Full Circle

As Buffy began to regain consciousness, she could feel that someone was clutching her hand. “She’s coming to,” said Marto excitedly. His voice sounded somewhat hazy to her ears. The Slayer blinked her eyes open, the faces of Marto, Istahiro and the twins hovering above her gradually came into focus.

“How do you feel, Maranwë?” asked the healer as he leaned in closer, examining her pupils.

“Like shit,” she responded as she propped herself up on the pillows. Her hands tingled as if they were asleep and her head felt like it was about to explode. “Please tell me you have some of your mystical elixir, Istahiro. I could use about ten doses of it right about now.” She pulled her hand free from Marto’s grasp before gently massaging her temples.

“A healer is always prepared, especially when he’s in your service, my dear Lady,” said Istahiro teasingly as he dug through a crate of medicines. “In all my long years of life, I’ve never seen anyone suffer from such debilitating afflictions as you. Yet I deem it’s all in the call of duty.” He pulled out a brown bottle and uncorked it, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. “Drink three mouthfuls,” he instructed as he handed the medicine to the Slayer.

She did as she was told. Despite the scent, the tonic tasted bitter to her palate. She shuddered, but the pain instantly lessened. “Has the war started?”

“Not yet, but it won’t be long,” informed Marto. “Luthor and Olofin have taken it upon themselves to command the troops… ”

“But I’m the commander-in-chief!” protested the Slayer. “I need to get out there.” The twins prevented their mother from getting out of bed.

“You’re too weak, mother,” said Mirë. “You need to rest.”

“Like hell!” The look in Buffy’s eyes indicated that they would not be able to restrain her, even though she was suffering from a major case of fatigue. She climbed out of bed and looked around the room. “Where the hell are we?” She had only just realized that they were not in her pavilion.

“We are in the house of Orrin. He kindly offered… ”

Buffy interrupted Anno. “Where’s my armor and belt?” She glanced around the chamber. None of her belongings were there. “Has my pavilion been erected?”

“I’m not certain,” answered Marto.

The Slayer left the room in a huff as the others followed close behind. Their encampment had been set up along the northern fences of the city since their objective was to route the enemy to the east and west. Most of her people were stationed outside the wall, as there was not enough room to accommodate all her hosts inside of it. Buffy’s pavilion was located within the walls of Bela. It was not easy to miss. It was massive and consisted of three separate ‘chambers’: sleeping, bathing/dressing and meeting/eating areas. This time, she brought many creature comforts from home.

The Slayer refused the assistance of her maidens as she garbed herself for battle. For the first time ever, she felt the weight of her armor. Never before had it felt so heavy. “Screw it,” she uttered under her breath as she took it off. She clasped the belt of Morgoth around her waist and looked at the various charms that dangled from it. She grabbed her weapon of choice (a sword), and pulled it from its chain. It immediately turned into a full size blade, but something happened that had never occurred before; the weapon was so heavy that it fell from her hands. A perplexed Buffy struggled to pick the sword up from the carpeted floor. She needed both hands to hold it up. She then swung the blade through the air; the weapon slipped from her grasp, and went flying through the opening into the adjoining room.

Shouts of surprise rang out from her meeting chamber. Quickly, she ran into the main space of her pavilion where many people stood waiting. “Are you trying to kill us?” asked Úrion, who was now holding the weapon. “None here are the enemy, my dear,” he added as he went to hand her back the blade.

“It slipped from my hands,” she commented as she curiously eyed the weapon.

“Here you go,” he said as he held the hilt towards her.

Buffy looked at Úrion for a moment before she grabbed the handle with one hand. He released his grip and once again, the blade fell from her hand causing many gasps from her companions.

“Bella, what’s happened to your strength?” asked an astonished Úrion.

“Her strength has diminished,” informed Istahiro, as he sipped on his cordial. “I told you that you’re not ready for battle. You are in a very vulnerable state at the moment.”

“When will my strength return?” she asked.

“I cannot rightly say,” answered the healer.

“I want a Maiar guard on Bella at all times,” declared Úrion to the Valkyries. “We cannot let the enemy find about this most unfortunate situation.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, your strength will return soon enough. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, you can’t expect me to sit idly by while everyone else fights!” she argued.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” scolded Istahiro. “You are in no condition to wield any weapon. Your powers have weakened considerably. It will take time for your strength to return.” He turned towards Úrion. “Convince her of that, Úrion. For the Lady refuses to heed my counsel.”

