“My Lady,” started the elf respectively. “You had saved my life when I was but a babe. It has been some years ago in Brethil… ”

“Handel’s son?” queried the Slayer.

“Yes, that is I,” answered the elf. “I have come to repay my debt to you.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Then I fight to show my gratitude,” replied Galuion with a grin. “I’ve been trained by Túreb since the days of my youth. We regularly patrol the borders of the western march, though not much has been going on in recent years.”

“Bellaseth Dagnir!” Buffy heard another familiar voice from behind.

She turned and standing a couple of feet away from her was none other than Beleg Cúthalion.

“Eru Ilúvatar is watching over me!” she cried out as she ran to the elf and jumped into his outstretched arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and embraced him tightly.

“I daresay that’s not very lady-like,” laughed the silver-haired elf. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Dagnir.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes at that most unexpected reunion. “I can’t believe this,” she cried as she got back to her feet. She placed her hands on his face and kissed him on the lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see anyone in my life.”

“I’m flattered,” Beleg said with a laugh. “Although I think you will be more surprised if you look and see who is standing behind you.” For a second, she expected to see Mablung standing there, but that was not the case.

As Buffy wiped the tears from her eyes, she turned and there stood Orchal, garbed in armor, his sword strapped to his belt.

“OH MY GOD!” she squealed in shock. “I’m dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Orchal smiled down at his old friend. “Can you ever forgive me?” asked the elf. “It was folly to…”

“I love you, Orchal,” she cried out as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much.” The tears continued to run down her cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for, my old friend.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her off her feet, swinging her around in a circular motion. “Okay, dizzy now!”

Buffy couldn’t believe this new fortune. She was so surprised and happy at the unexpected arrival of the elves of Doriath as well as Orchal. She held Orchal’s hand tightly as Beleg told her that it was Melian that had sent them to aid in the battle.

“You have been in Melian’s thoughts much these last few years,” began Cúthalion. “She has spent most of her time of late staring into that Mirror of hers. It seems that she had seen something that troubled her deeply, for she sent us to you in secret.”

“In secret?” she queried with a quizzical expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

The smile left Beleg’s face. “Well… let’s just say that Thingol is not too pleased with you… ”

“Thingol?” questioned Orchal. “What has Bella done to upset the Lord of Doriath so?”

“Dagnir wed Maglor, son of Fëanor, the slayers of his kinfolk in Valinor,” answered the march warden of Doriath. Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Yes, he knows all about that,” he continued to anticipate her follow up question. “Even so, Melian has not forgotten your friendship and it was she who sent us. Thingol does not know that we’ve come, and we’d like to keep it that way.” The Queen of Doriath had sent five thousand elves to help Buffy. Most of the men were from the areas that Thingol himself does not frequent. Melian was ever wise in doing that.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see you guys again,” Buffy blubbered. “I was beginning to lose hope, but not anymore,” she added with a shake of her head. “This is a blessing! There is no doubt of that!”

There was so much that she wanted to discuss with her friends, especially Orchal, but they had time constraints. It would have to wait. The elves of Doriath would be fighting with Buffy’s Household. Her military forces were broken down into five divisions (ten thousand men and women per division including her cavalry); each would march under a different banner. They consisted of a dove, a swan, a boar, a lion and of course, her own banner (that she changed only in Beleriand): a red cross on a white background. Each one of those symbols represented an aspect of the Slayer.

She held a council with her generals and the captains of Doriath. Buffy explained that she would be transporting them via a portal to the land of the Hildor in the East. Beleg was astonished at how great her powers had become.

“Melian was indeed correct in her assessment of your magical abilities, my dear Bellaseth,” remarked Cúthalion when he witnessed the opening of the portal. “Even the Lady herself does not possess these types of magics. It is quite impressive!”

There was nothing more draining to the Slayer then holding that portal open for hours. And to make matters worse, some of the carts were so heavy that the wheels sunk into the earth, forcing Buffy to utilize her slayer strength on top of the magics that she had been using. That caused a major delay in her schedule.

When all her troops and munitions had passed through the mystical doorway, she closed the portal. She was so exhausted that she collapsed to her knees, panting heavily. “Get a grip,” she uttered under her breath. Buffy took several deep breaths. Once she was back on her feet, she teleported herself back to Khazad Dûm.

“You’re late,” remarked Durin when she had finally arrived an hour past their appointed time. “Are you ill?” he asked as soon as he noticed her pale and clammy face.

“I’m alright,” she replied. “Just a little tired. You guys ready?”

“I’ve amassed eighty five hundred of my kindred,” declared Durin. “I could’ve summoned more if I had more time… ”

“Yeah, time’s something we don’t have much of at the moment. Line up, boys!” instructed the Slayer. “Let me amaze you with my magics!” She whirled her hand in the air and a moment later, the portal opened up. “Quickly, now! Go on through.” The dwarves passed through the portal outside the gates of Khazad Dûm, only to reappear at Bela on the other side.

Buffy once again collapsed to the ground when the portal closed. “What the… ” she mumbled breathlessly. She sat down outside the gates allowing herself time to recuperate from the excessive magics that she had been wielding all day. Never before had she used so much magic; it was taking its toll on her. After fifteen minutes, she vanished and reappeared at Folkvang. When she arrived at the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir, she fell to the floor, blood poured from both nostrils. Her maidens did their best to stifle the flow. Vórëa then picked her up in her arms and carried her to the thirteenth floor while Feawë summoned Istahiro. “What’s happening to me?” she cried out from beneath the bundle of cloth that she held to her nose. “I can’t fall apart. Not now!”

“I do not doubt that Istahiro will find the cause of this. Save your strength, Freya,” instructed Vórëa. “You need to relax.”

The Slayer was placed on her bed. A few minutes later, Istahiro and her maidens came running into her bedchamber, a look of concern on all their faces. As the healer examined her, Buffy tried to get out of bed. She feared falling asleep if she lay there too long.

“You have been using too much magic, Maranwë. It has weakened your condition. You need bed rest,” informed Istahiro.

“I don’t have time for that. We’ve got to get to Bela… like now!” barked the Slayer. The bleeding had stopped and although she felt weak, they had to get a move on. She ignored the healer’s protests as she left her chamber. She thought that she’d try teleporting the hundreds of thousands of people this time. Maybe that wouldn’t be as draining on her fey.

Everyone had congregated in the square before her Halls and on the steps of Sussrúmnir. Marto had come dashing to her side when news had reached him of her ill health. He held her up as she teleported the massive group to the East. Nearly everyone in Folkvang had gone; only a few men and the women and children had remained behind.

When the group arrived outside the wall of Bela it was nighttime. Unfortunately, blood was now pouring from Buffy’s nose, mouth and ears. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she collapsed into Marto’s arms. He cried out frantically for Istahiro, who appeared to be lost amongst the great hosts.

Already, on the horizon, legions of yrch were making their way towards the city. Without the Slayer, many began to panic and cry out in despair. They took that to be an omen of things to come.