Full Circle

The Slayer wasted no time after their first victory. Immediately, she barked commands to the various generals and captains. She had the bodies of the slain removed from the battlefield and burned. Buffy would love to have buried each man in an individual grave, but they were not afforded the time. It would not be long before Illyria retaliated, and Buffy wanted to be prepared when she did. The bodies of the yrch were left on the field much to the delight of the carrion fowl.

By this time, twelve thousand men had arrived from the cities of Admah and Zeboim. The Slayer was disappointed by the turn out; she was expecting at least three times that number. Even Bela managed to gather twenty thousand men to fight.

“I think the element of surprise is gone,” she had said at a meeting with all the generals and captains in the halls of Orran. “If I know my daughter well enough, she’s gonna strike swift and hard. We need to pull out all the stops this next time around.” Man’s confidence had grown after their victory, but Buffy didn’t want them to become overly optimistic or proud (some already showed signs of that.) She directed her next comment to the mortal captains that were present. “And I’m afraid that we won’t be dealing with merely yrch here. Illyria’s gonna start bringing out the big guns, and we need to be ready to meet them head on.” Her eyes glanced at the scores of men and women before her. “Expect the unexpected! Those are words that you need to live by.”

“What do you mean by ‘big guns’?” asked a puzzled Lorcán.

“Demons. Real demons, I should say,” replied the frowning Slayer. “Be prepared to face your greatest fears, my friends. Illyria has monsters that are nearly as big as she… ”

“And they’re more potent,” chimed in Luthor. “Some cannot be slain by strength alone. Great magics will be needed in some cases. You Men, Elves and Dwarves need to avoid a confrontation with those creatures. Leave them for us, the Maiar… or Bella… ”

“You make a good point,” said Buffy in agreement. “But right now, we need to focus on refortifying our perimeters.” She turned her attention to the dwarves, Dufur and Har. “Hey, did you guys bring any of that wire stuff that was used during the Battle of the Deeper Well?”

“Indeed we have, my dear Lady. We Dwarves always come prepared for battle,” answered Har, his voice full of pride.

“Good. Since our wall of flame is nothing but smoldering smoke, we need to use that to our advantage. Stretch the wire behind the smoke and anchor it at each end. If you guys have enough time, do the entire perimeter. Make sure you do it in various heights, make it low enough to get the wargs and high enough to get the giants.”

“Giants?!” exclaimed a wide-eyed Thranduil. “Illyria has giants!”

“Uh-huh,” answered Buffy. “But she only has a few. She has a hell of a lot more trolls though.”

“Aren’t trolls the same thing as giants?” asked Marto.

“No,” replied the Slayer grimly. “Trolls were made in mockery of the Enyd. Giants were made in mockery of the trolls.”

“Why would Melkor make giants in mockery of trolls?” inquired Luthor, a puzzled expression on his face.

“He didn’t… I did,” replied the Slayer.

Many gasped when they heard that, especially the captains of Doriath, Bela, Zeboim, and Admah. Most of Buffy’s people were aware of what had happened during her ‘captivity’ in Angband, but others were not. Not all hid their distaste at that revelation.

“You?!” exclaimed Bashir, a man of Bela. “You’re supposed to be our savior, yet now we learn that you are one of the creators of the hideous beasts of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ!”

Bashir’s comments did not go over well with Buffy’s loyal following. Arguments and words of dissension erupted within the chamber of Orran. It was Marto, of all people, who came to her defense. He hastily approached the man and easily subdued him.

“How dare you speak to Maranwë Luinil in that manner, mortal,” he said venomously as he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his belt. “I should cut your tongue out for your insolence.”

“Don’t do it, my old friend,” counseled Luthor in his calmest voice. “Do not shed the lower being’s blood. We’re all on the same side here.”

While Luthor attempted to stay Marto’s hand, many others in the chamber continued to quarrel. Buffy collapsed back into Orran’s high chair. She didn’t want to waste time by discussing her past deeds, but it seemed that the alliances that she had formed were starting to crumble before her very eyes.