“I’m going to the battlefield,” she mumbled before leaving the pavilion. Twelve of the Valkyries and Marto went with her. The Maiar encircled Buffy as they walked through the streets of Bela. She felt both angry and frustrated. Istahiro was right; she wouldn’t be able to fight in this battle. But there was no doubt in her mind, that this was only the beginning. This was the first wave of attack.

“Please don’t do anything idiotic,” pleaded Marto. “My heart tells me that this battle will last long enough for you to get your chance to join the fracas… ”

“I have weapons that don’t require much strength to wield,” she said that mostly to herself than to Marto. Her hand instinctively went to the gem that hung from around her neck.

“I see,” he answered as he watched her finger the red jewel.

When they neared the southern fence, Buffy could see the wall of flame a little over a mile to the south from where she was. Marto picked her up in his arms before leaping over the spikes onto the brick wall; their companions did the same. The Valkyries immediately surrounded her, acting as a shield from unfriendly eyes. The Slayer was furious. All she could see were the backs of her maidens, not the battlefield that lay before them.

“For Eru’s sake, get out of my way. I can’t see a damn thing,” snapped Buffy. The women slouched down just enough for Buffy to see over their heads. “You guys are taking this protection thing a little too seriously. The enemy hasn’t even reached us yet.”

“We’d rather not take any chances. The enemy could slip past our men at unawares,” answered Feawë.

The first few stars glimmered to life in the twilight as the wind picked up from the northeast. Buffy nodded approvingly at the flaming wall, which shot up over forty feet into the air. The sky above was thick with clouds of noxious black smoke; it reminded the Slayer of Angband. She quickly pushed that thought out of her mind and was ever thankful that the prevailing winds were carrying that foulness away from the city of Bela.

Buffy learned that the trench devised by Luthor had to be modified due to the topography of the land. Originally, it was to be four feet deep and two feet wide, but since the men hit clay at two feet, they reversed the dimensions. Luthor hoped that would deter the enemy from passing through the burning wall of flame, but they were prepared in case they did. War machines and numerous hosts waited to greet them on the other side. All along the eastern and western slopes, multitudes of men anticipated the arrival of Illyria’s forces.

Word spread quickly through the regiments that Buffy had ‘recovered’ from her illness and was now standing upon the southern wall. Many men were sent to the fence to confirm that it was indeed true and not merely hearsay. Her armies’ hopes were renewed when the rumor proved to be factual. Many captains and lords of the various races came before her including her own son, Olofin.

“I rejoice in knowing that you are no longer ill, my Lady,” he said from atop his steed.

“I’m gonna have to sit this one out,” declared the Slayer glumly. “My strength hasn’t returned… but I don’t see it being needed just yet. Have all the machines been assembled? Have the scouts reported back?” Endless questions went through her mind.

“The engines are still being assembled to the east and west. I deem that it will be sometime before sunrise when they are all readied. The machines to our south are armed and ready to go, as you can see. Orrin had said that we can level any buildings in order to acquire more objects to hurl at the enemy.”

“And the scouts? Do we know how many of the enemy we’re facing?” she asked.

“Our reports vary, but the consensus is that we’re dealing with two hundred and fifty thousand yrch, some are riding wargs. None of the Unholy Ones have been sent forth,” answered her son.

“Good,” replied the Slayer. “That swings things in our favor… for now, any way.” She looked upon the faces of those that stood below her. “I want Man to be on the frontline when this goes down… ”

“That’s foolishness!” exclaimed Vórëa. “Let us deal with these yrch. We can easily… ”

Vórëa’s words enraged the Slayer. She interrupted the Valkyrie mid-sentence, speaking in a low, threatening tone. “Do I need to remind you that I’m calling the shots here, Vórëa? You have no say so. Your job is to do what I tell you to do. If you can’t handle that, then go home! I’m the commander-in-chief. Not you! Not anyone else! Me!” The Maia uttered an apology before hanging her head in shame. Buffy then continued to address the men before her. “I want Man at the forefront because they need to become more proficient with their weapons and with the enemy. They’re pretty evenly matched when it comes to fighting the yrch. This is their chance to prove themselves in battle. Nothing breeds confidence like besting the enemy.”