“ENOUGH!” she finally exclaimed when the clamor became too much for her to bear. Immediately, rumblings from the captains and generals ceased. “Yes, I’m guilty of doing terrible things in my past. If it will appease you, I’ll tell you my tale. If you then feel that you don’t want to fight with us, then leave. Leave and pray that death finds you quickly!”

“I wish to hear your tale, my Lady,” spoke up Atif, a man from Zeboim.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh before telling her story in full. She told them of Morgoth’s bewitchment and seduction, which lead to her corruption to do evil. She spoke of the wicked offspring that both she and Morgoth had created, and also of the offspring that she had made on her own. The Slayer ended the tale with the birth of Illyria and her escape from the depths of Angband. When she finished speaking, the room remained silent. Beleg and the other captains of Doriath stood there with their jaws hung open. To say that they were shocked would be an understatement. They never knew of the horrors that Buffy had been subjected to at the hands of Morgoth.

Atif then came forward and dropped on bended knee. He placed the sword that her people had given him across his thigh.

“Grievous woe has befallen you, my Lady. I now see that Melkor is a Master of Lies. For I can see that you love the kindred of Man more so than he. I offer my services to you, oh Blessed Lady of Love.”

“And I accept it with gratitude,” she answered with a small smile. The Slayer then addressed the others in the hall. “We’ve got lots to do, people. Get to work.” She rose from the chair and started for the door. Buffy grabbed Orchal’s hand. “Come with me.”

They walked through the dusty streets to her pavilion. “Tell me that you’re finally going to get some rest,” said the elf as they stopped in order to allow an ass-drawn cart to pass. “You haven’t slept in five days.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered as they resumed walking. “Actually, I was hoping that you’d sing me to sleep with that beautiful voice of yours. Unfortunately, none of my minstrels are warriors and they’ve all stayed home. I’m afraid that I’ve spoiled myself; I’ve grown accustomed to hearing their sweet voices around the clock. I find it hard to sleep without it.”

“If the beloved Queen of Middle-earth wishes to hear my song, then her wish shall be granted,” replied Orchal in his most dignified voice.

“I’m not the Queen of Middle-earth.”

“You should be,” answered the elf.

Buffy and Orchal entered her sleeping chamber. After they pulled off their boots, they both climbed into bed together, just like old times. The elf had only sung the first few bars of his melody when the Slayer fell into a deep sleep. She soon found herself experiencing the most profound dream that she had ever had in her life…

The Slayer found herself standing along the shores of the sea. As her eyes scanned the scenery, they fell upon a young dark-haired girl, no older then ten, frolicking in the water. The child raised her gaze and met Buffy’s, the smile on her face widened. “Mommy!” she yelled. She came running out of the water, the bottom of her blue gown soaking wet, and threw her arms around Buffy’s waist.

Buffy stood there, jaw hung open, in total shock. Her shock quickly turned to comprehension and she wrapped her arms lovingly around the little girl. “Illyria,” said the Slayer as she pulled out of the embrace and looked deeply into those bright blue eyes. The same eyes that the twins had. Only one word could describe the child: beautiful.

“I am the Illyria that would’ve lived had the world not been marred,” said the girl. “Walk with me, mommy. I like the sea. I like the way the waves feel when they crash upon my feet.” Illyria took her mother’s hand and led her to the waters edge. Buffy remained speechless. “Dark days await you, I’m afraid,” continued her daughter. “You cannot defeat the evil Illyria, mommy. She has too many men and they will overpower you. You know that.” She looked at her mother with a bewildered expression as they walked along the sandy shoreline. “Why would you challenge her when you know that you can’t defeat her?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” smirked the Slayer.

“You will fail because of the choices you make,” prophesied Illyria.

“So, you’re a seer too?”

“All the Ainur have the gift of foresight, mommy. Even you. But we only see what Eru Ilúvatar wants us to. Your love for the mortals will bring about your downfall,” revealed young Illyria.

“You keep saying that!” The Slayer let out a heavy sigh. “I’m still not gonna give up. I can’t. Illyria’s reign must end.”

“I agree with you. Your tenaciousness is admirable. Yet I only wish that you would put aside your pride and seek help from the family who can help you annihilate the forces of evil Illyria… ”

“I’ve already spoken with Irmo and he said that the Valar won’t help me.” Illyria shook her head. “Oh, you’re talking about your father?” Buffy glanced suspiciously at the little girl. “Are you Sauron in disguise?”

Illyria giggled. “No, I’m not he.” She continued to chuckle. “Sauron has his own agenda. He feels threatened by my evil self. He envies daddy in more ways than one.” She cast a mischievous glance at her mother before saying, “Look!” She pointed to the sea.

A mirage of Bela appeared on the water’s surface. Buffy watched as the Army of Doom surrounded the city destroying everything in its wake. Gradually, Illyria’s forces moved in closer and closer until they smashed down the brick wall that encircled the city. She watched as the city of Bela succumbed to the strength of the Slayer’s firstborn. The image then faded.

“You see what’s coming,” said Illyria as she sat down among luinil flowers that suddenly sprang up from the sandy ground. She began pulling out the blue flowers, weaving them into a wreath. Buffy sat down across from her child. “Some things are destined to be, yet not everything is etched into stone… ”

Buffy smiled. “You speak in riddles like the elves.”

Illyria laughed. She fixed her blue eyes on her mother as her hands continued to weave the flowers. “They are a wise people. Remember these words, mommy: fight fire with fire. That will help you in the trials before you. I do not want to see you lose. Perhaps you will be able to turn the tide… as long as you don’t lose faith… in yourself.” She placed the circlet of blue flowers on Buffy’s head. “There. A Queen needs her crown. As long as Illyria lives, these flowers will never wither and die.” The girl sighed heavily. “I only wish that I could exchange places with her, but that’s not fated to be.”

“I’m sorry,” answered a teary-eyed Buffy. “I’m sorry for the part I played in the marring of you… and Arda. You should have been born into this world.”

Illyria shook her head as she placed her hands on Buffy’s cheeks. She momentarily shifted her gaze to the sea. “Alas, I shall never get that chance,” she responded forlornly. She then locked eyes with her mother and added, “The hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. Live. For me.” She kissed Buffy on the forehead before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

Tears streamed down the Slayer’s cheeks as the whole landscape changed before her eyes. It became a vast desert that bordered the still waters of the ocean. For endless miles, all that she could see were dunes of sand. She rose to her feet as a deafening roar broke the silence. She glanced out to sea and was terrified by what she saw. A wave, a hundred feet tall, was moving across the waters heading straight for Buffy. It was not blue as the rest of the sea, but blood red. She remained frozen to the spot, unable to move. Closer and closer it came until it crashed over her…

“Bella! Bella!” Orchal’s voice cried out. “Istahiro! Come quickly!”

Buffy’s eyes darted open. She found herself back in her own bed; a bloody Orchal hovering over her. She freaked out thinking that Illyria’s forces were decimating their encampment while she had slept. “Oh my Eru, Illyria’s armies have reached us!”

“No!” exclaimed the startled elf. “Bella, you’re covered in blood yet I cannot find any wound.”

Istahiro shrieked when he entered the chamber with Buffy’s Valkyrie guard in tow. “What happened?” he queried as he came running to the bedside.

“I’m… I’m alright, I’m not hurt,” stammered the Slayer as she rose to her feet, blood dripping off her from head to toe. Her mattress and bedclothes were covered in the wet crimson liquid. With her heart racing, Buffy removed the crown that Illyria had placed on her head. The blue flowers were drenched in blood.

“Your crown of luinil flowers. I thought that you left that at Lindon,” remarked Orchal.

“I did. This is a different one,” answered a smiling Buffy.