“My dear Lady, what of the Dwarves?” asked Dvalin. “Surely you want us to fight beside the Hildor.”

The Slayer shook her head. “No, not yet. This first clash is meant for Mankind… Only Olofin and those under his command are permitted to join in this battle.” Dvalin was eager to fight and pulled on his beard, cursing. “The Naugrim will get their chance, my dear dwarf!” started Buffy again. “But for now, I want the Dwarves, Elves and Maiar to hold back. Illyria doesn’t know we’re here. She thinks that she’ll stomp our asses into the ground with ease.” A smile came to her face. “She has a rude awakening coming.”

“You mean to tell me that once we defeat this enemy, more will follow,” said a shocked Orrin.

“Do you think that I’ve summoned over five hundred thousand of my allies here to fight a bunch of yrch?” she asked incredulously. “We haven’t seen anything yet. This is round one of a many round fight, Orrin. This first battle is Mankind’s time to shine. Illyria’s only testing your strength right now. The enemy will get stronger as the war progresses, and believe me, very few have the innate ability to slay what she’ll let loose in this world. Her most potent acolytes still reside within the bowels of Vahla ha'nesh.” Buffy’s face became grim at the thought. The yrch were an easy kill when compared to what lurked in Illyria’s fortress. And the Slayer knew that once her daughter discovered momma’s presence, Hell would most certainly be unleashed on Arda, the like never seen before.

“… Maranwë? Maranwë?” said Marto as he shook Buffy out of her reverie.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” asked Olofin.

“Yeah, fine,” she answered. Buffy felt her muscles tensing; war approached. She could smell the foulness of the yrch on the air even though the breeze blew from the opposite direction. Her spider senses tingled. “Did you ask me something?” she queried to Marto.

“It was I,” answered her son. “I’m needed on the frontline. Do you have any other orders before I go?”

Buffy instructed the captains to rotate the frontline troops every thirty minutes. The elves, dwarves and Maiar were permitted to aid them if the enemy reached vulnerable areas not yet fortified. She was saving their strength for the next onslaught. Olofin and the other warriors returned to their positions. Many Maiar and dwarves had stationed themselves along the bottom of the wall on which the Slayer stood. Her eyes pierced through the flames only to see the wargs rapidly approaching the barrier.

“Here they come,” said Buffy as she attempted to move closer to the edge of the wall. Laurië and Ilyalissë wouldn’t budge and Marto instantly linked his arm with hers, keeping her firmly in place.

“You can’t go running into the thick of things,” he whispered in her ear. “Watch the action from here.” She fixed her pleading eyes on him. He could read her well enough to know what she was thinking. “No,” he whispered. “You’re not ready.”

“I just want to see things better,” she whispered back, her eyes continuing to plead with him.

Marto stared at her for a few moments before relenting. “Your timing better be spot on, Maranwë. And I’m not jesting here.” She winked in response. “Excuse me, Ladies,” he said to the Valkyries. They broke their circle, allowing him an escape route. Before the women knew what was happening, Marto rushed past them with the Slayer pulled close to his side, both vaulted from the wall high into the air. At that precise moment, Buffy’s lion drawn chariot appeared out of nowhere. As it soared above the heads of those on the ground, Marto and the Slayer landed inside of the carriage. The kitties then began to climb higher, leaving many Maiar shocked by Buffy’s ‘rebellious’ behavior.

The Slayer thanked Marto for his assistance before she looked down at the Valkyries on the wall. They were no longer there. Her maidens changed their forms and were now invisible to most eyes. Only seconds later, the women flew in a ring around the chariot. The Valkyries were still acting as Buffy’s personal guard.

The cool air felt wonderful against her face as she watched the demons below. She and Marto had a good chuckle when they saw the first of the wargs leap through the firewall, only to reappear on the other side totally engulfed in flame. The beasts’ cries echoed in the night. That deterred many of the yrch from crossing the burning wall of fire.

“Things are quite different from this perspective,” remarked Marto as he watched the action. “This is amazing!”

The Slayer delighted in seeing how much they outnumbered Illyria’s men. She had accumulated a force of 554,200; 420,000 of them were mortals that had been re-embodied in Folkvang. Should they die again, the Valkyries would have to escort their feys back to Sussrúmnir where they would have to wait for Buffy to re-make their flesh. Most of the frontline consisted of those mighty warriors.

“That’s it, my pretties,” laughed Buffy, doing her best Wicked Witch of the East impression. The yrch hosts began to split off, half turned to the east, while others turned west, heading straight for the booby-trapped ravines. Yet some of the goblins remained undaunted by the wall of flame and dared to jump the trench. Men waited on the other side, ramming their razor sharp spears into the throats of the enemy.

The elves of Buffy’s House activated the levers on the engines and barraged the enemy with boulders and pots of Greek Fire. The use of the machines alerted the yrch captains that they were not dealing with Mankind alone. They realized that the mortals had found allies, allies that possessed the same weapons as their King. The general of the yrch left the scene and quickly headed to Bâb-edh-Dhrâ to notify Illyria of the unexpected opposition.

The first of the yrch had reached the covered pits along the western and eastern borders. As they ran upon the fronds, they suddenly disappeared into the holes. The screams that shattered the night signified that the beastly creatures had indeed been impaled on the spikes located at the bottom of the craters. The orch captains insisted that their men continue to go forth, even pushing some of their brethren into the pits, so that others could cross more easily. Not all died from the spikes, but suffocated under the weight of their kindred who lay on top of them. The orch captains used that same method to circumvent the mortals’ traps.

As the yrch climbed the slope, some on all fours, the men sent a hail of arrows at the monsters. Most of the flying projectiles ricocheted off the shields that the enemy kept before them. Buffy shook her head disappointedly when she witnessed that from the air. Arrows would not avail in that situation; the enemy had protected themselves too well. The Slayer felt that this was the ideal time to douse the enemy with Greek Fire.

She had the lions wheel around back towards the city. They landed outside of her pavilion as many of the Valkyries came running up to her. “Get Kit and Kat’s mail,” she ordered Marto. “And you,” she pointed to her ladies. “You still have a job to do. You guys need to be watching the battlefield for those that are slain. Don’t forget your sacred duty to me!” The women nodded obediently before changing their forms. They took to the air in order to search for the spirits of the slain.

Buffy chugged some wine while she waited for Marto to return. She had the lions un-harnessed from the chariot as others loaded pots of the napalm-like substance onto her vehicle. The yrch were about to encounter the first aerial attack ever in Middle-earth. The Slayer only had room for four large vats of the flammable liquid. She impatiently waited for the Maia to return.

Fifteen minutes later, Marto came back carrying a bundle of something silvery in his hand. “I found it,” he said breathlessly.

The Slayer snatched the garment-looking ‘mail’ from his hand. “What the hell is this?” she queried in a disgusted tone. The ‘armor’ was soft and malleable and unlike anything that she had ever seen before. Buffy couldn’t understand how this would protect her mighty beasts from the weapons of the enemy.

“It’s called mithril, if you must know,” snapped the Maia. “My men and I had found an abundance of it in the mountains on the mainland. It’s light, but tough as steel. This will protect Kit and Kat from any weapon that the enemy may possess.”

She remained silent as she watched Marto outfit the lions in mithril. “You’re sure that stuff will hold up? We’re gonna be within shooting range of the yrch; I don’t want my babies getting hurt.”

“I promise you, my dear, no weapon will pierce through this protective covering,” answered the Maia confidently.

Buffy then disappeared into her pavilion. She came out a few minutes later wearing a Glove. There was no way she was about carry a torch with her in a chariot full of Greek Fire. The Glove would be used to ignite the fuse.

Once the lions were garbed in their mithril armor, they were re-harnessed to the chariot. Buffy and Marto squeezed in between the vats and the sides of the cart. They then took off, heading back to the war zone. This time they flew much lower then before.

“Alright, pick up one of those containers,” she instructed Marto.

“Why me?” he protested. The prospect of holding the vat while Buffy aimed her weapon at the fuse was not the most pleasant of thoughts to the Maia.

“Because I’m not strong enough,” retorted the Slayer.

“I swear, you better not blast me with that thing,” said Marto as he heaved one of the pots onto the side of the chariot.

“Don’t you have any faith in me?” she smirked.

“Oh, yes, especially after you’ve consumed half a bottle of wine,” the Maia shot back sarcastically.