“What the hell happened to you, Bella?” asked the baffled elf. “Did you visit that strange dreamland?”

“Apparently,” she answered uncomfortably. Buffy wasn’t ready to share her visit with Illyria with anyone, including Orchal. She ordered her maidens to prepare her bath as she instructed the elf to gather all the generals. Once she was clean, she wanted to hold an urgent council.



The orch general Ghazkû had arrived on the plains the day after the battle had ended. It had taken him three days of hard riding to reach that desolate wasteland. He cursed when he saw all his brethren dead on the field, the carrion fowl picking unmercifully at their flesh. The orch raised his fist and cursed the sun, the one thing that weakened the offspring of Melkor. Before a wall of smoke, he saw many banners waving in the early morning light. Ghazkû made a mental note of the symbols on the flags before reluctantly deciding that he had to go back and deliver the grim news to his Master. He kicked the sides of the warg with his iron boots causing the animal to yelp before riding back towards Bâb-edh-Dhrâ at full speed.

It took another three days for him to reach the citadel of Vahla ha'nesh. He wearily climbed the white marble steps knowing that his death was imminent. The moment he crossed the threshold, his body began to tremble. He wondered if his predecessor, Kurzag, had experienced the same thing before he reported to the King. He hoped that the information that he had obtained would be valuable enough for her to show him some compassion.

Ghazkû grudgingly approached Illyria’s throne. His fellows did not conceal their mirth. Sweat broke out on the orch general’s brow.

“Have we achieved our victory in the North?” asked the demon Vala in a booming voice. The orch couldn’t speak. He tried, but no sound came out. One of Illyria’s tentacles slithered across the floor and wound around the orch general, pulling him high into the air. She squeezed him and the orch let out a scream that reverberated in that enormous chamber. “I will not tolerate your disobedience, Ghazkû. Give me your report in full or you shall endure torments unimaginable.”

“Take pity on me, Lord,” cried the goblin. “I have ridden non-stop for six days and I am weary.” Illyria tightened her grip, causing the orch to howl in pain again. “Forgive me, Lord. I’ll tell you all that I’ve seen.” The King placed the general back on the floor.

“Speak!”

“Your… your army has been defeated, oh great and merciful King. All lay dead on the battlefield.” There were cries from the other yrch in the chamber.

“Silence!” bellowed the King of the East, turning her attention briefly to her other captains and generals. “Continue, servant!”

“The mortals have found many allies, most Holy One. Many banners I saw in that land.” He then described them in detail. “As you can see, I’m not at fault here. All was in ruins before I arrived,” added the orch frantically.

Illyria did not say one word. All of a sudden, a tentacle shot out and grabbed the general. She squeezed him so hard that his insides spilled out of his mouth like toothpaste. She then flung his corpse against the gleaming white wall, cracking it upon impact. Ghazkû’s body fell to the floor in a heap leaving a bloody mess. A still silent Illyria rose to her taloned feet and crossed the chamber; her minions followed close behind.

The King stood on the topmost stair and looked over her city. All her tentacles ascended high above her and she let out an earsplitting cry that caused many to cover their ears. But that was no mere battle cry. Thick black clouds formed over the city, obscuring the sun from view. Like a cancer, it metastasized, covering all the land in darkness. Before the day came to an end, all the East would be shrouded in darkness allowing all of Illyria’s minions to join in the battle unhindered.

The blue demoness turned to her generals. “My mother shall soon taste my wrath. Send forth all my armies except for the Unholy Ones. Bring me good tidings or they shall come after you!” Illyria returned to her private chambers as her generals and captains gathered their forces, eager to fight those in the North. One million demons departed the land of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, the largest army in all Middle-earth.



Thranduil sat beside Orran’s youngest son, Cahal beneath the western wall of the city.

“What’s this called again?” asked the young man as he eyed the food curiously.

“Bella calls it a sandwich,” answered Thranduil as he chewed on his food. “She says that it hastens the time one normally spends eating.”