Buffy laughed at his comment. “I won’t blast you, not unless you deserve it.” The Slayer then raised the Glove above her head and summoned forth its power from the Heavens. A dark cloud suddenly appeared and a bolt of lightening shot down, striking the Glove, as the sound of thunder rumbled around them. She aimed her weapon at the cloth fuse. “Hold it steady,” she advised her companion. “Be free!” A blast of lightening hit the fuse, igniting it as Marto pushed vat over the side. It burst into an orange ball of flame as it plummeted to the earth. They both peered over the edge and watched as it landed on a group of yrch, who then howled in pain. “Bulls-eye!”

Many goblins now turned their attention to the air attack. They fired their crossbows, sending many flying projectiles at the chariot. The Slayer had the lions ascend even higher, just out of reach of the missiles. Buffy clapped her hands together excitedly; she and Marto had managed to distract the yrch, allowing the mortals the opportunity to advance on the enemy. They were skillfully hewing the enemy down.

Buffy and Marto looked for ‘troubled’ areas where they would drop their burning pots on the enemy allowing the advantage to swing to their allies favor. It was the only thing that the Slayer could think of to make herself feel useful. Besides, it helped out Man by creating a ‘necessary’ diversion. They used that same technique to aid Olofin on the western front. His cavalry fought valiantly against the yrch that rode on the backs of their wargs.

Before they knew it, night had become day as the battle continued to rage on. Thousands of yrch lay dying or dead on the battlefield. Buffy sent out many elves to retrieve their wounded allies from the battlefield. Those injured beyond the skill of the healers got a dose of elixir that eased their pain, allowing them to fall into a blissful slumber.

It took Man five days to obliterate Illyria’s forces; eleven thousand mortals had perished in the battle.



Three days after the battle had started, the orch general, Kurzag, finally arrived back at Vahla ha'nesh. He climbed the stairs to the citadel with trepidation. The orch knew that his Lord would be angry upon hearing the news that Man had managed to find powerful allies in the war. Illyria had expected to decimate the city of Bela with ease.

When Kurzag entered the Great Hall, already many of the King’s captains and generals were in attendance. Even Illyria’s Qwa'ha Xahn (High Priest) was present. The general knew that that didn’t bode well. The room fell quiet. The only sound was the iron-clad feet of the orch hitting the floor as he crossed the long chamber. He bowed low before the King.

“Speak,” commanded Illyria.

“I bring ill-news, my Lord. It seems that the mortals have aligned themselves with a greater power,” revealed Kurzag nervously.

“What power?” she queried, her furrowed gaze locked on the trembling demon.

“I… I don’t know, but they’ve somehow gathered reinforcements,” answered the frightened general. “The mortals have fortified their lands as they’ve never done before! A wall of fire hinders our access to the city from the south. And my Lord, they have implements of war: engines and the like! Is it not true that only your mother and father possess weapons of that kind?”

Illyria became wrathful. In one fell swoop, the King swung a huge wicked-looking blade at the general, disemboweling him on the spot. “How dare Kurzag deliver such news to me!” exclaimed the blue demoness. The orch lay twitching in a pool of black blood. The occupants in the chamber eyed each other warily. Their Lord then fixed her gaze on her servants. “He has failed me. That is the fate that awaits any that disappoint me,” added Illyria as she pointed to the corpse with her weapon. “Who amongst my mighty generals shall return to the battlefield and report back to me news more to my liking?”

The demons fearfully glanced at one another. Some shook their heads while others uttered, “Not me.” A small group of yrch spoke together is hushed voices. They hated the general, Ghazkû the Maimer, and thought that they had the perfect plan to rid themselves from that imperious orch. One of the yrch pushed the general forward, he stumbled and fell before Illyria’s throne.

“Excellent, Ghazkû,” declared the King of the East. “Ride to Bela as swiftly as possible. Bring me news that I find pleasing or else you will find yourself in the same position as Kurzag.”

The orch general rose to his feet and glared at his brethren who had pushed him forward; they stood there snickering. The poor orch general knew that he had just been given his death sentence. He bowed before the King before leaving the chamber for the wargs’ lair. Once he mounted his beast, the general took off for the north, an ominous feeling of doom weighed heavy on his shoulders.