“It is queer to put meat between two slices of bread,” remarked the sixteen year old.

“True, but it tastes good.”

The young men continued to talk as they ate. They knew that it was only a matter of time before the second wave of the battle hit.

“What’s that?” asked Thranduil. He pointed to the leather strap that hung from the pocket of Cahal’s breeches.

The young man pulled the object out. “It’s called a sling.”

“What does it do?” asked an interested Thranduil.

“We use it to keep the wargs and other predators away from our flocks. Here, I’ll show you.” The young man pulled a rock from the pouch on his belt. “You put the stone here and then you spin it around like this,” said Cahal as he gave his demonstration. “And then you let it go.” He slung the rock at the wall. It zoomed through the air before colliding with the wall, where it embedded deeply into the brick.

“That’s impressive for a bit of leather and a stone,” commented the elf as he examined the hole. “My people don’t use such primitive weapons. We prefer the bow, but are skilled with the spear, sword and axe.”

“Sometimes one must make do with what one has,” replied Cahal. Mortals at this point in time didn’t possess great skill when it came to crafting weapons or anything else.

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” said Thranduil apologetically. “I think it’s a fine weapon. It proved to penetrate through brick, right?” He laughed uneasily, sensing that he had offended the young man.

Cahal smiled warmly at the elf. “Take it, my friend, Thranduil. A token from the kindred of Man.” He handed the strap to the future King of the Green Elves. He continued speaking as he undid the pouch from his belt and handed it to Thranduil. “Perhaps it’ll serve you in battle.”

“That’s very generous of you, Cahal. Thank you,” answered the elf, attempting to hide his amusement. What good would a stone and a sling do in battle? He tried out the new device and found that he could sling his rock completely through the wall. Thranduil did it several times before one of the captains passing by told him that he should be tried for aiding and abetting the enemy by destroying a fortification in wartime. The elf apologized profusely and slid the strap in his belt.

He and Cahal then wandered about the fields looking for small stones to refill his pouch. Thranduil was still enjoying his new ‘toy.’ It was during that expedition that the elf noticed dark clouds in the distance. “Do you see that?” he asked the mortal.

“See what?” asked the young man as he followed Thranduil’s gaze.

“The black clouds.”

“I don’t see anything,” replied Cahal.

“Hmm, it seems that you mortals don’t have the same keen eyesight as we elves. Come on. We better alert the others,” said the elf.

Before they reached the wall of the city, they heard a series of horn blasts. Thranduil understood the sounds to mean that there was an emergency meeting. The two young men hastened their pace towards the halls of Orran. By the time they got there, the last few generals had entered and the doors were closing.

“Pardon me, but I’m needed… ” started Thranduil.

“Sorry, son,” replied Beleg. “This council is for generals only.” The doors closed in the young men’s faces.

“Damn it!” cursed the elf. “I need to hear what they’re saying.”

“Let’s go around back. There’s a door to clean out the fireplace. We can listen there,” suggested Cahal.

“I knew there was something about you that I liked immediately,” remarked Thranduil with a wide grin. “Lead the way, my friend, lead the way.”

The two young men ran around to the back of the building. There was no way they were going to miss what was being said inside. They crouched down beside the small opened door.

“… out of here as soon as possible. How long will it take?” Buffy had asked the men in the chamber. She was sitting upon Orran’s chair surrounded by thirty-three demons dressed in the same mail as the dwarves of the Deeper Well. On their chest plates was a large blue cross. The mortals and the elves of Doriath were dumbfounded to see such creatures at an important council. “Well?” asked a frustrated Buffy when no one responded to her question. “What the hell’s the matter? Why won’t anyone answer me?”

“My Lady,” spoke up one of the mortal captains that Buffy didn’t know. “How is it that you’ve aligned yourself with the enemy? They stand about you as though they’re your own personal guard!”

The Slayer glanced over her shoulder at her offspring. “Oh! Is that what the silent treatment’s all about?” she chuckled. “They’re harmless… to you guys, anyway. They’re on our side, the good guys.” There were still some captains that warily eyed the creatures. Buffy had kept the monsters hidden in their tents since they had arrived. She didn’t want them walking about without everyone within the city knowing that they were with her. “We don’t have time for this now,” she said with an air of annoyance. “I’ll put it simply: if anyone harms any of these… people, I’ll personally kill you myself. They’ve proven their trustworthiness and loyalty to me and that’s good enough. Any marked with a blue cross are allies and shall be treated as you would treat your own kinfolk,” she added firmly. “Now, how fast can you evacuate the women, children and elderly from the city?”

The mortals huddled together in quiet debate. Orran then answered, “A few hours, my Lady.”

“Then go tell your people. As long as they leave today, they should be okay. The enemy is quickly approaching. And it seems that Illyria is gonna cover all the land in darkness giving her the advantage.” She fingered the Carnimír that hung from around her neck. Its powers would be rendered obsolete without the rays from the sun. “Go inform your people,” she instructed the mortals, “while there’s still time. Go!”

Once the mortals left the chamber, only the elves, dwarves, demons and Maiar remained. Buffy then went to the crates she had brought into the hall. She opened one, revealing many crystal orbs. She held one aloft. “I want all the captains and generals to carry one of these at all times. These are spirit vaults and are used to house the feys of the evil Maiar. There’s a summoning spell that I’ll teach you in a minute. It’s imperative that we capture as many of them as possible.” The Slayer then turned to Durin. “I have several of these crates in my pavilion that I want delivered to Hírilost, my fortress in the north. Tell the dwarves there that I want the orbs placed in the orifices along the bastion.” Durin gave her a peculiar look. “They’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“But Lady, we’ve come here to fight, not run errands,” protested the old dwarf.

“I’ll send you there, Durin. You’ll be back before the dark clouds of Illyria engulf these parts. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Go.” The Dwarf Lord nodded his head before exiting the room with several dwarves.

Buffy instructed the men and women on how to summon a fey into the Orb of Thezula. Once she felt confident that they understood, she departed the halls with many Maiar for her pavilion. When they arrived, she sent Durin and many dwarves through a portal to Hírilost. The Slayer was thankful that she was at full strength again. She would need it.

It took thirty minutes for all the crates of orbs to be transported to Buffy’s fortress. She felt confident that she herself would be able to send the feys of the evil Maiar to those mystical objects in the north.

A few hours later, the people unable to fight left the city for the north. The Slayer found the wailing of the women and children disheartening as they said their good-byes to their loved ones. For some of them, it would be their final farewell.

The armies watched as the lands became covered in darkness. The black clouds of Illyria continued to move north obliterating all light. The temperature plummeted even though it was only early autumn. Unbeknownst to all those in Bela, it would be a long time before the sun shone brightly upon that land again.

The demon Vala’s winds caused the smoke from the trenches to linger about the city, burning the eyes of all the occupants. And the stench of the dead yrch was horrendous; the flies became an abhorrent nuisance. Yet the armies waited, the tension grew with every passing hour.

The armies took their positions as the forces of Illyria rapidly approached. The enemy marched in rhythm to the drumming of the yrch. Amongst the goblins were hundreds of trolls and wargs, but the ominous presence of the giants caused the Slayer to shudder. They were bigger then she remembered. The dark figures looked man-like yet they towered over all. The trolls stood anywhere between twelve to fifteen feet, yet the giants were over twenty.

Luthor was on Buffy’s right, Marto on her left. She tightened her grip on her sword as the first wargs and yrch crossed the trench. Many got cut down by the wire on the other side. That is, until the giants approached. When they came across the wire, they merely swung their humongous clubs, breaking the line in two as though it were thread. The Slayer felt her heart drop to her stomach when she witnessed that.

“Oh, shit,” she cursed under her breath.

The sound of the battle cry from her men rang out in the crisp night as they ran towards their foes with their weapons drawn…